The Royal Nanny

by V Vee

  Leyah’s mother hadn’t agreed with her father’s plans, but as his helpmate she’d encouraged and supported him. Leyah had more than once come across her parents having a tense discussion about what they should do in reference to Malvidence and how they should plan out their attack. And while Leyah wanted to follow in her father’s nonviolent rebellion, with his brutal murder five years before, her options and her beliefs had drastically changed.

  Leyah turned her head to look out the window at the passing scenery. The trees, plants, and flowers that caught her eye were all wonderfully maintained, and she watched as a number of Malvidencians stepped out of their homes to wave at the passing royal vehicle, or to put up “Moq Bocc Lees” signs in their yard with pictures of Prince Alastair on them.

  “Get well soon,” Leyah murmured to herself. She shook her head. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Prince Alastair to get well. As a matter of fact, it couldn’t be further from the truth, a very big part of her had been twisted up into a knot of anxiety, fear, and concern since she’d heard about his accident. It was a part that she refused to examine too carefully. No, her problem wasn’t with the well-wishers. It was with the fact that had the Malvidencians merely stayed in their own country, keeping to their own land, without feeling the need to… take over—colonize—a land that did not need their interference due to their own greed, well, Prince Alastair would be fine.

  Sure, blame the ancestors for your people trying to kill the prince. Besides, if that had happened would you have even met Alastair? Her subconscious taunted her. Leyah rolled her eyes at her reflection, refusing to even consider the question, and not allowing the guilt of the statement to penetrate her internal armor.

  Now that she knew Prince Alastair was okay she could return to the task at hand. She hadn’t even been a nanny for Prince Algerone and Princess Valerie a week and already excitement predicated by her own people had taken her away from her assignment.

  Maybe I should have allowed Xevobia to take on this mission, she mused to herself. When the town car rolled through the gates of the palace, Leyah straightened up in her seat, fixing her face into a mask of respectability, demureness, and shyness. She saw Danorian waiting for her on the palace’s steps, and she sighed that he was the only one.

  The car came to a stop and Danorian walked over to open the door for her. When he offered her his hand, she glared at him and gave him a small shake of her head. Realizing that his deference to her would make others suspicious, Danorian’s eyes widened before he dropped his hand back to his side and stepped to the side of the door. When Leyah climbed out, she noticed the surprised gaze of the driver on her. He looked back and forth between her and Danorian, his eyes squinting as if he were looking for something. Leyah held her breath, offering him a small smile, before looking back at Danorian who glared at the other man.

  “Thank you, Jeilas,” she said, emphasizing the Malvidencian term for cousin. It was the same word in Waldakan, so while the driver would think she was calling Danorian her cousin, the word had a double meaning in their country. It was both “cousin” as well as “companion”, essentially someone who associates with or accompanies someone somewhere. Many Waldakans used the term when discussing the Rebellion, because while the people were supported by the royal family—which consisted of just Leyah—officially, to the world, Waldakan had to distance itself from the Rebellion. Telling news and media outlets that they were disheartened and upset by the attacks and riots by the group known as “The Rebellion.” And while Waldakan was predominantly a country filled with people who were of African-ish descent and had melanin, there were still those who lived in the country whose ancestors had not initially been a part of the initial removal. Because of that, it was hard to tell who was a part of The Rebellion and who was not. In order for them to identify others sympathetic to the cause, they used jeilas, which to others just made it appear that the people of Waldakan all claimed each other as family. Which was not entirely far from the truth, in this instance, however, the word was not used to signify a familial tie.

  When the driver’s eyes cleared of their suspicion and he nodded his head in understanding, turning to get back into the driver’s seat of the town car, Leyah exhaled in relief. She walked beside Danorian to the servant’s entrance on the side of the palace, their steps measured as they waited to make sure they were alone before talking.

  “Forgive me, Princess,” Danorian apologized as they stopped outside of the door to the servants’ entrance.

  Leyah looked around to make sure they were alone before she leveled an unflinching glare on her trusted guard. She could feel the vestiges of adrenaline still coursing through her blood at their near miss. Danorian’s need to stand on ceremony with her, to treat her as if they were in Waldakan and she were still “Princess Aa’Leyah” would get them both caught. And who knew how prisoners were handled in this country? Especially ones who were attempting to dethrone the royal family and take over the country. She shuddered at the thought. She was strong. A warrior. A fighter. She’d had to be to grow up as she had, and to begin leading a country after the loss of her parents at only fourteen, but, she could be honest with herself on this. She would not do well in a prison. She wouldn’t do well when faced with the certainty of execution. She would take her own life, first.

  “Japheth,” she hissed, using Danorian’s first name for the first time in years. “Your misstep could have ruined everything. The driver was watching us too closely for such mistakes!” She looked around cautiously again. “You cannot treat me as if I am the Princess of Waldakan, here. You cannot even think of me in such a way, if doing so will cause you to make such a grievous error!”

  She crossed her arms across her chest, erecting a stature of disappointment, formidable strength, and unwavering resolve. She waited for Danorian to speak, her senses also open and on alert for any observers or eavesdroppers to their private conversation.

