by Rachel Hauck
“A peace you couldn’t find with me?” Why couldn’t he just say it? He didn’t love her enough to find peace with her.
He aimed the flashlight on her face. “It’s not as straightforward as all that, Corina.” Then he moved on, the torch shining on a brass plate attached to the bench. “Memento semper. Always remember.” His voice was husky and deep. “Here lie my brothers. The six men on my crew.”
She looked at him with an eye of revelation. “They died saving you, didn’t they?”
“Yes.” He took her by the arm and led her to the first granite stone on the right-hand side of the bench. “Here’s what lies between us, Corina.”
She bent to read a very familiar name.
LIEUTENANT CARLOS DEL REY
JOINT COALITION, INTELLIGENCE SECURITY
SON, BROTHER, FRIEND
“Carlos.” She dropped to her knees, flattening her palm over her brother’s cold name. “W–why is he here? I don’t understand.”
“The garden is a monument to the lads who died because someone else wanted me dead.” Stephen walked to the next stone. “Carlos and Bird actually saved my life.”
She jumped up, weary of this game. “These drips and drabs are killing me. Carlos saved your life?”
Stephen lowered the flashlight until it created a spot at his feet. Overhead, the blue edge of twilight covered them.
“The joint security forces faced some intense fighting in Torkham a few months after we were deployed. We lost our tactical specialist, so I recommended Carlos. He was one of the best. That’s how he ended up in Torkham.”
“We never heard.”
“His transfer was still being processed when he was killed. He’d only been on base two days, Corina.”
“He wasn’t killed in a firefight was he?” Corina’s heart drew pictures with Stephen’s words, filling in the dark, sketchy shadows of her brother’s death, of Stephen’s radical change, and the end of it all.
Stephen sat down on the edge of the bench. “Things were quiet right after Carlos transferred in. We were planning a Deliberate Op, but there was some downtime from the chaos. Carlos was Carlos, making fast friends with the crew, offering insight from his time in Peshawar. I’d planned to tell him about you and me on his second night, figured I’d start letting the news out slowly.”
With a sense of the surreal, Corina sat with her back to the gravestone, listening.
“The first mission started at zero hundred the next day and the camp was quiet, everyone trying for some shut-eye. But we were too keyed up to sleep. Carlos had just challenged several of us to a game of Nintendo when Asif entered.”
“Asif?”
“Our interpreter. A Pakistani chap raised on Brighton’s northern shore, a friend from uni, actually. He joined our unit after I recommended him to the joint council.” Stephen carried a detached tone in his voice as he told the story. “I got up for something . . . I can’t even remember what.” It haunted him. “I told Asif to pull up, join us, but something was wrong. He looked sick. Stoned.”
“Oh my gosh . . . Stephen.” He drew her toward truth, unfurling his story. “He was suiciding.”
“Yes.” He fired up from the bench, agitated.
“How did Brighton military allow such a man to be on base? Don’t you run intel on enlistees or civilian employees?”
“He checked out, Corina. There was no reason for suspicion. Nothing popped on his background. He’d gone to graduate school in Pakistan, then returned to Brighton, took a job, and lived a life like every other Brightonian.”
“Apparently not.”
“He’d been influenced by an underground radical sect of insurgents. No one knew. It took us four months to find them and root them out after the suicide. Asif returned to Brighton with a vow to kill members of the royal family for war crimes against his people. All he needed was opportunity.”
“And you gave it to him.” She shivered as the long-awaited details took form on a grassy knoll under the coming of night.
“Asif came to kill me.” The words hit like stones and sank into her. “I knew it the moment I saw him . . . when I realized he was stoned. But I hesitated. I should’ve moved, told the men to get out. Carlos and Lt. Mitchell Bird, noticed something amiss the moment I did.” Stephen ran his hand over his face. “Asif shouted that I had to die and opened his shirt to show he was loaded with explosives. He could barely stand, he was so canned. Whilst I hesitated, Carlos and Bird did not.” He sank slowly to the ground in the middle of the garden. “I don’t know why I hesitated. Why I froze.”
Corina remained where she sat, staring at the last drape of daylight.
“Carlos tackled him while the words were still in his mouth. Bird ran for me, covering me with his big body as Asif detonated himself. We were blown out the back of the mess, hit the concrete, and next thing I remember is waking up in a field hospital. The other four lads were seriously injured and died hours later. I was swept away in secret, and until Command knew what happened, the entire squadron went on communication silence.”
“It’s taken you five and a half years to tell me this?”
“You do realize I’m breaking national security here?”
“Why? Why is it of national security? Why couldn’t Daddy find out anything? Something?”
Stephen shot the flashlight beam at the trees. “Once we sorted out the event, Brighton Special Forces went into action. Eliminated Asif’s little insurgent group. At that point, the biggest concern was copycats. Others of like mind making bold approaches to the palace, the King’s Office, or our homes. The Defense Ministry and the Joint Coalition purposefully held the information, not releasing any details, not even to the families of the deceased, because we couldn’t risk leaks or slips. They sealed the event under Top Secret National Security, with extreme security measures. Just a hint that it was possible to get close enough to a prince to blow him up, we’d all be in danger. I’ll be in grave trouble if anyone finds out I told you.”
