The Rebel Queen

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Um, yes, ma’am. I’ll get someone up here right away.”

  A cool draft of air swirls through the room. Gooseflesh raises on my arms. Beyond the tiny panes of an arched window, the blue sky has changed to gray and mirrors the emptiness in my chest. Olga skirts the perimeter of the room, turning on lamps, illuminating the dimness with weak pools of gold light.

  “Lunch is in one hour. Dinner at seven—sharp. Princess Marie is very insistent upon punctuality.” She nods toward the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. Just enough time to relax and recharge. “Is there anything else, madam?” Exhaustion smudges the fair skin beneath her eyes. A harsh cough wracks her body. She turns away, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s a terrible cough.” The sound rattles up from the depth of her lungs. Taking her arm, I lead her to the bench at the foot of the bed. “Sit down for a minute. You’re turning gray.”

  “No, madam. I can’t.” She glances toward the open door, as if she’s fearful of getting caught. “We aren’t allowed to sit in the presence of the royal family.”

  “That’s insane. You can, and you will. I won’t tell.” To ease her nervousness, I shut the door then take a seat beside her. “You should see a doctor. How long have you had that? You could have bronchitis or pneumonia.”

  “I can’t afford to be off work.”

  “Don’t you have sick days or vacation days?”

  She shakes her head. “No, madam. And no health insurance. A visit to the surgeon will cost a week’s wages.”

  The numerous implications of her words hang in the air between us. She frowns at the floor. No paid days off? No health insurance? I refill the glass of water and summon a kind smile. It feels good to worry about someone other than myself for a change. “Surely, the palace offers some kind of benefits to its employees?”

  “No.” Her hands twist nervously in her lap. “Nothing.”

  “Let me talk to my husband.” It sounds strange to refer to Henry as my husband, but I suppose I’d better get used to it. “There must be some kind of provisions for your health care.”

  “You’re very kind, but I don’t want to cause a fuss. I’d rather stay out of the king’s crosshairs.”

  “Are you afraid of the king?” The gentle tone of my voice is meant to win her confidence while gleaning information about my husband.

  “A little, ma’am. He’s very—” She glances down at her hands.

  Unsuitable adjectives bubble to my lips. Arrogant. Self-centered. Intimidating. Instead of spouting my personal opinions, I pat her hand. “Yes, I know. He is, isn’t he?”

  A tentative smile trembles across her lips. “His Majesty has more important things to worry about right now. I wouldn’t want to bother him.”

  “Of course.” Her anxiety persuades me to stop pushing. As a newcomer, I need to respect her wishes. Although I’m stepping aside for the moment, I plan to speak with Henry about benefits for his staff at the first opportunity.

  Olga stands. She smooths the wrinkles from her slacks, straightening the collar of her shirt. “If there’s nothing else, I should get back to work.”

  “No. Nothing else. Thank you.”

  As soon as Olga closes the door behind her, I undress and sink onto the unyielding mattress. As a seasoned overseas traveler, I know it’s best to stay awake until bedtime, but two days of sleep deprivation have driven my body to the brink of exhaustion. The instant my head hits the pillow, the knots in my muscles relax. Wind whistles against the palace walls, offering a peculiar kind of comfort. Raindrops pelt the windows in a pleasant tattoo. After a few deep breaths, I descend into sleep.

  Hunger pains awaken me from unpleasant dreams. The rain has stopped, and late afternoon sunlight bathes the room. For a few disorienting moments, I have no idea where I am. Then the chipped plaster comes into focus. Memories rush back. My father. Henry. Rourke. I cover my head with the blankets, wanting to hide from reality a few minutes longer. The rumble of my stomach is insistent and uncompromising. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s six-thirty. I’ve been asleep for hours and missed lunch. If I don’t get my ass out of bed, I’ll miss dinner, too.

  During my nap, someone delivered my suitcases and left them inside the door. I search for something unwrinkled to wear. After donning a simple jersey knit dress, I head toward the door, still groggy from sleep. Except—the bedroom door is locked. Disbelieving, I rattle the knob until the door bangs on its hinges. Annoyance fades into fear. Am I a prisoner? I swallow down the aching dryness in my throat.

