The Heart of a Ruler

by Marie Ferrarella

  The thought that she might have had a hand in Reginald’s demise had been a fleeting one at best. Though she didn’t strike him as being a pushover, he knew she wasn’t capable of coldly ordering someone’s death.

  He might as well get through all of it, he thought. “Our union only took place because your father believed I was the man Weston was selecting for the crown. If that crown goes to someone else, what then?”

  She didn’t see what the problem was, at least, not for them. Her father wouldn’t be happy that the marriage did not back up their countries’ alliance, but things did not always work themselves out perfectly no matter how much effort went into arrangements.

  “Then you pledge your allegiance to the baby or whoever King Weston chooses and we return home to Gastonia to live happily ever after.”

  That didn’t satisfy him. Hers was not the last word on the matter. “Won’t your father want you to marry whoever is king here?”

  Her laugh was soft, indulgent. She touched his face affectionately. “Not even my father would marry me to someone after I’d just been married before God and the good citizens of Silvershire, not to mention Madeline,” she added with a broad smile. “That would be ludicrous.”

  “But the marriage was to reinforce the treaty,” he insisted.

  He was worried about that, she suddenly realized. Her heart grew warm. He was afraid she would have to walk out on him. As if that could ever be possible.

  “My father’s not that small a man,” she assured him softly. “Having his daughter married to the Duke of Carrington, the king’s right-hand political adviser, carries weight to it,” she assured him, then added, “Especially when he sees how happy his daughter is—in direct contrast to how very unhappy he knew she would have been if Reginald had lived and he had become her husband.”

  A small wave of relief finally came. Russell allowed himself a small, affectionate smile. “You’re referring to yourself in the third person.”

  Amelia pretended to toss her head. “All us royal types do that.” And then she laughed and winked.

  He put his hands on her waist, holding her for a moment, thinking how quickly he had gotten used to having her in his arms.

  Again, his expression became somber as concern nibbled away at him. “But if it came to that, if your father decided that Gastonia’s needs were immediate and urgent and since the heir to Silvershire’s throne was an infant, perhaps a more suitable match for the matter of security could be made with the prince of another kingdom—” There were still a few kingdoms that could come into play when it came to making treaties, kingdoms that knew safety lay in alliances.

  She didn’t want to play this game. It was tiring and pointless. What he was suggesting wasn’t going to happen. Amelia placed her finger to his lips, stilling them. “Don’t borrow trouble, Your Highness. I’m your wife and I’m going to remain that way.”

  She’d called him “Your Highness,” as if he were a prince. It was in jest, but he couldn’t divorce himself from the thought that that was what she wanted from the man she was wed to. The promise of a crown.

  His eyes searched her face as he asked, “Would it bother you if I wasn’t king?”

  “It wasn’t your crown that drew me to you in the first place,” she reminded him, lacing her arms around his neck. She sighed as her body came in contact with his. “It won’t be your crown that will make me want to remain.”

  “Oh?” The weightier matters of Reginald’s death and the state of the country took a back seat to what was happening here, in this section of the palace. He felt his mouth curving into a smile, felt his body following suit. “And what will?”

  Her arms still around his neck, Amelia pressed her body tightly up against his. Her eyes were dancing as she said, “Guess.”

  She could make him forget everything else in a heartbeat. He’d never met another woman like her and was grateful that somehow, fate had arranged for her to be his. “I had no idea that you were this lusty, Princess.”

  “Neither did I, Carrington,” she teased, amusement highlighting her features. “See what you’ve done?”

  “I?” he asked innocently.

  “Yes, you.” She raised herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth up close to his. “You’ve made a wanton woman out of me.” She could feel love exuding from every pore of her body. It was incredible what a difference a few weeks made. Just a month ago, she’d seen her life—certainly her happiness—ending. And now, she could honestly say she had never been happier. All because she was married to Russell. “And then an honest one.”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” he reminded her. “That was the king’s choice. And, as for the first matter, as I remember the series of events, you were the one who chose me, not the other way around.”

  With a laugh filled with pleasure, she kissed him. She did it quickly, then did it again before drawing away, savoring the masculine taste of his lips. She could feel her blood singing.

  “If they don’t make you king, you could always become the royal lawyer,” Amelia quipped. He reached for her, but she playfully took a step back, lacing her fingers through his hand. “Now, tell me everything. Just who is this woman who says she’s having Reginald’s baby? Do you know her? Do I?”

  He drew her over to the sofa and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. She settled in, lacing her arms around his neck as she listened.

  “No to both,” he told her. “Unless it’s an alias of some kind. According to what Lucia found out, the woman’s name is Sydney Connor. The e-mail was tracked back to Naessa.”

  “Naessa,” Amelia echoed incredulously. She banked down a shiver. There had been threats made against her father from several terrorist factions whose roots, it was discovered, ran deep in Naessa. “Nothing good ever comes from Naessa.”

  “Not so,” he contradicted. When she looked at him quizzically, he said, “If this woman is on the level, then the future king of Silvershire might well be coming from there. If Sydney Connor is a native of Naessa, then Silvershire’s new king would be half Naessian.”

