Wicked Queen

by Geneva Lee

  If the king didn’t drink, neither did they.

  Norris smiled next to me and straightened his tie. It was time to get down to business.

  “You called me here,” I reminded them, leaning back into the chair and spreading my arms.

  “There is a vocal majority in the Parliament who have brought up concerns regarding the Royal Prerogative. Most feel your arrest of Oliver Jacobson is in direct conflict with English law.”

  “The last time I checked I was the head of English law,” I said, tapping the leather arm.

  “Figurehead,” Clark corrected me. “With the Fixed-Term Parliament Act and the—”

  “I didn’t come here for a civics lesson,” I interrupted him. “There are conditions in which I may exercise some rights that have more recently been largely forgone. Surely, the assassination of my father and attacks on the Royal line warrant my actions.”

  I looked to Smith for confirmation. He tipped his head, pressing his lips together, as if to say I was firmly in a grey area in this line of thought. I made a mental note to ask him how to move that firmly out of nebulous territory.

  “But when the King’s action conflicts with Parliament’s ability to function, we have a problem.” There was a carefully concealed message in May’s words. “There are procedures for such a matter.”

  “If I may,” Smith said, ignoring the shocked looks from the cadre of grumpy, old men, “we have consistent and compelling evidence that the Crown has been victim of a continued conspiracy meant to eradicate the monarchy.”

  “There have always been attempts to abolish the monarchy, they never make any progress,” Byrd said loudly.

  “There is abolition and there is treason,” I said in a low voice. “Jacobson was involved in the latter.”

  “What about this attack on the Child Watch symposium, the one believed to target the Queen? He was in custody!”

  “We’re intelligent men.” Smith shifted in his chair, covering his smile momentarily before continuing, “No plot of this magnitude involves a single man. In fact, we’ve come to suspect that Jacobson is merely a pawn in a much larger scheme.”

  “Who knows how deeply it’s rooted wherever it’s planted,” I said, measuring each word for maximum impact.

  “There’s an implication there I don’t appreciate.” Byrd tapped his cane.

  “I am well aware of all of these things.” I was losing patience. In the past few weeks I’d sat in a number of meetings with others members of Parliament, assessing their feelings on the Crown. I had no idea where these men stood and I wasn’t certain I cared. They were amongst the oldest living members of the House of Lords and therefore heralded from a time before the scales were tipped more equally. “Why did you wish to speak with me?”

  “These accusations concern us. We could not simply allow you to hold one of our own with no consequences,” May said to my surprise.

  “You held a different opinion when we last spoke,” I said, recalling our meeting in February.

  “Mixed company matters.” His eyes flickered to my companions, men he considered below our pedigree. “It would be wise to remember that. The House of Lords has no desire to see the monarchy abolished.”

  “What a relief,” I said flatly.

  “But we will not allow you to undermine our authority,” he continued, ignoring me. “The arrest of Oliver Jacobson without the knowledge and support of Parliament could not be tolerated.”

  “The man killed your King,” Norris said, continuing before they could contradict him, “He may not have pulled the trigger but he was instrumental in loading the gun.”

  Clark cleared his throat. “We would have been happy to take that stance had we been afforded consideration in his arrest.”

  “Prime Minister, with due respect, allow the big boys to play,” May barked.

  The Minister fell silent and I realized I’d been called to the Council of Ghosts. Judging from how Norris sat up sharply, he’d realized the same thing.

  “Interesting,” I said. Lacing my fingers together, I tried to account for this turn of events. “So, tell me, and this will decide if we continue these conversations. Did you have my father killed? I assure you I would understand if you did. He could be a right bastard.”

  “He could,” May agreed curtly, “but no. Albert shared our vision of Parliament’s role. We had no reason to be concerned over his reign.”

  “Is that how you decide?” Despite myself, I felt a slight shiver as I asked.

  “It’s a consideration,” May admitted.

  “And as far as I’m concerned?” I asked.

  “You’re young,” Byrd said sharply. “Youth can be forgiven. I imagine you understand this considering your difficulties with your sister. But understanding should never be mistaken for permission.”

  “Noted.” I stood and buttoned my jacket. “Gentlemen, this has been enlightening.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” May said simply.

  I motioned for Norris and Smith to join me. As soon as we were past the doors, Smith spoke, “What was that about?”

  “Not here,” I said through clenched teeth. I nodded in greeting to a number of men pausing to pay their regards.

  When remained silent until we reached the Range Rover. As soon as we were inside, I turned to explain to Smith. “Have you ever heard of the Council of Ghosts?”

  “Yeah, but I’ve also heard of the bogey-man,” he said with a shrug, “and I haven’t feared him since I was child.”

  Norris watched us in the rear view mirror. “You just walked through a nightmare, son.”

  “Does he call everyone ‘son?’” Smith asked, still nonplussed by this revelation.

  That meant he didn’t understand what we’d just learned. “The Council of Ghosts is the kind of bedtime story you tell little aristocrats before you tuck them in so they mind their matters at the garden party. I never believed they were real.”

  “Wait.” Smith swiveled to stare back at White’s. “Are you telling me…?”

