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

by Serena Akeroyd

  “Know isn’t. Found out day this.”

  She picked between his words. “You learned the day you were shot?”

  “Yes. Why shot.”

  George stepped closer to the bed. “What do you mean? It’s the reason why you were shot?”

  “Yes. Marianne told me. Heard him on phone.”

  “You mean, she heard Raoul speaking on the phone with someone and then she told you?” At his nod, she looked at George. “That’s why the assassination happened.” She gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she waited for his response.

  “Yes. Silence us.”

  “It didn’t work,” George replied grimly.

  “No. Alive. Hurting.”

  She winced and reached for his hand. Gently squeezing it, she asked, “Do you need more pain medication?”

  “No. Give answers. Ask questions. I try.”

  George licked his lips and pressed his hand to Perry’s shoulder. “Raoul was murdered too. There was another shooting. We thought Perry was the target.”

  “Raoul loved Marianne.”

  Behind Perry, her lover stiffened. “Loved as his queen or as his woman?” she asked carefully.

  “Woman. Ours bad marriage.”

  She blew out a shaky breath. “You think Raoul would have been angered that they killed Marianne?”

  “Loved her,” Philippe repeated, his tone insistent. “He not UnReal. Drake tell them. Drake UnReal.”

  For a second, the world came to a halt. More than that, it screeched. “Drake?”

  “Drake? Our head of security Drake?”

  “Yes. Jealous. Loved Marianne.”

  “For fuck’s sake, how many men loved Marianne?” Perry spat, uncaring that she had three of her own—hell, she wasn’t cheating on anyone, was she? Dismissing those stupid thoughts, she grabbed her cell phone and immediately tried to dial Edward’s number. It went straight to voicemail. “Where is he?” she demanded, looking up at George, who was on his own cell.

  “With Drake,” her lover confirmed.

  Her heart sunk. “What?”

  “Drake came to him with evidence linking Ferdinand L’Argeneau with the rebel leader. They’ve brought L’Argeneau to a nearby military base, and they’re traveling there now.”

  “Save. Them.”

  The words were tortured, loaded with the anguish Philippe felt. For days, he’d been trying to tell them this, Perry realized. Saying names and random words to try to make them piece them together. Guilt overwhelmed her as she realized this could have been resolved so much quicker if they’d just fucking listened.

  “Drake can’t be in on this,” she half-sobbed. “He’s a good guy. He’s helped us.”

  “No. No. NO,” Philippe moaned, his limp hands managing to squeeze the silk sheets the covered him in his grand bed. “Enemy. Bad. Bad. Bad.”

  Fear forced the breath from her lungs. “Call the base, George. Just call them, tell them to detain Drake the minute they arrive.”

  George nodded, and switched into Veronian—essentially cutting her out of the picture. She felt helpless at that moment. So lost and floundering, unsure of what to do or how to help.

  George pressed his hand to the microphone and murmured, “Perry, Xavier’s with them. Call him if Edward isn’t answering.”

  Having a task would help. She immediately dialed her lover’s number. When he picked up, tears flooded her eyes. “Xavier. I know someone is in the car with you. Don’t, whatever you do, say his name or sound suspicious. I’ll explain, but try to avert suspicion from the man traveling with you.”

  Silence fell, then he cleared his throat. “I don’t want pizza tonight.”

  She blinked, surprised despite herself at the double talk. Pizza? Jesus. “Drake is behind this.”

  “No. I hate pineapple. You know that.”

  It was disconcerting, but somehow, she had to explain when she didn’t have a clue what was really happening. “When you arrive at the base, George is arranging for someone to detain…the person there. He’s dangerous. He’s behind the shooting.” She caught Philippe’s eye, saw the man was nodding, using the last of his energy to impart the message. “He’s behind everything. Raoul wasn’t the mole. Drake is.”

  Xavier’s tone turned thick. “I can’t wait to see you, either.”

  She swallowed harshly. “I love you. Please, stay safe. We only just found out. Philippe told us.”

