I stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the country I now ruled, and couldn't believe how silent it seemed in the summer twilight. There was a stunned shock that had descended upon the masses, a disbelief that our king was dead. He'd seemed invincible, but a lone gunman had ended his life.
And, possibly, my brother's.
Briiiiiing.
Nerves settled like a boulder in my stomach, and I crossed the room to pick up the phone. "Hello?"
"Rhys, honey." Mom. I braced for the worst. "Rhys, Dr. Maitland says he's critical, but...but stable. The surgery went well. They had to remove part of his lung, but..." She sounded exhausted. "Now, we just have to wait."
I nodded, even though I was alone in the room. Some of the tension eased in my stomach. Gally was alive; that had to count for something. "Do you need me to come down there?"
"No, your plate is full," she said. "Is there...has your father's body been taken care of?"
My father's body. Still a strange concept to wrap my head around. "Yes. He'll be laid in state for a week then buried in the royal cemetery near Dig."
She released a shaky breath. "Thank you. And Bayard?"
Leave it to Mom to be concerned about everyone. "I've arranged for his body to be returned to Rave. Cannon said he'd make sure it got back to his family. Quietly."
"You spoke with him, then?"
"Yeah." I ran my hand over my face. That hadn't been a fun phone call. "Mom, I'm not ready to be king."
"Nobody ever is," she said. "Oh, Dr. Maitland is here. I think he's going to let us back to see Gally."
I felt a pang of resentment toward my brother, but dismissed it. "Give Theo my best. I'll try to make it down there tomorrow."
"You just focus on keeping this country together, son. I love you and..." She sucked in a shaky breath. "I'm very proud of you."
I hung up, and the silence and responsibility pressed in around me. I could no longer lean on my mother to help me. All the decisions from here on were mine and mine alone. I just wished I'd made a few more before being set adrift.
A soft knock at the door jolted me from my impending nervous breakdown. "Come..." I cleared my throat so I didn't sound like a prepubescent boy. "Come in."
Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, red lips—Olivia Collins stood in my doorway. She wore a look of apprehension on her face, and it made her look almost human, instead of the fire-breathing dragon who normally lived in her high heels.
"Y-your Majesty," she said, nodding after a moment.
"Please, I'm not king yet," I said, turning to look toward the window again. "What can I do for you, Ms. Collins?"
"I wanted to..." She shook her head. "How is he?"
"Mom just called. Critical but stable. They had to remove part of his lung." I was amazed how easily I could speak about my brother's condition. Almost like discussing the weather.
Olivia, however, took the news poorly. Her hand had flown to her mouth and I felt the oddest need to comfort her.
"If I know Gally, he'll be back to his old self before we know it. Even a third of a lung down, he'll still be full of hot air."
She smiled, a flash of white teeth beneath crimson lips. "It's good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor." She inched into the room and closed the door behind her. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," I said with a shrug. Numb would've been a better word.
"Are you? Because I don't know how I'll ever get today out of my mind," she said, wrapping her arms around her. "That damned rebel. What are you going to do with him?"
I leaned back in my chair. "I don't know. The world is pretty precarious right now. Rave's imploding, Kylae might join her if we don't stop it. Herin and Jervan are...well, who knows what they're doing." I snorted. "Maybe they heard Father's pronouncement last night and are sending hordes of bombers here."
"That...isn't too far off," she said with a wince. "I heard from Dixon—my assistant—an hour ago. Things aren't very friendly over in Lakner. They're preparing for the war your father started."
I'd known this was a possibility, but hearing it from Olivia still hit me like a ton of bricks. I sank into my chair and buried my head in my hands.
"I'm not ready for this," I said quietly. "Shouldn't the king have all the answers? Shouldn't they just know what to do?"
She snorted, finally taking the seat across from me. "When I took over as operations chief, I thought I knew what I was doing. But even after working under my father for ten years, I still found myself lacking the answers daily." She chuckled. "And then when I found them, the world would change again."
I lifted my head. "So it never ends, does it?"
"We just have to do the best we can with the information and resources we have at our disposal," she said, daintily placing her hands on her crossed knees. "So, Your Majesty, what do you have at your disposal?"
I sat back and folded my hands behind my head. "I have you. I have...well, I think that's it." I squinted at her. "Do I have you, Olivia?"
"Of course you do," she replied with a smile. "I might've moved operations to Jervan, but my loyalties are always with Kylae. In fact, I'm headed back to Jervan tonight." She cleared her throat. "Anything you'd like me to take?"
She was leading me to the answer, but I didn't care. I was thankful, actually, that someone still had their wits about them because I certainly didn't. I yanked open my desk drawer and pulled out a piece of official paper and began scrawling.
"No, no," she said, standing and walking around the desk. "You'll need to practice first. Make sure you know what you want to say before you write it on your letterhead."
I stared at the already haphazard scrawl and frowned. "This isn't a king's writing."
"Of course it isn't. Kings don't write their own missives," she said, leaning over my arm and taking another piece of paper. I caught a whiff of her flowery perfume. "But first, let's brainstorm. Who is this letter to?"
