Russell had left the king there and gone to the receiving room to collect his thoughts. When he saw the fire, he’d been drawn to it. He’d wanted to warm himself somehow before calling the Lazlo Group.
He hadn’t expected to run into anyone, least of all the princess.
Amelia crossed to the fireplace, waiting for an answer to the question that had been burning on her tongue for a number of hours. There had been rumors that the prince was dead, that he had been killed or had taken his own life. Any one of a number of unsettling theories were making their way through the palace, not to mention the news media, and she didn’t know what to think.
The only thing she did know was there was one person in the palace she could trust to tell her the truth. Russell. The moment she’d heard he was back, she’d gone looking for him. One of the palace maids had sent her here.
Russell turned away from the fire. He tried to read her expression. Fear? Joy? Relief? He couldn’t tell. She had the princess thing down to a science, he couldn’t help thinking. Her expression was unreadable.
“Is what true?”
A guttural sound of disgust managed to escape her lips. “Don’t play the game with me, Carrington. You’re the one person I’m counting on to tell me the truth. Is it true?” she repeated. “Is the prince dead?”
“Yes.”
Even though she’d been the one to ask the question, it took Amelia a second to process his answer. Reginald was dead. Dreading the very idea of marriage to him, she still found it hard to wrap her mind around the concept that he was gone, that he no longer posed a threat to her independence, to her happiness.
It took her breath away.
That he was dead meant that she was free. But at the same time, it meant that her homeland would continue to be at risk because it did not have the protection of a larger country.
Mixed emotions assaulted her, each tugging her in a different direction.
“How?” She took a breath before lengthening the question. “How did he die?”
Russell almost asked if she was sure she wanted to know the details. But she was not the delicate princess of old, too sensitive to know the truth. He wasn’t going to insult her by keeping her in the dark.
“Not violently. At least,” he amended, “there were no bruises, no marks on his body.”
But a professional assassin would know where to land blows where they might not be detected at first, Amelia thought.
“That you could see,” she corrected.
The hint of a smile that curved his lips had no humor in it. “I could see a great deal.” Despite everything, he found himself pausing. Even though he thought of her as capable and intelligent, he kept finding himself wanting to protect her, to shield her from the nastier side of life. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”
Her eyes darkened. “I’m not a child, Carrington. Nor was there any affection lost between the prince and myself. I think you know that.” Whatever he told her wasn’t going to reduce her to tears. Disdain, maybe, but not tears. He had to be aware of that.
Russell forged ahead. “I found the prince in bed. He was naked.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise her. It was in keeping with Reginald’s reputation. More than ever, she felt like someone who had just dodged a bullet. But for the moment, the world would see the man as her fiancé. That meant that there would be humiliation by association. “I see. Was there anyone—?”
She didn’t have to finish. Russell knew what she was asking. “No, the prince was alone when I found him. Very alone,” he emphasized. When she raised a quizzical brow, he added, “There wasn’t anyone in the entire mansion.”
That almost seemed impossible. In photographs of Reginald, he had always been surrounded by people. He had a huge entourage following him wherever he went. That they were gone could only mean one thing. “Rats leaving a sinking ship?”
Most of Reginald’s hangers-on were less than savory. The ones employed by the crown were supposed to be more steadfast, but fear could send troops scattering. It all depended on what had happened in the last few hours. Russell intended to get answers. “I suppose that’s as good a guess as any.”
Amelia studied his face, trying to discern his thoughts. Trying not to have any of her own that were unseemly at a time like this. But then, she had never loved Reginald, hadn’t even liked him. If she felt no grief at his passing, only relief, she could be excused for that. “But you don’t think his death was natural.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “The prince was thirty years old and as healthy as a horse.”
The prince brought another kind of animal to mind as far as she was concerned. “He also behaved like a rutting pig.”
“That kind of behavior could have gotten him a knife in his back,” Russell pointed out. “It wouldn’t have killed him like a silent thief in the night.”
Amelia paused, thinking. The prince was given to excesses of all kinds. Alcohol, women, drugs. According to more than one article she’d read, life had to be one continuous party, or Reginald was bored. “It could have been an overdose.”
“Possibly.” It was the first thing he’d thought of, but he wasn’t satisfied with that explanation. “But I’ve seen the prince consume enough alcohol for two men and still remain standing. He had an incredible tolerance for both alcohol and recreational drugs.” He shook his head. “Something isn’t adding up.”
If it turned out that natural causes hadn’t taken him and he hadn’t accidentally died by his own hand, then the only conclusion to be drawn was that the prince had been murdered. The thought made her uneasy. When one royal was struck down, they were all vulnerable. Unless it was personal. “Who stands to gain from his death?”
“I was thinking more of the people who actively disliked him.”
She laughed softly to herself. She wasn’t the only one who had dodged a bullet today. Silvershire had been spared, as well. “From what I hear, that could be most of the country. Since he was Weston’s only heir, who is next in line for the crown?”
