Wild King

by Geneva Lee

  “Anything else? Are we prepared for Prime Minister Clark’s arrival?” My tone shifted to cool business.

  His eyes narrowed. He understood when he was being dismissed, but unlike most of the people who worked around me, Norris wasn’t prone to sycophancy. Still, he seemed to sense I was on edge.

  “Everything is in place and the arrangements for Queen Mary’s quarters at Kensington Palace have been made.”

  Suddenly, I was ready to take my daily meetings. Anything was better than dealing with the family. The Prime Minister wanted to discuss the budget and climate change initiatives, topics I usually found mind-numbingly boring, especially since Parliament was likely to enact whatever budget or legislation they saw fit. The reminder that my grandmother and uncle had decided to return to London was another piece of bad news. Issues of national politics felt positively tame compared to the tangle of family politics that would soon capture me.

  “They’ve chosen Kensington?” I couldn’t help but be surprised. I’d expected there to be a fight over Clarence House, the first home I’d occupied with Clara after our marriage. It seemed like the choice my grandmother would make, if only to spite me.

  “I believe they were told that Clarence House had potential occupants.”

  This was news to me. I sat back in my office chair and waited, wondering if it was too early for Scotch.

  “It’s not official,” Norris said. “I thought it prudent to reserve the premises given your brother’s new marital status.”

  “Good thinking. Clara had pitched Windsmoor.”

  “I assume you told her it was—”

  “Falling apart,” I finished. “I think she meant to give them more privacy than London might afford them.”

  Norris and I hadn’t had the opportunity to discuss Edward’s wedding present, but it was customary for the reigning monarch to gift a residence to close members of the family. I’d been avoiding the conversation, excusing myself from it by reminding anyone who asked, mostly Clara, that Edward and David were still on their honeymoon. Still, I couldn’t avoid it forever. I feared my brother would prefer a country estate. It would make sense. It was the choice I would have made had I not been forced to keep a permanent residence in London. Keeping Clarence House open and offering it to Edward felt right. I wanted my brother nearby. He was the only blood relation I trusted and a friend and advisor.

  “Will that be all?” Norris’s eyes twinkled as he spoke. He was testing me, calling me out for trying to be dismissive earlier.

  I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms behind my head. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to go to that symposium.”

  He levelled an incredulous stare in my direction. “Given Clara’s condition, it would be better not to upset her.”

  “I wish you were with her.” This time I wasn’t teasing. I was deadly serious. But he had a point. Clara had made her desires known and undermining her would only cause a fight. While I liked making up with her after an argument, I also wanted to see that she was healthy. None of that meant I had to do nothing.

  “Keep an eye on the situation,” I ordered him. “I want to know if there’s someone with so much as a sniffle around her.”

  Norris opened his mouth as if to respond but then thought better of it. He shook his head as he turned to look into it, but as he crossed the threshold of my office, I could swear I heard him mutter, “Stubborn arse.”

  * * *

  The Prime Minister reminded me of my father, which was to say he looked like most Englishmen of a certain age: light hair and skin creased with wrinkles from years of apologetic gymnastics, usually wearing tweed. Next to each other, the two of us looked like night and day. Despite spending most of my time in cabinet meetings and offices, I had my mother’s rich olive skin tone. I was suddenly grateful to my mother’s Greek heritage for the influx of fresh genes.

  Prime Minister Clark was unfailingly gracious and forgiving of the fact I was obviously distracted. With my thoughts on Clara and her event, he’d had to repeat himself several times, making the meeting drag on. We’d taken armchairs by the fireplace in my private office. He was the only politician I met with in closed quarters. No one, not even Norris, attended these meetings. It was meant to encourage a spirit of cooperation. Not for the first time, I wondered if the meetings were even necessary. He had his business and I had mine. We were both busy running very different aspects of the United Kingdom. As he informed me about the latest news on a climate change initiative, I wondered what he would think if he knew the concerns preoccupying me.

  “My family stance on climate change is well documented,” I reminded him.

  “Not everyone will be thrilled with the sanctions,” he warned me.

  “Do I look overly concerned with my popularity?”

  Clark tipped his head, something like a laugh escaping his lips. “The press is crucifying you.”

  “When I was young, I couldn’t do anything right. Now that I’m older, I still can’t.”

  “Welcome to being a politician.”

  “Isn’t that your job?” I only wished it were true. Most of Britain’s politics filtered through Parliament and I was expected to simply support or criticize legislation, have a stance on issues affecting my people, and to be up-to-date on all major discussions before Parliament. The government had throttled some of the Crown’s powers over the last few years and the monarchy had been turning more and more responsibility over to His Majesty’s Government for the last few centuries. That didn’t absolve my obligations to my position.

  “I should warn you that there are some minority factions in the House of Lords who are questioning the choice to allow Edward to remain in the line of succession.”

  “That’s not really for them to be concerned about.” My fist clenching as I imagined getting my hands on one of the dissenters.

