The King pressed his lips together.
“Mother explained, and now I understand the feud, and I understand why you would hate William Bennett. If Noah had done the same thing to me, I’d likely have never spoken to him again, at least not for some time. But you speak to me about sabotaging deals?” Asher asked harshly. “One of the best deals we could make—and a great PR move for our family—would be to mend the feud with the Bennett family. The people of Santina would love that; it would give them hope. The Bennetts are powerful, they have influence—both here and internationally. They bring much awareness to our country and help attract world players like America to provide aid. If we worked together, so much good could be done. Not to mention William Bennett might open his wallet a little more and fund some initiatives.”
His father didn’t respond; he didn’t seem to know what to say.
“It is time,” Asher urged, “time to heal old wounds. It is time to let go of the poison you have held onto all these years.”
King Martin looked at him with hard eyes.
Asher didn’t respond. He knew he’d said enough.
“IFRT is a different matter,” King Martin said, ignoring his son’s words. “IFRT was listed as a concern on the last Adani report, and they accused us of using IFRT to spy on them. They don’t know of your involvement—imagine if they did.”
Asher understood the political concerns and the legal ones.
“Who will rescue the people—the few village people who are not murdered and brutalized beyond survival—if IFRT doesn’t? Who will do it? This isn’t you!” Asher said, aware it was the first occasion he’d ever raised his voice in the presence of his father. “I know you care—you’re the most selfless person I know. No one will help these people if IFRT doesn’t. Let me do it,” Asher told him. “I’m not the crown prince and never will be king. My activities are often overlooked and not considered of importance to our allies.”
“I cannot allow this, Asher.”
“You can. I’ve been doing this for months,” Asher said.
The King’s mouth fell open. He looked away.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Asher said slowly.
His father raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to make me a deal?”
“Yes,” Asher said. “I will cut ties with IFRT. They can keep the border and blockage privileges they have in place, but I’ll provide no further assistance. I will ask Abi to take a backseat at IFRT and let someone else lead it. She will keep her involvement purely administrative. In return, you will forgive William Bennett and give your support for my relationship with Abi. I will negotiate new initiatives with William Bennett and develop an international aid strategy,” Asher said, never breaking eye contact.
When the King met Asher’s gaze again, his eyes were softer.
“There is something else you need to consider before you propose that deal. This is not how I wanted to tell you, but here we are,” King Martin said. “I am relieving Alistair of the crown prince title. Asher, tomorrow you will be crown prince. This kingdom is in crisis, and I need you.”
Asher’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t speak. It felt like a chain was wrapped around his chest.
“You can’t . . .” Asher whispered.
“I can,” the King said, “and I have. My health is failing, Asher, despite the doctors’ best attempts. I cannot depart this earth knowing Santina rests in Alistair’s hands. I love my son, but he is not fit to be king. I have been priming you for this role for many months. Noah was the first to notice, and he asked me straight out if that was my intention; he told me you would make a great king.” He sighed. “And that you will—but to do that, you must stop thinking like a prince. Tomorrow you will be crown prince, and you must start thinking like a king.”
“Does Alistair know?” Asher asked with a shaky voice.
“Not formally,” the King said. “But I suspect this won’t come as a surprise. I ended my formal meetings with him months ago. Alistair is reckless, but he is no fool.”
“I don’t want it, Father. What about Troy? He would be better suited to the role,” Asher said, almost pleading.
“The fact that you don’t want it is exactly why you should be Santina’s crown prince. Troy does not have the heart required—he is too ambitious. I am not choosing you just because you are my son, Asher. I am choosing you because you will be a good king.”
Asher looked to his mother.
“You are the best person for this role,” she said. “You will be a great king. This is the right decision, Asher.”
King Martin nodded.
“Alistair is not going to take this well,” Asher said, fearing how his brother might retaliate. He hated himself for the thought, but it was there nonetheless.
“Alistair has only himself to blame,” his father said flatly. “This is my decision, and I have made it with careful consideration. The title is yours, but you end all support of IFRT right now.”
Asher nodded. There was no alternative. “Do we have a deal?” he asked.
The King narrowed his eyes. “Do you think Abigail Bennett will be a good queen? Is she worthy of the title? This will be the most important decision you’ll ever make, Asher.”
“She’s intelligent, brave, and can handle pressure. She cares about people and will fight for them. She will be a good queen.”
The King squeezed his eyes shut and looked to his wife. Asher saw the pleading look in her eyes.
“I want to meet her first,” King Martin said. “And I want her word she’ll take a backseat in terms of her role in IFRT. That’s a lot to ask of her, Asher.”
“I understand that,” he said. “Abi loves IFRT because she’s helping people. As Queen, the amount of people she could help would be magnified. Someone else can lead IFRT.”
The King sighed, but it sounded more like a wheeze. “I want to meet her first,” he repeated.
“Of course,” Asher said. He’d always thought his parents would like her.
