One hand waved toward the armchair across from her. “Have a seat, Alexander.” As he sat, she shifted to look at him. “You have a report?”
“He is in the dungeon, ma’am, per your orders. Bail has already been denied due to the eminent threat to your royal person. The judge and security teams believe he would try something else, though they are certain you will call off the wedding. No official statement has been made, of course, but that is the presumption among those in the know.”
“The wedding will be called off,” she answered softly. “I have not given the orders yet, but it is only a matter of time. My only saving grace at the moment is his anonymity. His subterfuge gives a valid reason for his insistence on utter secrecy surrounding his identity as my intended.”
“It does,” Alexander confirmed. “Since he had not been associated with you, he was able to get what he needed from otherwise unsavory characters who would never betray the crown so directly.”
“The press will have a field day.” Christiana turned back to the window, standing and moving toward it until she could feel the chill rolling through. “My country is like the weather. We were stable for so long. Following the death of my parents’ and brother, there was a brief time of turmoil, but my uncle ruled on my behalf, giving continuity and gravitas to the government. The turmoil of his ouster has not been settled very long, if truly at all. The wedding and tour of the country was to have been the occasion to restore the trust and let my countrymen lay to rest their concerns.” She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I fear what will happen when this becomes public. Not for myself. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the trappings of royalty most of the time, but a revolution or civil war will result only in needless deaths and chaos for my people and I must do whatever is in my power to stop it from happening.”
She turned to look at Alexander. “If only there was a solution.”
* * *
Alexander’s stomach churned much like the weather outside the queen’s windows. So many things in her statement he had a response to, but so many he felt the need to bide his time on. If she knew everything he did, Queen Christiana would likely suffer an emotional collapse. He would need to dole the information out slowly, as she needed to know.
But first and foremost, she was correct about the wedding. Calling it off could have a disastrous effect on the people, but what other option was there?
“You have several days before you need to make the announcement, ma’am.” He’d known Christiana for a number of years before he’d known she was queen of the country where his parents owned property and operated a wedding venue. The venue where every royal wedding for the last two centuries had been held. Where her wedding was to have been. “The only people who know are ones with completely loyalty not only to the crown but to you personally. The judge has sealed all of the information for the time being. There will be no leaks.”
She turned, looking as vulnerable as he’d ever seen her. Even when her uncle’s deceit had been uncovered, she hadn’t looked like this. “Thank you, Alexander. I know I can count on you.”
He had no background in security or police work, but had lucked into the information leading to her uncle’s arrest. In doing so, he’d truly earned his way into her inner circle. At the same time he missed the casual acquaintance with the young woman he’d known and talked with on occasion. Her laughter was a distant memory, one he cherished.
“What is the next step?”
“The barrister will finalize the case against him. He will be given the opportunity to plead guilty and avoid a trial and the death penalty. If he accepts the deal, he will live the rest of his life in solitary confinement in the dungeon or another place of your choosing. I would recommend either the dungeon or Pirate’s Island.”
“I cannot bear the thought of him being in my home, even if he is far away, and I will never see him.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Pirate’s Island would be better.”
Alexander nodded. “I agree, Your Majesty.”
She sighed. “In private there is no need for such formality, Alexander. Please call me Christiana.”
He nodded his acquiescence but knew he would go no less formal than “ma’am” for the time being.
“If he chooses not to accept the deal?”
“He will be assigned an attorney. There will be a very short list of approved names for him to choose from. While every letter of every law will be followed to the utmost, he will not be given the chance to drag you through the press with unfounded allegations of all sorts by giving him an attorney with no scruples.”
Her brow furrowed, deep in thought. “I have no desire to be sneaky and underhanded, but see if you can find some leverage. Perhaps convince him that pleading guilty is in his best interest and in return we will do something for him. See that his niece is well-cared for, perhaps. Guarantee her tuition and college fees will be arranged by myself. Something to help convince him to go quietly.”
“I believe we can find a way.”
The uncertainty returned to her face. “You are certain, Alexander? There is no mistaking what he planned to do?”
He felt his heart break for her. “No, ma’am. There is no question.”
“Very well. See it is done.”
“Of course.” Alexander stood, deciding to take a chance before he could change his mind. “Christiana, I know you believe you love him, that he loved you. Somewhere out there is a man who will love you. Not the queen and the trappings of power that come with the royal family, but the girl who laughed at her favorite sitcoms with her best friend.” Something he knew all too much about, even if she didn’t know that. “The girl who only eats M&Ms in even numbers and saves the green ones for last, unless she’s in public. That man is out there and someday soon, he’s going to find you.”
She turned a sad smile his way. “I do not meet a lot of men, Alexander. How am I going to meet a man who loves me for me and not my position, especially after the debacle that is about to descend on my life?”
He took several steps until he stood less than a foot in front of her. “Marry me.”
* * *
WINNING THE QUEEN’S HEART
Coming Fall 2015!