  “I suppose the authority rests with you—”

  “There is no suppose about it. The authority does rest with me. Not that it should be a question at all. I thought Britain was in the twenty-first century.”

  “It’s more about perception. It might strain our relationships with our more conservative allies.”

  “Sod them.” I couldn’t help myself. It was my duty to play nice—to act the part of the benevolent king—but I never had much luck hiding my protective streak when it came to my family. That we were still having this argument, even after a year of letting people warm up to the idea of my brother’s wedding, pissed me off.

  “I’m not sure that should be the Crown’s official stance,” he said.

  “I wasn’t planning on releasing a statement to that effect.” My lip curled at the thought. The press would have a field day with it, and although there was a time when I would’ve enjoyed delivering a ‘screw you’ to anyone who thought they should have a say in my private affairs, I didn’t have that luxury any longer.

  “Anonymity and freedom from criticism are two expectations only afforded to private citizens.” His words were gentle. Not for the first time I suspected the Prime Minister felt a paternalistic responsibility to me, probably owing to the death of my father. He might not feel so inclined if he knew how little I respected my father’s advice before his death. I didn’t need lectures about the difficulties of being a member of the Royal family. I’d dealt with the media circus for as long as I could remember. My own marriage had been dissected by the tabloids. More than once, my wife’s life had been put in danger by overeager leeches who believed exactly what the prime minister had just said: there was no privacy afforded to royals. Of course I knew that, it was why I had been the one to accept the crown. It might’ve been easier to reject my birthright and make a life on my own. I would never know. The only thing I remained certain of was that my position afforded me the ability to grant some bit of security to those I loved. It also meant bearing the brunt of criticism for my progressive stances.

  “Perhaps you could consider another option.”

  “Which is?” I a
sked.

  “Bring someone in. A publicist of sorts,” he suggested. “Someone you can trust to help you maneuver the stickier situations.”

  “I’ll keep it under advisement,” I said through gritted teeth. There were actual matters of state to discuss. Instead we were sitting here worrying about public perception. That was the difference—I realized something. There was a difference between a man who climbed to political office and one who was born to lead. I’d never had a choice of life. In a way, that was turning out to be more freeing. No one could challenge my birthright. No one could vote me out. If anyone had qualms over my choices, it wasn’t going to endanger my political career. I would still be King.

  No, it would take far more sinister machinations to remove my power. Taking the crown was a much bloodier affair than an election. I had survived my first assassination attempt. My father had not been so lucky. I had no idea how many he’d survived before the one that claimed his life. I suspected that I myself had survived on more occasions than I knew. But those attempts hadn’t come from people or journalists or other countries. None of the forces with which the Prime Minister felt so concerned were at play in any of those events. It had been the poison underbelly of Parliament itself. I reminded myself every week, while the Prime Minister sat across from me with a fatherly smile on his face: politicians couldn’t be trusted. One member of Parliament had already been arrested in connection with my father’s assassination, and despite our best efforts, we still had not discovered how far the plot reached.

  Still, perhaps he was right. Maybe I needed someone to handle the public announcements. It would be a load off. If only I could find someone to attend these meetings.

  I glanced at the clock, my thoughts slipping away to much more important items on my agenda. I wanted an update on Clara. The longer this meeting continued, the longer I would wait for one.

  “There’s one final matter I’d like to discuss. The funding for the Sovereign Games.”

  I grimaced. That had not been on my agenda. “That was my father’s pet project.”

  As far as I was concerned that was the end of that. I’d spent the better part of the last year removing all vestiges of my father’s reign from this office. I wasn’t about to continue his hobbies.

  “It was one of your father’s most popular programs. Furthermore, Parliament has approved its half of the funding. There seems to be a general consensus that Britain is feeling more divided than usual.” He was choosing his words carefully. It wasn’t just the country that felt divided, it was the entire world. Some of my own choices had certainly fractured the unity of the people here, but I didn’t see how that mattered in this instance.

  “I wasn’t even aware the games were moving forward.”

  “Your grandmother has been quite persistent in—”

  “Of course she has.” It was starting to make sense. My grandmother, Queen Mary, had left residence here after the death of her son. We weren’t exactly on speaking terms. Mostly, because she had called my wife a whore. “So, this has become her baby.”

  “I suppose in a way. She feels strongly that Albert’s memory should be kept alive.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” I might be the only person content to let my father’s memory remain at rest. In his final moments, he had sacrificed himself for me. But while in the end he had granted me acceptance, he had denied it to me for most of my life. His final choices didn’t erase the nearly thirty years of disapproval and mistrust between us.

  A knock broke the mounting tension in the room, but before I could call the person in, Norris stuck his head through the door. “I apologize for the interruption but I need to speak with you immediately.”

  “Not a problem.” The Prime Minister stood, smoothing wrinkles from his suit. “I need to check in with my secretary. I’ll see you this afternoon?”

  As if I had a choice.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I said in a flat voice.

  Norris closed the door behind him and I began to shuffle through the day’s agenda, looking to see what unsavory briefing was next on my plate. “Thanks for the save.”

