Chapter Nineteen
It was clear for all to see that Giles Drake felt no guilt for what he’d done. The many wrongs he’d written seemed not to weigh an ounce on his soul.
As Perry sat there, her belly round with the daughter they’d discovered they’d be having in under a month, she tapped her fingers against the crown of the bump. She wasn’t sure whether that was to soothe the baby or to soothe herself. Either way, it wasn’t working.
Another bombing had been planned. This time at the symposium of environmental scientists she’d been due to head a few months after the baby’s birth. There, the most lauded of her peers would come together to discuss their findings… findings on a situation that had been man-made. Just as Perry had declared it months before.
Of course, it irritated the hell out of her that they were going to come to the same conclusion she had only a wasted year later, but politics was politics wherever you were…
Even if it was a royalist state.
Still, none of that mattered now, did it? It had come out that the dams were being sabotaged as an endgame between Ferdinand L’Argeneau and Giles Drake—their intention to reap the profits as they brokered the deal between Veronia and Russia, or whichever nation would help them with their water crisis. Perry was under no illusion that Edward’s ex-father-in-law’s focus had been the money.
She supposed a part of him had believed he was acting on his daughter’s behalf. Avenging her passing. But predominantly, he’d been doing it for the money. As well as power—that kind of leverage was heady to a man like L’Argeneau.
Drake, on the other hand, was a lot more complicated.
He’d had his hands on some of the nation’s most delicate secrets. Had been an integral part of the royal family’s protection… knew the truth about their relationship, too, she’d learned recently.
Which was why she was here. Nervous, bricking it, but here nonetheless.
To deal with the aftermath of Drake potentially revealing all in the singular speech he could give for his defense.
Veronian law was like any other European law. A man had to be proven guilty, and was innocent until then.
Unless it was treason.
Then, there was no defense. Only prosecution. And any traitors were allowed a single speech, a speech which was giving her sleepless nights…
Edward’s hand tightened about hers as Drake got to his feet. He knew she was nervous, kept placing his fingers on her knee when she jiggled her foot to try to burn off some of the chaotic energy flaring through her.
Drake knew about them, dammit. How couldn’t she be nervous when he had a speech, in which his loose tongue could reveal any and anything to the world at large?
Because the world was most definitely watching.
It was unprecedented, but Edward had allowed global reporters in to view the trial. He was making a statement, he’d told her. Drake's punishment was guaranteed, there was no out for him, no saving grace, but their judicial process was sound and the whole world needed to know that.
In their current times, where human rights were on shaky ground, she could only be proud of him for that.
Drake stumbled as he got to his feet. He was shackled, and the cuffs were visible over the cuffs of his suit. They pulled taut as he righted himself.
The courtroom reminded her of something she’d seen in a British crime procedural. It was all wood. Dark and gloomy. There was a high stand where the judge was seated, to his right was where witnesses were called up—the walls were tall here too, but the wooden dowels were thick and ornately carved.
Perry and Edward were to the left of the judge. They weren’t on a high stand, but thrones, similar to the ones in the throne room at Masonbrook, that were made from wood that blended into the walls, thickly carved. There were only two points of color—the cushions upon which they were seated were a ruby red. And above their heads, the Royal Seal was a bright gold.
They were angled toward the jury box—but there was no jury involved in this particular trial. Opposite the judge, there were the two tables for the lawyers, like in an American court, and between them, in a stand of their own, surrounded by a shield of bulletproof glass, were Giles Drake and Jacob Prichard.
The audience at their backs was crammed, as were the two mezzanine floors of the gallery. The press could be seen making notes, scrawling information down on their pads. There were artists, too, as the inside of a courtroom couldn’t be filmed here. Illustrations would make it into the papers and onto the news reels; providing the only glimpse into this shadowy world available to the masses.
As Drake righted himself, standing straight and tall, the entire courtroom seemed to suck in a sharp breath.
Whatever he was about to say meant little in the scheme of things. His reasons for doing what he had didn’t justify the actions he’d undertaken, which made it something of a moot point. Perry wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her terror that he’d reveal all.
“You, the accused, Giles Maxim Drake, have the right to free speech as does any subject of the Veronian court. You may speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The judge’s voice was a deep boom. He wore a wig of curly hair that seemed pretty incongruous to his red and earthy features. His black robes were somber, but they were brightened by a gleaming maroon outer robe that perched on his shoulders, and declared his status as a High Court judge.
Prichard had already spoken, had already let loose a torrent of madness that revealed his desire to maim the DeSauvier family as his family had been maimed. He’d never mentioned Marianne though, and Perry had to wonder just what Edward had up his sleeve if that level of batshit could be controlled…
She just hoped it worked on Drake, too.
“I did it because I could,” Drake stated calmly. Unlike Prichard, there was no frenzied or frenetic tone to his voice. Prichard was cuckoo, but Drake wasn’t… “Because I had access. Because the entire nation was available to play with.”
Perry tightened her hand on Edward’s, and felt her stomach start to churn.
