The Heart of a Ruler

by Marie Ferrarella

  For a moment, Weston allowed his thoughts drift to another time, a time when his hair was dark and his body firmer. When there had been a wife by his side and anything was possible.

  “And eventually,” he continued, looking at Russell, “I was glad I did. Eventually, I came to enjoy my lofty position. It is seductive in its own right, being king,” he confided. “Now things are in place for your coronation and I want to know, if this child does exist and we do find it, how are you going to feel?” When Russell said nothing, Weston supplied a word for him. “Cheated?”

  “Relieved,” Russell finally countered after a moment had passed. “I have never in my life wanted to be the center of attention. I always did much better when I was allowed to work off to the side.”

  But the king heard only one thing. “There’s hesitation in your voice, Carrington.”

  He couldn’t dispute that. But he wasn’t hesitating because he wanted the crown. Not for its own sake at any rate. “I was wondering…”

  “Yes?”

  There was no delicate way to broach this. Russell felt almost transparent as he asked, “If I am not to be king, will my union with the princess be annulled?”

  The question caught Weston by surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe so, but it would have to be discussed with King Roman.” And then the thoughtful frown disappeared, to be replaced with a tickled laugh. “Forgive me, Carrington, but this is placing the horse before the cart. If there is a cart. If there is a horse,” he added with a hopeful note.

  To Russell’s surprise, the king let out a long, soulful sigh. “I still cannot make myself believe that Reginald is actually gone. I miss him, Russell,” he confided, his voice lowering to almost an intimate whisper. “Miss the thought of him, actually. Our paths did not really cross all that often these last few years.” The king waved his hand vaguely about. “I was always involved in matters of state and he was always out, doing something,” Weston’s mouth twisted in an indulgent smile, “unstatesmanlike I suppose would be the best description of what he got himself into.”

  Russell felt for the man, but he knew that they had to move the investigation forward on all fronts. And the king had stymied one avenue. He began as gently as he could. “Your Majesty, about the autopsy—”

  Momentarily lost in thought, in the possibility that Reginald had left behind a piece of himself, it took Weston a second to realize that Russell had allowed his voice to trail off. “Yes? What about it?”

  Several people had put the question to him, asking him when the funeral was going to be held. The funeral couldn’t be arranged until after the autopsy was performed. “I think we need to attend to that.”

  Weston looked away, gazed out the window, saw the years that had passed. “We will.”

  “Sooner rather than later, sire,” Russell urged. “Arrangements need to be made for the funeral. I can handle that for you if you wish, but first—”

  “I know, I know, the autopsy. Yes, you are correct, of course. I’ll give instructions about that presently, I give you my word.” Turning from the window, he looked at Russell again. “A baby, you say?”

  Russell smiled indulgently, knowing that he would not be leaving soon. “Yes, sire, a baby.”

  When Russell finally left the king’s quarters some twenty minutes later, he was concerned about Weston’s state of mind as well as the monarch’s general health. The king, always so robust, so vibrant-looking, suddenly seemed to be wearing his years heavily. Russell knew it was the shock of the prince’s death on top of his concerns about the state of unrest that was presently rocking Silvershire. The actions of the Union for Democracy had stepped up. Rumors of it coming to a head had been heard. He’d half expected something to take place during the wedding. The king had called in extra security around the palace just in case.

  It seemed too much for one man to handle.

  Reginald’s autopsy was the immediate matter that really needed to be seen to, but there was no way to overrule the king. At first the delay had been because he had wanted his son’s body to remain whole until after the wedding. Then the excuse was that he only wanted the royal medical examiner to perform the autopsy. Away on a short vacation, the doctor had turned around immediately and taken a flight back, only to be caught up in a temporary quarantine because two of the passengers on her return flight came down with a mysterious ailment. But she was here now, and still the autopsy was being delayed. He could only hope that the king’s common sense would finally prevail.

  Maybe news of the baby would finally get the king to move forward. Thank God Lazlo’s operative was making some headway. The woman felt she was getting close to cracking the prince’s code, which would open up the rest of the files to them and perhaps give them a better insight as to who might have wanted not merely to threaten the prince, but to actually carry out that threat.

  And then there was the matter of the blackmail. Who and what was behind that?

  He had a dozen questions and so far, no answers. He reminded himself that patience was a virtue, but he wasn’t feeling very virtuous right now.

  Amelia heard him before he even had a chance to enter the informal dining area within their quarters.

  Her mouth curved. Strange how quickly she had gotten in tune with the sound of his steps. Her smile widened, its tributaries spreading out all through her.

  Ironic, wasn’t it? This was the first time that she was actually happy to be the princess of Gastonia. Not that she didn’t love her country, but she could have loved it just as much if she’d been a commoner. But being the princess, with a princess’s obligations, had, thanks to a twist of fate, allowed her to marry the man she had always secretly loved. Even despite all those strange little bugs that had come crawling out of her bed and the water balloons that had come flying almost out of nowhere during his visits.

