Though George wanted to ask what she was getting at, he remained silent. He recognized that stubborn slant to her mouth, and the way she’d firmed her lips together told him she wasn’t going to budge or hide away from this discussion. She wanted answers, and she wasn’t about to be swayed away from getting them.
“Arabella might have been in her prime, but she wasn’t in the peak of health. She was constantly underweight, barely ate, and lived from drink to drink. I know for a fact she was taking diet pills and supplements that were a detriment to her health. When she caught the flu, it downed her almost immediately,” Drake answered easily.
And, goddamnit, George was left wondering if it was too easily.
“How long after contracting the illness did she die?”
“Less than a day. You have to understand, the Crown Princess wasn’t popular among the family, but she did have many friends at court. Their quarters were far away from Queen Marianne’s and King Philippe’s. They’d originally been friendly, but something happened over those last few months that caused a falling out.”
“What was it, Drake?” George asked, curious despite himself.
“I wasn’t privy to the details. It appertained to your mother, your Highness, and the Crown Princess. They argued a lot that year. Considering that many people said she and King Edward were going to divorce, I believed that may have been the source of the strife.
“As a result, the only testimony we have is from her friends. Apparently, she reported feeling unwell on the Monday, and when staff tried to gain access to her room, it was locked and she told them to go away on the Tuesday. By Wednesday, when no one had seen her, Queen Marianne insisted we break down the door. We found her in bed. She’d perished of the flu. The fever had hit and she hadn’t made it out.”
“That’s weird.”
Perry’s insight made George want to snort out a laugh, but the topic was far too serious.
“She’s right, Drake,” George asserted. “Is that all that happened?”
“By the time we gained access to her rooms and called the paramedics, she was dead,” Drake insisted. “There’s no tale to tell aside from that. The autopsy confirmed that she died in her sleep—the fever took her.”
“Where was Edward?”
Drake stiffened at Perry’s question. “His Highness had separate quarters by that point, but he was on a diplomatic envoy to Finland.”
She frowned. “They weren’t sharing a bedroom?”
“If you’d known Arabella at all, Perry, you wouldn’t be asking that,” George informed her, his tone wry.
“His Majesty was seeking a divorce, as I said,” Drake confirmed. “Things were not right amid the core family.”
Perry folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to understand,” the head of security repeated. “Truly. Arabella should have been healthy, but she wasn’t. She undermined her own wellbeing to a terrible extent. She was a walking timebomb with the cocktail of drink and drugs she was taking.”
Perry pursed her lips. “Why would her father believe she’d been killed? And by the family no less?” She scowled. “And don’t forget, Philippe warned us before… well, before Edward and I were even engaged. Said some evidence had been uncovered that proved Arabella had been murdered! There’s no smoke without fire, Drake.”
“Ferdinand L’Argeneau is a bitter and twisted old man. He wants to cause trouble where there is none because, undoubtedly, he’s irritated that you’re the Queen while his daughter isn’t.” Drake shrugged. “Who knows why the man wants to make this kind of claim? He just wishes to sow the seeds of dissension. Undermine from within.
“And I told Philippe about the supposed evidence that was uncovered, but in the subsequent investigation, it was proven to be a false lead.”
The words struck a chord with George. “Drake isn’t wrong, Perry. Ferdinand is like that. He’s the kind of man with his fingers in more pies than a baker. You never know where his reach extends. Hence my concern about his gaining access to my father’s bedroom.” George cut the other man a look. “I want details on that, Drake.”
The other man nodded. “Certainly. When did you speak with him, your Majesty?”
“Three days ago. Around about four-forty.”
Drake nodded again, then held up a hand as he took a seat once more. “If you’ll wait one second, your Highness, I can tell you what happened.”
“How?”
“By searching the access codes to those rooms. Only guards and the royal family have them.” Drake cut Perry a look. “Your guards weren’t with you?”
“I was in the palace, dammit. I’m allowed to walk around my own home freely.”
“They’re with you today.”
“Because they thought I was going into the garden.”
“Shouldn’t they be with her at all times?” George insisted.
Drake shook his head. “His Majesty has ordered tighter measures in many aspects but not inside the private areas. He doesn’t want the castle to feel like a prison.” The older man dipped his head. “Understandable, considering her Majesty’s background.”
Perry huffed out an exaggerated breath. “I want to be safe, don’t get me wrong. But there’s something seriously wrong with our security if I have to be under lock and key in my own home because the palace isn’t secured.”
George nudged her arm. “Why do you think I’m angry about your holding out on us? Ferdinand should never have been allowed into the private sections of the castle.”
At his words, Perry scowled down at the floor, but she quickly said, “What evidence did the guards uncover that proved Arabella had been murdered, Drake?”
“It was a piece of gossip on the Dark Web,” Drake murmured, his tone easy, but his gaze flickered over the screen as he hunted down the security access code—that was obviously his priority at that moment.
George grunted. “That’s hardly evidence.”
Perry frowned. “What’s the Dark Web?”