  Danorian leaned down, his voice gruff and firm. “Yes, Leyah, I understand,” the older man said, his voice filled with disgust at having to address her thusly. “But know this, to me, you will always be Princess Aa’Leyah. It matters not where we are, who is around, or who is watching. You are my princess and I will treat you with respect and dignity, even if it raises suspicion.”

  Leyah was shocked at the insubordination apparent in Danorian’s tone. She’d never heard him speak in such a way. He’d never deigned to. Not with her father, her mother, nor with her. Perhaps his increased exposure to a people and a family he deemed responsible for the uproot of their people from their homeland, and the murder of his king and queen, was bad for him. Leyah stared at him for a moment longer, refusing to back down or to look away until she was shown the proper respect—in spite of her telling him to not treat her as his princess moments earlier—and when Danorian’s eyes lowered, only then did she give him a quick nod and turn to enter the palace.

  Something was going on with Danorian. He seemed to be more on edge than normal. Leyah wondered if the other Waldakans who had infiltrated Malvidence and were gathering intel, and waiting on word to strike and move in, were suffering from the same restlessness. The same manner of recklessness.

  She would have to subtly do some investigation into her own people, while subsequently investigating the Malvidencian royals. She sighed with exhaustion just as she pushed open the door to her bedroom. A leader’s work was never done.

  He watched her walk away from him and snarled. How dare she? Didn’t she know who he was? Who they were? She could do nothing without her people. Without the ones who supported her and kept her secret while she was here in Malvidence. Treating her with the respect she deserved as their princess, their future queen, was something they did because they loved her. But just as they were making plans to overtake the royal family in Malvidence, so too, could they simply do away with the final Zameer royal and reestablish their nation with a new royal family in place.

  When Danorian turned to him, his eyes narrowed, mouth in a thin
line, he smiled. Perhaps it wouldn’t take much to sway the trusted guard over to his way of thinking. First they would depose the Smythes, and then they would do away with Princess Aa’Leyah.

  With a nod at Danorian, which the other man returned, he turned and walked away, continuing on to his post.

  Chapter Nine

  A lastair climbed out of the limo, and gently extracted his arm from his concerned mother’s grip. She’d arrived in his hospital room that morning to inform him that the doctors said he could return home. Alastair had been excited to hear the news; however, his mother’s hovering was growing to be somewhat tedious. He was aware that she was worried about him, and all of his brothers in light of the recent assassination attempt, but what did she think she could do? Queen Araminta was a petite five-feet-four inches tall. While she was formidable in spirit, and a giant in heart, in physical stature, she was a very tiny thing and if there were really someone hellbent on doing harm to Alastair and his brothers, well, their mother would be unable to hold them off.

  He patted the back of her hand when he saw the anguish and embarrassment darken her eyes and face when he pulled away from her. He would never want his mother to feel rejected, but he was more than ready to get into his own suite and have a moment away from all the concern, worry, anxiety, security, and well-intentioned family members and members of security. He’d been told by Algerone that security had been increased, and only those who were already employed by the Crown or were already living in the palace were able to get on the grounds. Which meant his father had been meeting with members of his advisory board and other titled and wealthy members of society in either their homes or in public spaces. Which wasn’t as safe as he knew they thought it was. He could come up with at least fourteen safety hazards that encouraged just off the top of his head.

  Taking his mother’s hand, Alastair walked with her up the stoned driveway to the front doors of the palace. Before they reached the bottom stair, the doors opened, and the staff streamed out, followed by his family. Alastair stopped and waited for everyone to stop moving, before he held up his arms. Once he had their attention he smiled.

  “I thank you for your concern. Thank you for the cards, balloons, and flowers,” he paused, and his eyes moved over the lines of the servants until he found the ones he’d been searching for. Leyah. She was just as beautiful as he’d remembered. She wore the uniform of the palace nanny, a mid-calf black skirt, with a dark green button-up shirt, and either a black smock, full-apron, or half apron, with black flats. Her black hair was no longer in the braids she’d arrived in. Now it hung to below her shoulders in soft, large curls that framed her chin and rested on her shoulders.

  Alastair felt his cock twitch in his trousers when his eyes connected with hers and she licked her bottom lip, before glancing away from him. He’d had a lot of time to think for the four days he’d been laid up in the hospital. In that time, he’d come to the decision and the conclusion that Leyah Meer would be his. He wasn’t certain for how long. He certainly wasn’t going to promise forever. It wasn’t necessarily something he believed in. The whole “happily-ever-after,” “marital bliss,” “till-death-do-us-part,” bullshit. However, he was a fan and a firm believer in the “fuck until we can’t move,” “stay together as long as the sex is good,” “no promises, no disappointments,” “monogamous until we’re done, and we won’t last forever,” thing. Now all he had to do was to convince Leyah to lower her guard. It would be the best thing for the both of them if she simply gave in easily, so Alastair wouldn’t have to explain to his brother why he was pursuing his nanny. Either way, it didn’t matter. She would be his. Of that he was certain.

