The Royal Consort

by Jeana E. Mann

  “He’s given his version of the story. I’d like to hear your side.” The way she arranges the hem of her dress around her knees reminds me of my thirteenth birthday, the day my father was sworn in as Vice President. She’d worn a similar dress, the same pale shade of green, one that had complimented her slender figure. As Daddy placed his hand on the Bible and had pledged his allegiance to the United States, she’d winked at me. The random memory is both comforting and disturbing. Ten-plus years have hardened her, have smoothed away the variations of her personality and honed her into a stranger.

  “I ran into him at a friend’s apartment complex. He was there, with Lavender Cunningham. Their relationship—it was obvious.” Memories of his proprietary hand on Lavender’s bottom and her smug smile curdle the whiskey in my stomach. “We argued. I threatened to tell you. He begged me to keep quiet. He said he’d take care of it.” I never dreamed he’d resort to murder.

  “I wish you’d confided in me. All this nonsense could have been avoided.”

  Her coldness strips away my misguided attempts at protecting her from the truth. “Did you know he was having an affair?”

  “Yes.” The light in her eyes dims the tiniest bit. She holds my accusing stare. “Lavender Cunningham was one of several over those years. Those women meant nothing to him. They came and went from his life. As long as his dalliances didn’t interfere with our political agenda, I had no reason to complain.”

  The knife in my heart twists again. “For my entire life, he’s preached honesty and integrity, but it’s all been a lie.” A second horrifying thought occurs to me. “Are you having an affair, too?”

  “Your father and I love each other deeply. What we have goes way behind sex. You always had such foolish notions about men. Rourke is to blame for filling your head with fantasies about love and relationships. You certainly didn’t inherit it from me.” She shakes her head, like I’m the one in the wrong. I want to understand where she’s coming from, but I can’t. “When I married Don, we agreed to do anything necessary to get us into the White House. After a few years, it became apparent that he had the most potential, so I gave up my job as senator and focused on supporting him. We’re a team, Everly. His successes are my successes. His failures are my failures. I thought you were a part of our team, too, until yesterday.” She underscores her sincerity by placing a hand over her heart. “If he’s guilty of murder, then I’m every bit his accomplice.”

  Her confession knocks the wind out of me. I sink into the nearest chair before my knees give way. The narrow oval of her face, the relaxed slant of her eyebrows, the tilt of her head—nothing suggests the slightest bit of remorse. Rage builds inside me, stoking unfamiliar emotions. "He threatened to kill Rourke. Are you on board with that too?"

  “I don’t condone violence.” Her elegant fingers tighten around the stem of the wine glass. “However I trust your father to do what’s best for his career—for the McElroy dynasty.” A small smile plays on her lips. “And it’s not like Rourke is family. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s not of our caliber. She’s not destined for greatness the way we are. Your father and I tolerated your relationship because you had so few friends, and Rourke was easily manipulated. She’s been a delight, but now she’s aligned herself with that Russian mobster. The sooner you disconnect yourself from her, the better.”

  The full meaning of her words settles over me. Acid churns in my stomach. I study her eyes. If we didn’t look so much alike, I’d think we were unrelated. “How can you say that?" We've survived the deaths of her parents, my divorce, and so many other events. I can't imagine my life without her.

  “People like us can’t have emotional attachments to outsiders.” The coldness in her gaze turns my despair into anxiety. My most trusted parent is a stranger. “Rourke was a wonderful playmate for you, but this situation is entirely her fault. Take my advice. Sever ties with her. Do it today.” She rises, crosses the distance between us, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Grab your purse. The car is waiting downstairs. Our publicity team has prepared statements for us to read. You’ll say you had a problem with your medication and didn’t know what you were doing. Your father’s people are dealing with the photographs. Goodness knows how we’ll ever repair this damage, but we need to get on it right away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I shrink from her touch. Disappointment burrows deep in my soul. My mother—the one person who should have my back—sides with the enemy. “I won’t condone what Father did. Do what you must, but I won’t be a part of it.”

