“Their weight just pushed me over.” God, it had been so hard to breathe. The memory of choking, of feeling like there was no air, was still prominent in her mind. “I was on the ground and their weight was on me. I-I couldn’t breathe, and over the screams, I couldn’t make myself heard.”
“They trampled you,” Xavier said woodenly, but his skin was pasty. “Jesus.”
George let out a shaky breath. “It could have been a lot worse.”
“Not by much. Any longer and she’d have goddamn died of asphyxiation!”
“That couldn’t be helped,” George insisted. “They were doing what they had to do.”
Xavier’s jaw firmed. “We need to start wearing armor. I said it after Marianne’s…” He stopped, swallowed. “Snipers rarely aim for the head. They go for center mass. With a moving target, that’s the easiest shot.”
“A specialist marksman can shoot beer cans from a ridiculous distance. Armor isn’t going to protect us from that,” George snapped.
Perry cleared her throat, frightened by their knowledge. They spoke with such certainty... which, she realized, made sense considering their time in service. “Guys, I know you’re mad and scared and everything, but I really don’t think I have the energy to referee this fight.” She winced. “My head’s aching, and I’m just… sore.”
“Of course you are,” George said immediately, the grip his hands had on hers lessening slightly. But he didn’t let go—thank God. “It was stupid of us to talk about it in front of you.”
“No,” she countered. “It wasn’t stupid. I want you to talk about these things in front of me, and the last thing I want is to actively discourage you, but I’m just not up to it right now.” And how it galled her to make that admission.
Especially because she knew her men.
They were overprotective to a ridiculous extent. Considering the situation, that wasn’t entirely peculiar, but she did not need to be encouraging them to maintain radio silence in front of her. Edward, despite his promises of transparency after they’d married, had immediately broken them upon their return to Veronia.
She wasn’t content with that—if anything, it angered her—but she was willing to let it slide because the current circumstances were so extreme. When things calmed down, however, she intended on having a word with him. But as calm wasn’t looking like it was going to happen anytime soon, she really wasn’t sure how to handle things. What she did know was that at this minute, she wasn’t well enough to debate their need for body armor.
Before either of them could reply, a knock sounded at the door. Edward could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d had to knock before entering a room, so that gave her a heads up it wasn’t her husband on the other side.
No matter how much she wished it was, she called out, “Enter.”
A nurse, dressed in pink scrubs, immediately flushed at the sight of Xavier and George. She shot them both glances that reminded Perry of a rabbit in headlights rather than coquettish flirtation. She was pretty too, had white blonde hair, and a complexion that suited the pink uniform that would have washed almost anyone else out.
Maybe it was petty, but she was relieved to see that neither man noticed her. Their gazes, almost as one, flickered toward the intruder in their midst, identified who she was, and then immediately dismissed her. In less than two seconds, Perry was at the center of their universe once more, and like that, she found herself soothed.
The nurse’s voice was timid—a lot shyer than it had been earlier when she’d stuck so many needles in Perry’s arm that she’d started to make a good Swiss cheese impression. She murmured, “The doctor is on his way.”
Perry blinked, then nodded, and watched as the other woman approached. In less than five minutes, Perry had had her blood pressure checked once more and her vitals monitored. The fluid IV line she was hooked up to was entirely unnecessary, but she’d been shoved on it the instant she’d arrived at the hospital.
She supposed, where the new Queen was concerned, the hospital staff preferred to err on the side of caution. Who could blame them? She had a feeling that what she’d just seen of Edward’s wrath was nothing to the rage he’d have felt if she’d truly been shot. When coming face-to-face with a furious monarch, was it any wonder the medical team was going above and beyond?
The door opened, and Edward slipped inside. His face was a bizarre mix of bright red and puce. His eyes were wide but taut as he wore his rage for everyone to see. The usually tender line of his mouth, almost effeminate sometimes, was a hard rictus.
The nurse caught sight of him, and a slight noise escaped her; to say that her husband was projecting his emotions was an understatement. But the noise and the sight of the woman doing her duties seemed to shake Edward. The fog of fury lifted slightly, and he nodded at her while striding over to the bed.
“Is everything all right?” The question was intended for the nurse.
“Yes, your Highness. I’m just making rudimentary checks before the doctor’s visit.”
Edward nodded, but stayed silent as he reached Perry’s side at last and took a seat next to her hip. His back was to the nurse, his attention, at that moment, was aimed entirely at Perry.
This man was her husband, and she wasn’t exactly unaccustomed to being at the center of his attention…but never like this.
Two hours ago, she’d literally had the breath robbed from her lungs, and she likened the here and now to it. Edward stole the oxygen from the room, and made her drown in everything he was, replacing her with his essence, flooding her with all of him.
It wasn’t that Xavier and George didn’t trigger similar responses in her; it was that Edward so rarely showed how he felt.
George had the ability of tangling her ovaries into a knot and making her want to beg for his attention. Xavier had her craving his mouth, his touch. She felt like a flower whose petals opened to the sun when she was around him.
But Edward…her stoic, stalwart love acted like such a cold fish sometimes that when she came face-to-face with the realization he truly wasn’t, it always felt like a blow to the solar plexus.