  “Hello? Is anyone out there?” I shout through the crack between the door and the frame. Silence.

  My mind races for reasonable explanations. Maybe it was an oversight. A quick circuit of the room proves all the doors are locked. No phone or intercom. The windows are a good thirty feet above a murky moat. I perch on the edge of the bed to contemplate the situation. Outside, fog descends down the mountains, rolling across the garden, obscuring the setting sun. Someone will come for me sooner or later. Helplessness curls around me, squeezing until my ribs ache. I’m a prisoner in the high tower of a castle in a foreign country, and my future is tangled by secrets and lies and locked doors.

  5

  Henry

  From my office window, I have a panoramic view of the palace entrance. Guards shoulder their machine guns on either side of the massive gate. Soldiers pace along the top of the curtain wall. Dozens more are stationed along the perimeter. Their presence should comfort me, but it doesn’t. Somewhere—outside my realm—a formidable enemy is waiting to ruin my country and assassinate my wife. I rub a hand along the back of my neck and fight down impotent rage. No one takes what’s mine. No one. For the past eleven centuries, these impenetrable walls have protected the royal family and their subjects. However, medieval defenses didn’t stop my mother from stabbing Father with a fork when he brought a mistress to dinner. The dangers inside the palace are as threatening as those on the outside.

  I push aside the uneasiness. My first official act as King of Androvia is a meeting with the Commander of the King’s Guard and the Secretary of Defense. The men shift in their chairs. I draw a deep breath, wondering how to approach the delicate matter of protecting Everly from an assassin’s bullet while guarding my country from her.

  “Gentlemen, this matter requires your utmost discretion. Nothing we discuss leaves this office. Am I understood?” They nod in concurrence. I lean back in the chair, choosing my words carefully. “I’m sure you know by now that Don McElroy has been accused of murdering his mistress. Princess Everly played an integral part in the charges brought against him. In retaliation, he’s made a credible threat against her life and our country. While I’d like to think she’s safe in Androvia, I can’t be sure until he’s behind bars. I want guards outside our apartment twenty-four-seven, extra security at the palace gates, and a team of bodyguards to shadow her every move.”

  “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we don’t have the manpower.” Benson rubs a finger along the skinny mustache bisecting his upper lip. His concentration roves the floor, the window, and then my face. Uncertainty fills his watery eyes. “I mean, I can spare a man or two but—"

  “Hire extra people. I don’t want excuses. Do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

  “But King Gustav didn’t—”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your sovereign now.” I draw in a deep breath, summoning my patience. Sensing my irritation, he glances to his feet. “Which brings me to my second point. I believe Princess Everly is harmless, but I don’t want her nosing around the palace. Watch her, night and day. No exceptions. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” He nods. “May I make a suggestion? If she’s a threat to your personal safety, perhaps she should be moved to a separate apartment.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Benson.” My need for her body outweighs my fear of personal injury, a fact I don’t care to share with an employee. I want her close where I
can keep an eye on her. “Until you hire extra help, we’ll keep her confined to her room. She won’t like it, but I’ll deal with her.” My dick twitches at the thought of her impending rage, her body taut with fury, her blue eyes blazing. There’s nothing I love more than an angry fuck. I clear my throat. “Her father is a dangerous man. I don’t know if he’ll make good on his threats, but we can’t take chances. No one enters or exits the palace without your knowledge. If anything happens to her, I’ll hold you personally responsible. If she causes any problems, I’ll blame you for that, too.”

  “I understand, sir.” If he’s judging me, he hides it behind an expression of neutrality.

  “Excellent. You’re dismissed, Mr. Benson. Have a good afternoon.” I swivel in the chair to face the window. I need a minute to calm my racing heart and erase the filthy fantasies of Everly from my head. “That solves the first problem. Now, what do we do about the second?”