“The last five and a half years finally make some sense to me.”
“The security measure taken made it possible for me to play for the Eagles.” He shoved up from the ground and walked among the markers, dragging his fingers over the smooth stones. “I’m glad it makes some sense to you, Corina, because it still doesn’t to me. Men gave their lives for me, and how could I, a mere man, be worth another’s life?”
“What do you think war is about, Stephen? Men laying down their lives for another.”
“For the weak and oppressed, not for the wealthy and privileged. Not for a prince. One, whom when the war was over, would return to opulence and abundance, living a life of splendor, even pursuing his rugby dreams.”
“So the likes of you and I don’t deserve to have our freedoms preserved? We are not worth dying for?” She met him on the edge of the garden, the only light between them from the torch.
“We can buy our freedoms, Corina.” His disdain surprised and tainted her.
“Not always. Nearly every royal house of Europe fell after the First World War. The czar and his family were summarily rounded up and murdered. Freedom is for everyone, not just the weak and oppressed. Carlos, one of the wealthy and privileged, by the way, gave his life to save yours. What does that say about you? About him?”
“Carlos was . . .” He glanced over at her, a small smile cresting his lips. “A very special chap. Never knew a more selfless bloke.”
Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he was moved to your unit?”
“I’d planned to . . . It all happened so fast. His transfer papers hadn’t even finished processing.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and joined him on the bench. “So, you just lied to me? Pushed me away when you came home and I flew back here to be with you?”
“I was in a bad way when I returned to Brighton. I wanted nothing to do with anyone, not even my own family. The moment I saw you, I was in that tent again, the detonation exp
loding in my ears, in my chest, in my mind. Your brother . . .”
“You didn’t kill him, Stephen.”
“Not directly, no, but when I see you, I see him. I can’t be with you, Corina.”
“Don’t I get a say in our relationship? You married me because I said ‘Yes.’ How is it you get to leave without my ‘Yes’ ”?
“I brought you here so you would understand. When you see me, you’ll know I live because your brother died.”
“You cannot decide my feelings for me. What I see, how I’ll respond.”
“Nor can you decide for me. When I see you, I see him.” He gazed down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. She nearly melted into him. “I can’t forget if I’m married to a reminder. I’m right and you know it.”
“But I don’t know it, Stephen. You say one thing but behave completely different when we’re alone. Monday night, when you kissed me . . . are you saying it meant nothing?” She must remind him of who he was before the war. Kind, funny, sincere, wholehearted, wonderfully romantic.
“What does it matter? At the end of it all, when life takes hold and the romance of it all is gone, you will wake up every day next to a man stained with your brother’s blood. Please don’t make me say it again.”
“I’m not making you say anything. You’re choosing to say it.”
From his pocket, Stephen’s mobile rang. “It’s Nathaniel.” When he answered, she walked off, collecting her thoughts, sorting a blend of relief and revived sorrow. She felt as if he wanted her to be angry at him. Hate him.
“He wondered if we wanted to be back for late tea and a movie.”
“I don’t know. I suppose.” Corina returned to the bench, scanning the other graves. “What of these others? Do their families know?”
“No one knows outside the Joint Coalition leadership except Nathaniel and top personnel in the Defense Ministry. Now you.”
“I think the other families would like to come here.”
“Nathaniel wants to proceed with my coronation as Prince of Brighton, and in doing so I’ll be patron of the War Memorial, but . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t want to wear the uniform.”
“Think of what you could do for these men’s families.”
“I don’t have to be patron of a War Memorial to do something for them.”
“Have you done anything for them?”
“Not yet.” He stood, but she remained seated. “Shall we go in?”
“I’m not sure I can watch a movie right now. I think I’ll just sit out here.”
He exhaled and joined her again on the bench, tucked his phone in his pocket, and turned off the flashlight.
From the trees, an owl hooted and the wind rustled a response. In the dark, Corina let her tears fall without restraint. She caught the drops slipping from her chin with the back of her hand.
Next to her, Stephen stared off toward the surrounding woods, his right leg gently swaying side to side, his left stretched long, resting his ankle. In what remained of the light, Corina found his hand and slipped hers beneath his warm palm. He flinched at first, then relaxed and entwined his fingers with hers.
They sat there for a long time saying nothing. Saying everything.
TWENTY-FOUR
Back at the Manor Friday morning, Corina sat at the small curved desk tucked under the dormer walls and pulled out the annulment papers.
Unfolding the pages, she skimmed the small print, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach when she read the definition of what she and Stephen were about to do.
“An annulment means no valid marriage ever existed.”
But that was a lie. They had a valid marriage. At least in her heart.
A few lines down, Stephen had checked the “Mistake” box.
Was that how he truly saw things? She smoothed her hand over the pages, pressing them flat against the hard desk. Could she add her own box? Check “Coward”?
