by Hunter Kelly
‘A couple of things. First, the petition for you to marry and reproduce or get off the throne is being abandoned. I never supported it, by the way. It would put me in line for the throne and, suffice to say, I have even less desire for a wife and children than you do.’ Benedict’s smile turned sly. ‘Does Moriana know she’s the chosen one? Will you promise her your all? Faithful at last? I’d like to see that.’
‘Perhaps you will.’ Indifference was important when dealing with Benedict. Admitting weakness or desire was tantamount to handing him a sword to skewer you with.
‘I’ll tell Father you’re courting with intent. He’ll be thrilled.’
‘I’m sure he will. Are you ever going to tell me why you’re here? Run out of money? Still can’t choose between the Cordova twins and their younger brother?’
‘It’s almost as if you know me.’
‘I have work to do.’ Theo reached for a pile of reports and dropped his gaze to the topmost.
‘Father’s dying.’ Benedict’s words came tightly furled, like little bullets that Theo hadn’t seen coming until they hit. ‘He found out two weeks ago that he has cancer and it’s too advanced to treat. He’s riddled with it. That’s why he’s dropping the petition—he can’t follow through and take the Crown and I have no desire to. He’s in hospital in France. I know you’re not given to mercy, but he wants to come home.’
Theo sat back in his chair, reports forgotten, and gave Benedict his full attention. ‘Your father’s exile was self-imposed. He doesn’t need my permission to return to Liesendaach.’
‘He wants to come here. He wants to die in his childhood home.’
‘No. That’s not happening.’ Dying or not, Constantine of Liesendaach was a dangerous adversary who’d never once stopped looking for ways to tear Theo down.
‘It’s not as if he wants the royal suite,’ snapped Benedict. ‘He’s barely lucid. I’ll provide the medical care and pick up the cost. All he wants is a room.’
‘Then take him home with you.’ Benedict had a townhouse in the city, provided by and paid for by the Crown. It wasn’t a palace but it sure as hell wasn’t a hovel.
Theo could see it now—an endless stream of visiting dignitaries and schemers coming to pay their last respects. People who hadn’t graced the palace doors for years. Let Benedict deal with them; Theo would have none of it.
‘What are you so afraid of?’ Benedict taunted. ‘You won. He lost. The world turns. So my father wasn’t cut out to be King. Few are. He ruined the economy, so say some. He made too many deals in his own interest, so say others, and maybe they’re right. He also raised you, fed and clothed you and never limited your education. He didn’t stop you from doing anything. You wanted him gone; he went.’
‘That’s one version of his Regency,’ Theo said acerbically. ‘Would you like to hear mine?’
‘Yes. I would. Because maybe then I could understand why you turned on us like a rabid dog the minute you took the Crown!’
Theo watched as his cousin turned away, his face red and his lips set in an ugly twist.
‘I knew this for a fool’s errand,’ Benedict said into the deepening silence.
‘Then why come?’
‘Because he’s my father. It’s his dying wish to return to the place he calls home, and maybe, just maybe, he will find peace here.’ Benedict leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms and employed a passable gimlet stare. ‘He knows you think he orchestrated your family’s death, even if he doesn’t know who fed you the idea. He said to tell you that if he had done, you’d have been on that helicopter too.’
‘I was supposed to be. Instead, I was skiving off with you. Horse racing, wasn’t it? Your sure-fire winner you simply had to see race?’
‘Lucky for you. Or would you rather have been on that flight?’ Benedict smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘We were family once. I cared about you. Looked after you.’
Saved you.
To this day, Theo still didn’t know if Benedict had acted in complete ignorance when he’d prevented Theo from getting on that flight, or whether he’d known what his father was up to and simply hadn’t been able to stomach losing Theo. Whatever the reason, Theo had lived. His parents and brother had not.
And Benedict had ceased to be Theo’s confidant.
‘Leave the numbers for the doctors.’
‘And what?’ said Benedict. ‘You’ll monitor the situation? I left those numbers with your secretary two weeks ago, one week ago, and again yesterday. Three times I asked you to call me. Good thing I remember where you live.’
‘I didn’t receive any of those messages.’
‘Then fire your secretary.’
‘Was there anything else?’ He’d had enough of this conversation.
‘Yes. I won’t be joining you and all the other righteous souls for dinner this week, or any other week in the foreseeable future. I would have let your staff know...if I thought the message would ever reach you. Don’t set a place for me. Don’t expect me to play the royal prince once my father is gone. I’m done.’
‘You’ll lose your title and your allowance.’
Benedict spread his arms wide. ‘At least I’ll be my own man. My position in this family is untenable. I’ve tried to get through to you. I can’t. Nor am I willing to do what my father wants me to do. Time to move on.’
‘I’ll let my staff know.’ Theo didn’t want to feel sick to his stomach. There was no use wishing for a different outcome. ‘By the way, Moriana knows you’re here. She sends her regards.’
Benedict laughed. ‘Poor little pedigree princess, always so proper. First Casimir and now you. I feel sorry for her. Maybe I should ask her if she wants to run away with me. She’d probably be better off.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it.’