  “You’ll read the statement. You’ll grovel, if necessary.” Her icy and commanding tone widens the breach between us to an insurmountable distance. “I’m not asking, Everly.”

  In the past, I would never have disobeyed a direct order from either of my parents. But I’m no longer that girl. “No.”

  “I won’t leave without you.” We glare at each other. Behind the polished veil of civility, I see her composure slipping.

  The small crack in her armor gives me strength. “Get out.” Taking her elbow in my hand, I force her toward the foyer. “You aren’t my mother. You’re a monster.” I open the door front door. My mouth drops open. There, standing in the hall about to ring the doorbell, is Prince Heinrich Von Stratton.

  Deep-set eyes bounce from me to my mother and back again. “I was visiting a friend in the building and thought I’d stop by. Is this a bad time?”

  3

  Everly

  Any other time, I would have been flattered by a surprise visit from the Crown Prince of Androvia. Today, however, I have no time for diplomacy nor frivolous flirtations.

  “Please forgive my daughter’s rudeness, Prince Heinrich.” Mother dips her head in a modified curtsey. “She’s been under serious strain these past few days. I’m afraid she’s not herself.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.” Her comment is designed to rattle my self-confidence. She and my father are masters at deflection. They won’t turn this around on me. I’m not the problem here. Numbness settles over me, welcome and liberating. I direct my next statement to the prince. “Mrs. McElroy was just leaving.” The breath hisses out of her as I give her a little shove into the corridor.

  “I can come back another time.” His cultured British accent resonates into undiscovered places within me. He sounds so civilized, so controlled, and offers an anchor amidst the chaos.

  “No, please stay.” Opening the door wider, I step into the foyer and invite him inside with a sweep of my arm. As long as he’s here, I’m safe from my mother’s bullying. She won’t dare make a scene in front of royalty. Threats are for privacy and never for external ears, a lesson I learned before I could walk.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Prince Heinrich. We were just about to leave. Everly, you need to come with me.” The straightness of her shoulders dares me to defy her. Her voice lowers to a venomous whisper. “If you don’t do this, I won’t be able to protect you.”

  Protect me? From whom? A frisson of fear ices my blood. From my father? Until now, I never considered the possibility of danger from the one person in the world who should be my protector. Despite my misgivings, I can’t give in to her manipulations. If I do, I’ll become a party to Father’s treachery. “My decision is made. I’m not leaving with you. Not today. Not ever.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You have a chance to minimize the severity of this situation. I’m not going anywhere until you come to your senses.” Her tone is softer and carries a hint of desperation. She gives Henry a sideways glance followed by a polite smile. “We’re having a bit of a family crisis.”

  "I understand." Sunlight catches the chestnut and auburn strands in his golden hair. Despite his admission, he doesn't leave my side. His presence is reassuring.

  I lift my chin higher. “My senses are better than ever. You—you’re the one with a malfunctioning moral compass.” With each word, my boldness grows stronger. Anger paces at its side. None of this is my fault. I’m the only person in my famil
y who’s done the right thing. Weariness tempers the rising tide of my rage. “Please go before I call security.”

  The three of us stare at each other. Prince Henry seems unbothered by the suffocating animosity in the air. I expect to see pity or annoyance in his gaze. Instead, I find strength in the somber lines of his face. His footsteps tap softly on the marble floor as he enters the foyer. The chandelier reflects off the shiny surface of his black shoes. Once inside, he turns to face my mother, blocking the entrance, shielding me with his broad shoulders. "I believe you're no longer welcome here, Mrs. McElroy.”

  A shocked giggle bursts from my lips. No stranger has ever spoken to my mother that way, especially not someone of his power and influence. I clear my throat and cock an eyebrow, daring her to rebel. After an uncomfortable pause, she nods. “You’re going to regret this, Everly. If you don’t come with me, you can consider yourself removed from our family.”

