Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  Which sucked as hard as it sounded.

  Talk about zero perks to this shit. And boy, she was getting horny.

  Like, seriously, seriously, horny.

  Which was fucked up considering her life was in danger.

  “You certainly raised your boys well, Philippe,” Perry said, grumbling as she lathered shaving foam in her hands. Carefully applying it to his jaw and cheeks, she carried on. “I swear, they’re going to be hauling me around in a papoose before the week’s up. Although, I’d like to see them try when I’m nine months gone.” She snorted. “Yeah, I didn’t tell you that yesterday, did I? I’ve a bun in the oven.” She paused. “No, that’s not right. I’ve a cucumber sandwich in the oven. That seems like a step up.”

  Laughing to herself, she mumbled her complaints to the only one who was listening—well, if not listening, absorbing. A guy who also happened to be in a coma. Funny how life worked.

  Not.

  She’d never been all that good at shaving, not even her own legs, and though she left the other kinds of toilette to the nurses, she’d been tending to Philip’s hair and shaving him. She’d been doing that since the beginning.

  Not a day, in all the time she’d known him, had she seen Philippe unshaven and rough around the edges. She didn’t see why being in a damn coma had to change anything. And it just seemed wrong for a stranger to be doing something this personal. Maybe they were part horrified that the Queen had taken these tasks on, but Perry didn’t care. Philippe was her father-in-law, dammit. He needed the personal touch if they were ever going to get him back.

  Of course, caring though her decision to shave him might be, it didn’t make her suddenly good at this kind of stuff. She’d cut him and nicked him with the razor. Several times. But comatose guys didn’t really complain all that much; even though she winced every time it happened, Philippe never did. She was kind of waiting for him to respond, to react. But he hadn’t yet, and her talents at being a barber weren’t exactly improving with practice.

  Some women were able to do shit like this. Plait their hair themselves, shave their legs without risking exsanguination. Perry wasn’t one of them.

  She could do the most mundane of shit for her work, had zero issue with the tiniest detailing when it came down to experiments, but anything body related? Nope. She had to hire out. Her one comfort was that the reason estheticians existed was for women like her.

  And now that she had Louis, well, she never had to worry ever again.

  “I told the boys off,” she groused, “for not visiting you more, I mean. They’re edgy and nervous though. I mean, I understand it. I really do. I was almost shot, and hell, I’m freaking out about that too, but more than anything I just feel…” She let loose a shaky breath. “More than anything, I just hate that one of my guards died and the other is still messed up in the hospital.”

  Raoul Da Silva’s family had been well-compensated for his death in the line of duty, but that shit didn’t matter. Blood money didn’t make up for what had happened to him, and all for a cause that no one particularly understood.

  “What’s going on, Philippe?” she asked her father-in-law, not expecting an answer, but just needing to get the words out. “Why is this happening? After all these years, why is everything starting up again?” A knock sounded at the door and she jumped, not having expected anyone to approach Philippe’s rooms for the next hour or so.

  The nurses usually gave her a wide berth when she arrived. Apparently, they weren’t used to the idea of a Queen shaving the old King…well, screw them.

  One good thing about this Queen was her small-town roots. Perry would never forget where she came from, and leaving Philippe to be tended to totally by strangers was an abomination she couldn’t allow.

  At that moment, homesickness hit her straight in the gut with the power of a battering ram. She almost doubled over with the pain of it.

  God, the normalcy. She missed it. Craved it so damn badly that it was worse than being on a diet while trapped in a McDonald’s.

  Yeah, it was that bad.

  She’d never realized how wonderfully delicious average was…until now.

  It wasn’t that she was complaining. Sure, she knew some people would take it that way, but they could just fuck off. They should try being shot at, mourning the passing of their husband’s mother, all while being crowned the fucking Queen of a goddamn nation.

  Talk about pressure.

  Sheesh.

  The knock sounded again, and she blinked. Oops. “Come in.”

