Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3)

by Serena Akeroyd

  “Yet, after Perry initially presented her findings to her liaison, and found her requests for a meeting with some higher-ups continually rebuffed, I had to get involved. Only my clout with Laurenne Jonquil, one of their top staffers, enabled me to set something up on her behalf.

  “Don’t you think that’s suspicious, Branche?”

  “They’re busy people,” he mumbled, ducking his chin into his chest.

  Xavier’s mouth firmed. “Regardless. I heard what Perry had to say. I saw the statistics and the facts and the evidence. There is no reason, no ecological or climatic reason, why we’re suffering such horrendous water loss. Her findings indicate that that reason has to be man-made.”

  “The supposition being that someone’s damaging our dams? For God’s sake, it’s like some kind of ridiculous conspiracy theory!”

  “‘Ridiculous’ isn’t the word, considering that water is one of our most prized resources, you idiot. What can we do without water? Every decade that passes, it’s becoming a more and more precious commodity. Without water, we’re dust.

  “Perry has been actively discouraged from pursuing her line of investigation by an agency headed by a relative to your predecessor. A predecessor with known ties to a terrorist body that has just murdered our Queen,” Xavier hissed. “Which part of this isn’t computing, Branche? It’s enough to make one wonder who else has ties to the UnReals in our Parliament, isn’t it, Edward?”

  Branche’s shoulders dropped, as did his mouth—he outright gaped. “I beg your pardon!”

  “You’ll be begging for more than just my pardon if I find he’s right,” Edward said silkily, feeling a little more in control now that Xavier was here, and had put the Prime Minister on the defensive. “Xavier’s right, Branche. I find it odd how certain ministers aren’t overly concerned by what’s happened.”

  “You can’t start a witch hunt over this. Just because some people aren’t sobbing into their handkerchiefs over your mother’s passing, doesn’t make them traitors!”

  “I never said it did. My mother was a woman who had a nature that polarized people. Some loved her, others loathed her. Regardless, she died serving her country, and Veronia’s current government is only seeing fit to engage in a shoddy investigation into her passing, while freely allowing known sympathizers to remain in their seats.” Edward sliced his hand through the air. “No more. Do you hear me? You’ve taken advantage of my inexperience, Branche. Tried to give me the run around. Well, that’s the last of it. If you don’t want me to invoke Article 42 of the Constitution, you’ll facilitate my requirements, not impede them.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” came the other man’s harsh denial.

  “Try me.”

  The mantle of power, for the first time in weeks, slipped onto his shoulders like it fit. It was a curiously satisfying sensation, and one that helped release the cloying tightness in his chest. Filling his father’s shoes was… well, quite frankly, it was a daunting task.

  The Prime Minister’s jaw clenched. “This is blackmail.”

  “How ridiculous that the King is having to blackmail you to protect not only the interests of his fallen parent, but to safeguard the future of his people.” Xavier’s voice couldn’t have sounded more sly if he’d tried.

  “That article in our Constitution was included to prevent a dictatorship overtaking Parliament.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Branche,” Edward snapped. “I’ve been eating, drinking, and breathing the damn Constitution since I was a child.

  “You, however, are not only Veronia’s Prime Minister; you’re mine. In this, you will cede to my wishes or pay the consequences.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I don’t think he could have made it more obvious,” Xavier inserted snidely.

  Branche’s nostrils flared. “You’ll regret this. You can’t just start a witch hunt…” he repeated yet again.

  “No. You’ll regret this, if you decide to go against my wishes.”

  Branche jumped to his feet. It was said through gritted teeth but stated nonetheless, “Your Highness.” At Xavier, he shot a narrow-eyed glare and mumbled, “Your Grace.”

  Deciding to let the idiot stride off, Edward didn’t speak until the footman had closed the door behind Branche. As he glowered at the man’s departing back, he slowly inhaled, seeking composure. He didn’t think he had it, but he asked regardless, “What made you decide to pop up?”

