A True King (The Poisoned Pawn Series Book 4)

by S. E. Rose

  “She had been sick for a long time. I let her visit you once when you were little though.”

  I try to remember meeting an old woman as a child, but I can’t recall it.

  “She went to the zoo with us,” he says.

  “Well, I guess history does repeat itself,” I respond with an eye roll.

  “Listen, I never meant for any of this to happen, Mia. You must understand. I wanted to protect you and your mother. Just as my mother wanted to protect me. Being a royal…legitimate or not, is…tough. It’s public scrutiny. I didn’t want that for you.”

  “Dad, you did not hear me. You are the rightful heir to Skogdal. Your parents were married. They never divorced. His marriage to Agatha wasn’t legal. Gilbert isn’t the heir and Jasper certainly is not. Hell, he’s not even related to us.”

  “What?” Dad’s voice shakes with rage. “Mia, don’t make up things like that.”

  “I’m not making this up. I—”

  “Max, it’s Christian. Mia is not making this up. My sister did some digging. And she found a marriage certificate. I can send it to you if you like, but rest assured, your parents were married several years before your birth in the Bahamas. You were conceived before Gilbert. Gilbert is the bastard child, not you.”

  “I…are you sure?” Dad’s voice suddenly sounds distant.

  “One hundred percent,” Christian answers.

  The void of conversation is filled only by the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner of the room. I look up at Christian. He’s planted his hands on the desk across from me. He towers over it, looking larger than life. I wait for my dad to speak.

  “I’m taking your mother away. We aren’t safe here, are we?”

  “I have security watching you, but leaving might be best,” Christian confides. “Just for a while.”

  “Fuck,” my father whispers. It startles me because my father doesn’t swear. I’m not sure why that one word resonates more than anything else he’s said today, but it does.

  “Dad, promise you’ll be careful. Use a burner phone. Leave your phones at home. Email from a hotel computer to that account I set up years ago.”

  “I will.”

  “And, Dad?”

  “Yes, love?”

  “I love you. I know you were trying to protect me. I understand because I’ve done the same, trying to protect you, but no more lies,” I say as I look to Christian because those words are for him as much as they are for my father.

  “No more lies, ladybug,” he says to me. “No more.”

  “Safe travels, Dad. Kisses to Mum.”

  We disconnect and I put my forehead on the table, trying to understand all the bullshit we just waded through. My whole life has been one giant lie. I should be angry, I should be furious, but I’m not, well, not yet. I’m confused and overwhelmed and shocked. I do vaguely remember a woman at the zoo. She was pretty, but not old like I thought she would be. She had curly brown hair, no trace of gray at all. Her eyes were warm. She bought me a stuffed elephant. I still have it somewhere at my parents’ house. I suddenly feel like I don’t even know myself. Who am I? I have family members I don’t know. The ones I do know have lied to me. And now, we’re all in danger.

  A hand touches my shoulder. I turn my head to the side and see Christian’s thigh as he leans on the desk next to me.

  “It’ll be alright, pigeon. I promise,” he says.

  I crane my neck to look up at him. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

  “I don’t.” His eyes burn through me, and I know he speaks the truth. This man would die for me. I just hope it doesn’t have to come to that.

  Chapter Twenty

  Christian

  There’s something magical about the gardens here at sunset. The early evening light hits the stone walls and statues at the perfect angle, lighting up each nook and cranny in the most beautiful shades of oranges and pinks as the sun starts to lower on the horizon. It’s where I find her.

  After speaking with her father, Mia said she wanted to go for a walk, alone. That was hours ago, and I was beginning to worry. While I haven’t felt a direct threat, there seems to be an ominous vibe constantly surrounding us.

  Mia doesn’t look up from the book in her hands. I always find her reading. It was one of the first things I remember finding intriguing about her.

  The tapping sound reverberates off the walls as I walk down the hallway toward the alcove in the west wing. As I approach, I find Mia seated on the bench that curves around the tower. She’s leaning against the window frame, her nose in a book. Her legs are stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. A pair of glasses sits on the edge of her nose. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck. The dirty librarian fantasy I had when I hired her rears its ugly head and I have to shrug my shoulders to pull myself out of the daydream.

  “What are you reading?” I inquire as I walk up to her and take a seat a few inches from her feet. She pulls her feet away, tucking them beneath her as she places a piece of paper in the book and sets it down in front of me.

  A Tale of Two Cities.

  “A classic,” I state.

  “A good story,” she counters.

  “I can’t deny that. It is a great story. Do you enjoy reading?” I ask, looking for any reason to speak to her about something besides my schedule.

  She rolls her eyes and I narrow mine. She glares at me, not backing down one bit. I love that about her. Where others would be afraid to argue with a prince, Mia isn’t afraid to argue with anyone. I once found her debating my father over agricultural subsidies.

  “What’s your favorite book?”

  She smiles. “The Secret Garden. What about you?”

  “The Kama Sutra,” I retort with a grin.

  She gives me a look.

  “You asked,” I say, raising my hands in defeat.

  Another eye roll answers me, and I fight the smirk that threatens to emerge.