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Christiana Elizabeth Marissa Abigail has been queen of Ravenzario since her family died in a horrific car accident when she was five. Her uncle acted as her regent until she was of age. In the last year, the uncovering of his duplicity shook the country’s faith in her - and her faith in herself. At least she is finally going to get to marry her secret boyfriend. Isn’t she?
American Alexander Bayfield has been in love with the queen of his adopted country for years. A chance conversation, one he wasn’t supposed to overhear, inserted him into Queen Christiana’s inner circle. For two years, he’s watched as her relationship with a man he knows to be evil progressed. The evidence to finally put him away for good has been uncovered and it’s up to Alexander to break the news to her.
The aftermath leaves Alexander as the only one Christiana can turn to, the only one who can protect her reputation and, more importantly, her heart. Will he be able to win it for himself, or will secrets from his past, paparazzi who tell stories before checking facts, and the long-reaching tentacles of her uncle’s empire keep them from finding love?
Previews may not be in their final form and are subject to change.
Finding
Mr.
Write
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Local Woman Arrested For Stalking Favorite Author
Dorrie Miller could see the headline now. She held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she shoved a pair of jeans in the drawer. “Did you really buy night vision goggles?”
“What do you think?” Sarcasm deepened the Appalachian accent until Dorrie could barely understand Anise.
Of course she had.
Anise had bought the night vi
sion goggles and the ear wig thingies, the ones that looked like hearing aids, and heaven only knew what else.
Within two days of being at their first major national conference for writers, they’d be cooling their heels in a jail cell, hoping no one would use their escapades for story fodder. CANDID stood for Christian Author’s Network, Dedicated to Inspirational Distinction, not detention.
“We’re really going to stalk this woman? I know you want to meet her. I do, too. But stalking? That’s a felony.” Or a serious misdemeanor. Whichever. It wouldn’t be good. “We’ll have restraining orders and never be able to show our face at CANDID again.” Dorrie checked her appearance in the mirror once more. Passable. “And how do you know MEL is going to be at conference, anyway?”
As administrator of the Mya Elizabeth Linscott Facebook page, Dorrie should know when the author had appearances scheduled. Dorrie had read all of MEL’s books so many times she could quote large sections of them. Her collection would be complete with autographs, but the only way to get signed copies was to get them off MEL’s website for twice the cover price. Sure, the extra money went to charity but Dorrie still didn’t have that kind of cash. Instead, she had a standing order with the local Christian bookstore to get the latest book as soon as it released.
She’d even emailed with MEL a few times. Okay. MEL’s assistant, but still.
How did she not know MEL would be making her first public appearance ever?
Anise hemmed and hawed for a second or two. “Well, I don’t know for sure MEL’s coming. But the bookstore coordinator sent me a list of authors who are going to have books and she’s on it.”
“One of her books is up for a CANDID Award,” Dorrie pointed out. “Those are automatically stocked. She’s up for an award every year. Those books are always there.” Not that Dorrie had been at the other conferences, but she knew people and heard all about it.
“I know that. But she has ‘five books’ in parentheses next to her name. She’d only have one if it was just the book up for a CANDID Award.”
Anise had a point. “Okay. She might be there.”
“Let’s plan how we’re going to make sure we get to meet her. And bring your copies because they have a place where you can put them to be signed.”
“You really think she’ll sign them for free? Everyone else does, but she never has. She gives away ten free signed copies of each book when it comes out, but that’s it.” Dorrie had never won, no matter how hard she tried.
“You never know.”
A glance at the clock showed Dorrie she had ten minutes before it was time to leave for her fourth ever local CANDID meeting. The one she was in charge of. What had she been thinking when she volunteered to be the coordinator? Dorrie half-listened to Anise prattle on as doubts assailed her once again.
Visions of George Costanza danced in her head to a Brad Paisley soundtrack as a dull ache began to seep into the edges of her brain. So much cooler in the online world. She should stay home where no one would discover she didn’t belong with the cool kids.
Online, Dorrie knew she was a blast. Always fun. Always up for something. Or pretend something anyway. There weren’t any real consequences to plotting with other readers to cyber-steal a flash drive with a manuscript on it from a favorite author when nothing actually changed hands. Or to resort to bribery with her peanut butter cookies. Dorrie had been known to send a box or two. Not that it had gotten her anywhere.
Another look toward the bookcase where her first edition Mya Elizabeth Linscott novels sat, unsigned, spurred her onward. She had to go. She had to follow her dream of becoming an author. No matter what anyone, especially her dad, said about it. In two and a half months, Dorrie could finally have a chance to meet her writing hero. If she was really lucky, have two, maybe even three, minutes to pick MEL’s brain about the publishing world.
“Dorrie!” Anise’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Can you get the walkie talkies?”
With a sigh, Dorrie turned to the conversation at hand. “Yes, I have walkies. I fail to see why we need them if we’re using earwigs.”
“Back-up. You know that. Back-up your back-ups. It holds true for manuscripts and trying to meet your favorite authors.”