Whether it was nausea, morning sickness, or just nerves, she didn’t know, but she really hoped it was just damn nerves. The last thing she wanted was to puke in front of all these people, dammit.
Clenching her teeth, she watched as Drake shrugged and murmured, “That’s all I have to say.”
For a second, Perry could do nothing less than gape at the man. He could take the stand for an hour. Rant and rave, use it as a voice box as Prichard had… but he didn’t. He simply took a seat, shot Edward a look, then smiled.
That smile made her clamp her hand to her mouth, rush to her feet, and run off the dais where the thrones were, and toward the door at the back that led to the judge’s chambers.
She didn’t know how Edward would excuse it. Didn’t know if he even could. Maybe she’d just made a prick of herself in front of the world’s eye—but her stomach wasn’t calming, and she could feel it rising in her gullet.
She didn’t even dare suck down a deep breath of air as she made it into the hallway that led to the judge’s chambers, but approached the nearest door. She didn’t knock, just barged in. There was a sober-faced man dictating to a woman with an iPad in her hand. They both looked up, gaped at her as she ignored them and garbled, “Bathroom!”
The man stared at her blankly, but the PA rushed to her feet and swiftly approached a door. Holding it open, she murmured, “Here, your Majesty.”
Perry couldn’t nod. Couldn’t believe she’d had the energy to say “bathroom.” That was how damn weak she was! When she saw the gleaming white porcelain, she wanted to sigh in relief. She even started to suck in a bit of air—but that was the final straw, and she dropped to her knees and released the evil that was nausea into the bowl.
Her knees ached like a bitch from the hard landing, and it made her want to puke even more to think that this was a dude’s toilet and men tended to have shitty aim, but there was no stopping this…
T
he torrent of anxiety and nervousness welled inside her and poured forth in the worst bout of morning sickness she’d had throughout the pregnancy. By the time she was done, she was shaking, feeling weak and frail. She pressed a hand to her mouth, pressed the other to her clammy forehead. Before she could reach forward to flush, a strong hand appeared to do it for her.
She looked up at her husband and scowled. “You know I don’t like you to see me puke.”
His lips twitched, but it didn’t lighten the grimness of his expression. “You know I don’t like to see you puke either.”
She narrowed her eyes. “For different reasons.”
“Yes. You’re embarrassed over a very natural process that is happening because my baby is in your belly. I’m just concerned that you vomited out a small country.”
Her lips formed into a pout. “You shouldn’t have watched.”
“I caught the tail end, I’ve been assured.” He cleared his throat and turned his back on her. She gaped at him, astonished at the idea of him walking off—even if she hadn’t exactly welcomed him. Before she could demand—then plead—that he stay, he muttered, “I apologize for the intrusion, Judge Maître. As you can see, it was an emergency.”
Though Edward spoke in English, the judge, quite rudely, Perry thought, switched to Veronian. Still, Edward didn’t stiffen up as he usually did when under fire. If anything, he laughed a little—ruefully, Perry thought.
She sank back on her heels as she heard footsteps, then a door opened and closed.
“Are we alone?”
“Yes,” Edward murmured, turning back to her. “We are now.”
“You don’t know it’s your baby in my belly.” For some reason, that point stuck.
He didn’t frown, didn’t even look perturbed by her comment. “Of course it is.”
“It could be George’s,” she remarked, rubbing her stomach which was tight and huge and aching and, ugh… She felt like she’d had a basketball shoved down her gullet—which would explain why she was getting really good at giving head.
Had nothing to do with practicing on three guys, of course.
Nope, no sirree.
“If the child is George’s, regardless, she is still mine.” He sighed, then squatted down beside her. Unlike her, his knees didn’t touch the ground. “Why do you persist with this line of questioning?”
She grumbled, “It’s important.” She’d asked them all, several times, if it counted. No matter what they said though, they couldn’t reassure her.
“No, it’s not. We’re a family. An unusual one, granted. But a family nonetheless.”
Perry peeked up at him. “I’m sorry for asking.”
“You’re insecure. I just wish I knew why,” he replied softly, his gem-like eyes gleaming with a sincerity that scorched her.
“I don’t know why either,” she admitted. “There’s no need, I just… Men are weird about this stuff. Usually,” she tacked on, when he cocked a brow at her. She huffed. “Anyway, what’s going on, Edward? Why was Drake so circumspect?”
“I told you I had it handled,” he countered, his hand coming to her back. He started a gentle, sweeping motion that had her feeling even shakier… strange considering it comforted her. “Are you going to be sick again?” he asked quickly, his other hand moving toward the toilet seat.
“I-I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead. “How did you handle it?”
“I didn’t have electrodes glued to his fingernails if that’s your concern.”
She blinked. “It wasn’t, but now it is.”
He snorted. “I used leverage, darling. That’s all.”
“What kind of leverage?”
Edward tapped her chin. “If a criminal is a criminal, does that mean he doesn’t love his country? His royal family?”
“Are we talking about criminals other than Drake and Prichard here?” she asked wryly.
