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

by Serena Akeroyd

  Marcus wasn’t coming home for his family, but because of a King’s order.

  That mattered.

  At least, it did to Perry, and the idea of keeping it from her friend was more than just abhorrent. God, she wished she hadn’t heard that conversation. Wished she was still in the dark. But she wasn’t. She knew the truth, and she wanted Cassie to know it, too. Even if it went against her husband’s plans.

  Even as the words burned on her tongue, Cass starting picking at her nails, something she loathed about herself, and only did when she was feeling agitated. Perry couldn’t exactly blame her.

  Agitated was the way of it for the moment, before the prodigal husband made his way home.

  She sipped at her cup of tea and wished it was coffee. If not coffee, then brandy, because damn, that would have gone down so well right about now. The Veronians had this strange little habit of having coffee with brandy first thing in the morning. It was only a small shot of the good stuff, and Perry had no idea how they carried on working a full day after having that for breakfast, but she’d had it a few times, and had to admit that it had definitely soothed her nerves.

  That was exactly what both she and Cassie needed.

  “Sorry, Perry. I know we’re supposed to be talking about replacements for the Guardians. I, for one, am glad not to have to see that old bat, Murielle, again. What a witch.”

  Perry shrugged, though her mouth curved into a smile—Murielle Harlington was definitely a nasty mix of “old bat” and “witch.” “Don’t be silly. I know you’re uncertain about what’s going to happen when he gets home.” She bit her lip after taking a sip of chamomile with honey—the doctor had recommended it for her nerves. Though it had never done much for her in the past, Veronian chamomile was actually stronger than what she’d had back in the States, sweeter, too, thanks to the strong sun but their typically drier soil.

  Cass winced. “I can’t divorce him, can I?”

  Ducking her head, she tried to avoid responding to that question. “You have to answer that yourself, Cass. I can’t help you there.”

  “I wish you could.”

  Perry wished she could too. Especially knowing what she did about the bastard.

  Two months ago, Edward had told her that Marcus had called him. He’d promised his friend that this deal he was working on would be the last one, that his letter of resignation was already written, and he was just waiting for his money to hit his bank account before he handed the letter in.

  Then, when the deal had gone through successfully, and he hadn’t made an appearance back home, flowers in one hand for Cass and an armful of toys for the kids, Edward had called again. Ever since, Marcus had been avoiding him.

  Until yesterday.

  The bombing had changed things. Even for that selfish prick.

  “You love him,” she said softly, trying to remember that and trying not to think of how badly she needed that brandy.

  “I do, Perry,” Cassie admitted, then after plucking at her skirt on her knee, she continued, “I guess that’s the only thing that matters?”

  “If he gets home, and you realize that you’re not in love with him, you bring your ass and the kids to Masonbrook, do you hear me?”

  A scandalized laugh escaped Cass. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I am. Deadly.” The word came out grimmer than she liked, but she meant it. Edward wanted Marcus in a settled home environment for the role he’d be undertaking on the Crown’s behalf, but he could go fuck himself if it meant Cass was going to be living in misery with a bastard who thought more of himself and his bank balance than his wife and children.

  “That’s not necessary, Perry. Honestly.”

  She firmed her lips. “I know you have other friends you can call on, but there’s plenty of space here. Plus, the children are used to coming to nursery here, aren’t they? It will be a little adventure for them to spend the night.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’m not doing anything at all,” Perry countered, slumping back into the side of the couch with a sigh. Talk about being a two-faced bitch with the only woman in the country she actually liked. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to feel like you’ve nowhere to go. I mean, I know you could afford to live in a bloody first class hotel for the rest of your life if you wanted, but I just…”

  “I know exactly what you mean, Perry, and I appreciate it more than I can say.”

  There were tears in the other woman’s voice, and because Perry’s nerves were all over the place, the sound had her own throat clogging.

  “You’re my best friend, Cass.”

  “I know. You’re mine too, Perry.”