“I’m planning a coronation ceremony for tomorrow, Asher. Every decision you make from here on will have consequences. You are free to make your own decisions, but you are not free of the consequences of those decisions.”
Asher nodded. “I understand.”
How would he fulfill the role of crown prince?
How would he fulfill the role of king?
Responsibility sat on his shoulders like two concrete buildings. He’d never fully understood Alistair’s demons until this moment.
“I will guide you, and I will teach you. You will be a better king than I, Asher,” King Martin told him softly.
Asher didn’t believe that. “I don’t know where to start,” Asher said, still trying to wrap his mind around his new title.
“Start with what you know, with what comes naturally to you, and never stray from that. If you take care of Santina’s people, they will take care of you.”
Asher nodded. He needed to take a walk—he needed to get out of this stifling office. His future office.
“Permission to leave?” Asher asked.
His father eyed him and nodded.
Asher stood, excusing himself, not daring to look at his mother, because he never seemed able to hide anything from her. As he closed the door, he could only imagine what his parents were discussing. Had he handled it well enough, or had he failed them already? Should he have acted more excited? Asher didn’t have any answers; right now he was in shock and couldn’t think through the fog in his mind.
He was in the gardens, walking aimlessly, before the fog slowly faded and reality began to set in.
“What are you feeling?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t know,” Asher said, his voice still strangled.
“I agree with your father. You will be a good king,” Jesse said.
“I don’t know how to be. There’s so many problems . . .” The words lodged in his throat.
“And one by one you will solve them. Things are not built in a day, Ash, nor a
re problems resolved in a day. Your father has lived by the motto: One day at a time. I think you should too.”
“How do you think Alistair is going to take this?” Asher asked.
Jesse looked uncomfortable.
Asher nodded. “That sums it up.”
“Come on, let’s go enjoy your last day of uninhibited freedom,” Jesse said with a grin.
“What are you suggesting?” Asher asked, surprised by Jesse’s change of direction.
Jesse chuckled. “Nothing that’s going to land you on the covers of the papers; don’t worry.”
Abi
Abi felt eyes on her back as she returned to her car. Her gaze darted sideways, and she saw a group of villagers standing together, their eyes down and their voices hushed. Abi didn’t blame them: she was a foreigner and had to earn their trust.
She had received notification that a villager had information and was prepared to release it to IFRT but wanted to meet the leader of IFRT first. This wasn’t uncommon, and Abi had conducted these visits before. If IFRT asked villagers to work with them, there were potential consequences for their village if the terrorist groups found out. Sometimes even if government officials found out—they considered IFRT a spy organization, and accused them of creating unrest in their country. They were hardly spies, but the accusations were made nonetheless.
Abi slipped into the driver’s seat of her hired car and locked the doors before letting out a long breath. She logged her check-in so the team knew she was leaving—standard procedure—and turned the car around, heading back to the highway. She lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror. A little girl stood in the wake of dust from Abi’s car and waved goodbye.
Abi smiled and held up her hand, hoping the little girl could see her.
“Stay safe,” Abi whispered under her breath.
She returned her attention to the road ahead, using the car’s Bluetooth system to call Rachel.
“Hey,” Abi said.
“Hey. How did it go?” Rachel asked.
“Good, really good. This villager was hired as a housekeeper at a residence about three miles from her village—one she walks to and from every day. A week ago she heard muffled screaming, and fearing for her life she ran. She returned to work the next morning accompanied by her husband, and they heard the sounds again—this time they stopped to listen and realized they were cries for help. There was no one around, so her husband stopped to have a quick look.”
Abi shook her head in disgust. “They found what she described as a pit in the ground with a hinged gate covered in sand to disguise it. There was a small enough opening to allow the captives to breathe. Her husband walked her to work then ran back to the village, where they assembled a team of men. But when he returned, no more than a few hours later, the women and children were gone.”
Abi paused, clearing her throat. “I think this is a new move by the terrorists. With an increase in power by groups similar to IFRT, they take hostages but are not moving them straight away because there are too many eyes watching them. They’re holding them for a few days now, until things calm down—and underground makes sense, because it’s cooler.” Abi knew the terrorists weren’t concerned about the comfort of those they took hostage, but captives suffering from heat stroke would end up dead and be useless. It was in the interest of the terrorists to keep their captives alive so they could be sold as slaves or used for the terrorists own pleasure.
“This is a new move,” Rachel said with a heavy voice.
“It makes sense, though, right? On these last few occasions, when we’ve received intelligence that a village has been attacked, it takes about a week or so until any news of the women and children comes up. Eventually it filters back to us, but the time lag in information is new. This strategy might also make the captives more compliant; they’ll be dehydrated during the heat of the day and freezing when the sun sets in the desert. When those captives are released, they’ll do anything for a glass of water, a bathroom, and a blanket,” Abi said sadly. She flicked on her turn signal as she overtook a car driving below the speed limit, eager to get home to Santina.