She pushed back and went to the window. She’d never forgive him for this, calling the marriage a mistake, ending it on his assumptions, abandoning the relationship when they needed each other most.
However, Stephen had delivered his part of the bargain. He told her what happened to Carlos. And Corina felt obligated to sign.
A fresh cascade of tears spilled down her cheeks. She was tired of crying. After her evening on the memorial bench with Stephen, they returned to the house at Parrsons and Corina hid in her suite and spent a good part of Thursday there, weeping, remembering, praying.
This morning early, Stephen drove her back to the city with little conversation and dropped her off at the Manor. “The annulment?”
“I’ll sign it.”
But how could she? Corina sat on the window seat and gazed out over the city, her love for Cathedral City summer mornings nothing but a faint memory.
She glanced back at the annulment documents. Just sign and be done with it.
When her phone rang, she snatched it up, hoping for Stephen’s number on her screen. But no.
“Miss Del Rey?”
“Yes?”
“This is Clem from the Children’s Literacy Foundation. On your auction form you listed your local address as the Manor, but we can’t find such a place anywhere in the city listings or on the map. Where would you like us to deliver your purchase?”
“Right, the Pissarro.” She’d dueled for the piece with a stodgy couple who seemed to have no monetary boundaries. Well, neither did she. She’d not touched her trust from Grandmother Del Rey and the power of compound interest daily kept the one account very healthy. She could buy the Pissarro three times over.
She finally won the bid at ten million. The place exploded with applause. The Children’s Literacy Foundation would have a grand year.
“Where shall we deliver it?”
“To Prince Stephen in care of the King’s Office.”
“Pardon?”
“The King’s Office. Prince Stephen.” She picked up the annulment papers again. She’d purchased the painting for Stephen, because, well, she thought he would enjoy it. Call it a “We’re annulled!” gift.
“I’ll need a special form to deliver to the King’s Office.”
“Fine. Do you need me for that form?”
“I just have to call the King’s Office.”
“Then call them.”
“If there’s a delay, I will ring you. Otherwise the painting will be delivered tomorrow.”
Perfect. She flew home on Sunday. “With the note I wrote? Please include the note.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Hanging up, Corina returned to the window. The streets below were quiet for a Friday. The wind had room to move and expand, dragging its train through the trees along the avenue.
Street vendors worked the sidewalk, preparing for the lunch crowd. Taxicabs lined the curb, the drivers huddled together, talking, flicking ashes from their cigarettes.
Love well.
Corina picked up the annulment papers. Was signing them loving well?
A light knock had her calling, “Come in.”
Adelaide came around the door carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. “Top of the morning. How was your time away?”
“Enlightening.” Corina tossed the documents back to the desk. By tonight she’d decide. If she flew home without signing, she’d have to be willing to face the consequences.
“You sound troubled.”
“I bargained for something, got what I wanted, and am not sure I can keep up my end.”
“Then you’ve a dilemma.” Adelaide poured Corina a cup of tea and placed a thin, wafer-like cookie on the saucer as she passed it over.
“My head versus my heart.” Corina pulled the desk chair around, a small fire flickering in her belly from her private confrontation with the annulment.
“Tea time will make you feel better.” Filling the cups with steaming, rich brown liquid, Adelaide handed one to Corina, then took one for herself. “This porcelain tea service is qu
ite special.” Adelaide sat primly on the chaise, holding up the cup and saucer.
“Really?” Corina inspected her cup. “This one has a small chip.” She tapped the slight nick on the bottom.
“It’s been well used. King Stephen I heard of the great porcelain cups made in China. He sent for a set, and it took nearly ten years then to arrive. One of the first sets ever to arrive in the West.”
Corina lowered her cup and saucer. The air in the room changed again as Adelaide spoke and Corina felt bound by the electricity. “You’re serving me tea in a four-hundred-and-fifty-year-old cup?”
“Kings and queens, the sick and poor, women and men, children have drunk from these cups.”
“Where did you get them?” Again, why are they not with the royal estate?
“It lives with the Manor. Along with the tiara.”
“Adelaide, you’ve quite the mission. Hidden tiaras, special tea sets.”
The woman reclined against the cushy back of the chaise. “You’ve asked what Brill and I are about. Well, we’re here to help you see what you are about.” She raised her cup to Corina. “To wear the tiara, one must drink from the cup.”
Corina considered her cup. “You mean to be a true royal one must drink from the cup of love and service.”
“There, now, that wasn’t so hard was it? Ruling by serving. It’s how the Great Kingdom is structured. It’s the love that moves heaven and earth.”
The tracing of chills over Corina’s arms multiplied.
“And that’s how King Stephen I and Queen Magdalena loved?” She was catching on to Adelaide’s wisdom.
“Yes. You and your prince have been given the same call.”
“But he wants out, Adelaide. An annulment.”
“That is your journey, love. All I can give you is heaven’s vision.” Adelaide turned over her saucer. “King Stephen I had his artisans design a cipher for their royal house. Do you see?”