Until she asked, he hadn’t even thought about the immediate consequences of Reginald’s death. Or what that meant to him, personally. Since the prince had been so vibrant, the idea that Reginald might not be around to ascend the throne had never even occurred to him.
But now that it did, he found the notion appalling. He had always disliked notoriety. It had only gotten more intense as he had grown older and placed more value on his privacy. Russell’s expression was grim as he replied, “I am.”
Her eyes widened as she felt her heart jump. She hadn’t known that. She’d had no reason to know that. “You?”
He nodded. “According to the rules of succession of Silvershire. Weston ascended the throne because King Dunford had no sons, no children of his own. There were two dukes he felt were equal to the task. Everyone felt he was leaning toward Lord Benton Vladimir. But then he suddenly changed his mind and chose Weston to be the present king.”
Thoughts she didn’t want to entertain began whispering along the perimeter of Amelia’s brain. And if she could think them, so could others who were less charitable. Others who didn’t love Russell.
Amelia pressed her lips together as she looked at him. “If the prince died under suspicious circumstances—if he was murdered—someone might think that you had something to do with it.”
She thought about the night they had spent together. Had that prompted Russell to rethink his position and take matters into his own hands? Was she the reason behind what had happened to the prince? Or could Russell have conceived an elaborate plan to capture the crown and she had blindly played into his hands?
No! How could she even think that way? Amelia upbraided herself. Russell was too honorable a man to be guilty of something like that. She was willing to bet her life on that.
On what? a small voice demanded. On a man she hardly knew? On a boy who used to put bugs into her bed? She didn’t really know the man who stood before her, she reminded herself.
She only knew the boy he had been. A great many years had come and gone between then and now.
Amelia felt torn. Logic pointed one way, but she refused to believe that her heart would have led her astray like that. There was goodness in Russell, she could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch. She had no answer for it; she just did.
His eyes met hers. “Do you?” He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Something froze inside him. “Do you think I had something to do with it?”
“No.”
Amelia had hesitated for a moment. If she’d believed in him, she wouldn’t have, he thought. “But you’re not sure.”
She knew that protests were useless. He could see right through her. She could only tell him the truth. “Can I swear to it in a courtroom on a stack of Bibles? No. Because I don’t have any way of actually knowing where you were every moment. But do I doubt your loyalty to the crown? No. Do I think that you are a murderer? No.”
His eyes held hers for a long moment as he thought of the night they’d spent together. The night that should never have happened.
“My loyalty to the crown could come under question,” he reminded her quietly.
She drew her shoulders back. “That wasn’t a matter of loyalty.”
That was exactly a matter of loyalty, he thought. “Then what was it?”
“A matter of two kindred spirits coming together.” From out of nowhere, a thought occurred to her. “Or was that out of pity?” she asked suddenly.
“What?”
Amelia shook her head. She was just being overwrought, she thought. She shouldn’t have said anything. “Never mind.”
But he didn’t want to let it drop. “No, what did you mean by that? Was there anything that entire time that could make you suspect what happened was even remotely inspired by an emotion as condescending as pity?”
He sounded hurt, offended. She hadn’t meant for any of that to happen. “No. I’m sorry. This whole situation is extremely distressing. I came here to be married to a man whose reputation I loathed—since he’s gone, I don’t see the point in hiding that,” she said in response to the look in his eyes. “Now that he’s dead, am I free of my obligation? Or am I, by default, betrothed to the next man in line?” She looked at him. “To you.”
He measured out his words evenly. There seemed to be no emotion behind them. “Would that be so terrible?”
She took a breath. To his surprise she said, “That all depends.”
“On what?”
“On how you feel about it.”
He couldn’t gauge by her voice how she felt about it herself. “How do you think I feel?”
Her temper came very close to breaking. “If I knew, would I be asking? A wondrous night of lovemaking does not automatically mean you want a lifetime of those nights. Sometimes magic is just that, magic. Meant for a hour, a night, not forever.”
“So you’re saying you wouldn’t want to have to marry me.”
Why did she suddenly feel like weeping? That wasn’t like her, but she was so tired of being a pawn. “I’m saying I don’t want to have to marry anyone, just as you don’t want to be told who to marry. Marriage is a commitment that should come from the heart, not from a committee. The piece of paper involved should be a marriage certificate, not a treaty between two countries. I am a person, not a pawn.” And then, like someone waking up from a bad dream, she stopped and blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, I had to get that out.”
Russell inclined his head. “I understand, Princess.”
She pressed her lips together again, impatience, frustration and a host of other emotions vying for control over her.
“‘Princess,’” she echoed, shaking her head. “We are embroiled in intrigue, in murder and in heaven knows what else. We’ve slept together and might very well be married to each other before the week is out. My name is not ‘Princess,’ my name is Amelia.”
The unexpected noise behind her sent adrenaline racing throughout her body. Amelia swung around to see that her father had entered the room and with him were several of his men. His complexion was flushed. Had he overheard her?
Chapter 10
Startled, it took Amelia a moment to rally. Since she acted as her country’s representative in a great many diverse situations, her training under fire had been extensive. No one would have guessed that inside, she was still the young girl who had once tried so desperately to curry her father’s favor.