‘Then tell her I hope she enjoys her stay and regret that I must take my leave before renewing our acquaintance. There. Aren’t we all so civil and grown-up?’ Benedict bowed, a mocking salute. ‘See you at the funeral. Cousin.’
He turned and made his exit, his long, angry stride echoing down the corridor.
Theo closed his eyes and banged his head softly against the padded headrest of the chair.
Of all the confrontations he’d ever had, dealing with Benedict had always been the hardest. He wanted to trust the man. They’d been close as children. Similar in age, similar in temperament, royals but not the heir apparent. Less had been expected of them and they’d lived up to that expectation and beyond.
Benedict had looked after him at times.
And sometimes, when his back was to the wall and the vultures were gathering, Theo still wanted Benedict at his side.
* * *
Theo was still sitting in his chair half an hour later. He’d done no work. Hadn’t even glanced at the reports on his desk other than to leaf through them in search of a memo saying Benedict had called. If the information was buried in there somewhere, he hadn’t yet found it. And then his deputy Head of Security knocked on the door frame. He’d asked the man to monitor Benedict’s departure from the palace. Discreetly, of course.
‘Has he gone?’ he asked, and the older man nodded.
‘Not before he found the visiting Princess and had a few words with her.’
‘Was he civil?’
‘Exceedingly, sire. The Prince told the Princess she was looking divine and said something to the effect that her broken engagement must be agreeing with her. She laughed and asked after his health and they talked a little about a painting they’d both bid for at auction but neither of them had won. He asked how long she was staying and she said a week. He bid her a pleasant stay, told her to make sure she saw the artwork in the south-east drawing room and then left.’
‘Did I ask for a rundown on their conversation?’
‘No, sire. My recount is probably wholly unimportant.’
‘Wrong.’ The information was extremely important. Benedict hadn’t told Moriana about the petition being buried. He hadn�
�t caused trouble. And that was unusual. ‘Thank you. It’s useful knowledge.’
The man nodded. ‘I’m also here because you’d best be telling me what you want done regarding security for the Princess. Because she’s just stationed the three men I put on her too far away to be of use and she didn’t bring any security personnel of her own.’
‘They’ll be arriving this afternoon.’ Augustus had insisted.
Theo picked up his desk phone and searched his mind for the internal number for the Queen’s chambers. He thought it was zero zero two, but he couldn’t be sure. It had been so long since he’d used it.
She picked up, and her voice was warm and relaxed as she said, ‘Hello.’ His Princess was in a far better mood than he was. Hopefully she’d stay that way when he overruled her security arrangements.
‘You need to know what is and isn’t going to happen, security-wise,’ he told her curtly. ‘There’s a briefing in ten minutes. My security team will show you to my office.’
‘Actually, I’ve just ordered tea brought to the most romantic little sitting room I’ve ever seen,’ she said, the laughter in her voice a startling contrast to the encounter he’d recently had with his cousin. ‘There’s a huge vase of fragrant roses on the table, the sun is streaming in through the open windows and the breeze is sending the gauze curtains flying. I can smell the forest and I’ve just discovered a pair of armless white leather recliners which are either sunbeds or massage beds. Regardless, I’m currently lying on a cloud and your chances of getting me off it any time soon are...ooh, nil. More to the point, if this security discussion is about me and my needs I want it to happen here, in these quarters, so I can see for myself what you’re proposing. I want you to walk me through it.’
Her words made sense, more was the pity. ‘Be ready in five minutes,’ he grated.
‘I’ll order more tea,’ she said smoothly, and hung up on him.
His security deputy stood there, still largely oblivious to the force of nature Theo was about to unleash on their world. ‘We’re going to her.’
He was a good man, his security guard. Well trained. Because all he did was nod.
* * *
Theo’s mood did not improve as Moriana negotiated her security requirements. He overrode most of her requests, acceded to two of them, and wore her contemplative stare in silence once the security team was back in place.
‘Seems like overkill,’ she said.
‘My team is experienced. They’ll only step in when needed.’ He couldn’t joke about security measures and he would never, ever downgrade them. ‘I don’t take risks. I do need to sleep at night, and I won’t if I’m worried about the safety of the people under this roof. I can protect you, Moriana. But you need to let me.’
He wasn’t negotiating.
Finally, she spread her arms wide. ‘Okay.’
But he still didn’t relax.
‘Bear with me while I try and figure out what pitched your mood blacker than tar,’ she said as she headed for the sunroom she seemed to like so much. ‘Augustus gets like this. It’s not always my doing but I’m not ruling it out. More tea?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘What did Benedict want?’
‘Too much.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could call them back. Then again, wasn’t he supposed to be sharing his life with her? Trusting her with the complications of his court?
‘So either you refused him and you’re brooding about it or you agreed to do something you don’t want to do,’ she said. ‘Which is it?’
‘Do you think me cold?’ he asked instead of answering her question.
‘No.’
‘Do you think me ruthless? Calculating?’
‘Yes. Both. Show me a good ruler who isn’t.’
‘My uncle’s dying,’ he said.
Her eyebrows rose.
‘He wants to spend his last days here at the palace.’
