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

by Serena Akeroyd

  He let out a crooning noise, one that she’d heard several times over her pregnancy, and one that never failed to astonish her—Edward, who seemed totally oblivious to most things, was not oblivious to his very pregnant wife.

  Truth was, she kinda liked the attention.

  Was probably going to miss it when she popped out the sprog.

  He rubbed her shoulder and murmured, “Let’s get you home.”

  She let out a shaky breath but reached out to embrace him. “What about sentencing?”

  “It’s happened already by now.”

  “You didn’t stay to watch?” she asked, arching her back a tad to look up at him.

  “No. Of course not. I followed you.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered, biting her lip again. “What for?”

  “For making you miss it?”

  He sighed. “I know the outcome, Perry. I didn’t miss anything. I’m exactly where I need to be.”

  God, when he said things like that? It totally made her panties melt.

  Ugh, she was not in the frame of mind for panty-melting thoughts.

  Eyeing him a second, she caught sight of his questioning look, then let out a huff.

  With men like hers, panty-melting thoughts were par for the course.

  “What is it?”

  “I need to go to bed.”

  He nodded. “We’ll go home and you can nap straightaway.”

  She tugged his hand when he made a move to leave. “You didn’t hear me, Edward. I need to go to bed.”

  He frowned, then his nostrils flared as he laughed. “Oh.”

  “Just give me a bottle of mouthwash and three tubes of toothpaste and I’ll be ready for anything.”

  His laughter turned dirty. “That’s very good to know,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to the tip of her nose.

  And that was the end of that.

  Chapter Twenty

  Seven months later

  It was unprecedented and it was blood-chilling, but Perry couldn’t tear her eyes from the screen.

  That this was being televised was the most barbaric thing she could ever imagine, and yet…she understood, too.

  The dichotomy gave her a headache, and she was already feeling sluggish today. Another sleepless night, thanks to Alice waking up at 2AM, didn’t exactly put Perry at her best.

  But, while she was tired, sure, the sight of the firing squad lining in place, preparing to take fire…?

  It was disturbing and sickening and, at the same time, it filled her with relief.

  Which, in turn, made her feel evil.

  Philippe squeezed her shoulder. “We have to show a sign of strength.”

  Though she nodded, she ducked her head and took her gaze from the screen. The sight of her baby daughter in her arms was enough to soothe her for the moment. Until the shots were fired and Jacob Prichard and Giles Drake were no more.

  Her stomach churned and the need to be sick was a heavy and dull ache at the back of her throat. She pressed a kiss to Alice’s head and rocked a little as she absorbed the delicious scent of her baby, tried to find a calm in that soothing combination of baby shampoo and talcum powder.

  She was on Philippe’s bed, her legs out before her with Alice in her arms. The two of them had become quite good friends in the last few months, and as Philippe hadn’t fully recovered from his injuries, his bedrest had been far longer than any of them had imagined.

  In the face of the breach of faith that Drake’s many perfidies had unearthed, Perry had found it very difficult to settle into life at court once more. Not knowing who to believe in, who to rely on, had wrecked her self-esteem and she’d found a comfort in being with those she trusted. Cassie was one of them, and she’d taken to staying more at court with the children over the past few months as her rocky marriage with Marcus went down south…but more than her, Philippe had been a source of great comfort to Perry.

  Throughout the reporting on the trials and the final declaration of the judge’s verdict, she’d watched at his side. Finding comfort in his presence.

  They’d all been affected by Drake’s lies, and the sick thing was, as she looked up and saw the slumped forms laying on the ground, sheets now covering them, relief made a reappearance.

  They were gone, and with them, the threat they posed.

  Even as she abhorred the need for capital punishment, she understood why, in this case, there was no alternative.

  Drake had breached so many laws, was aware of so many secrets revolving around the nation and them as a family, that for him to be allowed to live was just… impossible.

  Prichard was insane—not that that had made a difference to his sentencing. The doctors had confirmed it. His zeal wasn’t feigned, but it had been fed. Because, as crazy as it was, Drake had been the Janus in their midst for the past twenty years.

  “I can’t believe it’s over,” she whispered softly, hugging Alice tightly to her chest.

  In the morning, it was her daughter’s christening, and though the timing couldn’t have been worse, at least they knew there would be no danger.

  Was she happy that the men had been shot today?

  No. She sure as hell wasn’t.

  The last thing she wanted was her baby’s christening to be the day after those monsters died, but tradition—and fucking protocol, of course—were behind that shitty decision. On the sixth month on the anniversary of their birth, all Royals had to be christened, their official titles revealed to the public. Baby Alice was about to be baptized ‘Her Royal Highness Alexandra Lisetta Diana Eugenie Alice DeSauvier’.

  Why they hadn’t been able to rearrange the goddamn execution, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t happy. Not at all. Even if she was faintly relieved.

  The UnReals had, after all, been disbanded. The majority of their numbers were siphoned off to jails around the country, and those who had allowed themselves to be influenced by the leader’s rabid fanatism, without committing any crimes under his leadership, would forever be watched by the security council governed by Dimitri Markov.