  “Your Majesty, three hours ago, there was a skirmish along the southeast border. A tank and a dozen guerillas opened fire on our patrol.” Gottfried, the Secretary of Defense, says. I pivot to face him. Deep grooves of concern etch his round face, no doubt put there by Don McElroy’s shenanigans. “Does this have anything to do with her father?”

  “Who else?” I shift forward to rest my elbows on the desk. Behind thick plastic-rimmed spectacles, defeat clouds Gottfried’s gray eyes. “What happened?”

  “Our soldiers were able to drive them back, but there may be others.” Beads of sweat glisten on his high forehead. He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and swipes the material across his face. “I realize you just arrived, but I thought you should know.”

  “Any time someone so much as breathes on our border, I want to know about it. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Send additional troops to the vulnerable checkpoints on our border. You have my permission to retaliate against any foreign or domestic threats.”

  For the next six hours, we discuss our options. We work through lunch and straight into the evening. The country is in terrible shape, used as a political pawn by opportunists like Everly’s father. The citizens harbor deep resentments toward the royal family for turning a blind eye to drug traffickers, border invasions, and economic decline. If I’m not on my toes, the monarchy will fall, and Androvia will cease to exist.

  A familiar voice rumbles behind me. “At last, the prodigal son returns.”

  “Hello, Uncle Rupert.” My father’s twin brother bows his head then extends a hand to shake. I haven’t seen him in years, but he’s still the tall, thin, stiff-lipped man of my childhood. Hard liquor, tobacco, and stress haven’t been kind to him since our last meeting. His blond hair is now a muddy brown with silver streaks at the temples, and he has deep grooves around his mouth. I shake his hand then return my attention to the mountain of papers on the desk.

  “My colleagues and I were placing bets on whether you’d show up to claim your birthright. I guess I lost.” He helps himself to the crystal decanter on the credenza, pours a generous glass of my father’s favorite sherry, downs it, and goes back for more.

  “You know that’s meant for sipping, right? Father would have a coronary.”

  He inhales the aroma of the liquor then smacks his lips in approval. “I do. I don’t care. And neither should you.” With a heavy groan, he lowers himself into the nearest chair. Despite his haggard appearance, his dress is impeccable from the severe lines of his black blazer to the crisp creases in his pin-striped gray slacks. “Thank God, he no longer has any say in my actions.”

  “Maybe not, but I do.” Rupert harbors no affection for my father. Probably because he was born three minutes too late to become king. I suspect he feels the same way about my ascent to the throne. “I need you at the top of your game.”

  “You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ve never felt better.” He slides a hand over his slicked-back hair, showing off the Chief Minister’s ruby ring. “I’ve been doing this job since you were in nappies, young man.”

  His jab at my inexperience pinches my pride. “I’d like to meet with you and the Inner Cabinet tomorrow at ten to discuss changes in immigration procedures and budget changes.”

  “Really?” One of his thick eyebrows plunges upward. “I thought your new bride would keep you too busy for meetings.”

  “My new bride is none of your business.”

  “I beg to differ. Especially when her father routs me out of bed in the middle of the night to shout profanity in my ear. He’s livid, Henry, as you might expect.” He pauses to inspect his manicured fingernails. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t caution you. Don McElroy is a powerful man when he’s on your side, and a dangerous opponent when he’s not.”

  I set down a statement of military expenses and clasp my hands on the top of the desk. Rupert has always been self-serving. Androvia has suffered because of it. “Are you threatening me? Because I don’t do well with threats.” The last time a man tried to manipulate me, I married his daughter.

  “Not at all. Merely a warning.” He leans forward, resting a forearm on the desk, and softens his tone. “Send the girl back, Henry. Save yourself and Androvia from the heartache that will surely come your way.”

  “Not an option. Everly is my wife. I’ll protect her until my death.”

  Rupert’s eyes narrow. “You do understand the implications of your actions, don’t you? You can’t afford to piss off one of the most volatile men in the world. Be smart. Let the girl go. Marry Lady Clayton, if you must. Hell, marry the maid. Just end this nonsense.”