  “It’s a good book,” she replies. I’m half-questioning whether she’s ever seen it when she continues, “What’s your real favorite book?” This time her voice is softer, her eyes wider and more innocent. I can’t tease her any longer.

  “Stuart Little,” I mumble.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that,” she says, but I know by the smirk on her face she most certainly heard it.

  “Stuart Little is my favorite book. Always has been and always will be,” I say proudly this time. I don’t tell her it’s because my mother read it to me, or that I saved a copy and read it night after night following her death.

  “That wasn’t so hard, now was it,” she answers as she picks back up her book. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of a chapter.”

  I stand to leave but bend down to look her in the face. Her beautiful eyes meet mine. “I wouldn’t want to stop you in the middle. There’s so much pleasure in finishing…a chapter.” From the corner of my eye, I see her thighs press together. And with that, I leave her to read while I continue my daydreaming.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” I say as I step out from the wall of boxwood, so neatly trimmed that from a distance it looks like green carpeting.

  She slowly looks up at me, placing her finger on the page and shutting the book over it. “How long will we stay here?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard anything from Jack. I’ve sent a text to Pete, but he said he was consulting with some folks and would follow back up as soon as he could provide me with more information.”

  Mia grabs a leaf off a plant and sticks it in her book, slamming it onto the bench and throwing her hands in the air. “I feel like a sitting duck. Everyone is out there figuring things out”—she motions to the walls surrounding us—“and here we are, doing fuck all. I’m not Rapunzel. I can’t be tethered to a tower indefinitely. Aren’t you technically in charge since your father is away?”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing because the way she says it makes me feel like as the o
ldest, I’ve been left in charge while my parents are on a date. Technically, she’s not wrong, but I also don’t like making rash decisions. They never end well.

  “And what, pray tell, would you have us do?” I ask as I lean against a statue of a man on a horse, some ancestor of mine whose name I can’t remember.

  She rolls her head in a circle and shrugs. “I’m not paid to make the plans, Your Highness. I’m just here to help you execute them.”

  I glare at her. I hate feeling out of control. I hate not being in control. I hate that I have no idea what the fuck is happening. And I also hate being holed up at the Summer Palace, away from my family. She must know this.

  “What the fuck is this all about?” I blurt out as my anger reaches a boiling point.

  She stands, putting her hands on her hips. I can feel the anger radiate off her and I’m wondering if she can feel mine as well. We stare at each other, irrational rage fueling us both.

  “I can’t do this!” she finally yells, throwing her hands in the air. “By now, I haven’t reported back in three weeks to these people. I’m sure they know where we are. It’s not like we can hide. There’s a fucking flag flying. We might as well put a bullseye on our shirts.” She points to the flag on top of the palace that flies when a member of the royal family is in residence. I hadn’t even thought about it. Out of sight, out of mind. Why had the staff not been instructed to take it down? Who the hell even put it up?

  “I’ll get it taken down,” I mutter. “But we aren’t going anywhere. It’s safe here. We haven’t had one iota of danger since we arrived, have we?”

  Her nostrils flare. “It’s only been two days. Maybe, if you had left me in Puerto Rico, they’d be fixed on finding me, but now, I have no idea what they are going to do.”

  “Like they wouldn’t have come for me anyhow? Who the fuck cares if you did or did not report to them? If it’s been three whole damn weeks, then why am I not dead? Riddle me that!”

  Our shouting startles birds in a nearby tree and they take off, causing a fluttering and rustling to our right. We both glance over at them and then back at each other.

  “I can’t deal with you right now. I’m going for a walk,” she says, her voice laced with anger.

  “Brilliant. Go for a walk. That’s gonna totally fix everything,” I call out after her as she turns to leave.

  “We should be better than this,” she hisses quietly, so quietly I almost don’t hear her. “We should be out there. Helping to find these people and end this threat. Not hidden away. I’d rather die knowing I tried than live knowing I didn’t.” And with that she turns the corner and disappears behind a wall of boxwood, leaving me standing with pure frustration coursing through my veins.

  Part of me wants to run after her, to tell her we can go; that we’ll try to help fix this. Part of me wants to tell her about Anna and the baby. There are so many things I need to tell her.

  I walk over to the bench where her book still lies.

  Hamlet.

  I shake my head. Always the classics. She’s not wrong. I’m also reaching a breaking point. I want more answers; I want all the answers. Maybe it’s time to go home. I still can’t shake the feeling that there are more connections to be made, that puzzle pieces are missing. Hell, I don’t even know what information Anna, Pete, and Jack have. They are telling me on a need-to-know basis, and I get that they don’t want to give me information that isn’t confirmed. No one wants to backpedal to the prince.

  I’ve spent my whole life living for others. Duty before self. I do what I’m told when I’m told. I’ve learned the art of manipulation, but I’ve never used it outside of politics. I’ve never once questioned things as much as I have over the past month. I’ve watched my brother prance around the world without a care before settling down. I’ve watched my sister be defiant in her royal duties. I’ve done neither.

