Before he could reply, Marcus cut the line, leaving Edward to scowl down at his scrawls.
A knock sounded at the door and he called out, “Come in.”
The footman, ever present, appeared first. “Cassandra Whitings, your Highness.”
“Let her in.” Edward stood as Cass came rushing in—considering his old friend barely sped up past a stroll, this was close to panic. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Your wife is going to be the death of me.”
He reared back at that. “What? Why?”
“She’s rescheduled the last four events.”
“So?”
“This particular one… dammit to hell! You can’t reschedule some of these things. They happen whether the Queen attends or not, and her not being there is bad for morale.”
“Have you arranged for one of the cousins to attend?”
She nodded, but her mouth turned into a pout. “I have, but everyone knows the only cousin who counts is Xavier.”
“Will he go in her stead?”
“He’s busy. You have him scheduled in Parliament that day.”
“Rearrange that, I’ll go to Parliament instead.”
Cass frowned. “It’s foolish to arrange everything around Perry.”
“I’d assume there’s a reason she wants to cancel? It’s not just a whim, surely?”
“I don’t know. She’s been…odd of late.”
“In what way?” In the eight days since the shooting, he’d admit to not having paid as much attention as he ought to have done—especially considering the vow he’d made to himself on that panicked drive over to the hospital. Guilt whipped through him and he rubbed the back of his neck as he slumped down in his seat. “I should know. I shouldn’t have to ask.”
“You’re busy.”
There was no recrimination in Cass’s tone, and somehow, that irked him all the more. It didn’t matter if he was busy. Nothing mattered more than his wife and the child she was carrying, because if she didn’t matter, what the hell was he doing all this for?
For a second, he empathized with Marcus. These things… this life, it was only endurable if he thought about who he was passing it down to.
Their children.
His throat closed at that, and he bit off, “I shouldn’t be too busy to talk to her.”
Cass had grown up at court, and she knew the score. But Perry hadn’t and would never understand. Couldn’t understand how state matters would always intrude on their lives.
But the trouble was, this was more than just a state matter: this was their personal safety at risk. He’d had so many sleepless nights where he’d decided that he was better off working than tossing and turning in bed. Where he’d tried to work, to figure out what the fuck was going on with the UnReals, all in an effort to keep her safe.
She wasn’t to know that though, was she?
She wasn’t to understand that he was doing this for her and their child, rather than just out of neglect or a lack of care.
“What’s happening with Perry, Cass?” he asked, his voice husky with regret—how he hated having to ask a friend about the state of his wife’s current temperament.
“She’s flailing.”
Those two words had him rearing back again. “Pardon?”
“And when I say nervous, I mean it. I thought she’d be scared, but she’s just anxious. Understandable, naturally.” Cass sighed, and the hands she’d stacked on her hips moved toward the chair in front of his desk. She gripped the back of the leather tubular seat and her fingers turned white. “The shooting, it’s put the fear of God into her. Hardly a surprise, but she dealt with it so well at the start that…” Another sigh fell from her. “I think we took it for granted. She just seemed to carry on with things, stalwart as ever. Now, she’s just—”
“Changed?”
Cass nodded. “I don’t think she wants to leave the palace.”
He dragged his fingers over his forehead. “Understandable. The one place we’ve proven we can keep her safe is here.”
“That doesn’t help with the program. Her visiting schedule is jam-packed. We’ve got too much on for her to be—”
“She’s pregnant, Cass.”
His old friend’s mouth stopped in its tracks. “What?”
He nodded, his gaze catching hers as the seriousness of the situation settled between them. “About nine weeks now.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cass breathed. Her hands tightened on the leather back of the seat. “No wonder she’s so volatile at the moment. I got to know her when she was getting ready for the wedding, a stressful endeavor in itself, and she was fine then. Not like this. Now? She’s like the wind. Happy one moment, sad another. More than that, she’s on edge, and Ed, that isn’t good for her or the baby.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve been working so hard. Xavier and George, too. We’re trying to understand what the hell’s happening.”
“No clues?”
“Drake’s digging but he’s coming up with fresh air. It’s not his fault. He’s only passing on the information the security services are finding, and he’s getting the brunt of the blame.” Edward bowed his head and stared at the report in front of him. “We’re pissing in the breeze and trying not to get caught in the backsplash.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Lovely image.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I paint the nicest pictures.”
Rolling her eyes, Cass murmured, “When are you making the announcement?” Then, before he could answer, she winced. “Dammit. You can’t. If you do, she’ll be under more of a threat.”
“She’s priceless as it stands; what would she be if they knew she was carrying the next heir?” Edward confirmed. He rubbed his jaw. “Be lenient with her, Cass. Things are hard right now.”
“I know that, Ed, but Jesus, you have to spend more time with her. George and Xavier seem to be taking up the load on your behalf, but that’s not enough. She needs more than just friends and family around her. She needs her husband.”