  It opened and revealed a face she hadn’t seen before.

  She narrowed her eyes at the interloper. “Yes?”

  Perry wasn’t sure why, but the man struck chills in her. She wasn’t the fanciful sort, but this man? No, she didn’t like him. Not one bit.

  So much so she edged around the bed to shield Philippe from him. The King was ill, vulnerable. She didn’t fear the stranger would hurt him, but that sneering mouth, that snide nose… No, she wanted to protect her father-in-law from being ridiculed by such a sly-faced intruder.

  In less than a glance, the man took in the scene, and his lips curled in a sardonic smile. “How very picturesque. What a shame the press aren’t here to see you tend to your beloved father by marriage.”

  She stiffened. Not having expected to be verbally mocked for caring for Philippe, she demanded, “Who are you?”

  “I was once related to Philippe, so you can retract those claws of yours. The name’s Ferdinand L’Argeneau.”

  “Who?”

  At her lack of recognition, his nostrils flared, and she could sense she’d angered him with her ignorance. “Dear me, don’t they teach hicks from Tennessee anything these days?”

  Her top lip curled in annoyance. “Not about nobodies from small countries in central Europe. We’re more interested in people who really matter.”

  L’Argeneau’s eyes narrowed, but he smirked. “Touché.”

  “What are you doing here? How did you gain access to these quarters?”

  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t pressed the button for the guards; Philippe wore a chain around his neck in case of emergencies, and her hand was close to it. A part of her wanted to, but another part was hesitant. She wanted to know who this self-righteous asshole was and how the hell he’d managed to make it into this part of the castle.

  “Once upon a time, I was as welcome in these rooms as you are.”

  “Can we dispense with the melodrama, Mr. L’Argeneau? As you can see, I’m quite busy.”

  “My daughter wouldn’t have been seen dead doing what you’re doing.” He tilted his head to the side as he studied her. “Not for me or her father-in-law.”

  She frowned, then realization hit. “You’re Arabella’s father.”

  He lowered his head in agreement, but even that felt mocking. Moments before, she’d been grieving the lack of normalcy in her life. Now, she pulled on her royal panties and tried to be the woman she was today, not had once been—a Queen.

  “While that’s very fascinating, I’m sure you can understand my concerns. How did you gain access to this room?”

  “The guards know me.”

  Was that supposed to reassure her?

  Uneasiness filtered through her. “That explains the how, and I’m quite grateful for that, but the ‘why’ evades me.”

  “We used to be friends, Philippe and I. Back in the days before he was King, of course. Then, after…things changed. Not necessarily for the better, either.”

  “On whose part?”

  He tapped his nose. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Perhaps not, but I’m making it my business if you choose to remain in here.” She gave him a tight smile. “As you can see, Philippe isn’t ready to visit anyone. Old friend or not. If you’d kindly leave?”

  “You’ve more spunk than I gave you credit for. I thought you were going to pass out during the coronation, and then the other day, with the shooting? Footage went live on al
l the channels, you know. The people did so love your impromptu visit.” He returned her smile, but it was more of a grimace than a pleasant twitch of his lips. “Of course, it turned swiftly south, didn’t it?”

  “‘South’ is a kind way of phrasing it.” “Ass-up” fit better.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you. You certainly made yourself known with the Environmental Agency.”

  She frowned. “How would you know about that?”

  “I’m a member of Parliament. It’s my business to know everything that’s happening in all the nooks and crannies of government. In fact, it’s more than my business; it’s my pleasure.”

  He closed the door, and it was only then she realized he’d been standing on the doorjamb. Neither in, nor out.

  “Is there a reason you wish to continue this visit?” she asked, trying to sound kind when really, she wanted to be imperious. What did the ass want?