  But he didn’t smile.

  “There’s been a development. I must warn you that this is likely nothing,” he began.

  My blood ran cold. It dawned on me too late. Norris wasn’t the type to interrupt a meeting with the Prime Minister because I was bored. That was something Brex would do. But Brex was with Clara. If Norris had abandoned his sense of propriety to interrupt a private discussion, something must be terribly wrong.

  “This isn’t confirmed,” he continued, his voice remaining suspiciously even, “but we did receive a message.”

  He held out his mobile phone and I scanned the screen as the weight of what I read settled onto my chest like a boulder. I couldn’t quite digest it—words like bomb and faction and symposium. It didn’t matter if there was confirmation. It didn’t matter what my wife wanted anymore. It didn’t matter if there was only a shred of possibility that what I was reading could be true. “We need to find Clara.”

  “Alexander, I will handle this.”

  I was already out of my seat and making my way down the hall. Norris knew better than to try to stop me. Not after I’d received this piece of intel. Not with the threat of an attack on the symposium.

  Not before I reached my wife.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CLARA

  It was proving to be the longest car ride of my life. My plan to send X a clear message—that I wasn’t going to be sitting at home gestating for the next eight months—had backfired. Now, instead of a peaceful ride with Norris, who knew the value of solitude, I was stuck listening to incessant bickering.

  Brexton Miles was an old army friend of my husband’s and one of the few men Alexander trusted. But he wasn’t assigned to my personal security team. Alexander had made it clear that Norris was the only acceptable escort for public outings. I intended to make it clear that I could make that decision on my own. Except I hadn’t counted on Brex bringing along his partner? Girlfriend? Colleague? It was impossible to tell. Not girlfriend, I decided. There was far too much tension in the front seat, and it was clearly of the haven’t-slept-together-yet variety. It was perfectly obvious to anyone with eyes or ears that they wanted to shag.

  I couldn’t imagine what was stopping them. Brexton was good-looking by anyone’s standards—tall and well-built with a quick smile and chocolate brown eyes. He was also too charming for his own good. Perhaps that was what had put Georgia Kincaid off him. She seemed the type to hold something innocuous, like charm, against a man. I could see why Brex was obviously into her. She was gorgeous in a way that stoked my inner inferiority complex. She’d had a relationship of sorts with Alexander once. I wondered, not for the first time, if Brex knew that or if he would even care.

  We’d taken the Range Rover, mostly because I used it as a family car. I’d never grown accustomed to the veritable stable of luxury vehicles that came with my title. Unfortunately, my choice of vehicles meant I had very little distance between me and the brewing conflict between them.

  My phone rang, and I exhaled a silent sigh of relief.

  “You’re saving my life,” I said as I answered my best friend’s call.

  Belle laughed, but it sounded off, as though she was trying to force it. “Don’t you have a team to do that?”

  “I do,” I whispered. “That’s the problem. They won’t stop fighting. What’s up?”

  “Nothing,’ she said, and I knew she was fibbing. Belle, who’d spent the last year deeply immersed in her honeymoon phase, rarely called without a reason. It was one of the ways our relationship had changed dramatically since we’d both gotten married. “I shouldn’t bother you.”

  “Anything is better than continuing to listen to them debate the benefits of entering through the front or back of the building,” I whispered. “Maybe they should stop arguing and enter as quickly as possible.”

  “I get the impression we’re not d
iscussing security arrangements,” Belle said.

  “I get the impression they aren’t, either.”

  From the front seat, Georgia shot me a look over her shoulder. Maybe I should be having this conversation over text.

  “Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?” I asked Belle, remembering I wasn’t the only one who had plans for the day. That was why she sounded strange. My heart seemed to lurch to a stop. Had she already been? I couldn’t bring myself to ask more. Instead, I waited for her to continue.

  “Of course, I do. Why do you think I’m calling you?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been yet. I mentally began rearranging my life to see if I could be there for her. “Isn’t Smith coming with you?”

  “He is,” Belle jumped in before I could get too far in my theoretical rescheduling. “But he’s just so confident.”

  “And you’re not?” I guessed softly.

  Belle lowered her voice as though Smith could hear through multiple walls. “He’s so excited. I don’t want him to know I’m scared. We don’t know why we lost the first baby. What…what if something’s wrong with me?”

  “I’m not going tell you all of the statistics again. I’m sure you’ve looked them all up anyway,” I said. “There’s no reason to think that’s the case. Plus, the sooner you go, the sooner you’ll know.”

  “You’re probably right,” Belle admitted.

  I knew it wasn’t enough to alleviate her concerns. I wished I was there to help her get her mind off things.

  “I’m always right, except for when I’m wrong, which is very rare,” I said. This earned a genuine laugh. “I have that symposium today, but call me as soon as you hear anything. I’ll have my phone with me. I’ll check my messages.”

  “I completely forgot about that.” It sounded like she was banging her head against the wall. I didn’t bother urging her to calm down. I knew how stressful early pregnancy was. “Why am I bothering you with this?”