She didn’t even notice the doctor coming in. Didn’t see him peer around the room, gaping at the huge gamut of royalty in one space. The four highest-ranking royals in the land were in this tiny ward, and hell, if she was feeling the pressure, why shouldn’t he?
A clearing of the throat reminded her they weren’t alone, and she swallowed, though her tongue felt thick, and turned her gaze to her other loves. It was then that she saw yet another stranger, the physician, and saw the expression in the nurse’s face: longing. Sheer longing.
Perry blinked, uncertain as to why the woman would be aiming such a look at her, and then she realized.
The way Edward was looking at her?
It was love. Unadulterated, 100%, undiluted love.
It was heady, it was breathtaking, and it was hers.
She shot the woman a kind smile, rather than be angry that the nurse had seen and reacted to the most private of moments. The woman blushed, her cheeks matching the color of her scrubs, then she lowered her eyes and turned to attend the newcomer.
“Doctor,” Perry said hoarsely, her voice rough from the emotion charging through her. “This is my husband.”
“Yes, your Highness.” He coughed, bowed slightly, and ducked his head in a way that made her grin—the man had zero idea how to greet the King.
“Edward, this kind man has been treating me.”
“There’s little to treat,” the doctor said, his relief evident at moving onto safer topics. “Your Highness is quite well, although…” He licked his lips, turning to the nurse. “That will be all, Francesca.”
Though the woman looked severely disappointed, she bobbed a quick curtsey that reminded Perry of the early days of her curtsey-taking classes—they were surprisingly hard to master—and rushed out of the room.
At his request, her men started scowling.
Edward was the o
nly one to speak, however. “What’s wrong, doctor?”
“I’m not sure of the protocol here, your Highness…” Her favorite fucking word. Jesus, it was really being rammed down her throat today. “…but her Highness’s blood work revealed something interesting.”
While Edward cocked a brow, Xavier was the one to snap, “Well, man? What did it reveal?”
“The Queen is with child.”
“Excuse me?” Perry’s eyes widened. “I’m not pregnant.”
“The tests say otherwise.” He pulled a face. “We had the labs check their findings; considering her Majesty’s status, the test was marked priority. Your hCG numbers indicate you’re seven weeks pregnant.”
The honeymoon.
And it wasn’t like they’d been particularly careful, was it?
Her cheeks flared with heat as she looked around the room and saw the varying levels of astonishment on the men’s faces. Underlying the surprise was a mixture of pride, happiness, and fear.
The latter, she easily understood because she knew there was a reason to be scared now. She’d been in the line of danger herself, and with a child to carry and then raise, to shelter and protect, the already precarious situation grew even more fraught.
She lifted a shaky hand to her head and rubbed at her temple. “What do I need to do?” she asked dumbly.
“Your primary caregiver will need to prescribe some prenatal vitamins and arrange for things like ultrasounds. Your blood pressure is a little high, so you’ll have to monitor that—”
“She’s just been shot at,” Xavier immediately defended.
“I know, your Grace,” the doctor said, his cheeks heating. “But that’s why I said they need monitoring. The situation is unwarranted—her readings are high as a result so establishing a baseline is important, and the only facts are stained with the events of this morning. Seeing your doctor earlier rather than later is advisable.
“Aside from that, your ribs weren’t fractured in the crush and I feel satisfied that I can discharge you today.”
“You’ve been x-rayed?” George demanded. “Won’t that have harmed the baby?”
“At that time, we were unaware of the pregnancy, and while it’s not ideal, the examination shouldn’t have proved harmful.” The doctor gave her a kind smile. “Congratulations,” he murmured, then after clearing his throat for the fourth time since he’d entered her ward, mumbled, “Your Highnesses.” He gave them another limp bow and made a hasty retreat for the doorway.
Perry was too bewildered to be amused at the man’s relief at escaping. “Why didn’t I know I was pregnant?” She hadn’t felt queasy, had she? Just nervous. The butterflies from all the new tasks she was having to undertake had been reason for that…right?
“There’s been a lot going on,” George remarked, but though his face was somber, there was a cheerfulness to his tone that had her scowling at him.
“Why are you so perky?” she demanded. “We’re not exactly bringing this life into a safe environment, are we?”
“No, but we’ll make sure the situation is righted before your third trimester,” Edward stated, his tone grim. “I promise you that like I’ve promised you nothing else, Perry.”
His words were so stark they shouldn’t have comforted her, but they did. She knew when Edward said something, he wouldn’t renege on it unless the circumstances were dire.
Her life had been on the line today, and that of her baby too—they just hadn’t known it.
Suddenly, the gravity of their predicament heightened further.
She was going to be a mother. And her kid wasn’t just going to be a snot-nosed toddler, but a mini-King-in-the-making.
Her eyes pricked with tears. “This is too much,” she whispered, hearing the frenetic energy behind the words.
Edward shifted around on the bed, and moved himself close to her side. He raised an arm, tucked it around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I should have done this from the very start,” he said on a sigh, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
“You had to ream Drake a new one,” she said, her words watery.