“It’s the shadier side of the internet,” George explained. “Where you can buy drugs and God knows what else.”
“It’s a breeding ground for criminals,” Drake explained gruffly. Then, to George, he murmured, “No, it isn’t evidence, but as you said, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I told his Majesty about it, and I may have skewed the truth a tad.” Drake jerked his chin up, his glance jolting from the screen to the pair of them. “If I hadn’t, he’d never have sanctioned an investigation.”
“So you deliberately tried to frighten him?” George demanded, irritated and amused at the same time. His father had been played—something George hadn’t believed possible from his chess-loving, ten-steps-ahead-thinking father.
“I had to. He’d have thrown it in the wind otherwise. Your father took as deep an interest in my work as his Majesty currently does. Except my position was rarely under the same kind of threat,” Drake groused.
“What concerned you about the gossip?” Perry demanded, holding firm to her original questions with the tenacity that had made her a damn good environmental scientist.
“What induced you to lie to the King, she means,” George murmured wryly.
Drake flushed. “It was the wording and the site the gossip was discovered on.”
George narrowed his eyes, reading between the lines. “It was UnReal gossip?”
“Yes.” The other man’s jaw clenched. “They were using it to recruit people.”
Perry scowled. “Why the hell would they do that?”
“Because they wanted to pad out their numbers… I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Their figures ebb and flow. Always have done. There’d been a definite surge because of your father’s insistence on lowering recidivism rates, but nothing beyond the realms of incredulity. It fit their usual pattern, so I saw no need to fear.
“Now, we know differently. The heads of the security councils concurred with me, but we were wrong. They were obviously
planning ahead.”
They fell silent at that, then Perry cleared her throat. “Why would Arabella’s death be used as recruitment material?” she asked, her tone musing.
“As I said, talk of divorce had already begun to scatter in the wind. The UnReals used her death as proof of the monarchy’s perfidy. They claimed she knew too much, had too many secrets that could be used against the family, and as such, needed to go.”
Perry and George pondered that a second. As she processed it, George murmured, “That’s all well and good, Drake, but though it’s irritating what you’ve told me, as well as foolish, you’ve given me nothing that would stir you to investigate.”
Drake flashed him a look. “The best lies are couched with a kernel of truth.”
At the odd phrasing, George slowly nodded. “That’s correct. What particular ‘kernel of truth’ did the UnReals uncover?”
Unease rippled from the older man, clogging the atmosphere with his agitation. When he remained silent, Perry urged, “Explain it, Drake. I need to understand this if I’m to get any rest tonight.”
“Arabella was taking sleeping pills, as well as a pharmacy’s worth of drugs, to lose weight.”
“So? What about it?”
“One of her dealers had gone to university with the Duke of Ansian. He was a chemist, and he was fabricating the drugs.”
Perry’s eyes widened. “They’re using the link between Xavier and an old student to imply the DeSauviers could have tampered with the product Arabella was taking?”
Drake nodded, but his discomfort was more evident than ever.
“And that’s the truth they used to concoct the rest of the lie?”
“Yes, but then there are other facts that our investigation came across,” he said softly, giving the faintest hesitation, so slight George wasn’t sure if his eyes had deceived him. Then Drake’s attention split entirely from the topic at hand. He let out a sharp, sudden breath as his eyes focused on the screen again. “That’s odd.”
“What is?” George demanded, taking a step forward, the desire to turn the screen toward him a potent force.
“The access code… it was Raoul Da Silva’s.”
“The guard who was shot?” George questioned.
Drake nodded, cutting Perry a look. “Yes. Him.”
George blew out a breath. “I think we’ve figured out who our mole is.”
Chapter Eleven
“I need a brandy.”
“You don’t drink brandy.” Xavier trapped Perry’s gaze with his own. “And you can’t drink anything anyway. You’re pregnant. Remember?”
“Like I could forget. It’s almost like knowing I’m pregnant has made me catch morning sickness.”
He started to laugh. “I don’t think you can ‘catch’ morning sickness.” Then, he frowned. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.” She wrinkled her nose.
“You remember when I told you about that plant I was researching?”
She pondered that a second. “Elda? The one that was embroidered on my wedding dress?”
“That’s the one. It’s an anti-emetic. If you brew it, it’s supposed to help.”
“I suppose if I can’t have a brandy, then I can have that.” Perry’s tone turned glum. “Do you know where I can get some?”
“You’re the Queen, Perry,” he teased. “If you wanted something that could only be found in the outer reaches of Mongolia, you could have it.”
“Don’t say things like that. You know it freaks me out.”
His chuckle grew louder at that—which was entirely inappropriate considering they were about to head out to the funeral of the guard who had died protecting Perry.
A guard who might have been a traitor, but for whom they had to maintain a very public façade of normalcy. The man had, seemingly, been killed in the line of duty. But there was something bloody fishy going on if his access code had been used for Ferdinand L’Argeneau to enter the very private areas of the palace.
As a result, they were heading to the chapel where the funeral was taking place, trying to appear “normal,” but Perry wasn’t stirring from their quarters.