  My temper heats up at his intimidation. “Correction, Rupert. McElroy has no idea who he’s dealing with. You see, he’s got a lot of enemies, and I’ve been aligning myself with all of them. If he makes one inappropriate move toward Everly or this country, I’ll wipe him from the face of the Earth.” The vein in my forehead throbs. To ease the ache, I sit back and draw in a cleansing breath. Rupert doesn’t know it, but he’s playing right into my hand. I want to goad McElroy into making a mistake. Anger will make him sloppy. My lips twitch with a smile. “You can go back and tell him I said so.”

  The color of Rupert’s complexion changes from fair to a shade of eggplant. I’m certain, in the past twenty-four years of his position, no one has spoken to him this way. He opens his mouth to speak, but we’re interrupted by a footman bearing a round silver tray with a small envelope in the center.

  “Forgive my intrusion, King Heinrich. I have a message from Her Royal Highness, Princess Marie.” The footman bows, averting his eyes from Rupert’s livid face, and extends the tray.

  “Why can’t she text like everyone else in the twenty-first century? Every person in this building has a mobile phone. Unbelievable.” The antiquated custom of handwritten communication is one of many I aim to abolish. “Just tell me. What does she want?”

  “Her Royal Highness would like to know if you’ll be attending dinner?”

  “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  “Will your wife be joining us?” Although his words hold no emotion, I feel the judgment in his eyes.

  Shoving a hand through my hair, I grasp at the scattered thoughts in my head. “Yes. Send someone up for her, will you?” I’ve been so preoccupied with work that I keep forgetting my wife is locked in her bedroom. Barely married one day and already a shitty husband.

  6

  Everly

  Above the bedroom fireplace, the portrait of a young woman smiles down at me. We’ve been eyeing each other for the past thirty minutes. She’s wearing a white powdered wig that soars at least two feet above her head, and her plentiful bosom spills over the top of a satin corset. A slight smile bows her lips. The bitch is laughing at me.

  “Go ahead. Laugh it up,” I mutter.

  Metal scrapes against the lock in the door. The hinges creak as it opens. The butler bows, averting his eyes, avoiding my angry glare. Although it’s not his fault, I can’t restrain my anger. “It’s about time. I’ve been
waiting forever.”

  “Apologies, madam.” The neutral tone of his voice adds fuel to my temper. “Please follow me.”

  “Why was the door locked?” I spit the words at his back as he leads me down an unfamiliar corridor. “Who locked me in?”

  “I have no idea, madam.” After a deep bow, he leaves me alone in front of the gigantic double doors leading to the dining room. The footmen, imperious in their matching black livery, swing open the doors. A ridiculously long dining table stretches from one end of the room to the other. Conversation halts as I take the long trek to the head of the table where Henry presides. A dozen strangers fill the chairs. The men stand and nod as I pass.

  “There you are.” Henry holds out his hand. Although I’m angry, his face is a beacon—a lifeline—in an ocean of treacherous predators. “We’ve started without you.”

  “Don’t you dare reprimand me for being late.” The heat rises in my face. I ignore his outstretched fingers, too angry to care about the opinions of the guests in their bespoke tuxedos and haute couture dresses. His hand drops to his side. I feel his surprise at the snub. “You see, I’ve been locked in my room all day.” Unable to meet his gaze, I blast an incendiary glance at his chest. “Please tell me it was a mistake.”

  “No mistake.” When our eyes meet, his expression smolders with challenge. “I couldn’t have you running amuck about the castle, could I? But I’m sure our guests aren’t interested in boring things like palace security. We can talk about this later.” He sweeps a hand to the empty chair next to his. “Let’s sit.”

  “How dare you?” I spit the words, too low for anyone to hear but him. “I will not be your prisoner.”

  Henry bends to whisper in my ear. “I had my reasons. Let it go.”

  I lift on tiptoe to place my lips next to his cheek. To the other guests, it probably looks like an affectionate kiss. “Fuck. You.”