He laughed a little. “That’s one way of putting it.” Gently squeezing her, he whispered, “All will be well. It is too soon, but there’s never a right moment for a baby. Five years down the line would still be far too early, and yet, here we are.”
She gulped. “We don’t know who the father is.”
Tension whipped around the room, but Edward immediately calmed it by telling her, “I told you. That doesn’t matter. Not here, not with us. A healthy baby, that’s all that counts.”
Squinting up at him to see if he meant it—she hadn’t really believed him when he’d told her before—she saw the peace in his eyes. There was a warm and calm acceptance in those topaz orbs, and he might as well have wrapped her in another hug for the relief and comfort it provided her.
A thought occurred to her. There was, after all, a fifty-fifty chance this baby was a girl… “Does Veronia have the right of primogeniture? If this baby’s a girl, she can rule as Queen, can’t she?”
George bit back a laugh. “Trust you to ask about that. Trust you to even know what that means.”
She peered at him. “I Googled it. I remember when Prince George might have been Princess Georgina with the British Royals. They had to introduce an act to make sure that if he’d been a girl, she’d have had the right to rule as firstborn heir.”
Edward sighed. “This isn’t the time to be talking of things like this.”
“Which means my suspicions are justified. The firstborn son gets to be King.” She wrinkled her nose. “You do know I’m not going to allow that to continue, right?”
“Bossy boots,” Xavier said on a low note, finally moving away from the wall and approaching the bed. His hand came to rest on her stocking-clad calf, and she wished like hell he was touching skin.
Hoist by my own petard, Perry realized.
When she’d arrived, she’d refused to change into the hospital gown and had further refused to get under the blankets on the bed. So what if she’d used her queenly status to make sure that happened? With a regular person, a quick check and a “No, I haven’t been shot,” would have been quite sufficient.
Instead, she’d been poked and prodded. All on the off-chance that something had happened to her when the guards had merely trampled her—and it wasn’t like they could have helped it. Being shot didn’t exactly do wonders for a person’s sense of balance.
Still, she’d refused to suffer the indignity of a hospital gown. Not out of vanity but because, though the media maneuvered under the strictest of privacy laws, she knew for a fact the press would be all over what was happening in this room.
The news agencies wouldn’t really care that two men had been shot protecting her. They’d only care if reports stating that she’d been hit were true or not. The last thing she wanted was a sneaky picture taken by a nurse of her ass cheeks cooling in the breeze to go live on Perez Hilton’s blog.
Sheesh.
So, though she wished Xavier could get closer to her, touch her skin-to-skin, she decided regretting her decision of not changing out of her clothes was foolhardy. In fact, the next, best step was, “You’re right. This isn’t the time to talk about it, but discuss it we will. For now, I just want to go home.”
And though Masonbrook hadn’t exactly grown on her these past weeks, though it was still a cold, drafty, and unwelcoming dungeon of a place—well, a dungeon that was gilt-adorned and loaded down with antiques and priceless artifacts…at that moment, returning there was the best idea she’d had all week. Never mind all day.
With a deep sigh, George poured the whiskey into the snifter. He did so two more times, pinched together two of the crystal tumblers with his thumb and pointer finger, then carried his, as well as his brother’s and cousin’s drinks, over to them.
They were in the new Regent’s suite. Well, as new as Masonbrook ever got.
There were two sets of room
s for Regents here, at opposite sides of the palace. Back in the day, the other set of quarters had been to accommodate visiting royals. Now, it was a tradition to switch between them when the kingdom changed hands.
The baby in Perry’s belly would be the next King or Queen—he had no doubt the right of primogeniture was about to be enforced in their constitution. When the child was grown, he or she would stay in the suites George’s parents had used. And so on and so forth.
Edward had surprised Perry by having this suite decorated. Most of the antiques and ornate pieces had been moved out and made way for newer, more modern, and elegant furniture. One of the reasons Perry hadn’t wanted to live in Masonbrook was because it was too much like a museum.
He could empathize greatly with that notion.
It was a museum, but they were the curators of this living, breathing institution.
Panels had been placed over the old walls so the rooms could be painted without disturbing the antique wallpaper and ornate moldings. The result was remarkable, and truth was, George thought these redecorated rooms were a breath of fresh air.
A large bedroom connected with two bathrooms, with offshooting wardrobes and dressing areas. This, in turn, led onto a large sitting room. On either side of it, there was offices: his and hers.
Edward had had the decorators work in secret to surprise Perry, and considering Masonbrook’s size, it hadn’t been too difficult a chore. From their old private quarters on the other wing, they’d been unable to hear anything over at this end of the castle.
Slowly but surely, George and Edward were transferring their personal possessions over. As was tradition, the other wing would be closed up until the time it was needed—save for their parent’s actual bedchamber, which was where Phillipe was being nursed.
Handing Xavier and Edward their respective tumblers, he slumped back in the milk chocolate leather sofa and cocked his leg up on the chaise lounge’s tongue. Tilting his head back, he took a sip of his drink, not bothering to watch the others in their armchairs, pensive frowns on their faces as they stared deeply into the amber nectar he’d just handed them.
Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3) Page 12