  Xavier shrugged. “Thought you might need a helping hand.”

  “I’m King. I shouldn’t need help with my own damn government,” Edward groused.

  “Spoken like a true despot,” Xavier teased, making Edward snort.

  “Shut up.” He rubbed his chin. “Parliament just wishes I’d turn despot on their arses. The pricks.”

  “From what I’ve gleaned, there’s been little advance in either investigation.”

  “I’d have told you if there was. You didn’t need to pop up for a pep talk, if that was your game.”

  “No. You haven’t been doing much talking to anyone, Edward. You’ve decided to keep us all in the dark, and we both know Perry won’t stand for it for long.”

  He scowled. “Has she said something?”

  “Not really. She’s as overwhelmed by her new position as you.”

  “I’m letting her down,” Edward said on a deep sigh. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back.

  “No. You’re not. You’re just being absent and distancing yourself from us because you’re so busy. It’s time to share the load.”

  “My father didn’t.”

  “Philippe started his reign in a different time. And anyway, he did have help. My father and mother and Marianne took on a lot of his load. It’s only in recent years that the pair of them had to handle everything, after my parents’ passing.”

  “We’ve lost them all nearly, haven’t we?”

  Xavier’s mouth firmed. “Yes.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t give up hope for Philippe, Edward. The doctors say his body is giving him what he needs—the rest to recuperate.”

  “Sounds like bullshit to me. They’re probably just scared I’ll have them executed for failing to treat him,” Edward grumbled.

  “I doubt that. There are rules,” Xavier retorted. His hands gripped the armrests. “We have to have faith.”

  “There’s no guarantee he’ll be lucid if he does wake, Xavier. I can’t afford to have faith.”

  “There’s no reason to start grieving him before he’s dead either,” Xavier snapped. “We have to hold on.”

  Edward shook his head but he stayed silent. Tension throbbed between them for a second, until he broke it by asking, “Is she mad at me?”

  “Of course not.” Xavier sighed. “But if you have to ask me that, and aren’t aware of the answer yourself, you understand why she’s concerned.”

  “I’ve barely seen her in the past two weeks,” Edward admitted. “I miss her.”

  They were in the same palace and yet, they might as well have been in two separate countries.

  “She’s down the hall, Edward. Go see her, you fool.”

  “I’ve another meeting in ten minutes.”

  “This is my point about delegating. It doesn’t matter whether Philippe needed help or not, you’re not him. What’s pride when it comes to your happiness?”

  “Not that nonsense again. Jesus. You and George are like broken records when it comes down to talk of my happiness.”

  “Have you heard yourself? Of course we are. We give a damn, Edward.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re as stubborn as you were as a kid. You idiot. Don’t start believing your own press. Just because you’re beloved by the damn public doesn’t mean those closest to you are going to lick your arse and not tell you the truth when you need to hear it.”

  Edward stared at him a second. “I don’t see why you three should be miserable.”

  His mumbled rejoinder had Xavier scowling. “We can share duties. Split them. And it
gives me an excuse to hang around the palace more.”

  Edward sighed. “It’s ridiculous that you need an excuse considering it’s our fucking home.”

  “C’est la vie,” Xavier said with a shrug. “But it’s true nonetheless. If I help you more, then I can be around you guys without raising suspicion.”

  Edward pinned his cousin with a stare. “And what of your research?”

  “I can do it in my spare time.”

  “What spare time?” Edward scoffed. “I’ve more than enough work for five men, never mind being with you, George, and Perry.”

  “A problem shared and all that,” Xavier said lightly. “We’re here to help. George is dithering over whether to work in the Ministry of Finance because he wants to help you. We know if he’s shoved in there, he’d be of little use to the King. But he’s willing to do it to support you, idiot. He’d be better off doing what he wants in a private bank!