  They shot each other sheepish smiles, then jolted when a knock sounded at the door. The sharp rap made them grimace at each other in dread.

  “Rose,” Cass whispered.

  “The Dragon,” Perry confirmed on a hush, then in a louder voice, called out, “Come in.”

  How someone so pretty could be so fucking mean was beyond her, and it just went to prove that a book’s cover sure as shit didn’t have to match its interior.

  Rose, though she was Perry’s age, had the dour sense of humor of an octogenarian.

  In fact, that was doing all eighty-year-olds a total disservice, because even when her own grandparents had managed to hit that lofty age, they hadn’t had their heads as far up their asses as this chick.

  “What is it, Rose?” she demanded, knowing she sounded haughty when Cassie choked back a laugh.

  “Miranda Greatley is here, your Majesty.”

  The months working together, a shooting and a bombing, hadn’t managed to lessen the formalities on which the other woman insisted. She’d asked countless times, almost begged for less strictures, but Rose just wouldn’t relent. And the looks she shot Perry’s way were enough to make her believe that ‘Mean Girls’ were a real thing.

  And she had one for a PA.

  Gritting her teeth, she nodded. “Send her in.”

  Rose frowned. “In here? To your private quarters?”

  “Where else?” Perry demanded, feeling her cheeks flush with anger at being questioned. Rose did this all the time. Undermined her, made her question her own authority. She didn’t particularly like being queen, but hell, that was her position and the other woman, who insisted on all these formalities, seemed to have zero problem forgetting them when it came time to judging Perry for not being ‘majestic’ enough.

  Even Cass, who was used to this way of life, thought Rose was a pain in the butt.

  “Your office, of course. This is an official matter.”

  “I believe the Queen knows her own duties without your having to remind her of them every time you open your mouth, Rose,” Cassie bit off.

  The PA’s shoulders dropped, anger tightening her delicate features. “It’s unseemly for the Queen to entertain anyone in here.” She curled her lip in disgust at the pair of them, curled up on their respective seats.

  “Before I’m a Queen, I’m a woman, Rose,” she remarked swiftly, sick of the way Rose looked at her. How the woman could be so rigid in her outlook of how Perry should behave and glare at her like she was a dog turd was something Perry just couldn’t compute. “But we’ve had this argument too many times for me to even give a damn about your opinion.

  “When will you get it into your head? I don’t care for what you have to say. You work for me. I don’t work for you. Bring Miranda in here and consider yourself dismissed for the rest of the day.”

  “But there are other appointments—?”

  “Yes, and Cass is quite capable of opening the door for them to make their way in here. Enjoy your half-day, Rose.”

  The Dragon’s mouth pursed in anger, but she nodded, dropped a quick and totally resentful curtsey—because they were entirely possible. Every day, Rose granted her a display of the varying kinds of emotions that could be imbued in the damn genuflection—and stormed out.

  Cassie snickered as she slamme
d the door shut. “She’s hard-headed, I’ll give her that.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if she’s a little slow. The woman is refusing to bend even though it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that I hate the formalities she seems to insist on.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve put up with her as long as you have, if I’m being honest, Perry.”

  “Edward chose her for me,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “if he hadn’t gone to the bother, I’d have fired her ages ago. We don’t gel well at all.”

  “Why don’t you get rid of her? Or shuffle her off to another part of the palace admin?”

  She shot Cassie a look. “I can do that?”

  “Perry!” Cass clucked her tongue. “You’re the Queen. You can pretty much do whatever you want. Aside from walk around naked, that is. Don’t be getting any ideas.”

  Laughing, Perry managed to splutter out a fine spray of chamomile onto her leggings. She whacked a hand over her face and giggle-snorted, “Oh great. I’m about to meet a potential new Guardian covered in my own snot.”

  “Why not start as you mean to go on, eh?” Cass said cheerfully, catching Perry’s eye.