  Drake was dead, and though Ferdinand wasn’t in a prison, rotting where he belonged, she had the distinct pleasure in knowing he’d wear an ankle monitor for the rest of his natural life.

  “The fat lady has definitely sung,” Xavier murmured from the doorway. She cut him a look, then laughed when Alice, even so young, responded to his voice. Her hands clapped a little before she immediately started to doze.

  “That’s what you do to the ladies,” Philippe said wryly. “Get them going then bore them.”

  “Thanks, Philippe,” Xavier retorted with a laugh as he rounded the bed and pressed a finger to Alice’s cheek. Her downy softness was like a peach and she loved rubbing her cheek against it.

  “You’re welcome, my boy. You’re welcome.”

  Xavier rolled his eyes, then cut a look to the large screen TV where Edward was now front and center. “You shouldn’t be watching this. Either of you.”

  “Had to. Needed closure,” she said, her voice gruff. “I didn’t want to watch it but at least I know it’s over now.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. Though she stiffened a little, she didn’t say anything. Neither did Philippe. A part of her wondered if her father-in-law was aware of the unusualness of her situation with two of his sons and his nephew, but if he was, he seemed to blatantly disregard it.

  For that, she was relieved. The last thing she wanted was a conversation about that.

  Just the idea made her want to curl up into a ball and start sobbing.

  “Alice shouldn’t have heard it.”

  “It’s on mute, Xavier,” Philippe chided. “Stop being a baby. Alice doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. She’s fine in her mother’s arms. And now that all is right with Perry’s world, all is right with my granddaughter’s. Stop being a mother hen.”

  Xavier winced, but made a “come hither” motion with his fingers. She passed over Alice to him, and stretched her arms from the c
ramped position they’d been in for the last thirty minutes.

  She watched her husband declaring something to his people, and saw that the crowd outside the House of Parliament had trebled since the death sentence had passed.

  It wasn’t like two traitors had just been murdered. If anything, it reminded her of their wedding day, a moment of great joy that had them all looking like there was a damn party about to start.

  But then, her people had suffered too, hadn’t they?

  People had been hurt in Drake’s mad path to destroy Marianne and her family, and that now the world was free of him, wasn’t that a reason to celebrate?

  It was just weird celebrating someone’s death. And not like the Irish did at a wake.

  Although, if she wasn’t breastfeeding, she would totally get shitfaced.

  Even if she had to look presentable at the baptism tomorrow.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Xavier murmured softly. “All these years, he’s been there.”

  “Snake,” Philippe hissed, his anger aimed both inwardly and at Drake. He blamed himself for failing to see the man’s duplicitousness. Considering how the DeSauvier males thought the weight of the world belonged on their shoulders alone, his self-loathing didn’t really surprise her.

  “I think he gives snakes a bad name,” George grumbled, as he, too, headed into Philippe’s bedroom—which now had an open-door policy.

  Weird as it may seem, the four of them spent a lot of time hanging out in here, and probably would until he was back on his feet. Until he could either move around via wheelchair, or if the doctors could get his legs working again…

  “I do, too,” Xavier agreed, his eyes on Edward who was still speaking.

  Her husband, did he but know it, was a skilled orator. She knew that with every word he uttered, he wrapped the crowd tighter about his little finger.

  On mute, it was a strange sight to behold. Live, and in action, it turned her on something fierce.

  They fell silent as they watched him work the crowd, and only when his speech had ended, and he headed into Parliament with a last wave, did Philippe finally turn the screen off.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Philippe asked her, obviously trying to change the subject.

  She let out a small laugh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Since she’d given birth a month ago, she’d been blissfully out of the public eye. Tomorrow was her return to service and she really wasn’t looking forward to it.

  The damn baby weight wasn’t budging, and she just knew she’d be in the paper and her outfit would be pulled to pieces. Though it sucked, she was getting used to it being a part of life.

  Gossip about the family wasn’t encouraged, but slating their outfits seemed half the fun of having a sovereign in the first place!

  She eyed Alice who was nuzzling into Xavier’s chest with all the trust a daughter felt for her father… and knew that were she in Edward’s or George’s arms, Alice would respond equally as well. For, even though they were busy, the three men made time to be with her and the baby. She’d seen more of them than she had pretty much since they’d wed and this entire madness had begun.

  “What is it?” Xavier asked, seeing her wince.

  “Nothing. I’m just… I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” They had answers but that didn’t mean it made sense.

  “We might never understand it, really,” George said softly, and he shot her a look loaded with such tenderness, she wished like hell she could fall into his lap and let him hold her.

  Maybe someday Philippe would really understand what her relationship with his children and nephew was and she’d be able to, but for the moment, that was a pipe dream.

  “If I can’t get my head around it, then how can you?” She cringed at how tactless her words were, but it was the truth.

  “Some men can take rejection. Others can’t,” Philippe murmured, his tone sage.

  “Did you know they were having an affair?”

  “No. Not until your mother threw it in my face many years after the fact.” He sighed. “She did that a lot, though. I knew it was the truth. Drake was always very careful around her.”

  Perry pursed her lips. “He could have just left. He didn’t have to stay here and be around her.”

