Transcender Trilogy Complete Box Set

by Vicky Savage

  “Of course,” Drew says. “Do not blame yourself, Sister. This could have happened at any time.”

  “Thanks, Drew.”

  The two men leave, closing the door behind them. I do blame myself. The news of the attack must have been too much for her heart. I wish I’d been able to see her one last time.

  It’s true Queen Eleanor was not my birth mother, but a deep sadness at her passing envelopes me. I kneel beside the bed and rest my hand on her sleeve. The feelings of loss when my Connecticut mom died come flooding back to me now. I never got to see her body after the fiery car crash—too badly burned they said. This is a kind of closure for me, a chance to touch her and say my silent goodbyes.

  Resting my cheek on the soft coverlet, I close my eyes, sending both my mothers thoughts of love and peace. My emotions are a tangled mass of sorrow, remembrance, and stone-cold fear. My new life starts tomorrow. Am I ready?

  FORTY-FIVE

  After a restless night, my day begins early with a visit from Father and Drew. “A rather large crowd of villagers is amassing at the palace gates,” Drew says.

  “What for?” I ask my mind foggy from lack of sleep.

  “Some have brought flowers to honor Mother, but most wish to see you. They are not going away. They are chanting your name. Well, they’re chanting ‘Queen Jaden.’ Still sounds strange to the ear,” he says.

  “What do we do?” I ask.

  “Father thinks we should allow them access to the palace grounds.”

  “I believe it may be wise for you to speak to them Jaden,” Father says. “It will set the tone for your entire reign. They simply wish to be reassured that the country is in capable hands. In light of the fact that you intend to strip Prince Harold of his title soon, it may be prudent to show them that you are in control, and assure them that the government is sound and operating normally.”

  The thought of giving a speech to a crowd of villagers makes me want to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. I just hope they haven’t brought pitchforks. I knew this day would come, though, so I need to rise to the occasion or pack it in and just zip-zip back to Connecticut right now.

  “Will you stand with me Father?” I ask a note of panic in my voice.

  “Drew and I will stand behind you,” Father says. “I’ve sent for Ryder. He should stand at your side, as well as General LeGare. They are your closest advisors and allies now. The people will be reassured by their presence, as will you.”

  “Yes that’s brilliant. Thanks for sending for Ryder. I’ll dress and come downstairs as soon as possible. Have we thought about … I mean, will my safety be a concern?” I ask, the recent attack still fresh in my mind. Uncle Harold may think this is the perfect opportunity to get me out of the picture and Osrielle on the throne.

  “It’s a concern,” Father says. “But General LeGare is already working on that. He’ll make certain appropriate security measures are in place before the gates are ever opened.”

  “Just a second,” I say, tightening the belt of my robe and heading for my desk. “I want to date these papers now, and give the signed copies to you for safekeeping until we can file them on Monday.” I unlock my desk and pull out the brown file Henry Balfour gave me.

  “What’s all that?” Drew asks.

  “Sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you earlier, Drew. These documents essentially remove Uncle Harold from the office of Lord High Steward. They also name Lady Lorelei Bartlett as my heir apparent. Osrielle is excluded from the line of succession after today.”

  “Well, you’ve been a busy little princess, haven’t you? What brought all this on?” he asks.

  “I’ll walk you through everything later, but let’s just say Uncle Harold and I don’t seem to agree on a number of issues.” I carefully write the date on each document.

  “That’s putting it mildly. You two despise each other. But I thought you’d wait until after Mother’s farewell celebration to give him the old heave-ho.”

  “I’m not sure I can afford to wait.” I reinsert the papers in the file and hand it to Father. “We may want to ask LeGare to make sure our internal security is extra tight also.”

  “Already taken care of,” Father says tucking the file under his arm.

  “Surely you’re joking,” Drew says, looking from me to Father. “You think Uncle Harold may go off his rocker and attempt to harm Jaden?”

  “Someone sent assassins to kill your sister two days ago,” Father says. “Until we know who that someone is, we must be extra vigilant. Let us leave Jaden to dress. I must put these documents in a safe place and speak with Charles LeGare.”

  “But—” Drew sputters as Father strides out the door. He looks at me half-bewildered, half-horrified.

  “We’ll talk later,” I say shooing him out and closing the door behind him.

  Heading to the closet to choose an outfit, I realize that I have no idea what’s appropriate for the occasion. Do I wear black? Ralston says there is no traditional mourning period.

  Maria arrives just as I’m about to go searching for her. She curtseys deeply. “Your Majesty,” she says.

  “Maria, thank God you’re here.” I grasp her arm and pull her inside. “Somehow you’ve got to make me look like a queen. I’m supposed to speak to the villagers to soothe them and boost their confidence in me. But my stomach is swirling and my knees are all wobbly and I look like yesterday’s oatmeal. Help me appear queenly, please.”