  Amelia frowned as she turned the idea over in her head. There had been too much bad blood in the past between their two countries and Naessa.

  “I don’t think that’s going to go over very well with the people of Silvershire. Or with the people of Gastonia, for that matter,” she added.

  Russell nodded. She had a point, he supposed. For the sake of peace in the kingdom, Weston might not want to recognize a bastard’s claim to the throne. It might set off too many diverse factions.

  For the moment, his ascent to the throne seemed inevitable again.

  “And it might just set off Nikolas Donovan and his little band of merrymakers,” he commented dryly.

  He could almost hear what the Union for Democracy would have to say about placing Reginald’s illegitimate son on the throne. They could use the country’s unrest to demand that the entire sum of governing power be turned over to the people.

  Amelia put into words what he hadn’t said. “And unless Reginald secretly married this woman, which I sincerely doubt, the fact that the baby is a bastard might make a great many people unwilling to accept that child as their king. For that matter, the king might chose not to recognize the baby, either,” she added. “In any event, Weston still has the right to choose whomever he wants to be king since he no longer has a living son to take the crown.”

  Amelia smiled at him, her eyes encouraging. “I’m afraid that you are going to be king of Silvershire whether you like the idea or not, my sweet.” She curled up in his lap. “Just think of me as your consolation prize.”

  “I think of you as the only prize,” he answered just before he kissed her.

  The kiss, meant to be fleeting as he stood up to take his leave, took on a life of its own, growing and flowering until it threatened to overwhelm them both, blotting out the room, the palace and everything that was beyond the very small circle created by the two of them.

  She heated his bloo
d the way no other woman ever had before her. An eagerness went galloping through his veins, causing him mentally to discard the rest of the things he had intended on seeing to in the next few hours.

  Nothing was nearly as important, nearly as pressing, as allowing himself to make love with this woman he had had the great fortune to have bestowed on him as his bride.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Amelia breathed against his mouth as he began to remove her clothing with the speed and dexterity of a finely skilled magician. Not to be outdone, she began separating him from his own garments almost as quickly as he was peeling her out of hers.

  “Yes.” His own breath was growing shorter and shorter just as his anticipation was steadily growing greater and greater. “I do. Right here,” he told her. “Right now.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” she laughed softly.

  And she didn’t. Not for the next few hours.

  Chapter 15

  Russell turned his head toward the woman who somehow still managed to be a complete revelation to him. Amelia was in bed beside him. He had things he had to tend to. He knew they both did. But right now, nothing seemed to be as important to him as savoring this moment, lying here next to her.

  “But you would be all right with that?” he asked, still wondering what he had ever done to deserve to be so lucky. “With the possibility of my not becoming the next King of Silvershire?”

  Amelia turned so that her body was tucked against his. She smiled up into Russell’s face, the warm glow of lovemaking still very tightly wrapped around her. They had already settled the matter, she thought. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if he were going to be the next king. But if he wasn’t, she didn’t care. Perhaps, she mused, she even liked it better that way. Because then they could go home.

  “You’re king of my heart, Russell, that’s all that really matters to me.” And then her smile faded just a little as a thought occurred to her.

  Russell propped himself up on his elbow. He didn’t like the way her brow furrowed. Was there an obstacle after all? “What?”

  She picked her words carefully. The male ego, she knew, was a very fragile thing. Would his be bruised if the scenario he suggested really did play itself out? “If this does come about, if you’re not crowned the King of Silvershire, would my being Queen of Gastonia some day bother you?”

  Russell pressed his lips together, not to think, but to suppress the smile that rose to his lips. Titles had never mattered to him and he was comfortable enough in his own skin not to feel threatened by any she had. As long as she loved him. “You mean would it bother me to be a kept man?”

  In her experience, men such as the ones he referred to idled away their time in vapid pursuits. That wasn’t Russell.

  “The only thing you would be ‘kept’ at is busy. Being the prince consort requires a great deal of work. You would be involved in guiding Gastonia, in keeping it safe. I don’t intend to rule my country alone,” she informed him. Amelia stroked his cheek lightly, feeling excitement taking hold again. “We are partners, you and I. Partners in everything that we do. Nothing would make my heart happier than returning to Gastonia. But I will not go without you,” she added quietly. “And I will not remain there without you.”

  Russell turned his body until he was leaning over her again. He slipped his hand along her face, tracing its features slowly with his fingertips.

  Amelia sighed just as her new husband brought his lips down to a breath away from hers. “I never believed in fairy tales,” she told him. “Until now.”

  “Stick with me, Princess,” he murmured. “The best is yet to be.”

  But the knock on the outer suite door, at first respectful, then louder, told them that whatever was to follow would have to wait. At least until they sent whoever was at the door away.

  “Princess, are you in there?” There was no mistaking the urgency in Madeline’s voice. It rang out, loud and clear. Her friend’s tone gave no indication that she was about to go away.

  Amelia exchanged glances with Russell. “Your lady-in-waiting apparently doesn’t seem to want to live up to her title,” he quipped.