“I am.” He wasn’t teasing, his tone was somber.
“Well, no, I guess. You can be a prick, but be a patriot at the same time.”
“Exactly. How many men, in a regular jail, would want someone like Drake or Prichard dead?”
She winced. “A lot?”
“A hell of a lot. They both knew it, too. If I’d had them shoved in a general prison, they’d have been fair game for… well,” he said with a grimace, “a lot, shall we say, and leave it at that?”
Gnawing at her bottom lip, she asked, “That was all you did?”
“It was all I had to do. Death by firing squad may be public, and it may seem brutal, but it’s fast. Murdered in their jail cell with a weapon made out of sharpened plastic…” He shook his head. “Shivs aren’t going to be a nice, clean death, are they?”
“I’m surprised Drake cared.”
“Everyone cares, especially when it comes down to their death. Plus, there were the months of the trial… he could have been raped, tortured… Nobody wants that.”
“So, you put them in solitary?”
He nodded. “Yes. With a team of guards that I hand-selected myself.”
“Because they could have abused the prisoners, too?”
“Yes. It’s not exactly unheard of.” He winced. “Anyway, we don’t need to be talking about this. I thought you were okay with Drake’s speech.”
“I would have been if you’d told me all that!” she retorted crossly.
He grimaced. “There was always a risk they’d renege on it, so I just never said anything. I’m sorry, carilla.”
She pouted. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”
“Then I’m the one who should be shot.”
Her pout turned into a grin. “It’s okay, I’m not that mad.”
“The relief is endless,” he informed her drily. Then, he shot her a look. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, now that the whole world isn’t going to learn about us.”
“I understand. Are you ready to go home?”
“Definitely.”
He got to his feet, then carefully helped her stand. His hands came to her belly and he rubbed the round ball with so much love that tears prickled her eyes.
When he made to move away, she reached for his wrist. Staring deep into his gaze, she whispered, “Drake just wanted the money, didn’t he?”
Edward stilled, then sighed. “I don’t think that’s the truth.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think he wanted to hurt us, at first. Hurt Mother. Then, I think…” Another sigh escaped him. “I think he enjoyed it. Playing two roles. Being the bad guy with the good guy’s façade. He could do it, and so he started to ask himself, ‘Why not?’”
Perry gulped. “I think I’d have preferred for him to be after the money.”
Edward’s voice was wry as he murmured, “Me too. Still, we can’t fabricate a man’s motives.”
She bit her bottom lip as she thought about Ferdinand L’Argeneau. “I still don’t think it’s fair L’Argeneau isn’t here.”
“Because of him, three other terrorist attacks were quenched. Countless lives were saved. Yours included. On top of that, he gave us information that allowed us to disband the UnReals, Perry. That… had to be rewarded.”
“Is it because he’s rich? Or your father-in-law?”
“He isn’t my father-in-law. Nathaniel is now.”
She huffed. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, yes.” His lips curved. “Do you think I’m one for nepotism, Perry?”
“No. I didn’t.” Past tense—he didn’t seem to miss that either.
“Well, you’re right. I’m not. A man like L’Argeneau… he doesn’t need a jail cell. Where he is, it’s worse than a jail cell.”
Perry scowled. “He’s at home!”
“Yes. But he can’t leave the wing he’s in. He has freedom to move between rooms, but that’s it. Everything is limited. His communications, his visitations…”
“Boohoo,” she grumbled, making him snort.
&nb
sp; “Sweetheart, the man has spent his life amassing fortune, influence, and power. That’s all gone now. He’s a shell, and will be until he dies. It just won’t be by firing squad.”
“It’s a pretty prison,” she countered. “And his wealth is still there.”
“No, the wealth connected to his title is. His estate is indentured. When he dies, his daughter will inherit the land and the money connected to it. His personal fortune? All gone.”
“For the dams.”
“Yes. It’s a drop in the ocean, but it’s something.”
“You know that people think it’s because he was related to you.”
He shrugged. “The truth will come out after his death.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
She squinted at him. “Because he was related to you?”
His hand came up to squeeze her shoulder. “Let it go, Perry.”
“No, I need to know why you’re being so lenient on him.”
“Because of him, the UnReals don’t exist anymore. We destroyed the nest from the inside out.”
“I know that. But this feels personal.”
He was quiet for a second as he looked deep into her eyes. Then, he rocked forward and pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “Arabella and I should never have married. She was always fragile, and I was always indifferent.”
“You can’t be blamed that the woman was addicted to being addicted.” Drugs, dieting… hell, name it.
“No, but her situation wasn’t helped by me. She was in the public eye. She felt the pressure of that, and I wasn’t there for her because I wasn’t interested.” He shrugged. “No, it’s not my fault. Not directly. But I didn’t help. L’Argeneau did Veronia enough of a service for me to put him under house arrest. That’s all he deserves. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Though she was still frowning, she heard the resolve in his voice and just sighed. “I don’t feel so well,” she admitted grumpily. Though she was changing the subject, she wasn’t exactly lying.
Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3) Page 35