Anise was even more obsessed with back-ups than Dorrie had ever been. The advent of “the cloud” and “cloud storage” helped, but one could never be sure it was enough. The loss of a Publisher file with hours worth of tweaks to a floor plan for her character’s house proved that.
Dorrie heard something in the background. A dog barking. Dishes crashing. Followed by, “I gotta run, darlin’, and I know you’ve got your meeting. I’ll talk to you soon. Knock ‘em dead.”
“Ha! Love you, Licorice.”
“I’m not licorice. I’m Anise.”
“Pa-tay-to, pa-tah-to. Same thing.” The spice, anise, had a licorice flavor to it. Dorrie rarely let an opportunity to mention it pass her by. Of course, the spice was pronounced an-iss, but her friend hailed from Appalachia and said her name uh-nese.
“Love you, too. I think. See you in a few weeks!”
They hung up. Dorrie headed from her hometown of Serenity Landing, Missouri to Springfield and her first CANDID meeting with a for-real published author as the guest.
She just prayed she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
* * *
Dorrie sat at a table in Panera Bread wiping her hands on her dress slacks. The nice ones. The ones that made her feel a little more professional than jeans or her usual scrubs. It was only the fourth meeting but who was she to think she should be the one running a group like this? At twenty-three, Dorrie felt woefully unprepared to run the local meeting of the country’s premiere group for Christian writers. Unpublished. Unagented. Uneverything. And inadequate.
And with a line-up of such prestigious guest speakers coming? Why her? Right. No one else volunteered to do it.
And just one guest speaker for now, .but Dorrie had to introduce her to everyone.
So what if “everyone” meant seven people?
Kathleen Watson really was very nice. Dorrie knew because they’d been talking on Facebook for months.
Dorrie took a deep breath and jumped in. “Okay, everyone!” Her voice echoed in the almost empty room as her nerves took a beating. “I think everybody’s got their food, so it’s time for the Springfield Area Christian Authors’ Network, Dedicated to Inspiration Distinction group to welcome best-selling, award winning author, Kathleen Watson.” What a mouthful! It made her even more grateful everyone just called the organization CANDID.
The half dozen or so writers gave a polite smattering of applause as Kathleen moved to sit on the table at the front of the meeting room. “Thanks so much for having me today. I was thinking I’d tell you a bit about me, my journey to publication, and life since then. Afterwards, we’ll open it up for questions.”
The door opened and in walked Prince Caspian – fresh off his voyage through the Seven Seas on the Dawn Treader. Dorrie’s logical side knew it couldn’t be the Narnian king, but had to be his doppelganger. Her romantic side didn’t care. He was, after all, about six feet tall with longish chestnut colored hair that looked silky enough for every girl in the room to be jealous, and eyes the color of Hershey’s chocolate.
“Is this the CANDID meeting?” His voice, smooth as velvet, melted Dorrie’s insides.
“Um, yes,” she managed to stammer. “Have a seat. We’re just getting started.”
He smiled, though Dorrie had the impression his full grin was much more drool-worthy.
Before she realized what he was doing, he slid into the chair next to her. If he got any closer Dorrie would be wearing his cologne. Very nice smelling cologne, too. Not at all like she expected from someone who spent most of his time on a boat with a giant talking mouse.
How was she supposed to concentrate? Ask insightful questions? Keep everyone on task during the Q and A if she spent the next two hours wondering if he’d take her back to Narnia with h
im?
Somehow, Dorrie managed to focus on Kathleen. She talked about what the industry had been like twenty years earlier when she first broke into publishing and how it differed now.
After about thirty minutes, Kathleen looked at Dorrie. “You know what? Why don’t we skip straight to questions? You guys ask me what you want to know about life as an author. I don’t know all of you so why don’t we do introductions, then questions?” The look she gave left it up to Dorrie.
Dorrie moved to the front of the room to direct the conversation and told them a bit about herself when one of the other gals interrupted.
“Did I see your name on the New Beginnings list?”
Heat rose in Dorrie’s cheeks. “I had two manuscripts final in different categories.”
“New Beginnings is the CANDID contest for unpublished authors, right?” The question came from the other new member. Dorrie didn’t think she’d heard the lady’s name yet.
With a nod, Dorrie confirmed the statement but turned to the next person. All but two of the other seven people she’d met several times and halfway tuned them out. The newbie who’d asked about the contest introduced herself as Julie Harders. And then they got to Prince Caspian.
“I’m Jeremiah Jacobs. I’ve been writing for years, but decided to switch genres to political thrillers.”
“What did you write before?” Kathleen asked.
He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “A bit of everything trying to find the elusive voice. I think I’ve found it writing political thrillers.”
“Good.” Kathleen turned to Dorrie. “Do you want to handle the Q and A?”
Dorrie gave a half-shrug. “Up to you.”
They spent the next hour asking Kathleen questions about how she came up with new ideas year after year, about what life was like on deadline, how to avoid the deadline crunch, and on and on. Two hours after the meeting began, they wrapped up, chatting a bit in little groups until an employee stuck her head in and said another group was coming in a few minutes.
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