Ever After (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 3)

by Aya Ling

  Still, his confidence both reassures and unsettles me. I’m glad he won’t be punished for his ‘crime,’ but on the other hand, his privilege as a royal is exactly why people like Liam have been voicing resentment. Were Lord Fremont not a well known peer, he would have been sentenced to jail long ago for assaulting and impregnating Nell. Although the girls are much better off now, no amount of alimony can magically heal the trauma Nell had gone through.

  Liam’s voice echoes in my mind. The lords comprise only a small percentage of our population, yet they control most of the wealth.

  Edward tweaks a lock of my hair. “What are you contemplating, love?”

  I tell him about Liam and the Union. “I’m worried about what they might do. There were thousands of people in the city square, and they were all shouting and yelling they’ve been unfairly treated. I won't be surprised if they've printed and distributed tens of thousands of Liam's pamphlet.”

  “We are not like Moryn,” Edward says. “If there is truly unrest, the Metropolitan Police will take care of it.”

  “That’s not the way to resolve the problem.” I turn and face him, letting him see how indignant I am. “The thing is, they have a point. I don't think it's okay that the nobles have so much land when most of the population is burdened by food prices. If we let the nobles continue as before, there will definitely be more complaints from the people.”

  “I understand.” Edward grits his teeth. “I shall introduce the tax bill as soon as I can. I’ve tried scheduling it earlier, but a few lords, such as Sunderland and Westin, seem keen to discuss other acts first. My instinct is that they are unwilling to deal with it.”

  As a matter of fact, the problem of food shortage has become worse, despite the charity bazaar and other efforts the government has attempted. The price of grain has increased from ten silvers a pound to three golds. To put this into perspective, an everyman used to spend half of his wages on food. Now he could be spending nearly ninety percent. Last time I bought a hot bun at the park, it cost me a whole pound, when previously it was only a shilling. It doesn’t affect me that much—I still get to eat three full, wholesome meals every day—but I know most people in Athelia aren’t as lucky as I.

  Edward spends most of the day at the palace. I wish I could be there with him and offer him suggestions, but I am not allowed to participate in his meetings with the king and the ministers. Not even if I were queen. All I can do is wait for him to come home and ask him how their discussions went.

  Only one good thing has occurred while we’re dealing with the thorny issue of the food crisis. Due to nationwide sympathy since Edward’s confession at court, the Royal Marriages Act has been revoked. Since it isn’t a constitutional law, we only need the signatures from the current Privy Council members, such as Duke Philip, for the Royal Marriages Act to be abolished. In the future, marriage between a royal and commoner will be recognized. Edward and I can be married. All we have to do is wait for the decree absolute.

  Since I can’t accompany Edward to his meetings or help him with his work, I spend the mornings walking in the park with Bertram and Amelie. As Henry’s residence is in the city center, the park is one of the few places I can reach on foot. And since I’m still, technically speaking, a single gal, I shouldn’t be out alone, so I ‘chaperone’ Bertram and Amelie.

  Today, the headlines are about the new uprising in Moryn. A few weeks ago, Augustin had gone so deeply in debt that he had to raise taxes again, and this time his people had enough. The Moryn capital is now plunged into civil war.

  My insides go cold. Another uprising in Moryn. Will Augustin be able to resolve this again? And Henry’s still there…is he going to be okay?

  I walk slowly, my mind on Moryn, when I hear a gunshot.

  My heart stands still for a moment. Guns exist in Athelia--Edward had mentioned most policemen equipped with a revolver, but I’ve never seen people using them, apart from hearing them fired in the honor of welcoming Augustin at the State Visit.

  “Get down!” Bertram shouts.

  The next second, things happen in rapid succession. I’m pushed to the ground with such force that my body hurts from banging on the ground, and then I discover Bertram grappling with a heavyset man with bulging arms and a broad chest.

  Another gunshot goes off.

  Bertram stumbles, clutching his side.