  “There are no words,” Xavier murmured, giving a laugh that sounded bizarrely sensual in the middle of her panicked recounting.

  “How close are you to the base?”

  There was a humming sound, but she heard the anxiety in his sharp intake of breath. “Five minutes?”

  She turned to George. “Any joy?”

  Her partner nodded. “Yes.”

  Perry again spoke into her phone. “Just had confirmation. George has spoken to the base.”

  “But what next?”

  “If he’s involved with the UnReals, you need to find a link.”

  More humming came down the line. “Almost there. I’ll be home soon.”

  God, how she wished that was the case.

  “He must think he’s above suspicion. George says he gave Edward something that implicated Ferdinand L’Argeneau with the UnReals? Use that, love. Use anything you can to bring him down.”

  “I don’t understand why you want pizza though,” he countered, making her want to scream.

  “He loved Marianne. That’s all the answer Philippe can give me.”

  “Jesus, we’ve had it too often.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation—double talk wasn’t her best gift, apparently. “I know. She slept around a lot, didn’t she?” she whispered, wincing as Philippe flinched, but hell, it was the truth!

  Had this entire situation all been because of Marianne and her need to make Philippe jealous? Her need to punish her husband?

  The kidnapping had been because of that, and now this? Her own assassination and a good man’s death because she literally hadn’t been able to keep it in her pants? Not that Philippe hadn’t been as bad, but still… Philippe wasn’t a rule-loving prig who insisted on decorum at all times.

  Marianne had been cold and hard. Elegance in her blood. She didn’t have “bone rattler” tatted on her forehead. In no way did she seem the type to put it around the way she had. But hell, behind closed doors, who knew what the fuck was going on.

  And Christ, Perry was a believer in live and let live, but this was taking the piss.

  Perry felt tears prickle her eyes when Xavier murmured, “There.”

  She whispered, “Be safe. I love you.”

  “Going now. Talk to you later, babe.”

  She coughed and cut the line, wishing like hell they could stay on the phone.

  Just as she made to squeeze Philippe’s hand, George grabbed her shoulder. “Come on. We’re going to the base. They’re in Saren. It’s not far. We can get there, too, and find out what the fuck is going on.”

  As she clambered upright, she bent over the bed and pressed a kiss to Philippe’s papery brow. “Thank you,” she whispered, and let herself be dragged along at George’s side.

  Answers, God, they all needed them, and Perry could only pray that they were about to get them. If not? She really didn’t know what the hell to believe anymore.

  Behind the reflective glass, on either side of them, were two men who had played them. Played them so well, Xavier was feeling like a fucking violin. Either that or a golf course. And the latter made sense—the bastards had trampled all over the lot of them.

  He rubbed his temple as he stared at Ferdinand L’Argeneau on one side of the glass, then at Drake, who was looking more ragged than he’d ever seen him. Which was saying something, because Drake hadn’t been his usual polished self since Marianne’s death.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Xavier whispered under his breath.

  Behind him, Edward was striding back and forth, trying to burn off some o
f the excess energy plaguing him. “No. It doesn’t.”

  Xavier grimaced. “We have nothing on Drake. Nothing save for what Philippe’s said, and he’s hardly in full compos mentis.”

  “No, but Perry believed him, and Markov’s suspicious, too.”

  The minute they’d left the limo, guards had rounded on the vehicle, and had dragged Edward to safety while pulling Drake in the opposite direction.

  The head of security had hollered and shrieked like a banshee, but it hadn’t stopped the soldiers from hefting the man away and taking him to a holding cell.

  Maybe it was just desserts that he was locked in a cell directly opposite L’Argeneau. The man who was potentially his partner in crime.

  The headache blooming behind Xavier’s eyes wasn’t new. It hadn’t really left since the bombing, and as the concerns of the moment overwhelmed him, it threatened to bring him to his knees. The sharp spearing pain in his temples was enough to have him wincing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Headache.”

  “Still?” Edward demanded, finally coming to a halt.

  “Yes. I’m okay.” He wasn’t really, but then, Edward didn’t have a headache and he still wasn’t okay. Jesus, none of them were.