  “With pleasure.” I slam the door in her face and lean my forehead against the cool wood. The enormity of what I’ve done hits me hard. Tremors wrack my body from crown to heel until my teeth chatter. The futility of my position becomes more apparent as the seconds pass. My mother chose my murderous father over her only daughter. Never in my life have I felt so alone. Tears sting behind my closed eyelids. I will not cry. I will not cry. I. Will. Not. Cry.

  “Everly?” Prince Henry’s deep voice reminds me of his presence. “Are you okay?” He must think I’m a complete train wreck. Then again, I just released a statement to the world admitting my hero father is an adulterous, homicidal maniac. Why wouldn’t he?

  "No. No, I'm not." In this moment, I'm confident I'll never be okay again. Hiding the truth will only make me look dumber than I already feel.

  “Come here.” He turns my body to face him. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders. I close my eyes and let him hold me, desperate for some kind of comfort. The notch of his collarbone is exposed through the open collar of his dress shirt. My nose nestles there, a perfect fit. In my heels, I’m almost six feet tall, but he towers above me. The scent of clean linen and his aftershave reminds me of pleasant dinner parties and quiet evenings in the Hamptons. His grasp is firm and soothing but not carnal. Still, a tingle of sexual awareness zings into my lower belly. Beneath the lapels of his navy suit jacket, his torso is solid. The warmth of his body seeps into mine. For the first time in months, I feel safe and protected.

  “I’m sorry.” Gathering my composure, I push away and immediately miss the shelter of his embrace. “How embarrassing.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Judgment and pity are absent from his tone. I study him, intrigued. Up close, his goatee is almost brown but has the same auburn and chestnut strands running through it as his hair "My great-grandfather killed his father to claim the throne. I understand the dynamics of a powerful family." Of course, he does. Knowing this unfurls the knot of tension in my gut. Sensing my relief, he continues. “Another one of my ancestors beheaded his only son because he was so fearful of a coup.”

  “When you put it like that, my situation doesn’t seem so awful.” His hair curls at the nape of his neck. Desire flickers in a shadowy corner of my body. Another time—another place—I would have found him irresistible. The temptation to run my fingers through those silky strands and tousle their perfection is tempting. To curb the impulse, I clench my fingers at my sides. There are more pressing matters to be dealt with.

  “I’ve known your father for many years. His thirst for power is unquenchable. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Crossing him can’t be good for your health.”

  Father’s threats to Rourke ring in my ears. My fear grows. What if I’m next? I don’t want to believe my father is capable of such a horrific crime. Then again, I never thought he could commit treason against his country or arrange to kill his mistress. I swallow hard. “So you’ve seen the news?”

  His head bobs. “I imagine even the Pygmies of Cameroon have heard by now.”

  I have no idea who the Pygmies are, but I’m too distracted to ask. “Do you think I’m in danger?” He doesn’t answer. The ensuing silence increases my terror.

  “Can we sit?” His gaze flicks from my face to the living room. I nod. Gentle fingers wrap around my elbow and lead me to the sofa where my mother had sat moments earlier. Traces of her perfume linger in the air. The scent turns my stomach. He sits in the chair across from me, leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and clasps his hands between his widespread knees. “Do you need my help, Everly?”

  “Maybe.” The quiet concern in his voice stirs butterflies of anxiety in my chest. I’m so far out of my depth in this situation; I have no idea what to do, where to go, or whom I can trust.

  "Do you have anyone you can call for help? A family member or a legal advisor?" I open my mouth, but he stops me with one sharp look. "Someone other than a Menshikov?"

  “No.” The desperation of my situation clicks home. Although Rourke is my best friend, she’s got more than enough on her plate right now. I don’t want to worry her. My family has caused her enough pain. “I have friends—counsel—but they might be on my father’s payroll.” I’d underestimated the scope of his power once before. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Everyone in my circle—everyone but Rourke—had ties to my father in one form or another. My fingers tighten on the edge of the sofa, making dents in the cushion. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

  “You’re not truly fucked until the last shovelful of dirt hits the top of your coffin.” He leans closer until his knees almost touch mine. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Everly. Do you need my help?”