  Amelie shrieks—a most terrible sound that pierces the air, as though she were the one shot.

  There’s a grunt of pain—Bertram has punched the shooter in the stomach, and the gun falls on the ground. I don’t know where I got the strength, but I leap forward and pick up the gun. It’s heavy, and I have to use both hands to grasp it firmly.

  “Stop!” I yell. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

  To be honest, I don’t think I could have fired that gun. I have trained in karate, but I’ve never picked up a gun in my life, and as Bertram is in close range, I’m afraid I might wound him instead.

  While the shooter stares at the gun in my hands, maybe debating whether he should run for it, Bertram uses this chance to knock him out. A blow to the head, and he sinks to the ground.

  “Call a policeman!” I yell at the nearest person. A crowd has gathered, but they’re standing far away.

  Amelie rushes past me and presses a handkerchief into Bertram’s side. Red liquid seeps from her hands, soaking her handkerchief.

  “Call a doctor! We’ve got a wounded person here.”

  As I continue to point the gun at the man who shot Bertram, I try to collect my thoughts together. Unless it was an accident—that man was trying to shoot me. But I don’t recognize him—I’m sure I would if I had ever met him. He’s the second largest man I’ve seen in Athelia, after Bertram.

  By a miracle, there is a doctor in the park. He asks Bertram take off his shirt and inspects the wound carefully. After a while, he pronounces that Bertram will be all right.

  “Luckily, the bullet only grazed his side. It’ll hurt pretty bad and he’ll need a few stitches, but none of his organs are injured.”

  Amelie lets out a small sob. She flings her arms around Bertram’s neck and kisses him, right on the mouth.

  There is a flash of surprise in Bertram’s eyes, but he puts his arm around her neck and draws her to him. It’s not until the policeman arrives that they break apart.

  It is then that I am able to put down the gun and sink to the ground. Cold sweat has gathered on my brow, my neck, and my knees have turned into jelly. If Bertram weren’t there…I could be dead now. I’m so glad to be alive. Not just because I’ve no desire to become a corpse, but because I can’t bear to think of how devastated Edward would be.

  * * *

  At the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, we sit together while the head sergeant questions us. Bertram was given the option of going home, but he insists he ‘ain’t such a weakling.’ But he doesn’t say no when Amelie helps him hobble across the room, though her strength can’t be sufficient to support his weight.

  “...and when I was walking along, I saw that man with his back ter us, a gun in his hand and aiming for Princess Kat. So I jumped him.”

  The burly shooter sits sullenly in a corner in handcuffs. When the sergeant asks for his identity, he gives it reluctantly.

  “Ethan Bollard.” The sergeant jots down the info on a yellow pad. “Why’d you shoot the young lady? What’s your relationship with her?”

  “Didn’t mean to.” Bollard shrugs his heavy shoulders. “Was an accident. I don’t even know ‘er.”

  “You’d need to come up with a better lie than that,” the sergeant says severely. “No man would go for a stroll in the park with a gun.”

  Just at the moment, there’s the sound of boots pounding on the floor, and the next second Edward appears, his face white and agitated. His gaze zeroes on me immediately, and I assure him I’m all right.

  “It’s Bertram that’s hurt. He saved my life.”

  Edward grasps Bertram’s hand with both of his. �
��I shall see that you are amply rewarded for your services,” he says, quietly but firmly. “That is the second time you have rescued Kat.”

  Bertram goes as red as a beet. “’Tis my job, Your Highness. Nothing ter make a big deal about.”

  “I insist.” Edward uses his don’t-argue-with-me-it’s-useless tone, then he glances at Bollard, who actually flinches under His Royal Highness’s murderous gaze. It’s amazing how one look from Edward can intimidate this huge, muscular man.

  “Did you try to kill my wife?”

  No one bothers to point out I’m not married to him yet.

  “The gun went off by accident,” Bollard says, but his eyes are on the ground.

  “What’s your name? Where do you work at?”