  “You just met the Kingmakers—that’s the part of the story they tell the children who sleep in the palace,” I said grimly. “A group of eight—obviously, Clark isn’t one of them—with the authority of a shadow Magna Carta of sorts. If the Council believes a king should be deposed, that’s the end of it.”

  “And your father?” Smith asked quietly. “Do you believe them?”

  I understood what he was really asking: had we just met the men pulling Jacobson’s puppet strings? I shook my head. “There was no threat to them from my father. He was a prick but he knew who to stay in with. Although, I doubt he knew who was on the Council.”

  “Then why would they go to the trouble of meeting you?” Smith asked.

  “It felt like they were trying to advise me in their own twisted way. God knows, Clark hasn’t done much for the relationship between the Crown and Parliament.” I tilted my head. “I actually expected you to be able to translate what they were saying.”

  “It seemed simple enough to me. I don’t think they were arguing as to Jacobson’s role so much as pouting over not being brought into account, and that’s your problem.” Smith rubbed his jaw, caught in thought. “Your understanding of how Royal Prerogative works needs some work.”

  “It does?” I couldn’t help but find this amusing. The concept felt fairly straightforward to me: I was King. End of story.

  “There are limitations, measures Parliament has enacted to make this a representative government.”

  “It’s still one group making all the decisions,” I pointed out.

  “But will you win if it comes down to public opinion, because that’s where you’ll wage this battle. The laws are supposed to protect the will of the people, so who’s more concerned with their needs: you or them?”

  It felt fairly obvious to me that we were all looking out for our own interests. “I want the best for my citizens but I’ll stop at nothing to protect my family. I dare any man to claim differently.”
<
br />   “You are not any man,” Norris said.

  “Hence the slap on the wrist,” Smith said. “It seems to me that they want you to be more in tune with rule of law.”

  “How do I do that?” I snapped.

  “I think they want due consideration to their opinion.”

  “A united front,” I muttered, “with sodding Parliament.”

  “If you’re right, though, and they’re Council of Ghosts, you’d be wise to heed their concerns.”

  “I won’t be told what to do by a group of men clinging to some ancient sense of entitlement.”

  “That’s not why you should consider them,” Smith said with a hollow chuckle. “If they are the Kingmakers—this Council of Ghosts of yours, they might be the strongest allies we can make. Whoever we’re up against has resources and contacts—and we have a lot to lose.”

  “We do,” I said. “If I’m going to do this, I’ll need someone who understands the letter of law and doesn’t mind walking its edge. I know you wanted to leave this life behind, but it doesn’t seem ready to give you up yet. Come to work for me.”

  “That depends.” Smith turned and looked me dead in the eye. “I have to know you’re a man who can make a deal with the devil and not mind the heat when it’s time to burn.”

  “You’ll see me dancing in hell,” I vowed.

  Chapter 25

  Clara

  “Why are we doing this again?” Belle asked as she hung up her tenth call of the morning. She’d been stationed on my sofa in a pair of yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt since breakfast, when she’d shown up complaining that she would help—if she didn’t die of insomnia first.

  “Because my sister needs us to prove we love her,” Edward reminded her.

  “I think that none of us having murdered her should be enough proof,” David said, paging through a magazine. Of the lot of us, he was having the most fun. Party planning was in his blood. At least one of us was enjoying himself. I couldn’t quite forget that nearly every large party I’d ever hosted had ended poorly.

  “He has a point.” Georgia’s contribution consisted of watching us from the table, her feet propped casually on what was likely a priceless heirloom.

  “Why is she here?” Belle glared at her.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t about to drop the f-word in mixed company. Plus, the fact that Georgia flatly refused to participate seemed to undermine any burgeoning friendship between us.

  “I hate this guest list,” Edward announced, “so Sarah will love it.”

  He passed it to me and I scanned the list of names. Half consisted of people that made me want to vomit. The other half meant nothing to me. It was on par with most Royal events I’d been forced to attend.

  “You didn’t ask Sarah for these people, right?” I asked. The party was meant to be a surprise. Part of me hoped she might think we’d been planning it before she reminded me her birthday was this week.

  “A guest list for Sarah is easy,” he said. “I invited everyone I wouldn’t want at my wedding.”

  “You had like ten people at your wedding,” I pointed out. In the end, Edward and David had opted for a simple, private affair witnessed by those closest to them. I was more than a little envious of the lack of spectacle.

  “You had less,” he reminded me.

  “The first wedding or the second?” I asked.

  “We had a guest list before we decided to elope,” David interrupted. “We’ve been keeping a running list of twats and wankers for years. Sarah will be in her comfort zone.”

  “Remind me to never let you lot plan a party for me,” Georgia muttered, swinging her feet down and swiping a magazine from him.

  I raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Across from me, Belle grinned, obviously thinking the same thing I was. We were winning Georgia over, whether she liked it or not.

  “Should we really invite Pepper?” Belle wrinkled her nose as she read the list. Out of all of us, she had the most reason to hate Pepper Lockwood, which was saying something.

  “She’s currently Sarah’s best friend,” I reminded her.