He tried not to flinch at the reproach in her voice. “I know. I’ll try.”
“No, dammit. Do more than try. God, what is it with you men? You seem to think everything is more important than the women you promise to love and cherish until death do you part.” She grimaced. “You almost experienced the ‘death’ part, Edward. Don’t let her slip through your fingers, because you’re a fool if you do. Perry’s exactly what you need, and if you don’t see that then you’re an idiot.”
“I know,” he confirmed. “I’m an idiot. But I need her to be safe.”
“Of course you do. Everyone wants that for her, for us all, but you’re not going to help by locking yourself in here, Edward. It’s not like you can join the ranks and filter out who’s behind this. You have to leave it to the people who are paid for that particular job. What are you even doing now?” She pointed at the report he’d drawn and scribbled on. “Pushing papers. What use is that?”
“Intelligence reports matter, Cass,” he argued, and wondered just how thin the ice she was treading on was. She was only getting away with speaking to him this way because they were the oldest of friends; he knew this was coming from the heart and her blossoming friendship with Perry. “If I can discern something within these papers, it could be the difference between life and death.”
She shook her head but mumbled, “If you say so. Look, whatever you do, you need to speak with your wife. Something’s going on in her head, and she either has to talk to you about it, or a shrink, or somebody. We need her to be on the ball. You know that. Public opinion is totally in our favor at the moment, but we need to keep it that way, especially if Xavier’s right and you’re thinking about invoking Article 42.”
He scowled. “He should never have talked about that with you.”
“Perry asked him what it was, and he explained. She’d overheard you discussing it with the troublesome two. Not that she wanted to ask Tweedle Dum and Dee. She saved that for me.” Cass shrugged.
“But you know that what I overhear won’t go any further.”
“I don’t want to invoke the Article,” he said.
“No, but it won’t stop you from doing so if things continue to deteriorate, will it?”
For a second, he was quiet, processing her words and trying to figure out how things had turned so swiftly into chaos. He blew out a deep breath and murmured, “I understand what you’re saying, Cass, and I’ll take your words into consideration.”
She stared at him a second, apparently hearing the dismissal in his words, but she didn’t comment on it. Just sighed. “Okay. You have it your way.”
Cass skipped out before he even had the chance to tell her Marcus had called, but maybe that was for the best. He wasn’t entirely sure why his old friend had called anyway. Passing the information on wouldn’t do anyone any good.
He rocked back in his seat and stared at the door as the footman closed it behind Cass.
She was right, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t much use, more of a hindrance when it came down to pestering Drake for information… but he couldn’t stop himself from micromanaging.
He’d almost lost Perry that day, and he wouldn’t, couldn’t lose her.
He’d die first.
Chapter Ten
“What are you doing?”
Perry froze in her tracks, her hand raised to knock on Drake’s door, when she swung around and glowered at him. “George, are you following me?”
He snorted. “Yes, Perry. I have nothing better to do than track your movements when you have a dozen guards at your back.” He nodded at the three who had traipsed after her down the long, grim corridor that led to Drake’s office in the basement of the palace.
She half-turned and sighed at the sight of the trio. “I suppose,” she grumbled.
“No supposing about it. It’s the truth. Anyway, what are you doing here?”
“I want to speak to Drake.”
“About what?”
“Never you mind.” She squinted at him, then defiantly turned her nose in the air at him and knocked on Drake’s door.
When their head of security yelled, “Come in,” Perry shot him a tight smile.
“I can handle it from here, George.”
She opened the door, but before she could shut it, he barged in after her. He had no intention of stopping her from speaking with the guard, but he wanted to know what she had to say.
She propped her hands on her hips, and the movement reminded him of two things. One, that her hands framed the belly where their child lay. Two, the position of her fingers created a “V” that led to the area he’d devoured last night.
His cock stirred as he thought back to how she’d climaxed under his touch, and he felt his mouth water with the need to taste her. Perry was being weird of late. He wasn’t the only one to notice it. Xavier had too, and if Edward wasn’t being such a prat about working crazy hours, he’d have seen it as well.
“What are you doing in here, George? I don’t need your help to speak with Giles.” She cast a gimlet glance around the office. “Even if the last time I was here, he tried to help your mother and father rob me of future custody rights.”
Though Giles Drake winced, he rocked back in his seat in surprise. For the first time, George really looked at the man and saw what Perry had discerned a week ago. Drake was depressed. His hair, always neat and tidy, was long and strangely fluffy about his ears—almost as though the locks, so accustomed to being shorn, were rebelling. There were fine lines about his eyes, a fatigue that came from within that was very much evident.
Drake’s usual pristine shirt was creased, and the tie was unknotted and tugged down to his chest. His jacket was slung over one of the chairs he had for visitors, not suspended by the door on one of the hangers there for that purpose.