Aware that the king had to have heard at least the end of her conversation with Russell and knowing that her father was far from a stupid man, she assumed he had put two and two together. But now was not the time to be upbraided for “conduct unbecoming.” She was quick to throw the focus onto something that really mattered.
“Father, have you heard about the prince?”
The king’s expression was grim as he nodded. “Terrible thing. Terrible thing,” he repeated. “King Weston is beside himself. I tried to do what I could to comfort him, but this is a matter that will take a great deal of time for him to come to grips with. I’m told he collapsed when he received the news.”
Russell felt a pang of guilt, but since the king had not addressed the remark to him, he said nothing.
“Reginald was his only son.” Amelia moved so that she stood with her back to Russell, blocking him from her father’s access. This was a private matter, but since it concerned Russell, she couldn’t very well ask him to leave. And her father’s bodyguards had been with the king for years. They were more like fixtures than men. Amelia drew herself up, asking a question she felt, in her heart, she already knew the answer to. “Will we be going home now, Father?”
Her father looked at her, a puzzled expression furrowing his brow. Behind her, she could almost feel Russell’s gaze penetrating her back. “Why?”
“Because we came for a wedding and now that Reginald is dead—”
Roman cut her off. “Prince Reginald is dead,” he agreed. “However, the alliance between Gastonia and Silvershire can and will still go forward.” He looked at her intently, his gaze telling her she knew what was expected of her. “All that is needed for that to happen is for you to marry the next king of Silvershire.”
Something inside her felt as if it was shattering. She was tired of being the good little obedient princess, tired of always doing what was expected of her. “And if that were a pig, would you have me take its cloven hoof in my hand and pledge to be faithful to the pig until the end of my days?”
Shock registered on her father’s face. It echoed in the faces of his two bodyguards. She had no doubt that behind her, Russell didn’t look like the picture of tranquillity, either. But she didn’t care if any of them were shocked. There was a great need for her to speak her mind.
For a moment, the king looked as if he didn’t know what to do with her. But when he spoke, his voice was patient. “You’re overwrought, Amelia. I understand. However, nothing has really changed in the absolute sense. You have to think of the good of your people. Gastonia is a small, relatively defenseless country. Without the armed support of Silvershire, it could easily be taken over by any one of a number of countries. You are a princess, you cannot think with your heart.” And then Roman looked at the tall man standing behind his daughter. “And, from what I just heard, as well as information that has been brought to me,” he emphasized, “I believe a union between you two would not be entirely displeasing to either of you.” He looked directly at Amelia and color crept up into her cheeks. Roman continued. “That the walls have ears is not merely an antiquated expression, my dear. I daresay that everything we do, whether we believe it’s in private or not, becomes a matter of record.” His meaning was quite clear as he looked from his daughter to the man he assumed would be king. “In addition to the main necessity for this marriage, for the sake of your reputation, Amelia, this marriage has to go through. Are we agreed, Carrington?”
Although his question was directed at Russell, it was Amelia who ran interference. “It might seem a lit
tle callous to the people of Silvershire if the wedding goes ahead on schedule, only with a different groom.”
Roman dismissed the idea. “Nonsense, the people love a fairy tale.” His expression became serious. “What they wouldn’t like is turmoil and unrest. Having the well-beloved princess marry the good Duke of Carrington will be just what they like, what they need. Gastonia will have its treaty and you will have a man you have already shown a preference for. And you, Carrington,” he spared Russell a look, “will have your crown.”
If the monarch only knew how little that meant to him, Russell thought. He knew the time for him to speak was now rather than later. “What if I don’t want the crown?” Russell posed.
Roman looked at him as if he had just said that he had a strong desire to be flogged. “Not want the crown? How absurd. Dear boy, everyone wants the crown.”
Russell had been taught to agree with royalty. To acquiesce whenever possible. But it wasn’t possible. Not if there was a chance that he did not have to submit to this. He wanted a way out. Not because of a forced marriage, but because of a forced coronation.
“I don’t,” he said simply. “There’s far too much attention attached to it. It would mean living the rest of my life in a fishbowl.”
The king laughed shortly, shaking his head as if he was suffering someone who was simpleminded.
“You are already in that bowl, son. And as for not wanting the crown, I’m afraid you have no say in the matter. The rules are written,” he pointed out. “And so is your destiny.”
“The rules,” Russell respectfully reminded him, “say that the king can change his mind.”
Roman exchanged looks with his daughter. There would be no help coming from that quarter. He might as well squelch Carrington’s hopes quickly, before they got out of hand.
“Right now, King Weston doesn’t know his mind at all. He is in the terrible place that grief takes a man. He and I have been friends a very long time—since before you were born,” he told his daughter. “In his time of grief, I know he would want me to keep things moving forward and move forward they shall.” There was a note of finality in his voice as he spoke for the other monarch. “You will marry Carrington, Amelia, and Carrington will be the next king. I will hear no more about it.”
The Heart of a Ruler Page 11