Arranged: A Masters and Mercenaries Novella

by Lexi Blake

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because it’s my last chance to make things right for him. He wasn’t raised to be the king. The pressure has been too much. He chafes at the bit because he was allowed too much freedom in his younger years. I must leave him with a woman who can handle him, who can direct him in how he should go. Someone who can be a partner to him, even lead him when he needs to be led. Someone strong, and if I allow him to he will choose poorly. If I had more time… I do not so I will place this bet on the table. I will put everything I have into it and see if you will call me. I’m not bluffing, Dayita. I will do this.”

  Day felt her breath flee as she realized the truth behind the queen’s words. “Does Kash know you’re dying?”

  “No.”

  “You have to tell him.”

  “I will, when the time is right.” She waved a hand and the door to the hallway opened. A servant rushed in, carrying a tray. It was as though she’d been hovering outside, waiting for the moment when the queen would call upon her, anxious to do her part.

  Was Day’s country calling her now? It was insane to think that in this day and age she would be asked to marry in order to help her country, but some of what the queen was saying made sense.

  “I’m a commoner.” She tried to come up with any way out of this trap.

  The queen took the pills her servant had brought her. She reached for them and clasped the older woman’s hand when they touched. This wasn’t a mere servant. Day had seen Mrs. Pashmi Indrus every time she’d met with the queen. She hovered in the background, but it was obvious she was close to her majesty. She handed the queen a glass of water.

  “So is the English girl and she’s done quite well,” the queen replied. “She is the new royalty and you are very much like her.”

  “I’m not a virgin.”

  That made the queen laugh. “Darling, no one is anymore. And to marry a virgin off to my son would be like handing one over to a dragon and expecting her to know how to slay it.”

  “I’m afraid I would be more likely to kill your son than to find happiness with him.”

  “You cared for him once.” She swallowed the pills and that proved to Day more than anything how serious the queen was. Her majesty would never allow herself to do something so personal around anyone but her small family. By showing Day her weakness, she was bringing her in. “I know the two of you were close in England. You can find this again.”

  Day shook her head, even though she knew damn well she was already sliding down the queen’s slippery slope. “We’re two entirely different people now.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re merely older and time has worn off some of your joy,” the queen said quietly. “It will do this to you, time will. Only if you let it. It’s easy to let time and pain change you into someone less than you were. Less able to love. Less able to forgive. Less able to look at this world of ours and see that it is so beautiful. Time teaches us to see the ugly parts so we can protect ourselves. But, darling, when we spend all of our energy protecting ourselves we miss out on all the reasons we’re alive in the first place.”

  Day felt a tear slip down her cheek and missed her mother so much in that moment. Her father had moved on, starting another family and leaving her behind, but she could hear her own mother in the queen’s words. Perhaps they were the words of every mother to her child, the prayer that her child would find love, joy, happiness. And a place in the world. A reason to be.

  “I cared for him a long time ago,” Day admitted. “But even then I didn’t think it could work.”

  “Then what fun it will be when it does,” the queen replied. “Am I taking you away from someone you truly care about? My intelligence says you haven’t had a serious man in your life for years.”

  Not since she’d made the decision to move home. She’d dated a few men in England and then had a more serious relationship when she’d taken the head of education job back here. It hadn’t worked out and now she threw herself into work. She was nearly thirty-six. There was plenty of time to find a mate.

  But would she find a calling as well? Already there was a part of her that wondered what she could do with that crown on her head. She could ensure that a whole generation of children got what they needed. She could be an ambassador for science around the world. The Professor Queen.

  She didn’t have to love Kash. She merely had to be a good partner to him. Perhaps some people found their true love in the form of another human being, but Day could find it in helping her people.

  “No, Your Majesty. I’m not in love. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.” Except she’d thought she’d loved Kash. Those months with him had haunted her for years. She could still remember how it felt to brush her lips against his.

  If the queen knew how she spent some of her nights, would she want her as a daughter-in-law?

  “There are personal things we should talk about.” Day couldn’t not be honest.

  “Is this about that club you go to? And the one in Paris? What was it called?”

  Mrs. Indrus piped up. “The Velvet Collar.”

  “Yes, that is the one.” The queen’s eyes lit with mirth. “Pashmi and I looked at their website. Very interesting place.”

  The queen’s servant giggled a bit behind her hand and suddenly looked years younger.

  And Day found herself blushing again. “It’s for relaxation. I rarely indulge myself physically.”

  “Well, that’s good because I’m sure that my son does. He needs a good spanking, if I do say so myself. You both like those clubs. That’s one thing you have in common. Excellent. It’s a start.” The queen clapped her hands together. “Now let’s talk about your wedding. Pashmi, could you get us some tea and then perhaps you will join us? You have such a good eye when it comes to colors. We shall fill the palace with flowers.”

  Pashmi strode away to do the queen’s will and Day realized she was trapped.

  Utterly and completely trapped in a cage she couldn’t force her way out of because there was a piece of her that still wanted to know if it could work.

  That was the most dangerous trap of all.