"President Kuman and Prime Minister Bouckley," I said.
"You'll need to address them separately. They'll take offense." Her arm brushed mine as she grabbed a pen. "First and foremost, you need to express your sincere apologies for your father's words—"
"Late father," I said, my voice sounding strange.
"L..." She turned to me, a strand of hair falling to her cheek. "I'm sorry. Again."
"We had our differences," I said, pushing my chair back a little. Her closeness was a bit unnerving. "I mean, he wasn't a great king. Terrible father. But... I don't know. I feel...sad that he's gone." I shook my head. "I shouldn't."
"Regardless of how you felt about him, he was still your father."
"And I always thought he'd live forever, so I wouldn't have to take over," I said before I could stop myself.
The corners of her mouth twitched. "I know the feeling."
"I'm sorry," I said with a shake of my head. "We have a country to save and you have to get back to Jervan."
"If you need to talk," she said, crossing around to the other side of the desk to retrieve a chair, "we can talk. There's no shame in admitting weakness."
"Are you sure this won't end up on the front page of the newspapers tomorrow?" I said with a small laugh.
She smiled. "I had enough trouble getting them to stop printing stories about me and your brother."
"I used to be kind of jealous of him, you know?" I said, playing with the cap of my pen. "It was like all he had to do was smile and girls would swoon over him. Meanwhile, I'm over here... well..." I snorted. "Let's just say more women want to be a princess than a queen. Except Theo. You should've seen her face when I called her a princess."
Olivia's face shifted, and she tapped the pen against the paper. "She really does love him, doesn't she?"
"They're crazy about each other," I said with a frown. "Disgusting, really. Holding hands all the time, kissing. Sickening." I swallowed, her screaming echoing in my head. "God, I hope he lives. I don't know if she'll be able to handle it."
"She seems like
a tough girl," Olivia said, but the look on her face said differently. She quickly turned back to the letters. "How about this: To His Excellency, President Kuman of Jervan. I would like to extend my most heartfelt apologies for the words and actions of my late father, King Grieg of Kylae. The nation of Kylae wishes to start immediate peace negotiations with Jervan, to begin on the date of my coronation... When have you set it?"
"A week," I said, rubbing my face again. "Same day as Father's funeral."
"Right," She added the date. "How does that sound?"
"Fine," I said with a nod. "Do you think he'll accept it?"
"I think we'll have to hope for the best." She pulled out another piece of royal stationary and then copied over what she'd written on the other paper. When she finished, I added my signature and sealed both envelopes with my official seal and wax.
"I'll be in touch," Olivia said, putting the envelopes neatly into her purse. "I still have a few staff here, and they can get word to me within the day."
"I'll have K...someone check in with your office," I said with a nod. I wasn't sure Kader stilled worked for me. I wasn't sure who I had working for me anymore.
"It's going to be all right," she said, breaking me from my worried thoughts. "This storm will pass. You're going to be a fine king."
"You think so?"
"I know so." She turned and walked to the door, but paused in the doorway. "And for what it's worth, any woman would be lucky to have you smile at her."
Olivia
The flight back to Jervan was smooth, but my thoughts were anything but. Several times, I attempted to review quarterly reports, but the news was so awful that I couldn't keep reading. It wasn't surprising moving operations had been costly. My company—and my country—were both in trouble.
And although Collins Shipbuilding was my top priority, her survival was dependent on Kylae's. Rhys might prove to be an apt king, but I didn't believe he was quite there yet. Not when his own father's iron grip hadn't been enough to keep the country together.
I had been completely out of line to speak so frankly to the man who would be king, let alone help him pen communications to the leaders of the other countries. I wasn't sure what had drawn me to his office. He'd always been polite to me, but like his mother, never open. Our conversations had been nothing but business for as long as I'd known him. To hear him be so frank about his brother, his father, his fears had been strange. He'd seemed like a boy standing in his father's shoes.
But then, I supposed I wasn't being fair. After all, he had a front-row seat to the massacre, whereas I had averted my eyes after the first shot. That he was even able to function at all after witnessing something like that was impressive.
I'd always thought Grieg had someone else up his sleeve—a cousin or a distant relation that he'd have coronated in Rhys' place. Rhys and he seemed like polar opposites. Then again, I supposed those in power probably never thought of their own deaths. If they had, perhaps Grieg would've taken that Raven rebel a bit more seriously.
And now Kylae was in a tailspin. One king dead, another struggling to remain in power. It had been a gamble to return to Kylae, but I needed to bring Galian news of my efforts. My plan had been to talk to him at the engagement party, and perhaps offer him and his wife a spot on my chartered plane back to Jervan. But like so many things, that had all gone out the window the moment his father had announced he was going to war again.
I'd attended the wedding more as a show of support for Galian, and perhaps hoping to get more time alone with him to discuss our next move. Now, I wished I'd gone back sooner. The sight of Galian's wife clinging to his body was one I wouldn't soon forget. Her words had settled uncomfortably in my stomach, especially those about forgiveness. She'd been able to forgive the man who'd shot Galian; I couldn't. I wanted that traitorous, evil creature dead.