  The two of them pealed into laughter, laughter that was only interrupted when the door opened again. Perry, dabbing her knee with a tissue, carried on chuckling until she saw Xavier’s face.

  “What is it?” Her heart began to pound to a thick beat that felt unnaturally sluggish. “Is someone hurt?”

  “Edward needs to speak with you.”

  “Is he okay? Is George?”

  Xavier nodded, but his grim jaw had her biting her bottom lip.

  “For God’s sake, Xavi, what the hell’s going on? You know you can speak about anything in front of me.” Cass sounded outraged that the opposite might be true where the Duke was concerned. For at that moment, there was no mistaking that Xavi, as Cass had called him, was most definitely the Duke.

  “I’ll tell you when I can, Cassie. As it stands, I need Perry. Now.”

  She dumped the tissue on the stand beside the sofa and rushed over to Xavier. He grabbed her hand, his fingers tightening around hers to the point of pain as he half-dragged her out of her sitting room.

  “What is it?” she demanded breathily after a few silent moments where she allowed herself to be hauled around without complaint. “Tell me, Xavier!”

  “I can’t. Not in public.”

  “Where are we going, then?”

  “To the private quarters in the other wing.”

  Her heart sunk. “Philippe?” she asked softly, her stomach twitching with butterflies.

  “Yes.”

  Nausea swirled around her and she felt suddenly lightheaded. “Xavier, we’re going too fast.”

  Before she could utter another peep, he’d swept her in his arms and carried on striding down the corridor before she even had time to catch her breath.

  They passed several footmen and a bewildered Miranda Greatley, a potential candidate for Perry’s Guardians, whose eyebrows were close to her widow’s peak in astonishment at the sight of the Queen being hauled around like Jane was by Tarzan. Flushing, she gave the other woman a limp wave, then wished she could bury her face in Xavier’s neck.

  A bold footman appeared at Xavier’s side, keeping in line with him as he demanded, “Is all well with her Majesty, your Grace?”

  Touched that Roberts dared brave Xavier’s grim expression, she murmured, “I’m fine, Roberts. Thank you for asking.”

  The footman’s scowl turned confused but he nodded and fell out of step as they made it into the other wing of the palace.

  The door to Philippe’s room was open, and the nurses bustling in and out made Perry’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “He’s woken up,” she said, her tone loaded with wonder.

  Xavier nodded, but stayed silent.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s asking for you.”

  “He is?”

  “Yes.”

  Why was he being so quiet, so reticent? What the hell was going on?

  As they made it to the door, Xavier helped her onto her feet. She felt a little unsteady after being carted down the landing at such a fast clip, and her ears were still ringing from the explosion… that didn’t help with her sense of balance or her morning sickness.

  She rubbed her forehead as she started to step inside and came across the sight of her men gathered around their father’s bedside.

  What she’d expected, Perry supposed, had belonged in a medical TV drama. Philippe, she’d thought, would be sitting up, drinking milk or some shit like that. Surrounded by pillows and speaking, if only slowly.

  But he wasn’t. He was in the same position as he’d been before, but his lips were moving. Slowly. Quietly. Constantly. They didn’t stop once, and she realized he was forming her name.

  “Pe-rr-ee.” Three syllables instead of two. Definitely slurred.

  His eyelids were flickering too, like they were on another circuit board that was out of whack.

  He looked pastier than before, and he hadn’t looked that healthy in the coma. Still, the doctors were moving around him—how had that even happened? She hadn’t known Dr. Schertz had flown in!

  What the fuck was going on?

  “Perry’s here, Father,” Edward said softly.

  The moaning of her name grew louder and faster, more frantic. It urged her to rush forward. She grabbed Philippe’s dry hand, wincing at the crepe-y feeling of his skin. She’d been moisturizing them, as well as dotting his lips with Vaseline to stave off sores, but her duties had fallen by the by since the bombing.