In fact, that was something he’d noticed of late. She suffered with cabin fever, but rarely wanted to leave the castle to rid herself of the affliction. If anything, she wanted to stay inside, just not be surrounded by the guards.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly.
“Do you think my parents would travel here for Thanksgiving if I asked them to?”
He blinked, surprised by where her train of thought had taken her to. “I suppose. Would they like that? They seem very private people. I don’t think they particularly appreciated life at the palace. Your father, especially.”
“I’d have liked to have gone there myself, but Drake nixed that idea.” She pouted. “What’s the point in being the Queen and being able to get things from outer Mongolia if you can’t travel home for Thanksgiving?”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, squeezing her shoulder before he tucked his arm around her waist and hauled her close. “I’m surprised you want to travel that far.”
“What? You think I don’t want to go home where I was always safe?” She grimaced. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
At that moment, it hit him that this place still wasn’t home to her, and how could he blame her? She wasn’t safe here, was she? And Perry obviously equated safety with home. Who didn’t?
Because there was no making any of that better, his tone was gruff as he asked, “You changed the subject on me. What’s really wrong?”
“Aside from the fact I have no freedom?” She arched a brow at him, and though the words were enough to make him wince, he raised a hand and tugged at her bottom lip. When she went to bite one of his fingers, he laughed again.
“Minx.”
“You know it.”
“Are you nervous?”
“About what?”
She stared in her dressing room mirror and fussed with her black skirt suit. It was very demure. A simple jacket and skirt that was tucked into the tight lines of her curves; her shirt was white lace that patterned her throat and made her creamy skin all the more noticeable. She wore a simple pair of black heels and stockings he’d watched her drag on.
If anyone could look sexy while mourning, it was Perry.
“About leaving the castle? I know you haven’t been going out as much as…”
“As what?” she snapped. “I didn’t go out that much before unless it was to go to a dam or something.”
He shrugged. “No, but you went out for coffee with me, didn’t you? And headed for afternoon tea with Cass? They’re all things you can still do.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you getting at, Xav?”
“I’m asking if the reason you want a brandy is because you’re scared to go outside the castle.”
For a second, she didn’t reply, then she pursed her lips and moved out of the gentle hold he had on her. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”
“All the more reason to discuss it.” The door opened at that exact damn moment, and Xavier cursed his poor fortune. When he saw Edward, he cocked a brow. “You’re coming too?”
Edward scowled. “Of course. There might have been a leak in our security but I don’t want the public to know that.” Perry turned to face him as he spoke, and the words seemed to catch in his throat. “You look beautiful, Perry.”
She shrugged. “Good, I guess.”
Edward shot Xavier a look, but he was as in the dark as his cousin. Xavier cleared his throat. “Where’s George?”
“Waiting by the cars.”
“Aren’t we all traveling together?”
The frantic note in Perry’s voice made both men jolt in surprise.
“Of course,” Edward said uneasily, studying her like Xavier had studied his fertilizer samples. “But we’re traveling in a security blockade.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Good.”
�
��Are you sure you’re okay?” Xavier demanded, reaching for her arm and turning her to face him. “What’s going on?” he repeated for the third time.
“Nothing, dammit. I’m fine. I’m just… I’m having to find a way to deal with this. If it means I’m not bouncing up and down all the damn time, then I’m sorry!”
Edward stared at Xavier over Perry’s head, one that said they’d discuss this later, and murmured, “We need to go.”
Perry jerked her chin up. “Fine. I’ve been ready for twenty minutes.”
Before either man could say another word, she strode forward, and as she did, he noticed the slight hesitation in her footsteps as she made to exit the suite.
She let out a breath when she walked into the corridor, and turned a challenging look their way. “Coming?”
They caught up with her, Edward closing the door to their suite behind them, and headed toward the cavalcade of cars that had been set aside for their journey to the chapel.
The vehicles waited, their engines purring, beneath the portico as they finally left Masonbrook. Armed guards lined the paths and each clicked their heels and saluted upon seeing Edward and Perry.
The first time that had happened, Perry had jumped like she had the time she’d burned her feet climbing out of the pool in Dubai. With no sandals, she had crossed the terrace, and the burning hot terracotta tiles had made her howl as she made a mad dash toward the tented pavilion that had been their second home on their honeymoon.
God, those weeks had been pure bliss. Amusing, passionate, relaxing… a complete about-face in comparison to the past two months.
He exhaled, peering up at the sky as he climbed into one of the limos and saw George waiting for them. Nodding at his cousin, he had to sigh; the landscape outside the palace looked even grimmer from the car’s tinted windows.
It was going to be a miserable day, not just because of the weather and where they were going—a traitor’s send-off. More than that, what made him truly miserable was the fact something was definitely wrong with Perry, and she was refusing to talk with them about it.
He didn’t like that. Not one bit.
“Why do you three look so serious?” Perry asked, with some surprise at the sight of them bundled together, later on that same night.
Long Live Queen Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 3) Page 20