  Yes. The admission screams through my head, although I remain silent. I’m too proud, too ashamed, too stubborn, to accept assistance from a stranger. For all I know, he’s an ally of my father. They had lunch together just a few days earlier, a fact I can’t ignore.

  He seems to read my thoughts. “I owe your father less than nothing. Our meeting the other day was purely business.” The lines around his mouth deepen. “We had mutual interests. I’d hoped we might come to some sort of agreement before my father—before I take the throne. Of course, he refused to see my side of the situation. I can see now that I was foolish.”

  Once again, the mysterious meaning behind his statement escapes me. The nature of his relationship with Father has always been unclear but obviously contentious. “He always gets his way. Always.”

  Henry bends forward to hear the soft words fall from my lips. His gaze catches on my mouth and hovers there for the span of a heartbeat before flicking back to my eyes. I press my thighs together, afraid to acknowledge the excitement of having him so close and intent. “And what about you, Everly?”

  I don’t have a chance to answer. A familiar, unwelcome voice breaks the hold of Prince Henry’s stare. “Well, don’t the two of you look cozy.” I flinch at Nicky’s appearance in the doorway. His gaze bounces between the prince and me before settling on my heat-filled face.

  “How—how did you get in here?” I rise to my feet. This man has already broken my heart. The last thing I need is more of his bullshit. Although I’m angry at his intrusion, a part of me can’t help but admire the way his gray sweater accentuates the swell of muscles in his chest. My traitorous heart skips a beat, and I hate myself for it.

  He lifts a key in the air and jingles it. “I came to deliver this—” In the flush of misguided obsession, I’d given him a key to my apartment. Stupid, stupid girl. A smirk curls the corners of his lips. “—and a warning.”

  Nicky is the cherry on top of an already miserable day. I cross the room and make an ineffectual grab for the keychain. He lifts it higher, dangling it a few inches out of my reach. If he knew how close I am to losing my shit, he wouldn’t bait me. “Give it here.”

  He studies my face for a minute. His gray eyes give nothing away. I stare back at him, clinging to the last remaining shreds of my dignity. Ignoring me, he walks further into the room. “Good to see you, Henry.” The an
gle of his nod holds grudging respect. “Everly, I’m heartbroken to see you’ve forgotten me so quickly. And Henry, you certainly didn’t waste any time moving in on my girl. Then again, I suppose a man in your position doesn’t have time to waste.”

  “I’m not your girl,” I growl. “I’m not your anything.”

  “Don’t let him get to you.” Henry’s words tickle against the shell of my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck lift in a pleasant shiver. I had no idea he was behind me. When he straightens, his chest brushes my shoulder blades. “Return the keys to the young lady, Nicky. Don’t be disrespectful.”

  Nicky drops the keys into my palm and lifts his shoulders in an elegant shrug. His long fingers close around my hand. The metal key bites into my flesh. “And now for the warning.”

  4

  Everly

  Nicky’s ominous tone turns my blood to ice. At my back, I feel the heat from Henry’s body. We barely know each other, but I’m acutely aware of his presence in the room. My father once said that great men need no introduction, and now I understand what he meant. Henry owns the space, commands it, making it all too easy to picture him on the throne of a magnificent castle.

  “Spit it out, Nicky.” Henry’s smooth tenor echoes with the confidence of a man used to giving orders and having them followed.

  Nicky walks to the window, taking his time, and nudges the curtain aside to peer down at the street. In his true fashion, he draws out the moment for drama’s sake, basking in the spotlight of our attention. “Word on the street is that your father has bought you a ticket for the late show.”

  “Are you sure?” Henry strides to Nicky and places a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn his attention back to the center of the room.