“So,” Abi continued, “I think our strategy needs to change. When a village is attacked, we should assume the hostages are still relatively close by. This holding cell—pit—was less than fifty miles from the village that was attacked three days ago. The women and children were there until yesterday afternoon, so that means they’re being held for about forty-eight hours, maybe more, maybe less.”
“Okay, let me feed this through to the team and we’ll discuss it at the meeting tonight,” Rachel said. She cleared her throat, “Have you seen any news this morning?”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to look at anything. Why?” Abi asked.
“A coronation service was announced this morning. King Martin has removed Alistair from the title. Asher is crown prince,” Rachel said with a hint of awe.
“Oh my gosh,” Abi said. She was surprised only because Asher and her father had both been adamant that it would never happen—that King Martin would never break tradition. The crown prince had been the first-born son since the beginning of the monarchy.
“Wow.” Abi was at a loss for words. “Well, he’ll be a good crown prince,” she finally said, and she meant every word.
“The service is set to start about the time you’re due to arrive home. I’m going to record the broadcast, but I’m sure it will be repeated across television stations over the next few days. Abi, do you think it’s weird the King is having the ceremony televised?” Rachel asked.
“Um, I don’t know,” Abi said. She hadn’t had more than a few seconds to think about it. “It’s a big deal because changing the succession has never been done in the history of Santina. Maybe he wants to make the people feel included in what is naturally a monumental event.”
“That makes sense,” Rachel said, but Abi thought she detected a hint of doubt.
“Okay, I’ll let you go,” Abi said. “I’ve logged my check-in, but I’m about an hour from the next one. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon. Drive safe,” Rachel said before ending the call.
The desert sun beat down on Abi as she drove toward Santina. She turned on the air conditioning and settled in for the drive. The news was only just beginning to settle in: Asher would one day be king.
Where did that leave them? Was there even a them?
She hadn’t seen him since the charity event, and she’d left more confused than ever. Asher had apologized, and he’d told her not to lie to him again. So had he expected that they’d see each other again?
Abi sighed. She didn’t know, and now that he was the crown prince she was even less certain. He would need to be more careful—everything he did and said would be highly scrutinized.
Abi wondered how Asher was feeling today. Was he calm? Did he feel strangled by the pressure of such an enormous responsibility? Abi thought to call him and then decided against it. If the ceremony was in less than a few hours, she didn’t want to do anything to distract him. She would call him tonight, once the ceremony had concluded and he was back in the palace and away from cameras.
She checked her mirrors again, noting a black car behind her. She hadn’t seen it last time she’d looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes bounced between the road ahead and the mirror; it didn’t take long for Abi to realize the car was gaining speed—fast. She was still a long way from Santina, but luckily she was far enough away from the village that, if she was stopped, no one would be able to make a direct link between her and the village people.
And it might be nothing. Her nerves were still rattled from the ransacking of her apartment.
Stay calm. Focus.
She checked the mirrors again and saw the car signal to pass her. She looked ahead and saw the road was clear. The black sedan passed her and continued on. She noted the plate number as it drove into the distance.
Abi exhaled a shaky breath.
False alarm.
; She turned on the radio, needing something to distract her mind. She wished Sabrina was here with her nightclub music and terrible singing—but Abi was alone, and she’d chosen to come alone because she hadn’t wanted to intimidate the villagers. If she turned up with a team, they wouldn’t talk. Abi had tried that before and gotten nowhere. She’d considered having a team wait an hour or two from the village, but what good was a team if they weren’t by her side when she needed them? They wouldn’t be close enough to help, and they could accidentally attract unwanted attention. JISO terrorists had eyes everywhere, and Abi was in their territory.
She squinted ahead, but the car had disappeared from view. With every mile that passed, she felt more at ease. She was almost in the safe zone—a zone where they had a network of villagers who helped them. It was just outside the war zone and IFRT had never had any problems there.
Abi counted down the miles, and as she entered the safe zone, she felt the tension melt from her muscles. She wriggled in her chair and considered stopping for a break. She could check in with the villagers and see if they needed anything—but she decided to continue on. She wanted to get back to Santina.
She picked up her phone as she approached the check-in zone. There was a marker along the road, and once she passed that point she would log it on an app on her phone so her team could continue tracking her journey back to Santina. It was a protocol they’d put in place after her mentor had been shot. They hadn’t known her last location; if they’d known, they might’ve been able to get to her more quickly. They might’ve been able to save her.
Abi shook her head, pushing those thoughts from her mind. She needed to stay alert and—
Her mind went blank as she saw the black sedan ahead. It was stopped on the side of the road, and Abi’s stomach churned violently when she saw a man beside it. She recognized his stance. He was a soldier, holding a rifle.
Her mind reeled as she grabbed her weapon from the center console. She had two options: she could gain speed and hope she could outrun them, or she could stop and hope she could shoot them if it came to that.
Blood, Love and Lies Page 17