The sight of him had George frowning, but not for long—Perry began prodding him in the chest. “I. Don’t. Need. Your. Help. George,” she repeated, punctuating each word.
“I know you don’t,” he answered mildly. “Doesn’t mean to say I’m not going to give it though, does it?”
Her nostrils flared in exasperation. “Fine. But, if you don’t like what you hear, then don’t bitch at me about it. You know where the door is.”
Curiosity fired, George cut their head of security a look and noticed that Drake was as taken aback as he was.
“Your Highness?” Drake inserted. “Have I missed a meeting?”
“No. Something’s been eating at me for a little while and…” She pursed her lips. “I wanted to clarify some things with you.”
“Like what?” George asked, then winced when she spun around to glower at him.
“Shut up, George. If you have to be here, then you can be quiet.” His lips curved in a smile at her bossiness, but she ignored him and carried on, “I spoke to someone recently who, well, to be frank, put doubts into my head.”
“Doubts, your Majesty?” Drake asked, cautiously wading through her words like he was stepping through a minefield—smart man. Perry, in this mood, could be like dynamite. “What kind of doubts?”
“He indicated that Arabella didn’t die of natural causes.”
Whatever George had expected Perry to say, it hadn’t been that. And Drake was just as astonished, because his mouth dropped open in the best impression of a goldfish George had ever seen.
“What’s she supposed to have died of if not the flu?” Drake questioned, sounding more like himself.
“Well, I don’t know. But from what this person was saying…”
“Who said this?” George demanded, and he grabbed her arm to jerk her attention his way. “Who, Perry?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I told you you wouldn’t like what I had to say.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
He gritted his teeth. “Why are you protecting them?”
“I’m not protecting them, I just don’t want to cause mischief. I think the man’s loopy, but I wanted to talk about why he’d believe such a thing.”
“Was it her father?” George asked, and when her eyes flared, he knew he was right. “When did you speak to L’Argeneau?”
“I didn’t want to cause any trouble.”
“No, but apparently he did.”
Drake rubbed his chin. “This is highly unusual. I’ve never heard him imply that something untoward happened to the last Crown Princess. Why would he?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you.”
“You don’t honestly think we had something to do with her death, do you, Perry?” George insisted, his grip on her arm tightening.
She jerked it free. “You’re hurting me, George. And no, of course not. But I wanted to understand where he was coming from.”
“Why?”
“Because the way he told me…it was odd.” She wriggled her shoulders, making the simple black sheath dress dance over her form in a way that highlighted her gentle curves.
She’d been riper back in Boston, even without being pregnant. Had, in fact, lost weight since she’d come to Veronia—a detail he wasn’t happy about but couldn’t do all that much to resolve.
After all, being shot at and suddenly being thrust into the limelight wasn’t great for anyone’s appetite, was it?
George could hardly fail to understand why Perry might have been eating less.
“How did he tell you?”
“He sneaked into your father’s room…”
“What were you doing in there?”
She flushed and lowered her gaze. “I was shaving him.”
He gaped at her. “You were shaving him?”
“Yes. He was getting a beard. It looked weird and where I’m from, you do things like that for family.”
Warmth filled him at that admission, as well as shame. His wife had taken up the slack, and Philippe wasn’t even her damn father. “Perry, what can I say?” How hadn’t he known? He bet Edward was blind to this, too.
Th
e selfless act made his throat feel far too full with emotion.
God, how could she do this to him every time? Decimate him with the feelings she stirred? Humble him with her love?
Her awkwardness after the revelation was charming. She wriggled a little in front of him, her neck jerking with discomfort as she mumbled, “At first, I thought he was surprised to see me, but I reckon he purposely sought me out.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Hell, Drake, not why, more like how? How did the bastard get into our private quarters?” When Drake flushed, George gritted out, “You’d better find out, hadn’t you?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
Anger with Drake had George clenching his jaw. “You should have told us sooner, Perry. This might have been a massive breach of security.” He tried to soften his tone, but if Perry’s flush was anything to go by, he definitely failed.
“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it. I spoke with the nurse on duty, and had her dismissed. L’Argeneau said she, as well as another guard, had let him into the sickroom. And that’s another reason why I’m here.”
“This is insane,” George whispered. “Who else is under L’Argeneau’s influence?”
“I’ll find out, sire.”
“You’d damn well better.”
Drake nodded, made to stand, but Perry held up a hand. “No. I want to know what happened to Arabella.”
“You could have asked me,” said George.
She cut him a look. “You weren’t here.”
“No, but I know what happened.”
“I want to know the details. From Drake,” she clarified, when George opened his mouth to argue.
“What kind of details, your Highness?”
“What happened? How did she fall ill? That kind of thing. L’Argeneau implied that healthy women don’t die of the flu. And though it does happen—there are always freak occurrences, after all—it is odd. Especially for a woman Arabella’s age.”
Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3) Page 19