  She felt just a fleeting pinch of guilt at being happy over Reginald’s death, but then, she had to be realistic. The man would have made an awful ruler. His personality, that of a self-absorbed hedonist, was cast and set. There was absolutely no reason to believe that ascending the throne would have made Reginald behave in any other manner than he always had.

  On the contrary, it might even have made him worse. No one in Silvershire would have been happy, least of all her.

  Well, no one, she amended silently, but the women Reginald took to his bed and rewarded with trinkets for their favors.

  “Good afternoon, my husband. It’s about time you made a little time for me,” she joked as she turned around.

  The smile on her face froze when she saw the somber expression on Russell’s face.

  Chapter 14

  “What’s the matter?” The words slipped from her lips in slow motion as nerves began to knit themselves together and tighten.

  Something was wrong, Amelia thought, looking at Russell. Something had changed since last night when, like all the other nights since the wedding, they had found a haven in each other’s arms. Her mind stretched itself in several directions at the same time, searching for a reason for the somber expression on her husband’s face.

  Had he found out something more about Reginald’s death? Had someone else been killed? Was there some kind of further trouble or intrigue brewing against the crown?

  The burden of leadership weighed heavily on her shoulders. Concerns about subversive organizations and the havoc they could wreak were never all that far from her mind and especially now that she had become the wife of a man who was about to ascend the throne of Silvershire.

  Heads of state were given to dark thoughts, even if they tried to maintain a light, gentle touch, she thought sadly, wishing it were otherwise. She had only to look to her father to know that.

  Had her father’s thoughts been lighter, more optimistic in nature, she knew that he would have not felt the need to forestall a possible and entirely theoretical attack from Naessa by marrying her off to the future king of a stronger, more powerful cou
ntry. Within reason and adhering to the proper boundaries of the social world into which she had been born, Amelia felt that she might have been left to her own devices in choosing a mate. Possibly allowed to even follow her heart instead of an international game plan.

  And she would have wound up exactly where she was, she thought, married to Russell, who was the man of her heart’s choice.

  Sometimes life arranged itself in mysterious ways, she mused.

  Russell wasn’t sure just how to say what he had to say. Never glib, he’d still been thought of as being diplomatic. It had always been his job to exercise damage control after Reginald had had one of his escapades. But when it came to matters that concerned him, his tongue felt as if it were bundled up in an overcoat that was two sizes too large.

  So he picked his way slowly through what was suddenly a potential minefield to him. “Amelia, certain things have come to light.”

  She’d never seen him look like that before, as if hope were only a word to be found in a dictionary. Her heart felt like a solid lump of coal in her chest.

  “Things?” she repeated, bracing herself for the worst. “What things? And why do you look as if you’re about to tell me that my pardon has been revoked and that I am about to face a firing squad?”

  He nearly smiled. Incredible how her exaggeration had almost hit the nail on the head. At least, as far as his own situation was concerned. She, of course, might have feelings of an entirely different nature if this baby did turn out to be Reginald’s heir. If that caused their union to be rendered null and void, Amelia might not greet the news with a heavy heart. She might even, it occurred to him, be relieved.

  He was quiet. More so than usual. This was a bad sign. Amelia tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but it wasn’t easy. And there were no clues that she could discern in his eyes.

  When she’d woken up this morning to find Russell gone, she’d just assumed that the new king-in-waiting was going about some sort of royal business. Taking the crown over from Weston required a great deal of transfer of information. And there was the coronation looming before them. The date had been changed, but still, it couldn’t be in the too-distant future. There was a great deal that had to be attended to between then and now in order for Russell to become prepared for that auspicious occasion.

  Unlike her, she thought ruefully. Her role in the upcoming coronation was merely decorative. Her only job was either to stand or to sit beside Russell and look proud, which she knew she could handle without being required to resort to any acting on her part, because she was proud, very proud. Proud of the man she had taken to her heart. Proud of the man that she knew he was. Russell was everything that Reginald had never been and, had he lived, she was fairly certain he would never have become. Honest, kind, loyal, Russell was the kind of man who was concerned about leaving the world a better place than when he had first entered it.

  But the dark look on his face probably had nothing to do with the coronation.

  Or did it? she suddenly wondered.

  Talk to me, she all but screamed mentally. Out loud, she felt she had to prod him along. “Is this about Reginald?”

  “In a way, yes.” And then, in the light of the repercussions that would follow Reginald’s thoughtless act, Russell amended his statement. “In a very large way, actually.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. Had she been alone, she might have sat down, braced herself before hearing more. But she had always prided herself on meeting adversity head-on, on “hanging tough” before a world that was quick to judge. And Russell, she reminded herself, had never seen her in action. She couldn’t give in to weaker elements and show him that she was unnerved. He had to think of her as strong.

  “Is he alive?” she finally asked in a hushed, disbelieving voice.

  Had there been some mistake made earlier? Had the body that Russell found in Reginald’s bed only resembled Reginald marginally? Was that what he was so obviously wrestling with telling her now?