  Feeling protective of her friend, as well as somewhat frustrated, Amelia said, “Madeline has always had a mind of her own,” just before she raised her voice so that Madeline could hear her through the door. “Yes, what is it, Madeline?” She glanced at Russell and smiled. He pressed a kiss to her throat, making her pulse jump. Oh, but she loved this man. “I’m…a little…busy…right now.”

  “Princess, the king is looking for your husband. I thought maybe he’d be in there with you.” The smile that was in Madeline’s voice said she knew exactly what was going on behind the closed doors. “King Weston requests that both of you meet with him at the royal clinic as soon as humanly possible.”

  At the mention of the clinic, Russell sat bolt upright, concerned. Thoughts of sharing another round of pleasure with Amelia were temporarily shelved. He reached for his clothing.

  “Is the king ill?” he asked, raising his voice.

  “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace,” Madeline answered. “He does not appear to be. But I’m just the messenger. One of several he requested look for you,” she added.

  Amelia scrambled out of bed. Russell paused a moment to let his eyes drift over her appreciatively. Rousing himself, he cleared his throat.

  “Tell His Majesty that we’ll be right there,” he instructed. He allowed himself only a moment to fleetingly brush his lips over hers. “To be continued,” he promised in a whisper.

  “I will hold you to that,” Amelia responded as she hurried into her clothes.

  They lost no time in getting to the clinic. When they arrived, they found the king sitting in the corridor right before the entrance. The expression on his face was grave.

  His complexion was far from viable, Russell noted. And the monarch’s hands were clutching the chair’s arms, his knuckles almost white from the effort.

  “Is everything all right, Your Majesty?” Russell asked before Amelia had a chance to.

  Apparently lost in thought, Weston raised his head like one coming out of a deep trance. The monarch looked at him as if surprised to see that there was anyone else there. When he became aware of Amelia, he attempted a dignified smile to greet her.

  “Hello, my dear.” Weston shifted his eyes toward Russell. “And no, everything is not all right.” A sigh escaped his lips. “My only son is being cut up.” He struggled for strength to continue, to face the pain that seemed to be looming everywhere, waiting to ensnare him, to take him captive. “I’ve finally given permission for the autopsy to be done. You were right, of course,” he told Russell without preamble. “We need to move forward, to get answers if we can. And to finally bury Prince Reginald the way he deserves to be buried.”

  Relief whispered through Russell. He was seriously beginning to worry about the king’s mental state, afraid that the monarch was withdrawing more and more into himself. Since Reginald’s death, he’d caught the king talking to himself on more than one occasion. In addition, he was concerned that the monarch might just decide to go ahead and hold the funeral, burying the prince without having the autopsy performed.

  He knew that, from the king’s standpoint, Reginald was dead and that discovering that his death had occurred naturally or at his own or another man’s hand did not change the end result. Reginald was gone. He had feared that Weston would be overwhelmed with that glaring reality and that it would cause him to lose sight of the fact that they needed to know how.

  “When did it begin? The autopsy,” Amelia added gently, kneeling down beside the man who, even a few days earlier, had looked so dynamic, so bold, and who now seemed to be a shadow of his former self.

  Grief had done that, she thought. Grief had hollowed him out until he appeared brittle and frail.

  “Less than half an hour ago. I thought you should be here for the outcome,” he murmured to Russell.

  “We’ll stay with you
.” Russell’s eyes met Amelia’s and she gave him a small, imperceptible nod in response. “Until it’s over.”

  Gratitude came over the monarch’s features. “I would be in debt to you for that,” he told them, looking from one to the other. A little of his former self was restored, at least for the moment. “I know I should be strong enough to remain here, waiting to be told the results. But the image.” His eyes looked haunted as he envisioned what was going on a few short feet from where he sat. “I can’t get the image out of my head—” He swept his long fingers along his temples, as if trying to banish what he saw in his mind’s eye, as if he felt an almost unbearable pounding. The king was suffering from headaches that were growing greater in number and more intense each time.

  “We have nowhere else to be, Your Majesty,” Amelia assured him gently. Smiling into his eyes, she laced her fingers through his. Weston looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. The gratitude in his eyes was all the thanks she needed.

  The hands on the antique grandfather clock that stood a little way down the lavishly decorated corridor seemed to move at an inordinately slow pace. Russell wanted this to be over with, to have the autopsy completed and the king’s son sewn back together again, to be a whole person again rather than the sum of parts that had been weighed, calibrated and measured.

  Granted, he had been the one to lobby the king the hardest to have the autopsy performed, and they needed the answers that the autopsy would provide, but he had no idea he would be here, only a few feet away from the actual autopsy room, while the royal medical examiner performed her duties. Somehow, that seemed rather ghoulish to him.

  A necessary evil, he told himself, glancing over toward the princess. He didn’t have the right to complain, even silently. Just look at the hand that fate had dealt him.

  Amelia had been carrying on a steady stream of conversation the entire time they’d been waiting, bless her, he thought. She seemed to know a little about everything. Right now, he and the king were being given a verbal tour of the factory where the Gaston, the car that had firmly placed Gastonia on the map as something other than just another collection of casinos, was manufactured. The king actually seemed mildly distracted, which he knew was Amelia’s main, most likely only, goal.