  Shit, maybe Mia is right. Enough living under the cloak of protection afforded me. Time to shake the tree. I rise and head to find Mia. If I’m going to do this, I’m doing it with her by my side. No more standing down, time to stand the fuck up, take control and be the leader I was born to be. Time to be a true king.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mia

  I trudge through the ferns scattered amongst the trees. I have zero ideas where I’m going. Fucking Christian. I know it’s only been two days since we arrived back here. And I know he’s depending on a lot of very intelligent people to provide him with information so he can make decisions. But I can’t sit by and do nothing any longer. He needs to step up and take control. He’s the next in line to the throne for God’s sake. He’s in charge. For someone who can be so bossy at times, so demanding and overbearing, he’s not portraying any of those qualities in this situation and I’m left wondering why.

  We’ve unpacked so much over the past few days. Our baggage could fill a seventy-forty-seven aircraft.

  My mind swims with an ocean of memories as I find a small creek and sit down on a rock along the edge. I grab a handful of rocks and begin tossing them in one at a time. I watch each one make a ripple in the otherwise calm pool of water along the edge of the stream. How many ripples did my actions make? Is everything happening just a ripple from someone else’s decisions?

  The crunching of leaves behind me makes me jump. Turning, I find Christian leaning against an old oak tree, his arms crossed, his face expressionless.

  I swivel and face the water again as I grab another handful of pebbles. “What do you want?” I ask like a petulant child.

  “You’re right.”

  I freeze mid-throw, bringing my arm back to my lap. “About what?”

  His shadow pervades my line of sight as he steps toward me. He doesn’t speak again until he’s settled on a rock next to me.

  “I am the future king and it’s time I act like it. I didn’t want to admit that before. I wasn’t ready to see that my time is nearly here to be the leader of my country. It’s overwhelming. It always has been. But Dad buffered me for a long time. He let me…flounder and figure things out with as little responsibility as possible. I see that now. But playtime is over. No one is here right now. It’s just me. And I’m going to have to take control, alone.”

  His words don’t surprise me as much as they should. I guess I’ve always known he was a true leader, he showed that in so many other ways. I press my lips together as I remember some of the ways he did that in the bedroom.

  “What changed?” I ask as I toss a stone into the water.

  I hear his deep breath before he speaks. “When my mother was killed, I remember watching my father. He was so stoic. He shed a single tear at her funeral, but I think that was more for our loss and not his. He was this pillar of strength for all three of us and every other mourning citizen of Norddale. I was an angry teenager. And the fact that I believed his position as the king didn’t allow him to grieve his wife, made me even more upset. I questioned everything. I even questioned if I wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Do you?” I question.

  He stares at a fish in the water before turning to me. “I do. Maybe it’s because I want all that I went through to matter or at least my mom’s death to not be in vain. Or maybe it’s because I’m ready to be a leader now. I don’t know. It could be all of that. I never walked away from my duties like my siblings have, yet even they have come back to take important roles in our country. But I have taken time to think and learn and stay out of the limelight while I struggled to become the man I am today. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be ready, but maybe that knowledge itself means that I am.”

  Christian has never opened up about this topic before, not like this. I can see his inner struggle clearly and I don’t envy him.

  I’m still angry, but I can’t deny my need to touch him. Reaching out, I place my hand on his and squeeze it. I open my mouth to say something when the silence of the streamside is broken by a boom.

  Pieces of the tree next to me splinter and go flying, a
s Christian launches himself at me, pushing me to the moss-covered forest floor. His strong body covers mine as a second shot rings out, the bullet whizzing overhead.

  We lie still for what seems like an eternity. Birds squawk in the distance. Blood rushes through my veins with such force I can hear it in my ears.

  Christian’s eyes search my face, his fingers cradle my head. When he pulls them back, I see blood. His head turns to look in the direction from which the bullets came.

  “Can you stand?” he asks me. My hand shoots to my head. I find a cut along the side of it, just above my ear. A scratch is all it is. I must have scratched my head when I fell.

  “I…yes,” I stammer.

  “We’re going to crawl over there,” he points to a small outcropping of rocks near two large trees. “Once we get behind them, we’re making a run for it back to the stables. Do not run in a straight line. Do not stop until you get inside the office. No matter what you hear, do not stop.” His words scare me, but I nod. He helps me up to a sitting position and then follows behind me as I crawl. It’s only a few meters away, but it feels like it’s a mile. With every snap of a twig, my head jerks to look behind us. Eventually, we make it there and crouch against the rocks. I can see the stables in the distance, just beyond a field and a small row of pine trees. The metal roof of the building stands out from the surrounding natural greenery. If I thought the rocks were far, the stables seem a million miles away. Christian’s hand grips my arm and then it’s gone again.

  “Run,” Christian whispers.

  I do as he says, and I don’t look back, running in a zigzag across the field with all my might. I make it to the pine trees faster than I thought possible and follow a trail up to the back door of the stable office. I can hear Christian’s footsteps behind mine as I throw open the door and fling myself inside the confines of the small room. A moment later, Christian does the same and slams the door closed. He pats his pockets.

  “Fuck,” he says. “I dropped my phone.”