  The man they’d trusted for decades was a spy.

  At least, that was the accusation that was being thrown around.

  He wished like hell it wasn’t the truth, but who the fuck knew?

  Drake had been slow these past few months, not his usual self. He’d let things slide, had managed to let the sniper behind the assassination and the shooting slip away… Perry had claimed it was depression, and because Edward knew Drake loved Marianne, he’d forgiven him. But…?

  Rubbing his temples, he watched as Drake got to his feet. “You can’t keep me in here forever, dammit. What the hell are you detaining me for, anyway?”

  The yell had Xavier wincing. “He’s right. We can’t keep him forever.”

  Edward grumbled, “I know.” He shot the guard a look, then cut his ex-father-in-law a glance. He gritted his teeth at the sight of an ever pristine-Ferdinand then stunned Xavier by striding out of the small booth that separated the interview rooms, and into the hall.

  “Edward, this is beyond illegal,” Xavier hissed, but his cousin ignored him.

  The guard on duty at L’Argeneau’s door jerked to attention at the sight of the King, but he frowned. “Sir?”

  “Step out of the way, Corporal.”

  “I’m under orders, Sir.”

  “And I’m the head of the armed forces,” Edward bit off. “Move. Now.”

  The soldier eyed the King and swiftly stepped out of his way. “Sir, yes, Sir!”

  Edward shoved open the door and slammed it closed. Ferdinand, though presenting a calm demeanor, jolted at the King’s sudden appearance. Xavier watched, stunned at his cousin’s volatility, and knew it was couched in his desire to keep Perry safe.

  If Drake was the traitor in their midst, then…

  His throat closed at even the thought.

  “Let’s cut the bullshit, Ferdinand. I didn’t kill Arabella. It’s come to my attention that that’s your belief, but it’s nonsense. Lies fed to you to get you to fund some of the worst acts of terror this nation has ever seen. You’ve been played.”

  L’Argeneau’s eyes narrowed. “I have proof that the DeSauviers were actively involved in her murder.”

  “You’ve been fed lies,” Edward repeated. “I had no reason to murder her. I was going to divorce her, and whatever you think, the secrets she knew? If she had sold them to the press, she’d have gone to jail. Her prenup was airtight, and it was on my side.

  “She could have told the world I was into fetish-wear, and if it had been printed, then she’d have lost every ounce of alimony she was entitled to. As much as I loathed your daughter, I knew her for what she was—shrewd. Money-grabbing. There was no need to murder her to silence her.”

  “You can say that, can’t you? When all the cards are on my side.”

  Edward huffed out a laugh. “If you genuinely believe that, then you’re deluded. You’re going to jail, Ferdinand, whichever way you pull it. I have photo evidence of you dealing with one Jacob Prichard.” When Ferdinand’s eyes flared, Edward seemed to bite off a grin. “Yeah. An intimate conversation by the looks of it, too, and that evidence was given to be my head of security. A man I think you know… Giles Drake?”

  Ferdinand’s jaw clenched. “Now who’s talking bullshit?”

  “Not me.

  “All I know is that I didn’t murder your daughter. Neither did my mother or father, because they were the ones behind the prenup and they knew how impermeable it was. Naturally, Mother was a little nervous… women tend to be, don’t they?” He sent the man a rigid smile. “But enough to murder her? My mother was many things, but given to panic she wasn’t.

  “Yet, I can understand why you might think she was murdered by us. It’s come to my attention that all the doctors who cared for Arabella that day are dead now. The lot of them. And again, you might think this is proof of another cover up…but, do you know a Danica Prichard?” Though Ferdinand’s eyes flashed, Edward didn’t wait for an answer. “Money from her bank account was sent to a pathologist in Canada. An autopsy was undertaken on one of Arabella’s EMTs who’d tended to her on the day she died… it seems that the man drove off the side of the road because he was drunk.

  “Now, what would be to gain from that? From murdering a family on vacation? Unless they wanted to make you believe the DeSauviers were behind all this, and needed to cover their tracks.