  She smiles warmly. “You do not need me to make you look like a queen, Your Majesty. You are already regal and awe inspiring. All you need is the perfect ensemble for your first address to the people. That is my job. Please be seated, and allow me to select something for you.”

  I know she’s just trying to pump me up, but her words reassure me. So far, I’ve done pretty well at playing the part of a princess. I just have to kick it up a notch or two for my new role. For lack of a bottle of Xanax, I head to the kitchenette to brew a cup of Ralston’s chamomile tea. Fumbling with the cups and spilling tea leaves everywhere, I eventually succeed at making a hot cup of the aromatic elixir.

  In no time Maria emerges from the closet carrying a carnelian-colored gown and shoes to match. “This will look splendid on you,” she says. “It is the perfect color and style for the occasion—royal but conservative.”

  The dress is long-sleeved with a high neckline and gold buttons embossed with the family crest. Maria sweeps my hair into an updo and anchors an elaborate gold crown on top of my head with about a thousand hairpins.

  “I don’t like this crown,” I say. “It’s too heavy.”

  “You may take it off after your speech, but this is the crown of a monarch. A small princess’s tiara will not do for today.”

  I allow her to apply some makeup to my face and eyes. It always makes me look older. Ralston shows up as Maria is dabbing on lip gloss. She motions for me to press my lips together.

  “Your Majesty, I hear you will be speaking to the people this morning,” Ralston says. “May I be of some assistance?”

  “Yes, please.” Thanking Maria for her expert help, I usher her to the door. The second she’s out of earshot, I turn to Ralston in a tizzy.

  “Is this dress okay? I mean, I’m not supposed to wear black, am I?”

  “No. You look magnificent, my dear. Now, have you thought about what you’re going to say?”

  “Not really. Should I write something down?”

  “Perhaps that is a good idea. Even if you do not use them, it’s reassuring to have notes.”

  Sitting at my desk, I shuffle through the drawer for something to write on. “What kinds of things should I say?”

  “You might start by remembering your Mother fondly, and commenting on her qualities of wisdom and leadership. Oh, and her love for the people.”

  “That’s good stuff.” I scribble down a few thoughts. “Then what?”

  “Then you could mention some of her major accomplishments such as the peace and prosperity s
he maintained throughout the country, her distinguished role as a world leader, and the like.”

  I jot down a few more lines. “All right, I think I’ve got that. What else?”

  “Perhaps you could thank the Council of Advisors and General LeGare for pledging their support to you, and speak of your commitment to continuing the policies of your mother which have made Domerica the finest nation on earth. You might consider closing with a line or two about your wish to pursue a swift resumption of trade with Dome Noir and to restore the good relationships previously enjoyed among all the dome nations, etcetera, and etcetera.”

  I’m writing furiously as he speaks. Once I feel I’ve captured all his ideas, I look up. “That’s it? That’s all I need to say?”

  “It doesn’t need to be a long speech, Jaden, just a powerful one.”

  “And you think this will do it?”

  “Yes. Just stand up straight, show your self-confidence and sincerity, and they’ll love you.”

  “Thanks, Rals.” I give him a big hug. He feels warm and very human. “I need to see if Ryder is here yet. Wish me luck.”

  “Bon chance, old girl,” he calls as I dash out the door.

  My speech is to be delivered from the top of the sweeping palace entrance steps. At first glance, the size of the crowd is intimidating, but a continuous line of soldiers holds a tight perimeter around the front of the palace. I’m overjoyed to find Patrick standing next to General LeGare on my left. His arm looks perfectly healed, his eyes shine with excitement. As I approach, he drops to one knee. “God save the queen,” he says.

  “Welcome back, my friend.”

  Ryder takes his place on my right. He looks stalwart and handsome in a dark suit, his hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and tied with a gray ribbon. Drew, Adelais, and several Council of Advisors members stand behind me. It calms me to see Jacob and Lorelei here. Uncle Harold is behind me also, but I am comforted to note that Father has positioned himself between the two of us. The crowd goes wild when I step forward to speak.

  My chest is tight and my knees quake as I raise a shaky hand for silence. At this moment one thing becomes utterly clear—I was never cut out to be a rock star. Opening my mouth, I’m not sure any words will come out, but through some incredible stroke of fortune, I’m able to deliver the speech Ralston helped me write. My words seem to resonate with the audience. I’m interrupted several times by applause. And when I finish, a cheer goes up, accompanied by shouts of “Long live the queen,” and “God save the queen.”

  Stifling the urge to turn and run inside, I paste a smile on my face and continue to wave for a few minutes. A voice from the crowd shouts. “Is the wedding still on?”

  Ryder reaches for my hand, all smiles. “Yes,” I reply, and another loud cheer rings out.

  A few more waves to the crowd, and we all file back inside.

  “Well done,” Father says, eyes shining.

  I murmur a weak “Thanks.” It’s over and I survived. I nearly faint with relief.