  “Can we at least put her by the loo?” she asked.

  “Do you know how often I use the bathroom these days?” I shook my head. “I don’t want to walk past her every fifteen minutes. The kitchen?”

  “If she doesn’t poison the food, she’ll spit in it,” Edward said absently, staring at his computer as he input the invitee information.

  “Put her by the band,” David suggested. “It will drown her out.”

  “Royal Brat Pack by the band, got it.” I made a note.

  Belle giggled, shaking her head. “I love that name.”

  “That’s how I knew I’d met my soul mate,” Edward said.

  “Excuse me,” David called with mock offense.

  “We need a name,” Belle said.

  “You already have one,” Georgia said. We all turned to stare at her. She looked up from her magazine like it should be obvious. “It’s what Alexander calls you.”

  “Alexander has a nickname for us?” I asked slowly. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. I was currently getting along with my spouse. I wasn’t certain if it would change things.

  “He calls you Team Queen. You didn’t know that?” She closed the magazine. “He says it to us all the time.”

  “Wait,” Edward said, “in what context are we talking?”

  “I guess it does work on two levels,” I admitted.

  “Whenever you go out to lunch or shopping or whatever you do,” she said dismissively, “we get briefed on handling Team Queen.”

  “Oh, really.” I’d completely lost track of where I was with the menu selections. “And how do you handle us?”

  “You’re going to get me in trouble,” Georgia grumbled, eyes narrowing.

  “That depends. Because I could call my husband and ask him, right now.”

  “We’re to stay nearby. We’re to have an eye on you but never be close enough to hear you.”

  “We’re?” I echoed. “When we went shopping at Tamara’s, it was just you.”

  “It’s never just me.” She laughed as though I was being cute.

  “How many?” I asked flatly.

  “Depends on where you’re going. As soon as we have a location, the appropriate number of men are dispatched to cover any and all exits to a building.” She paused and studied me. “You really didn’t know.”

  “Nope,” I said. “It’s completely unnecessary.”

  “He says otherwise.” Georgia hung her head for a moment, then continued, like she didn’t have a choice. “Only damaged guards are sent.”

  “Damaged?” I asked in a hollow voice. What the hell did that mean?

  “It means we’ve taken a bullet.”

  “Why would he require that?” Edward had shut his laptop and was hanging on Georgia’s every word.

  “Because he knows we can,” she said with a shrug. “Step in front of a bullet, I mean.”

  Belle had a tea cup poised at her lips. “Wow.”

  “Everywhere?” I clarified.

  “Right now,” Georgia said. “He only lets up when he’s with you.”

  “Because he’s damaged,” I said softly.

  She nodded with dangerous eyes. “You know he’d step in front of a bullet for you. He already has.”

  David, who hadn’t spoken up until now, broke in angrily, “You’re all shit at party planning.”

  “He has a point,” Edward said, laughing uneasily. Belle joined him. But a cloud had descended over the room.

  “Excuse me.” I headed to my bathroom and hung my head over my sink, uncertain if I was going to vomit or not.

  “You okay?” Georgia asked from behind me.

  I looked at the mirror, her reflection distorted by my tears. “You don’t have to do this,” I told her. “You’re here because he wants you nearby.”

  She groaned and pushed off from the door frame. Then, Georgia Kincaid did the last thing I ever
expected. She hugged me.

  If I’d ever bothered to imagine what it would feel like for Georgia to hug me, I would have expected it to be quick and uneasy. But she held me tightly, letting me cry.

  “We’re friends, happy?” she whispered. “God, this feels stupid. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”

  I pulled away, wiping at my eyes and she grabbed a tissue from the counter. “You did fine,” I said, taking it from her.

  “Clara, you always knew why we’re there.”

  “I knew, but I didn’t know about the damaged bit. I didn’t know that he…”

  “Yeah, you did,” she said. “That man would die for you in a second and thank you with his last breath.”

  “It’s not that.” It was difficult to explain. “Every moment, he’s worried. Even when we’re together. He’s always waiting for the next shot. How do you let someone love you that much?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not experienced in that department.”

  “Brex,” I started.

  “He’s a soldier. It doesn’t really count. He runs toward the fire, you know? Besides, we never…

  “You never?” I repeated, suddenly distracted.

  “Some of us can control our libidos.” She cocked her head toward the door. “You need some time alone, or shall we go back to planning Princess Temper Tantrum’s party?”

  I shook my head. “That nickname...”

  “It’s a work in progress,” she said as we joined the others.

  * * *

  We’d nailed the important details by dinner, but Alexander hadn’t appeared by the time my friends said goodbye. I sought him out, but he wasn’t in his office. I finally found him, wandering the grounds, deep in thought.

  Alexander smiled when he saw me, and the world stopped, restarting only so it could spin around him. He’d abandoned his suit and tie, even his shoes. It was the most peaceful he’d looked in a long time. He stretched out a hand and I walked to him, one hand cupping my belly.

  “How was your day with your friends?” he asked.

  I started to tease him about Team Queen, but bit back the response. “We managed it all. It’s true, that bit about who you know. I’m not sure how we got it all sorted.”