  “But we haven’t done anything, Ferdinand. All we’ve done is sit back and watch as this fucking charade went on around us. We have you by the short and curlies because no matter your influence, this will come out, and your reputation will be in tatters because you’ve been funding a terrorist organization.

  “You’ve been fucked over, man. Worse than a street hooker.”

  “What do you want?” The words staggered from Ferdinand’s lips after a deathly silence. It had lasted so long, Xavier hadn’t been sure he’d speak.

  “If I didn’t murder Arabella, and my parents didn’t, I want to know who did. She was the Crown Princess, and that person should be tried for treason and be made to serve out that full sentence—death by fire squad.”

  “But that’s the fate that would befall me, too.”

  “Perhaps. My influence might be able to sway things.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my wife is in danger. Even as we speak. I need information. Information that will forever quash the UnReals, that might help me find and destroy the mole in my ranks.”

  For a second, Ferdinand’s mouth pursed, then he murmured, “Drake was the one who told me Arabella had been murdered.”

  Xavier’s heart froze at the admission, and he knew Edward was equally as affected because his cousin whispered, “Do you have proof of that?”

  “No. But I have other information on him. He was the go-between for a while.”

  “Between you and the UnReals?”

  “Yes. I had no interest in them or their petty feud with the monarchs. You know me, Edward. I’ve always wanted to get into bed with the family, not blow it up.”

  Edward’s shoulders turned rigid. “That’s certainly the truth,” he grated out.

  “For a while, Drake acted as liaison, until I began to see how useful it was having a bunch of insane plebs on my payroll. They came in quite handy for some business deals I had going down.”

  “You used them as your own personal army?”

  “For a time.”

  “Where are they based?”

  “I can give you details. The leader, Jacob Prichard…” Ferdinand laughed. “He hates you all. If you catch him alive, I’ll be astonished. The man’s certain the entire situation with his brother was a setup. That it was an excuse the family used to get rid of him, to keep him quiet.”

  “Well, I have firsthand pro
of it wasn’t. I saw the kidnappers’ faces after all. I know he was there.”

  “Of that I have no doubt, but Prichard’s delusions were fed by a certain someone.” Edward froze at that, but Ferdinand carried on, “He’s based in Helstern, but he moves around more than a hunted fox switches dens. I can give you his last known addresses, but the only way I can get an accurate location is if I instigate a meeting, which I’m more than willing to do, if you’ll allay any fears I might have of being tried for treason.”

  Edward gritted his jaw. “I’m willing to try if you carry on being so helpful.”

  The other man bowed his head a second, almost in contemplation. “Drake’s very clever.”

  “I can see that. He’s played us for a long time.”

  “Indeed. I was most impressed when I realized who he was. He played Marianne’s lapdog so well and for so long, it came as a surprise when he visited me.”

  “Why did he?”

  “The UnReals needed funding.”

  “Can you give us a paper trail?”

  Ferdinand pulled a face. “I wouldn’t be much use to anyone if I had evidence like that hanging around, would I?”

  Edward murmured, “You’d better hope you have something on Drake, otherwise I won’t try to protect you from the firing squad.”

  “I have it, Edward. I have it.”

  “If I find out you’re messing me around, Ferdinand, you’ll be made to pay.”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time, Edward. First, we have some rebels to catch.”

  “Why them first? Surely Drake needs to be contained before they are?”

  Ferdinand let out a laugh that twisted Xavier’s stomach into shreds, but from the still open door, he heard footsteps. Turning his head away from the conversation taking place in front of him, he saw Perry. The minute she clapped eyes on him, she started sobbing and ran toward him.

  When she was in his arms, he knew he could finally start to breathe.

  George nodded at him, before he turned his focus on the interview between two men who had once been related by marriage.

  Then, Ferdinand spoke, and any relief he’d had disappeared into dust… “When you find out what they have planned for you and your wife next, dear boy, you won’t be worrying about that lovesick old fool in there.” The older man gave Edward a smile that would have suited a Great White Shark. “Now, are you listening, or am I going to have to repeat myself?”