‘Ah,’ she murmured. ‘And the petition for your removal? What’s happening there?’
‘Benedict says it’s been abandoned.’
‘Interesting. Do you believe him?’
Theo couldn’t sit still beneath her carefully assessing gaze. He stood and crossed to the window but he could still feel her eyes on him like an itch between his shoulders. ‘I don’t know.’
‘How long does your uncle have left?’
He didn’t know that either, but apparently he had the doctor’s contact details somewhere to hand. ‘Got a phone?’
She disappeared through the doorway and came back moments later and handed it to him. It was gold-plated and disguised as a set of balance scales. He looked at the phone, looked back at her.
‘If there’s a less absurd phone around here, I’ve yet to find it,’ she said. ‘Why do you think I always sound so thoroughly cheerful when I answer it?’
Two minutes later, Theo had the contact details he needed. Two minutes after that he was speaking to his uncle’s head physician in France. When he put the phone down ten minutes later he was armed with the knowledge that Benedict hadn’t been exaggerating Constantine of Liesendaach’s illness. The doctor had given Constantine days to live. Already, he was slipping in and out of consciousness as his body’s organs began to fail. Constantine had refused life support assistance and Benedict had told the medical staff to honour the request. Palliative care only for the former Regent.
‘We’re talking days,’ he said. ‘Assuming he doesn’t die in transit.’
‘Okay. Now we know.’ Her calm poise steadied him. ‘Will you grant him a state funeral?’
‘No.’ He couldn’t stomach giving that honour to a murderer. ‘There can still be enough pomp to satisfy the burial of a former Prince Regent without gazetting it as such.’
‘Do you seek my opinion on the matter?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Why not? There was something grounding about the sheer practicality of her questions so far.
‘Okay, here goes. You neutralised the man ten years ago but didn’t exile him. Either before he dies or after, you’re going to have to bring him home. You’re going to have to try and make sense of his life and actions and then you’re going to speak in public of human frailty, temptation and forgiveness, whether you mean those words or not. Do it now. Get it done. Show your people—and him—a strong king’s mercy.’
She hadn’t moved from the sofa but her words drew him away from the window and back around, such was her command of his attention. She sipped her tea, an island of serenity, and it dawned on him that she was extremely good at being someone’s muse.
‘Your uncle is no threat to you now. Benedict, bless him, is in the same boat as you in that he has no wife or heirs. Benedict won’t challenge you. He can’t challenge you. The throne is yours.’
She was good at this. ‘I still need a queen.’
‘And now you can take your time and search properly and find one who suits your needs.’
She was right there in front of him. How could she be so clear-eyed when it came to dealing with his uncle and cousin and not know she was the perfect candidate?
‘How often does Augustus seek your counsel?’ he asked.
‘Almost daily, why?’
‘You’re good at it.’
She smiled wryly. ‘I grew up listening to my father speak freely of state concerns at dinner each night. Not major concerns, nothing classified to begin with, but even as children we always had one topic of state to discuss, alongside the regular conversation about our days. He’d ask our opinions. Make us defend our positions. Showed us how to respectfully discuss problems and the fixing of them. They were lessons in statecraft.’
‘And how old were you when you started this?’
‘I hardly recall when it started, only that it was an everyday occurrence. My father always paid attention to my mother’s voice. He relied on her for support and to bring fresh perspective to the table. When she died, so too did much of my father’s enthusiasm for his role. It’s one of the reason
s he abdicated early, even if not the only one.’
She put down her teacup. ‘I’m scaring you, aren’t I? You’re not used to dealing with women who expect a great deal of intellectual intimacy from their nearest and dearest.’
He wasn’t used to dealing with anyone who expected intellectual intimacy from him.
‘I did warn you,’ she said.
‘You did.’ And, God, he wanted more of it. He ruled alone; he always had. But this...this effortless back and forward, argument and counterargument, not for argument’s sake but with the clear aim of lifting a burden... He would have more of this.
‘You’re looking a little wild-eyed,’ she said.
He’d just realised what he’d been missing all these years.
She rose and came to stand beside him, looking out over the gardens, following his lead and dropping the subject. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing towards a tiny cottage on the edge of the forest.
‘It used to be my mother’s painting studio. These days the gardeners use it as their headquarters.’
‘Will you walk me there? Through the gardens?’
‘Now?’
She nodded.
‘You’ll need a hat. And a shawl for your shoulders. Possibly an umbrella.’
She looked at him as if he amused her.
‘What?’ he said. ‘It’s a long way. You’re fair-skinned. You’ll burn.’
‘I have dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin and when I encounter the sun I tan. Also, you’re starting to sound like my mother.’
Her mother had been a tyrant.
‘You do realise,’ he murmured, ‘that mothers are, on occasion, right?’
* * *
By the time they reached the outer doors of the palace there was a woman’s sun hat, an umbrella and a gauzy cotton scarf waiting for them. Moriana sighed. Theo smiled. Heaven knows where his household staff had sourced them from.
First the scarf—Theo draped it around her neck and made a production of rearranging it several times until it completely covered her bare shoulders. Clearly he was more adept at taking a woman’s clothes off than helping one put clothes on.