  Oh God, please don’t let it be that. Don’t let me have to marry Reginald, after all.

  She’d hang tough, she promised herself. A marriage was a marriage and there was no way she was ever going to leave her marriage bed, no matter what Russell was about to tell her.

  Stunned by the question, Russell looked at her incredulously. “You mean did he suddenly rise up from the dead? Reginald was many things in his lifetime, but a vampire was never one of them.” Although, more than once, he’d heard the late prince referred to as a bloodsucking ghoul.

  She cleared her throat, feeling a little foolish for being so skittish. “No, I just thought that maybe a mistake had been made in identifying the body.”

  “I was the one who found the body,” he reminded her. “It was Reginald. No mistakes were made.”

  Outside, a cloud passed over the sun, suddenly making the room seem dark. She fervently hoped it wasn’t an omen. Amelia drew her courage to her and demanded, “Then what is it that you’re talking about? What has this to do with Reginald?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, wondering what her reaction might be. Despite her words, did becoming a queen outweigh everything else for her? There was only one way to find out. “There might be an heir.”

  Confusion narrowed her eyes. “An heir?”

  He felt a twinge of guilt for having kept this from her, but it hadn’t been for long.

  “The computer expert that was sent from the Lazlo Group discovered some personal correspondence on Reginald’s laptop from a woman claiming that she was pregnant with his baby.” Russell couched his words carefully. “It could be a hoax—”

  “Or, it could be true,” Amelia countered pragmatically.

  Very honestly, she was surprised that this was the first paternity claim to be made, and that there was only one. Reginald had gone around scattering his seed with abandon since he’d been in his teens. That this was the first so-called bastard that had surfaced was rather incredible.

  Amelia paused for a moment, looking at Russell. He spoke to her as if she were his equal in this, instead of some hanger-on to be kept in the dark. She liked that.

  She hadn’t been wrong about him, she thought. Her heart had picked the right man to love.

  “And if it is true,” Russell continued, “if she does give birth and the child turns out to be a boy—” He paused, studying her face as he waited for the significance of what he was saying to set in.

  It didn’t take much to know where Russell was going with this, Amelia thought. “You’re thinking he could be next in line, rather than you.”

  “Yes.”

  When she was a young girl, everything about her life seemed to be cast in stone. Things were fixed according to her father’s word or to the traditions that seemed to rule so much of her life. Now, with this news, it felt as if everything was in flux and what she thought was stone was merely plaster of Paris, easily cracked. Easily shattered.

  The crown was not yet on Russell’s head and, if certain things came to pass, it might never be. She looked at Russell, trying to gauge what he was thinking. The man could play poker with the best of them, she decided. Had her kingdom’s only income still been garnered from the casinos, he would have made a perfect symbol of the successful gambler.

  “How does that make you feel?” she finally asked.

  He answered her honestly. “Relieved—except…” Unable to finish, he looked at her.

  “Except?” she prompted.

  He was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but when it came to her, he found that he couldn’t quite help himself. “Except for the fact that if this does come to light, your father might call for an annulment of our marriage.”

  “An annulment?” For the first time since Russell had entered the suite, she found herself laughing. Laughing so hard that her next few words were shaky as she uttered them. “Annulments are granted if the marriage isn’t consummated. I think it’s a little too late to call off the marriage using that as the e
xcuse on record,” she quipped. “We’ve ‘consummated’ this marriage a great many times as I recall.” She put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. “I’m afraid an annulment is out of the question, Russell.”

  He took her hand, about to brush it off. He found himself holding it instead. Wondering if he’d been a fool, thinking that he would be allowed to face eternity with her at his side.

  “This isn’t a laughing matter, Amelia. You know what I mean.”

  Amelia took a breath, doing her best to steady herself. But her cheeks refused to pull themselves into a serious expression no matter how much she told herself they should.

  “Yes, I know what you mean and I beg to differ, Carrington. The day we cease to laugh is the day we begin to die. This most certainly is a laughing matter because, in case you hadn’t noticed, I got the last laugh, so to speak.” When he looked at her quizzically, she explained. “I didn’t have to marry that horrible hedonist.”

  And then she stopped abruptly. Russell was looking at her as if he was trying to assess something. As if he was seeing her for the first time. Because she was so incredibly attuned to him, she suddenly realized what he had to be thinking. It hit her squarely in the pit of her stomach.

  She might have been affronted, Amelia thought, if the thought wasn’t so completely absurd, so foreign from anything she might have entertained.

  Because she always tried to put the best possible face on everything, even an insult, she decided to take Russell’s unwarranted suspicion, however fleeting, as a compliment to her ability to take care of herself.

  “No, Russell, I didn’t have Reginald killed, if that’s what you’re thinking. I would have had to take a number and I have never liked having to stand in line. My father once said that if I had to stand in line to get into heaven, I’d probably decide to go to hell instead.” She cocked her head, studying his face. This wasn’t all. “What else is bothering you?”