  “Glutton for punishment? Who knows why he stayed, why he didn’t get over it like most people do.”

  The weird thing was, the psychologists who’d swiftly declared Prichard as clinically insane for trial, and had tried to argue he wasn’t fit to be tried, had not said the same thing about Drake.

  He’d been as sane as any of them, and somehow, that made it far more disturbing.

  “Your mother blamed herself all those years for being the reason for your kidnapping, and though she still was, it wasn’t for the reason she believed.” He sighed. “Oh, the tangled webs we weave,” he finished softly.

  She bit her lip at how true that statement was.

  In Drake’s twisted imaginings, all those years ago, when Marianne had discovered she was pregnant… it hadn’t been Laurence Prichard’s child, but Drake’s. Drake who, back then, hadn’t been the head of security but one of Marianne’s guards.

  How Drake could be sure the child was his when Marianne had been sleeping with both him and the other man was beyond Perry’s understanding.

  When she’d had an abortion, Drake, in his grief, had gone to Prichard and had told him what Marianne had done. They’d then concocted the kidnapping, something Drake had helped facilitate using his inside knowledge, and they’d blamed it on George and Edward’s nanny.

  Prichard had taken the fall, leaving Drake to make mischief from behind the scenes ever since.

  A pact from two spurned lovers that had managed to turn the nation on its head.

  Marianne, it seemed, had the power of Helen of Troy.

  That was some pussy.

  Marianne had been cold and hard. Whatever her many men had seen in her, Perry didn’t know. But then, it wasn’t up to her to know, and it wasn’t for her to understand.

  All that mattered was that Drake’s zealous need to make Marianne suffer was over.

  Raoul, who hadn’t been a mole but had been suspicious of Drake, had paid for that suspicion with his life. When Marianne had died, he’d threatened Drake, and then had had to be silenced for daring to be loyal to his King and Queen.

  The dams?

  Drake had had a hand in that. His genius bordered on something of a James Bond villain’s. Together, he, Ferdinand L’Argeneau, and Jacob Prichard had identified a way to plant depth charges in the water that destroyed the dam’s infrastructure—they’d created massive leaks. They’d then covered it up thanks to having Charles Françoise and Luc De Montfort in their pockets, and all in the desire to make the nation desperate for water years down the line.

  The real endgame had its sights far ahead in the future.

  It would seem Ferdinand had wanted to use the country’s desperation to broker a deal between Veronia and Russia. Russia would provide them with water, while Veronia, in their need, would have to agree to anything the other nation wanted to survive—what that was, Ferdinand wasn’t saying. Or if he had explained, then Edward hadn’t told any of them.

  Regardless, those three men had almost managed to bring Veronia to its knees, and the craziest thing of all? That Perry had had a hand in veering them off-course.

  She’d been the one to declare that the water shortage was a man-made problem. She’d been the one to insist that something suspicious was afoot. Had George not known her, had he not brought her here, who knew how the rest of it would have played out?

  Still, she didn’t have to worry about that because it hadn’t played out.

  The traitors were dead, her baby was safe, and her men, the loves of her life, had figured out a way for themselves that let them lead a full and rich life together as a foursome.

  They might have to hide their love in the shadows. They might not be able to declare it to
one and all, but in the face of it, that didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  Save for what they had together and the future that love would provide.

  A disgruntled noise escaped her lips when she felt herself being rearranged in bed later that night. A leg slipped between hers, a hard, flat belly pressed against her own, and an arm slid over her waist, the hand pressing to the base of her back as she was pulled in close.

  Though she wasn’t thrilled at being woken, she sighed, the sound happy now, as she snuggled into her husband’s arms.

  “Hey, King.”

  A light snicker was his first response to her drowsy grumble. “Hey, Queen.”

  She hid a sleepy smile as she pressed her face against his pec; they couldn’t be any closer, and she loved it. Loved. It.

  Hell, she just loved him.

  Deciding that he needed to hear that before they slept, she mumbled, “I love you, Edward.”

  His hand tightened on her back, pushing her harder into him. “I love you too, Perry.” His nose rubbed her temple, nuzzling into her. “With all my heart.”

  She knew he’d been concerned about the day’s events; had been dreading and both looking forward to the time when Giles Drake and Jacob Prichard would no longer be roaming the Earth. Though he often came to bed late, she felt like this was later than usual… “Whatcha been doin’?”

  “Ruling the country, you know? Shit like that.”

  His teasing, so unlike him, had her snickering a little harder, then he made a hushing sound.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I know you need to sleep.” He sighed. “We have to be up early in the morning for the baptism.”

  She shrugged. “Worth it.”

  He stilled. “What is? Waking up early?”

  Snorting, she pressed her lips to his pec. If she fluttered her tongue against his nipple, then that was her wifely right, wasn’t it? “No, silly. Worth it to go to sleep like this.” Her own sigh was luxuriant. Pretty much a damn purr. “You feel so good. And you smell even better.”

  His laughter was choked but it was good to hear nonetheless. Her darling husband was so overworked, under such pressure even though their safety was no longer under threat, that it did her heart good to hear it.