I tapped my fingernails against the leather armrest. I was still stinging from Galian's rejection—whether it was because I cared for him or because my ego was bruised. There was no real reason for it as we'd never been together for more than one date. But I suppose I'd fallen victim to the media's own story about my life. Being painted as the other woman was truly mortifying, especially when I had no claims on the man in the first place.
And now there was Rhys. Who, if I were being honest, had grown on me in our brief moment together. Or perhaps I just saw my own fears and insecurities as he poured his heart out to me.
But, I told my heart as it began to skip, he was also going to be king. I had my own kingdom to manage, my own despot father to worry about. The last thing I needed—the last thing either of us needed—was to enter into something more than a working relationship.
I would deliver the letters to Herin and Jervan and that would be the end of it.
TWO
Rhys
"The first thing we need to do is focus our efforts on the war against Jervan and Herin," Perks, the provincial governor from the Meigart region, leaned forward on the table, his thick glasses drooping down his face. "If we don't, they'll take advantage of our chaos and have the upper hand!"
My fifth cup of coffee sat untouched in front of me, as the caffeine from the last four hadn't been enough to dull the pounding in my temples. It had been twelve hours since my father was assassinated, and my council had convened for another emergency late night session. A riot had broken out in the slums of the city, and although it had been dealt with fairly quickly, it meant things were growing worse in my country.
Not my country yet. Six days until my coronation. Six days to prevent everything from going to hell.
"No war. We're done with it," I said definitively. Mouths opened and closed at my declaration, and I sat up straighter. "What we need to do is convince everyone that the country isn't in a downward spiral. The king is dead, but I'm...I'm here."
I didn't even have to look at their faces to read the disbelief in the room.
"Sire, if I may," Perks said, "the council agrees that it's not wise to change direction. Your father set in motion these plans for a reason, and it would be wrong to—"
"My father's plans are what got him killed, in case you didn't notice."
"Anson was simply a disgruntled rebel. The Ravens should've put him down—"
"We are the Ravens, in case you forgot. We should've put him down. He's our problem. We annexed the country. We don't get to pick and choose their problems."
"He's no longer an issue, in any case," Cavillion, the defense minister, said. "Have you made preparations for his execution?"
I shook my head. "We have bigger problems to worry about. For now, he remains in jail."
The uproar was instantaneous.
"His guilt is clear. The four nations watched him murder the king!"
"He's a Raven rebel. We owe him nothing!"
"Enough!" I growled, slamming my hands on the table. "Look, the last thing I want to do is give this idiot more attention. Our focus shouldn't be Anson, but Herin and Jervan—"
"Our people want justice for their king," came the retort from Biasak, the minister from the Benter province.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Do you not understand what Herin and Jervan can do?"
"Sire, they aren't going to attack us," Cavillion drawled. "We are superior in firepower and technology—"
I snorted. "You can't be serious. Herin developed a plane that couldn't be detected by our radar and put a bomb in it headed for this city. If it weren't for Theo, none of us would be here."
Cavillion scoffed, pursing her lips, but offered no response.
"Trust me," I said, glancing around at the unfriendly faces glaring at me, "I want Anson held responsible for his actions. More than you do, I'm sure. But if we don't deal with Herin and Jervan now, Anson won't even matter."
A swift knock at the door sent another jolt of dread to my gut. One of my aides strode in, a tense look on his face as he headed straight for me. Worry danced in my stomach at the thought of all the terrible news he could be bringi
ng, and I wished he'd stop at any of the others at the table.
But no, he bowed close to my ear.
"Sire, there's been another riot in the slums. Initial estimates are two hundred involved, some sent to Kylaen Royal Hospital. At least one confirmed casualty, probably more."
I swallowed and nodded. "I want to see the police chief as soon as he's able."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I sat back in my chair, threading my fingers together and staring at the table. For some reason, my mind focused on that one casualty. What was his or her name? Did they look like Theo?
"Sire."
I looked up. Twelve men and women stared back at me. The twelve people I should be counting on to help guide me through these first few days. If I told them about these new riots, would they care? If it was a pale-skinned Kylaen, maybe. But what if it was a Raven refugee? How many more would die tonight? Would they be placed in the same hospital as my brother? Would they get the same level of care as a prince?
"Sire, are you all right?"
I shook my head and stood, exhaustion seeping from every pore. I needed sleep—at least a few minutes of it—and sitting in this room wasn't accomplishing anything but giving me a headache.
"I'm going to rest," I said with a long sigh. "There will be no action taken on Anson until we resolve the issue with Herin and Jervan. We will not be going to war again. We will also need to pull our defensive resources back home to deal with the rioting in Norose—"
"Rioting!" came the surprised gasp of my home minister.
I nodded. "Another one, this time much larger. We need to restore order here in Norose and for that, we need our security forces back home. Please see to it that it happens as soon as feasible."
The Complete Madion War Trilogy Page 70