  Chapter Two

  Kash strode into the palace, well aware every single person he met had taken one look at him and fled the other way. The guards at the gates hadn’t questioned him, simply waved him by as they attempted to not look him in the eyes. The maids and servants he’d passed hadn’t offered a single greeting.

  The only person standing between him and his mother now would be the lord chamberlain. He had heard one of the maids calling for him. It wouldn’t do any good. Hanin Kota had taken over the running of the palace a few years before the king and Shray had been killed. He was a somewhat cold man who lived for formality. His family had worked for the Kamdars for decades. Kash had always thought it would be fun to fire him, but he’d deferred to his mother’s wishes.

  If Hanin gave him trouble, Kash would boot him out. There was a freedom in what his mother had done.

  He was angry. As angry as he could ever remember being.

  “You might chill out before you scare the shit out of the entire palace, Kash.” Jesse Murdoch easily kept up with him.

  He ignored his so-called guard. Murdoch wasn’t alone. The Boomer was with him. Yes, Kash would fire him, too. All of them.

  The one thing in his life that should have been his choice was being taken from him. Everywhere he turned he had responsibility weighing on him. Lately he’d tried to handle it by giving more and more to parliament. They seemed happy. Now he was supposed to give up his much-needed time away and take some unknown wife and stay at home and deliver a brood of mewling children to his mother?

  Chapal could have the crown. He’d decided that after the Brit had explained the situation he was in. His mother had used some antiquated rule of law to force his hand? Oh, she would find out he couldn’t be forced into this.

  “This is a real palace. It’s cool.” The mass of muscular flesh the others called
Boomer was smiling at everything like this was all one long vacation. “Hello, ma’am. Real nice place you got here.”

  “She’s a servant,” Kash shot back. “The palace doesn’t belong to her.”

  The young woman, who had to be all of twenty, turned back to her dusting, but not before he’d seen the way her skin had flushed with shame.

  When had he taken to hurting young women with careless words? He wasn’t this man. He was a charmer. He never shamed anyone for their position in society. Bloody hell. He was going mad.

  “Please accept my apologies,” he said quickly before turning back toward his destination. The queen mother’s wing was off to the left.

  “Don’t you mind him,” Boomer was saying to the maid. “He’s a massive asshole.”

  “He’s the king,” the woman whispered.

  “King Asswipe,” Boomer replied. “I was told he was cool and everything, but he’s real mean. He even sent away the lady with the mints on the airplane. Do you happen to know where the kitchen is? I’m a little hungry.”

  Good god, the man had eaten everything on the plane and he was complaining again? “Boomer” apparently meant never-ending gut in American English. “Ana, would you please escort Mr. Boomer to the kitchen and inform the chef that he’s in need of sustenance? He’s only eaten two full meals in the past few hours.”

  “Thank god. I’m starving.” Boomer let himself be led off.

  Which left him with only one intrusive guard. He’d managed to ditch Weston and the Texan, Michael Malone. They’d declared they needed to do a quick tour of the grounds so they could get something called a “lay of the land.” Now all he had to do was get rid of Murdoch and his life would be perfect. “Why don’t you go with him?”

  Murdoch simply smiled. “Because I would rather be with you.”

  “I’m going to yell at my mother,” Kash explained. “I would prefer to do it alone.”

  Murdoch shrugged. “I can stand out here. Please don’t try to run off.”

  “I’m not being run out of my own palace.” Kash turned for the door. His mother would be in her parlor at this time of day. He’d snuck in the back way in the hopes of catching his mother off guard. Surely she knew his plane had landed, but he’d moved quickly. She would be expecting him in another thirty minutes or so. He wanted her off guard so he could tell her exactly what she could do with her bloody wedding plans.

  His anger had been building over the course of the long flight. How dare she throw this at him? With everything else he had to deal with, the last thing he needed was his mother losing her mind.

  Yes, perhaps that was the way to go. His brain was working overtime and on almost no sleep. He’d tossed and turned all the way over. Not even drinking had helped ease him into peace. The whole time he’d fumed and raged, and he was ready to play as dirty as she was.

  Dementia. It wasn’t so surprising at her age. So what if she was only seventy and had all her faculties? The fact that she’d decided to take him on was proof enough that she’d lost her mind.

  He’d have her in a nice home shortly, and then when she cried and begged him to allow her to come home, he would. But only after she’d taken back that stupid invocation. She would go to parliament and explain that she would never question her son again.

  And anyone who ever did would find out that he was the damn king.

  He was about to open the doors when the lord chamberlain showed up, stepping right into the way. “I think you should wait, Your Majesty. The queen mother is busy at this time. I’ll set an appointment for you if you like.”

  Hanin stood there, a smug smile on his face and his suit in perfect condition.

  “I would like to fire you and punch you in the face on the way out. If you don’t move out of the way and allow me access to my mother, I will.”

  “You always were a bit of an animal, weren’t you, Kashmir?” But he stepped aside.

  “Don’t ever forget it. And that’s ‘Your Majesty.’” At least it was until he shoved the crown somewhere the sun didn’t shine.

  He opened the outer doors, ready to have it out with his mother.