  He was an odd duck, no mistaking. He wore a suit that screamed the best tailoring in the land, and yet it was an old cut. Like he’d made his tailor create him something from the eighties, with its thick pinstripe, wide shoulders, double breast, and the pleating on his pants, the man looked like a mix of Don Johnson in Miami Vice and Gordon Gekko. It was an odd combination, but complete with his slicked-back hair, clean-shaven jaw, and pallid blue eyes, it all boiled down to a man she didn’t trust, didn’t like, and one she wished would back off.

  Still, he was obviously here for a purpose. And, ever curious, Perry wanted to know what that purpose was.

  “I wondered what you intend to gain by misinforming the EA.”

  Her eyes flashed with ire. “You really wish to discuss my research and the findings I uncovered over my father-in-law’s sickbed?”

  L’Argeneau narrowed his eyes. “The location isn’t ideal.”

  “Hardly. This is totally inappropriate. Why are you here?” Perry repeated, her nostrils flaring with outrage.

  “How is he?”

  “You couldn’t have asked his nurse? If you’re allowed access to the private quarters, which I highly doubt, you could have spoken with the nurse on duty.” She made a mental note to find out who the nurse on duty actually was and to have her relocated out of the palace entirely.

  Random people, be they old friends and one-time relatives, shouldn’t be allowed to just walk in here.

  In fact, screw that, she’d figure out which “guard” had decided to let L’Argeneau into the retired King’s hospital ward, and have him “relocated,” too.

  “Perhaps I wished to find a way to speak to you,” the man said, sounding cagier than a toddler declaring his innocence over the lost cookies while his face was smeared in chocolate.

  “And why would you want to do that?”

  “I just wondered if you were curious about your predecessor.”

  Her frown morphed into a scowl. “Excuse me?”

  L’Argeneau’s smile was tight. “I believe you understood me. English might not be my first language, but I think I made myself clear.”

  “The words might have been clear, but their meaning most definitely wasn’t,” she snapped. “In fact, I dislike your inference entirely, Mr. L’Argeneau.”

  “You may dislike it. You can even abhor it, but you can’t dismiss it.”

  What the hell was with this guy? Who itemized their dead child as a “predecessor”? The man hadn’t even called his daughter by her name yet.

  “Arabella played an important role in Edward’s life, but she, sadly, is in the past. I’m the present, and the future. I’m sorry she passed away, but I have no right to interfere with that part of my husband’s world. No right to, and no desire to, either.” She straightened her shoulders. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. L’Argeneau.”

  “She was a healthy girl, my daughter,” he said, his tone almost musing now. He turned his attention to Philippe who, sadly enough, hadn’t moved a muscle in umbrage at what this bastard was implying with his slights and insinuations.

  “Most people are until they pass away,” she retorted, not too kindly…but still, it was the truth. Whenever anyone famous had died, and they’d asked Perry’s grandmother how, Granny Joy had always grumbled, “Their heart had stopped.”

  The exact truth, but irritating as hell, Perry remembered fondly.

  L'Argeneau didn’t appreciate her snark. His chin reared up as he murmured, “Healthy women don’t just pass away of the flu.”

  “Is that what she died of?” Perry genuinely didn’t know.

  Though she’d been a part of the DeSauvier world since she’d become friends with George, and George had actually flown off to attend the funeral when Arabella had died, they’d barely discussed it. He’d just said she’d been ill and had died of that illness. Perhaps it was strange that they’d not really discussed it, but George had been…

  Perry’s lips twisted as she thought about just how strange George had been back then.

  He’d barely mentioned his family during the entire length of their friendship. Had never even discussed Xavier! And as she wasn’t the sort to be interested in the royal family of any country, was barely curious about the family in the White House, it had never really mattered to her.

  Now, looking back, she realized it was odd…but people did odd things, didn’t they? Especially when they were running away. And Perry had since learned that that was what George had been doing.

  He’d been running from his life here.

  A life where he’d been unable to carry on in the armed forces, where he’d been at odds with his cousin thanks to some jiggery-pokery he’d undertaken with his uncle’s fiancée…as well as his unease with Arabella and the discord he’d felt with Edward, who’d refused to accept that both men needed to share their partner to feel complete.