  Bollard confessed that he’s a bodyguard at a high-class casino. The police would have found out anyway, so I guess he decided he might as well reveal his identity.

  Edward draws a deep breath. However, the rest of us, from the sergeant to Bertram, all look confused.

  “The casino owner is an old friend of Lord Pembroke.”

  Pembroke. Everything clicks into place. The wife of Lord Pembroke is—

  “Bianca.” The name falls from my lips. “She hired this man to kill me.”

  40

  Kat

  I have never seen Edward so angry before. He doesn’t express his feelings with an explosion of temper, such as slapping his palms on the table, but instead I can feel his rage radiating from him like waves. Were Bianca in the same room with us, he would have throttled her.

  Bollard insists he knows nothing, but Edward continues to pierce him with his icy glare, repeating in a low, threatening tone that it’ll be easier for him if he confesses.

  “If you do not want to be known as the killer of the future queen of Athelia,” Edward says, his tone as biting as the wind in Antartica, “then you’d do well to tell us everything you know. It will be the worse for you if you withhold information; a lifetime imprisonment would be the very least. However, I swear to you I shall have your sentence lightened if you confess.”

  In the end, the bodyguard gives in. Lord Pembroke had indeed visited the casino, and the owner had summoned him and asked him to do away ‘that red-haired girl living with His Highness before she gets back to the palace.’ He originally turned the offer down, but Pembroke told him he’d be paid five thousand pounds. He had been lurking near Henry’s house for days. His huge frame should have stuck out, but with Bertram around, Bollard isn’t as noticeable. As I go to the park regularly in the morning, he found his chance to kill me.

  Once Bollard makes a full confession and the sergeant jots everything down, Edward requests for formal proceedings to prosecute the Pembrokes.

  “An assassination attempt is made on the future princess of Athelia,” he says, his expression lethal. “Schedule their trial in the earliest possible date. Have the details sent to the Duke of Somerset’s House in the city.”

  The sergeant is quick to assent, bowing and apologizing.

  On our way back to Henry’s house, Edward is silent, but his anger is still burning. His hands are clenched into fists; his knuckles are white. I take a handkerchief and dab away the sweat on his forehead, in an attempt to soothe him.

  “Thank heavens you’re safe. If anything happened to you...if you were harmed…” His voice wavers, as though he could not find words enough to convey his fear if I were shot. “I will kill Bianca Bradshaw with my own hands. They can sentence me to jail.”

  “I don’t understand why she did it. I mean, I know she wouldn’t mind getting rid of me, but didn’t she realize she could be discovered?”

  “Anger can make a person lose her head. She did not expect you would return and retake the throne, a position she has always desired for herself.”

  “She must have considerable influence on her husband as well,” I muse. “He was willing to risk his chance of being found out and contract a hitman, just because she wants me dead.”

  “I suspect that her husband is not against the idea of you being gone. Your behavior contrasts sharply with indolent aristocrats like Pembroke, and he is concerned that the people will start to believe that those in wealth and power should act like you.” Edward lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, love. If you married a normal person, you would not have to worry about being in the public sphere. After what happened today...” he falters for a moment. “Do you regret having met me?”

  “Never,” I say with emphasis. “I’d rather take the risks than living without you.”

  He breaks into a relieved grin. His arms go around me in a loving, protective embrace, and we hold each other for a long time, until the carriage stops. The future may be hazy, and there could be numerous difficulties, but with Edward by my side, we’ll get through everything together.

  * * *

  The news of the attempt on my life spreads like wild fire in the papers. Since the Royal Marriages Act is abolished, it is taken for granted that I am the future princess of Athelia. And an attempt to kill the future princess is guaranteed to make headlines. Bollard’s name is reported widely, but surprisingly, very few articles mention the Pembrokes, despite Bollard having made a full confession.

  “I know where the Pembrokes intend to go with this,” Edward says, pointing at an article titled Madman Fires in Public Park. “They’re attempting to paint him as a man suffering from mental disorder. By declaring him insane, they will attempt to argue that his confession cannot be taken seriously.”