  “Be quick, Pashmi. They say he’s on his way. I can’t have my son seeing this.”

  Seeing what? Oh, he would see everything. He would control everything since it seemed he was never allowed to be out of control. They came at him from all sides. When he wasn’t dealing with parliament, he was fighting with OPEC or some other oil cartel. When he finally found something he felt good about, some asshole ex-CIA guy blew it all up, and now he was expected to take this from his own mother? No way.

  He shoved through the inner doors and stopped.

  Hanin moved past him. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop him but he threatened me with physical violence.”

  “It’s all right,” his mother was saying. “He would have found out anyway.”

  His mother’s long-time maid was helping her to sit up and a woman in medical scrubs was wrapping up an IV that had obviously been used on his mother.

  His mother, who had taken to not eating supper. Or breakfast.

  His mother, whose clothes hung off her lately and she’d waved off his worry by telling him she was trying a new diet.

  His mother, whom he’d neglected so much he hadn’t seen that she was ill.

  Hanin turned on him. “Can I expect that his majesty will be civil to the queen mother? I told her you wouldn’t take this well. She insisted. As you can see, she’s not strong enough for a fight, much less a wedding. You should convince her not to do this.”

  All thoughts of yelling fled as his whole soul seemed to sink. How had he not seen this? How had months gone by and he hadn’t recognized that his mother might be dying? “Please allow me to talk to my mother. I’ll take care of her.”

  Hanin strode out the door, closing it behind him.

  “What is it? Is it cancer?” The thought made his heart seize. He moved to her side, dropping to one knee. Grandmother had died of cancer. He’d watched her waste away even as she’d smiled and tried to pretend everything was all right.

  The lines around her eyes tightened. “I didn’t mean for you to know.”

  She would probably tell him there was nothing to worry about. Pashmi wouldn’t care that he was the king. Pashmi had changed his damn diapers at one point. She was practically a second mother, so he turned to the one person in the room he could intimidate.

  He stood and faced the nurse. “What does my mother have? What is this treatment you’re giving her?”

  “A blood transfusion, Your Majesty. She was down two pints, a side effect of the chemotherapy for her cancer. She’ll feel better now. She’ll have much more energy.” The nurse looked back at his mother. “She’s very sick, Your Majesty. It’s stage four ovarian cancer. She had a full hysterectomy but the cancer had spread to her colon and the doctors no longer think the chemo is working.”

  He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Those words kicked him in the gut and left him gasping for breath.

  This was why she’d done what she’d done.

  “You’re going to die and you don’t want to leave me alone.”

  “Could we have the room, please?” His mother straightened up, her shoulders going back in a regal fashion.

  Pashmi led the nurse outside.

  He felt sick. How had he missed this?

  “It’s not your fault, Kashmir.”

  “I would disagree. How long has this been going on?” How long had he been out there partying while his mother was dying? How many women had he gone through while she’d fought for her life, gone through round after round of hell?

  “Please, Kash,” his mother implored. “Please sit with me. It’s not as bad as the doctors say.”

  He found the edge of the couch, balancing on it. He wouldn’t sit back in case he needed to carry her out. “I’ll have the doctors tell me themselves.”

  “Of course. Don’t be angry with them. I asked them to keep thin
gs quiet. I didn’t want to make a fuss.”

  No fuss over the fact that she was dying. “Tell me how long you’ve known.”

  “I was diagnosed six months ago. I told you I was having surgery.”

  “You told me it was routine. You then told me they found nothing serious. I didn’t go to the doctors because you told me it was all fine.” And because he hadn’t wanted to believe. He’d been in a bad place, dealing with the fact that he’d come so close and couldn’t replicate the experiments that had gone well before. He’d come up against failure after failure so he’d done what he did now. He’d found a party and become the life of it. For a month.

  He’d offered to come home for the surgery but he’d been somewhat relieved when she’d told him not to, when she’d waved off his worry and laughed that she would rather be alone. She’d told him if he came home, the press would come with him.

  He should have come home. He should have been sitting at her bedside when she woke up. She’d had no one. Her husband and eldest son were dead. Shray would never have allowed their mother to go through this alone. Shray would have seen.

  Why had God taken Shray and left behind the lesser brother?

  “Kashmir, listen to me. I know you’re angry.”

  He was angry, but it was muted now. The rage he’d felt was buried under an avalanche of pure guilt. And pain. “You have no idea.”

  She sat back, looking older than he remembered. “Yes, I do, and I don’t blame you. I hoped I could get better, but it looks as though I will not.”

  “I’ll call in all the doctors.” He would take her anywhere he needed to take her. He would find the best specialist and bring him or her in. “There are new therapies coming out every day.”

  “I don’t want them. I’m tired, son. I’ve fought my battle and it’s time to be with your father and your brother.”

  All he heard was it was time to leave him alone.

  “Please forgive me. I didn’t want to disrupt your life,” she said quietly.

  Nope. He couldn’t sit at all. “Not disrupt my life? You don’t allow me to take care of you because you don’t wish to disrupt my life, but you come up with this insane plan to force me to marry?”