  No, George had most definitely been running away… from himself and the mess he’d made of his life.

  “Yes, she did. The flu,” he said, scorn lacing his tone as he barged into Perry’s thoughts. “A twenty-eight-year-old woman, in the peak of health? Who dies of the flu anymore?”

  She wasn’t a statistician but she’d say it wasn’t that irregular. People died, didn’t they? And she’d have felt for him, would have hurt for him, if he’d seemed in any way like he was mourning.

  That was the strangest thing.

  There was very little feeling behind his words. He looked more angry and disappointed than pained or sad. She knew that parents and kids didn’t always get on, but to this extent?

  George had said Arabella’s personality was as warm as a fridge freezer, though. Like father like daughter? She could understand why Arabella made ice cream look molten now that she’d met the man who’d helped raised her!

  “Don’t you think it’s odd, that a family who can afford the kind of care you see here today didn’t respond to her apparent flu earlier? No doctor came, you know. No one attended to her until the paramedics were called.”

  His statement had her frowning. “Look, Mr. L’Argeneau, I didn’t understand why you’re here, but I do now. If you think you can sow the seeds of dissension between me and my new family you’re very much mistaken.

  “I’m certain the DeSauviers did as right by Arabella as she did them. I’m terribly sorry for your loss, and I’m even sorrier still at Arabella’s passing; however, that doesn’t give you the right to barge into Philippe’s sick room and start throwing allegations around.”

  With each word that passed from her lips, her back grew straighter and her neck lengthened. It was bizarre, but she felt stronger. More confident and assured as she made the statement. By way of contrast, L’Argeneau’s eyes grew smaller until he looked like he was squinting at her with rage. Well, that is if the man was capable of feeling rage. He just looked all the more beady-eyed and suspicious.

  “You’re a fool if you don’t think to question what happened to my daughter.”

  “I’m quite happy being a fool,” she retorted.

  “You honestly don’t think it’s biz
arre that a young woman could die of a bloody cold?”

  “The flu is hardly a cold. It can develop into pneumonia, I think. I’m no doctor. But I know people die of freak circumstances all the time.”

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head—freak circumstances. That’s definitely what happened to Arabella.” He peered around the room, then sniffed. “If these walls could talk…” He shot her a look, bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

  Though nerves suddenly befell her, she stayed strong and tall until he’d left the damn room. Then, the minute he’d gone, she sank in on herself. Her hands fell to her knees as she propped herself upright, and she took in a deep, sharp breath.

  She wasn’t sure why she felt like she’d just engaged in a battle of words, but she’d survived the first round.

  That had to mean something, didn’t it?

  Her hands were shaking by the time she approached Philippe once more, and considering she didn’t want to add to her father-in-law’s woes by slitting his throat accidentally, she wiped off the residual shaving foam, leaving him half-stubbled.

  Despite herself and the nerves she still felt, she had to smile at the sight. Better for him to look like half a rake than to be cut to shreds because her fingers weren’t steady.

  Perry moved over to the door, her intent to leave. But she began to tremble harder. Pressing her back to the wall, she pulled in a deep breath and finally allowed herself to think about what had just happened.

  Philippe and Marianne were gone now. Philippe, she hoped, only momentarily, but there was certainly no asking Marianne if Ferdinand L’Argeneau was correct. And her men were up to their necks in court matters. She knew, and was irked by, the fact they were keeping her out of the loop, but the truth was, after the shooting, she needed a small respite.

  The entire situation had shaken her.

  She wasn’t the meekest of women, even though she was more comfortable in a lab than surrounded by people. But being with George, Xavier, and Edward…it was hard for their confidence, in themselves and in her, not to grow on Perry, too. By diffusion. They seemed to think she could do anything she put her mind to, and with that kind of support at her back, and from three such wonderful men, it was hard not to start believing her own press.