  Ryder helps me to a nearby chair. “Have you eaten this morning, love?” he asks.

  My hand goes to my hollow belly. “No. I guess I forgot.”

  “There’s food in the dining room,” Drew says, his mouth full of something resembling cream puff. “Let’s eat.”

  FORTY-SIX

  After brunch, Ryder and I quietly stroll the palace grounds. The villagers have cleared out, and the pace of the palace courtyard is back to normal. Patrick trails after us at a respectable distance—my own secret service puppy dog. His presence is comforting and irritating at the same time. I hope the day will come when I don’t need to be guarded all the time.

  On returning to the palace, I’m handed a note by a white-gloved butler. Uncle Harold has requested an audience with me this afternoon. “What do you think I should do,” I ask Ryder, “meet with him now or put him off until after the farewell celebration?”

  “I’ve always found it best to meet a problem head-on,” he says. “I believe it will put your mind at ease to take care of the matter sooner rather than later. Has John had an opportunity to speak with Prince Harold?”

  “I don’t think so. But, you’re right. I’d like to give Uncle Harold his walking papers this afternoon. No sense in waiting. I hope you’ll be at the meeting, and Father, Ralston, of course, and maybe Drew.”

  “Perhaps your Council should also be promptly informed of your decisions and the signing of the official decrees. If Lord Bartlett is still at the palace, it may be wise to include him in the meeting, as a Council representative, and Lady Lorelei as well, since this directly involves her.”

  “That’s a good idea. Let’s go find Ralston. Maybe he can arrange the meeting for me.”

  I send word back to Uncle Harold that I’ll meet with him at three o’clock. Mother’s office is too small to accommodate all of us, so at Ralston’s suggestion, we use a first floor conference room.

  When Uncle Harold arrives, he’s visibly caught off guard by the group already assembled at the conference table. He bows. “Your Majesty,” he says. “I did not realize there would be others joining us. I merely wished to share some fond memories of your mother, and to discuss our working relationship going forward.”

  “Please have a seat, Prince Harold,” I say. “I appreciate your sensitivity about Mother’s passing. Maybe we’ll have a chance to reminisce some other time. But today, I felt that the subject of our future working relationship was more important. My family and trusted advisors are present for this discussion because it pertains to your separation from governmental affairs.”

  He takes a seat at the table, his face betraying no emotion. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he says softly. “Did you say my separation from the government?”

  My mouth goes dry. Even though I believe this man may have tried to have me killed, I take no joy in the embarrassment he’s about to suffer. Placing copies of the two Royal Decrees in front of him, I say, “These decrees are my first official acts as queen. The copies are yours to keep. I’ll summarize the contents for you.

  The first document is an Act of Succession. It names Lady Lorelei Bartlett as my heir apparent, and effectively removes Osrielle from the line of succession, permanently. I’ve taken this measure based on numerous conversations with Osrielle where she has stated she does not wish to be queen or live in the palace. Instead, she wishes to be home with her mother on the farm at Hempstead. This decree honors those wishes.”

  He pulls the document toward him and begins to read, his lips moving slightly.

  “The second set of papers cancels your appointment as Lord High Steward, leaving you free to return to Hempstead with Osrielle. In my judgment, the office of Lord High Steward does not need to be filled at this time, since I’m of age and capable of managing the government on my own. You are welcome to stay at the palace until after the farewell celebration, but then I must ask you to leave. Of course, arrangements will be made to ensure this transition is as smooth as possible for you and Osrielle.”

  He slides the other set of papers closer and examines each page. His eyes remain fastened to the documents, as an ugly red stain slowly creeps up his neck and blooms across his face. At last, he sits back and folds his hands over his belly.

  “I have never been so poorly treated in all of my life,” he says quietly, his face crimson, his eyes locked onto mine. “I readily came to your mother’s assistance in her time of need. In doing so, I risked the happiness of my own daughter and the stability of my marriage. But, I did it gladly because Eleanor was my beloved sister and my queen. That I am rewarded thusly for all of my sacrifices can only speak to the heartless and malevolent nature of the person who has assumed my dear sister’s throne.”

  “Harold,” Father says sternly. “I caution you to watch yourself. You are speaking to the queen. Do not say things you will regret.”

  “The only things I regret are devoting so much effort to promoting the welfare of this doomed country and s
o much time defending you from your detractors.” He stands and shakes a stubby finger at me. “There are people in the land who wish you dead, not simply because they think you an immoral woman and a heretic, but because they believe Domerica would be better off without you. As of this moment, I count myself in that latter category.”

  Ryder jumps out of his chair. “I will not have you speak to her that way.”

  “It amounts to treason,” Jacob Bartlett adds, pushing away from the table and leaping to his feet. “This is outrageous.

  “Then have me arrested. What is one more slap in my face?” He glowers at me once again, then turns on his heel and hastily exits.

  A stunned silence pervades the group for a moment. My heart pounds furiously in my chest.