  The day after, she’d been stuck in bed herself on doctor’s orders—nothing was wrong with the baby, but he’d still ordered total rest.

  Today was the first time she’d been allowed up and about, and she’d had duties to attend to. But in those few days, Philippe’s hair had grown limp and stringy from lack of a wash, and his jaw had turned bristly with stubble.

  She winced, hating that he was being seen like this as she squeezed his hand. “I’m here, Philippe. I’m here.”

  His lips stopped moving, and his breathing deepened into a smooth wave that seemed less hectic, more normal.

  “He’s calming down,” Dr. Schertz pointed out softly, his attention on Philippe’s vitals.

  Edward let out a shuddery breath of his own. “What’s happening?” he asked the doctor.

  “Until I run more tests I won’t know. But it’s not unusual for coma patients to wake up disoriented. It’s not like how it is in the movies.

  “Until he’s more lucid, we won’t know how he’s faring. Not fully. As it stands, all we can do is monitor his vitals, keep him calm, and let time heal him.”

  Edward gnawed at his bottom lip, and Perry reached for his hand with her free one. She squeezed it, knowing how hard those words would be for him to swallow.

  Patience, at the moment, wasn’t Edward’s strong suit.

  The parade, and its aftermath, had changed her men.

  They were harsher. Stronger. More intent.

  It was almost like the bombing had been what they needed to truly settle into their places. Like the last few months had been their lessons, and the bombing had been their graduation.

  Edward had never seemed all that easy in his role as King, but he wore it like a cloak now. It was as much a part of him as his stern character, his dark gold hair, and his sensual lips.

  Xavier had had longer to play the part of Duke, but that was exactly what he’d been doing—playing. His interests had always rested with his plants and his studies, and she couldn’t blame him for that. Wasn’t she the same? But now, he, too, was more serious. His intentions aimed solely at his ducal duties and how they could help Edward settle into his role as King.

  George, too, had been hit by what had happened to them. Her fun-loving, carefree joker had taken a beating, and she only hoped that that side of him would make it out at the end of this mad situation they found themselves in.
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  She gnawed at her lip when Philippe’s body seemed to relax. She knew enough about the human form and the equipment around him to realize he hadn’t died—even though he’d definitely gone limp. But his heart carried on beating; strongly too.

  “He’s sleeping,” Dr. Schertz confirmed. “Deeper than before. He’s truly resting now.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  The doctor shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope we’ll find out when he’s more himself.”

  It went unsaid that that might not be the case. That this was about as lucid as Philippe might ever be.

  She flinched at the thought of the dynamic man being imprisoned in this bed for the rest of his life, and knew that she couldn’t let that happen. She’d do whatever she could to help him during his rehabilitation—her duties as Queen be damned.

  Her first loyalty was to her family, after all.

  “Just in time for Christmas,” George said gruffly, but he smiled, even if it was more of a rictus than anything else. “He always did have good timing.”

  “Mother said he should have been an actor,” Xavier said softly, his tone lighter than his cousin’s. “Said he had the charisma of a snake oil salesman and the meter of a Shakespearian bawd.”

  George and Edward snickered, despite the somberness of the situation—the shared memory had her warming up inside. It was a relief to see that they weren’t totally hardening up to the world around them.

  Her included.

  “I remember that. It was when he beat her at charades for the fifth year in a row.”

  “Then she refused to play again if he was team leader,” Xavier murmured.

  Edward chuckled. “She was such a spoiled brat. You’d have liked Tanta Lisetta, Perry.”

  She arched a brow. “I hope you’re not saying that because I’m spoiled?”

  The men laughed, but George quickly inserted, “We wouldn’t dare.”

  She sniffed. “Good. Glad to hear it. But I wish I’d had the chance to meet her, too. She sounds like fun.”

  “She was a pain,” Xavier said fondly, “but she was definitely fun.”

  Dr. Schertz cleared his throat. “I will be staying in the palace, your Highnesses?”