  “Don’t let his damn sacrifice be in bloody vain is what I’m trying to say to you. Put him somewhere useful to you.”

  “And what of you? Where will you take over?”

  “I’ll help with royal duties, visits and the like. The Ministry of Agriculture fits with my educational background, so I can take over that. Perry’s obviously gels well with the EA… We’re each of us specialists in our own fields, and we can help out with Parliament in those areas. But in the interim, we can work on your schedule and split it.”

  “It will send you all over the country. I’d prefer to keep you close to Perry.”

  “She’d prefer us to be separated and to actually see us all,” he countered, putting emphasis on the word “all,” “than for you to die a death here.”

  Edward’s jaw tightened. “I’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll give you until the end of the week to do that,” Xavier warned. “Then, if you don’t come to your senses I’m throwing in the big guns.”

  “Oh yeah, and what are they?”

  “I’ll tell Perry.”

  He snorted. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

  Xavier laughed. “As you should be. You know what she’s like when she gets riled.”

  “Dick,” Edward grumbled, well-aware that his cousin wasn’t half-wrong.

  Xavier just winked. “Glad to know you’ve remembered my nickname.”

  Chapter Five

  Having looked at her visitation schedule for the following three months, Perry was both astonished and aghast by the number of new hospitals Veronia was constructing.

  This was followed by several new museums, a handful of new and rejuvenated town halls, and countless other civic buildings in need of a Royal to officiate for the opening ceremony. Being a queen was far more boring than she’d ever suspected.

  Granted, being a princess hadn’t been a barrel of laughs either.

  Not that she’d really had time to be a princess. It wasn’t like she could judge the role when she’d done nothing more than wave at the public on her way out of the reception hall after her wedding, then sequester herself in a Sheikh’s palazzo in the middle of the desert in Dubai!

  No, today would be her first official Royal visit, and though last night she’d found it difficult to fall asleep, that had been because she was alone in her bed.

  Again.

  The Bentley slowed as it swerved off a highway and onto a lane that led to a large hospital in the near distance. Modern in design, it was shiny and fancy, but also integrated into the forest that surrounded the facility.

  Wooden planks covered the façade like vertical decking and the windows were cutouts in bizarre shapes.

  She supposed it was pretty. But for a rehab center?

  Well, who was Perry to judge?

  They’d gained access down the “tradesman’s entrance,” for security reasons, a road that approached the building from the back, not the front, so the first glimpse of the crowd came through the windscreen. It was… putting it frankly, enormous.

  She blinked, her eyes widening in astonishment.

  Because Cass was new to the role as Perry’s Guardian of the Keys, she’d kept on most of Marianne’s advisors as well—the ones who didn’t look at her like she was a dog turd on their car seat, anyway. They, along with Rose, her PA, had been working together to get Perry up-to-date on the basics of protocol.

  Prior to Perry’s wedding, Marianne had taught her everything she’d deemed necessary to be a princess. But that hadn’t included things like today’s visit.

  No, that would have been useful.

  Instead, she’d learned that she had to eat asparagus with her fingers, and practiced the proper way to greet an Archduke—what they were, she’d yet to figure out. Even Wikipedia didn’t really do that great a job of explaining it, because according to that, Archdukes didn’t exist anymore…so why did she have to learn how to greet one, for fuck’s sake?

  She rubbed her temple at the sight of what had to be eight thousand people.

  Considering her Guardians had suggested a maximum of two thousand, Perry felt like the headlining act at an indie concert.

  She was grateful Cass had traveled ahead in the first car—something that was apparently standard so that the crowd would see the Queen first and foremost… oh, the posturing—she dug her nails into the leather upholstery as she leaned forward to peer through the windscreen once more.

  “Jasper,” she croaked.

  “Yes, Your Highness?”

  Jasper had driven Marianne to all her events, and he’d been kind through his formality—her mother-in-law had been a stickler for that. The chauffeur had yet to learn that she was the complete opposite where formality was concerned.