  He waited until she looked at him again before he allowed his gaze to travel over her body slowly, seductively, biting his lower lip when he looked back into her eyes. When her mouth dropped open in surprise and her eyes darkened with arousal, Alastair winked at her, knowing she was as turned on by him as he was by her.

  Returning his attention to the awaiting servants and his brothers, sister-in-law, nieces, nephews, and his parents, Alastair straightened his shoulders and gave them all a small smile. “Your concern for me is extremely touching and humbling to one such as me. I promise you, now that I have been discharged from the hospital and given a clean bill of health, I will work with the guards and my brothers, and King Callum, to find the culprit responsible. We will not truly rest until we do so. Your safety and well-being are of the utmost concern of the royal family.” He made eye contact with each servant and security guard, taking note of the ones who couldn’t seem to meet or hold his gaze for one reason or other. He would get to the bottom of the eight servants that he’d noticed seemed to be wracked with guilt or hiding something. He nodded at them all. “Malvidence Survives!” he declared.

  “Malvidence Survives!” the servants and his family echoed.

  Holding out his elbow to his mother, he walked with her up the stairs to where his father waited, then turned his mother over to the older man, and followed them inside the palace. He kept his eyes forward, his spine straight and his shoulders back.

  Even though the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his skin crawled, and his stomach clenched in anxiety. Someone was watching him. Right at that moment. Someone who sought to do him harm.

  Someone who worked for and lived in the palace.

  Alastair would have to put off his conversation—confrontation—with Leyah regarding them being together. Right at that moment, he needed to speak to his brothers and his father and warn them about what his instincts were screaming at him.

  And his instincts were never wrong.

  As he moved to walk up the stairs to head to the side of the palace set aside for offices and the like, his gaze caught sight of Leyah, her eyes worried, biting her lower lip in concern. He would have to make this conversation with his brothers quick. He had a nanny to comfort and assure that he was alive and very, very well.

  He watched Prince Alastair walk up the stairs, pausing to look back down at someone or something. Turning his head, he realized the prince was watching Leyah. Looking between the two he noticed the tension of desire not yet fulfilled and passion that has been denied. With a scowl in the prince’s direction, he turned and strode through the crowd of servants who were returning to their duties. Fury pulsated through his veins. His blood boiled, and voices clambered in his head, struggling for dominance. Arguing. Fighting. Muttering. Until he broke out into a light jog to get to the abandoned shed at the edge of the palace property. It was a building that not many—if anyone—knew was here. One that could only be seen if one was searching for it.

  Walking into the tiny building, he began pulling off his shirt, tie, vest, suspenders, allowing them to rest against his sides. He flexed his fingers and curled them into fists. His chest heaved with a burning, righteous anger as he thought of the prince—a Malvidencian—lusting after Princess Aa’Leyah. The princess of Waldakan. She was so far above the third-born prince that he couldn’t even reach her feet to kiss them and pay homage.

  Regardless of his plans for Princess Aa’Leyah, plans he wasn’t entirely certain he would follow through with, she was his. She was theirs. She belonged to the people of Waldakan and had since birth. She had a higher purpose to fulfill. A higher calling. Her body could not, should not, and would not be sullied by the likes of a Malvidencian man. Even if said man was a prince. No. He would not allow it. Under no circumstances.

  He walked over to the body gagged, bound, and hanging from a rope in the rafters. He slowly moved around him, running his fingers along the skin of the man’s torso. What was once flawless, pale skin, was now marred with bruises, cuts, wounds, and brands. The man’s skin was a kaleidoscope of colors due to the beatings and torture he’d endured so far. He’d maintained a stoicism that would usually have made him respect the Malvidencian male. However, the man’s silence was doing nothing but slowing down progress and it was pissing him the fuck off.

  He pulled back his fi
st to land another blow to the man’s abdomen but stopped when the door to the small shack opened. Spinning around, his hand on one of the small knives he kept in his waistband and on his person at all times, he tossed it through the air, aiming for the intruder. It was obviously someone who had been anticipating his throwing of the blade, because they ducked, then pulled out the sharp knife, holding the handle in hand, they spun the weapon and tossed it up in the air, before catching it. The guest smiled at him before walking up to stand in front of him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice deep and rough. He didn’t speak often, due to a childhood accident, from which he’d never recovered from, talking hurt his vocal chords, and so he used sign language and writing pads to speak to people. When he needed to.

  “I saw you rush away and wanted to come and check on you,” the other person stated softly, their voice filled with concern and compassion.

  He grunted. He didn’t need anyone to care about him. Or to check on him for that matter. He’d been just fine on his own since he was eight years old. Why would he suddenly need someone to be responsible or worried about his welfare?

  “I am fine,” he said, before turning back to the dying man.

  “Hmm, yes I see.” The other person walked around his prisoner, trailing their fingers over the man’s flesh much as he’d done moments earlier. The absence of disgust, fear, apprehension, or sadness in their eyes was one of the main reasons he kept them around. There weren’t many people who viewed the world the way he did. Even less who relished in the pain one could inflict upon another in their quest for justice and revenge. They could. It was one of the only reasons he kept them around.