  “But he looked perfectly normal when you questioned him in the headquarters,” I say. “He doesn’t even know me, and he doesn’t gain anything if I’m dead. There’s no reason he wants to kill me, other than that someone else told him to do it.”

  “Do not worry.” He sets his jaw. “I will not rest until the Pembrokes are convicted. I will not tolerate the chance of you being in danger again.”

  There’s a darkness in his tone; he looks capable of committing murder himself. Before, when I was attacked in the streets by Mr. Tolliver, he was already frantic with worry. I can still remember when I visited his garden, and how he put his hands on my shoulders and told me he could have the palace physician for me. This time, things are more serious. We had believed I would no longer be in danger, since the fairies’ magic allowed me to survive, and Edward has got me out of jail. We had thought that since the divorce case, Edward and I will be able to remarry, and Bianca can never cause trouble again. But apparently, her hatred for me has run so deep that she was willing to risk her reputation to get rid of me.

  In the past, Bianca had tried to harm me, but they weren’t serious enough to make her a criminal. She had tried to lock me in the cellar when I wanted to go to the ball, she had accused me of posing as her sister, and most recently, she has thrown me into jail. Those instances were insufficient to convict her of criminal activity. However, hiring a hitman to kill me is an unpardonable crime. While Bollard should definitely be punished, I’ll be damned if he is the only person to take the blame. Aristocrats like Lord Fremont have got away unscathed because they could use their influence to twist or conceal their crimes. This time, Bianca and her husband shall not escape justice.

  * * *

  “No, you cannot leave the house.” Amelie’s voice is severe. “Not until the wound has healed.”

  On my way to the kitchen, I pass by the small room where Bertram sleeps. Normally the servants sleep on the fourth floor, but since he is shot in the side, Thomas and Cook cleared out a room for him—incidentally, it’s also a storage room where Cook keeps sacks of flour and sugar.

  Bertram is the only person who’s happy after the incident. Amelie has changed completely after Bertram took a bullet for me. She nurses him every day, changing his bandages and bringing him meals, and he’s basking under the tender care of his long-time crush. Like he’s gone to heaven.

  “The wound ain’t that serious,” Bertram protests. “His Highness will be needing me around.”

  “You are no
use to him if you cannot walk,” Amelie says severely. The door is purposefully left open to safeguard her reputation, and I can see she’s leaning over Bertram with her hands on her hips. “Lie back, you idiot. Until the doctor says you are fit to walk, you are not getting out of this bed. If you’re bored, I can read you a story. Princess Katriona has quite a collection.”

  Since I moved into Henry’s house, I have been buying a lot of novels. Not being officially princess, I don’t have mountains of letters to read and answer, nor can I help Edward proofread his drafts. So I occupy my spare time with more novels from The Bookworm. I’m not sure if Bertram will enjoy the Gothic romances, but I won’t pass up a chance to hear Amelie reading romances in her curt, serious voice.

  “All right, then,” Bertram says with reluctance. “As long as you stay by my side.”

  I have to swallow back a laugh. Oh my. Bertram must have picked up some flirting tips from his master.

  “I’m going to get the book,” Amelie says, her face rosy red. “And remember, don’t you get up and move, or I won’t be looking after you.”

  “‘Course, Amelie.”

  I smile and turn away. It has taken years, but Bertram has found his way to Amelie’s heart.

  41

  Kat

  I am reading the paper by the window when Cook knocks on my door.

  “There’s a message for you, Princess.” She hands me a thin envelope.

  “Thanks.” I look for the letter-opener, then pause. “Why are you bringing me the mail instead of Amelie?”

  “She’s changing bandages for that young giant.” Cook shakes her head in exasperation. “Never saw a man so happy to be shot.”

  I repress a giggle. “Thanks. You sure you don’t need any help in the kitchen? I’m almost finished here.”