  “They’re not for me, are they? All those people?”

  “I fear so,” came the faintly apologetic response. “Your security team notified me before we set off.”

  “They did?” She gulped. “Why?”

  “To advise me to take the alternate entrance,” he explained. “The number of people far surpassed expectations. As they should,” he continued with a sniff, “after what those abominations did. The whole country should be here to show their support for the Royal Family.”

  She clenched her jaw at the reminder, trying desperately not to freak out.

  “The idea of two thousand unnerved me,” she whispered.

  “I know, your Highness.”

  “Please, call me ma’am.” Even that felt far too formal, but she knew it was a major breach in protocol. When Jasper’s shoulders dropped, she said quietly, “I know it’s unusual, but please, Jasper, I-I just need something semi-normal.”

  His somber green eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror. “If you wish, ma’am.”

  She blew out a relieved breath. “I really do.”

  “You won’t have to speak with the crowd, ma’am. Simply go through with the visit, and then wave on the way out.”

  She bit her lip.

  It would be easy. Oh, so easy just to step out of the car, do the job she’d been assigned…but all those people had come to see her.

  Were waiting for a glimpse of her.

  Miss Nobody from Nowhere, USA.

  They were showing their support of her family. They were mourning their old Queen’s passing…

  Wasn’t it churlish to ignore them? Because that was the game plan.

  Gnawing at her lip, she fell silent. The rest of the Guardians—not of the Galaxy, just of her—and Cass had explained that they’d arrive in the vehicle ahead of hers. Cass and Murielle Harlington would trail after her as she waved at the crowd then entered the rehab facility.

  The building had been constructed thanks to a new initiative of Philippe’s, one regarding recidivism rates in ex-cons, and as such, necessitated someone higher than a minor Royal to open it.

  In the eyes of this nation, the only person higher than Perry was Edward. She was at the top of the triangle, as crazy as it seemed. And though ordinarily, she’d have been encouraged to step among the crowds, to greet them, the heightened
security protocol demanded otherwise.

  Feeling uncertain, Perry smoothed out the skirt of her dress, and waited for the car to arrive at the front entrance of the building.

  She felt overheated in the warm car and her thick coat, but also like she was coming down off a sugar high. Shocky and too hot—never the greatest of combinations. Especially when she was about to be on show to a crowd that would have taken the Rolling Stones aback.

  Her powder blue jacket was tailored neatly to her frame and tucked in at the waist. Underneath, she wore a fitted dress with a demure boat neckline. The skirt came to mid-calf. She wore her wedding and engagement ring, some simple gold ear bobs, and a discreet diamond tennis bracelet.

  Not having had much input in the outfit, the one thing she’d picked to wear was on her feet. George had left out some sleek dark navy and black patent heels that looked like some kind of fetish-wear considering the height of the stilettos, but she’d refused. Had selected a pair of ballet pumps instead.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d be doing today; not really. Opening the building to the public didn’t seem like that big a job, but she wasn’t certain how far she’d be walking—or if she even could in those damn stalagmites George had bought for her.

  She felt uncomfortable and ill at ease in the tight dress. Though she’d lost more weight since the wedding, prior to which she’d shed a good ten pounds out of nerves alone, she still felt the same as she always did.

  Like biscuit dough being shoved back into the container.

  Her hair had been styled by her new stylist—yes, she had a personal one on retainer now. A guy called Louis deMaura—and Louis was responsible for the makeup job of the century, which hid the tired circles under her eyes and the discontent about her mouth.

  Perry had never imagined herself in this position when she’d married Edward. She’d thought it would be a decade into the future. She’d thought she’d have time to grow accustomed to it, to merge into the role. Instead, it was being thrust upon her, upon Edward too.

  Though it came as a surprise, the real surprise was that she wasn’t too overwhelmed by her new position. Of course, she was lost—who wasn’t, only weeks into a new job?