by Geneva Lee
Looking up, I saw Sarah standing behind the cake, holding her mouth. It felt as though my body was floating up, detached from the scene before me. I acted on pure instinct. Moving to her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her away.
It would do no good for her to see this. She turned into my shoulder, covering her eyes now as she began to cry. There was nothing to say, but I tried anyway, each sentiment sounding more meaningless than the next. “Help is on the way. Alexander is trained. It will be fine.”
But it wouldn’t be. Mary had looked terrible the last time I saw her. She was approaching ninety. I was offering promises I couldn’t keep. I fell silent when I realized it.
It took longer than it should for the ambulance to arrive, but it always felt that way in the moment of death—like time had slowed down and forced you to savor every bitter bite. When the medics got there, the crowd parted for them, blocking us from seeing any more. That was for the best.
Spotting Norris, I beckoned him over with my free hand. He’d been absent most of the evening, no doubt checking every window in the place. He hurried over and we exchanged worried glances.
Neither of us said what we were thinking but this was becoming a habit.
“We should get her out of here,” I said.
He bobbed his head, ushering us through an emergency door. Sarah gulped down air when we were outside, but it only seemed to power her tears. Norris stepped to the side and called a car.
Carefully extricating myself from Sarah, I joined him and lowered my voice, my eyes still on her. “Where are they taking Mary?”
“St. James,” he said. “But…”
I closed my eyes, uncertain I was ready to deal with another wave of grief. Mary hadn’t been close with her grandchildren, but that carried a different kind of grief with it—one that coupled with doubt and anger in equal measure. Alexander and Edward were experienced in this kind, but Sarah…
“Should we take her?” I asked him. He pressed his ear, listening to some bit of information on his earpiece.
It was a difficult decision. The hospital would be chaotic and decisions would have to be made. I wasn’t sure how Sarah would handle that. It hit me just how little experience she had in this.
“Alexander and Edward are going with Mary. I don’t think that…”
Tonight we were fluent in broken sentences.
“Home?” I didn’t know what we do there but sit and wait.
“Should we ask her?” he suggested.
She didn’t seem capable of that kind of decision but I didn’t know what else to do. The certainty that had overtaken me earlier had abandoned me now and I was left with only doubt.
We moved toward Sarah, approaching her like she was a wild animal and completely unpredictable.
“Sarah,” I asked softly. “They’re taking her to the hospital. We can go there or we can go home.”
“Home,” she said with a broken voice.
I nodded and checked to see that Norris heard me. It was the most I could give her tonight.
The Range Rover pulled into the side lot and Norris helped her inside. Closing the door behind her, he circled around to speak with me before I could follow.
“I’ve let Alexander know. He wants me to come with you. Georgia is going to stay here.”
I didn’t know if this was because she was still mad at me or something more. If she couldn’t get over her anger in a moment of panic, then we needed to have a serious conversation.
Norris reached for the door handle, his eyes tightening for a moment on something behind him.
“What?” I asked, peering over my shoulder to look. “There’s nothing...”
I turned back to find him white-faced, still staring at the spot. His mouth opened and one word spilled from his mouth. “Blue.”
Followed by a lot of blood.
Blood that was red like the handkerchief that closed over my mouth. Blood that was red like the back of my eyelids the moment before they faded to…
Chapter 29
Alexander
The only thing to distract me was a stack of bloody magazines a few weeks old, most of which purported to have the secret details of my own life. Hospitals were my own personal hell. I paced the room, earning a reproachful look from my brother, who apparently found reading about his own life quite amusing. David had fallen asleep in the chair next to him. Henry was wearing a similar path across the room as my own.
Tuxedo jackets, vests, and ties were strewn about—all of us eventually divesting ourselves of everything but our shirts and pants. They sat in stark contrast to the blank white walls and sickly yellow chairs. I hated everything about this place, especially its memories.
I’d been brought here on my wedding day. I’d come here after the car accident. My mother had died behind these walls. The only good thing that had ever happened here was Elizabeth’s birth, but one life hardly seemed to balance all the death.
The door burst open, but it was only Georgia. She looked around the room. “Where’s Clara?”
“Norris took her home with Sarah,” I told her. It was best for them both to be away from this. My grandmother had been nothing but cruel to Clara, so I couldn’t ask her to be here, even if part of me selfishly wanted her to be. But it was more important for her to be with Sarah.
“It’s just like my grandmother to die on someone’s birthday,” I muttered.
“She’s not dead yet,” Henry said sharply.
It was cold of me to feel that way. I suspected he was as dependent on her as she was on him. He’d lived alone for so long, always the spare child until my father’s death. But he’d had too little time with his mother—just like me.
The doctor came in before I could apologize and it was obvious from his tired expression. It had been obvious to me when I’d tried to revive her at the museum. There could have been a miracle of course, but they were rare in these parts.
“I’m sorry,” he said, cutting to the chase. He paused and allowed Henry a moment to process this.
My uncle looked stricken himself and David jumped up to help him over to a chair.
“What happened?” I asked.
“A heart attack. There was nothing to be done. It was too much. We couldn’t reset the sinus rhythm. From the looks of it, she may have been suffering smaller attacks for several days.”
That was why she’d been acting so strangely. Guilt washed over me when I realized she’d been trying to tell me at the party, but why come to me?
“She seemed confused,” I said.
“That’s natural,” the doctor said. “She may have had trouble getting enough oxygen to her brain. Some patients experience memory loss or confusion.”
Memory loss. She’d come to me because she thought I was the King and she’d been cared for by one her whole life—and I’d failed her.
“She’s being examined now, but our toxicologist did notice some strange things. What medications was she on?”
“General ones,” Henry said. “She had one to help with her arrhythmia.”
“And she was taking it?” The doctor frowned.
“Yes. Well, she missed a few days when we returned to London. Clara had to pick some up at the chemist for her,” Henry said.
“Clara,” I said in surprise.
“She offered to help when I shared my concern. Your grandmother was insisting she didn’t need it. That she would see the doctor. Would missing a few days cause this problem?” Henry looked devastated. He hung his head. “I should have insisted.”
“Do you have the pills she was taking?” The doctor asked.
“They’re in her purse.” Henry gestured to the bag he’d carried in under his arm like a security blanket.
“May I?”
I nodded to the doctor, wondering why we were going to this much trouble. My grandmother was an old, bitter woman who’d lived too long a life.
The doctor retrieved the bottle and studied it for a moment. “I’d like to show these t
o the toxicologist.”
“Of course,” Henry said absently. Edward had moved next to him and begun to talk quietly.
I followed the doctor in the hall. “Why do you need the pills?”
“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that there are odd traces in your grandmother’s blood. It seems she may have been taking something she shouldn’t,” he said, shaking the bottle. “It would be useful to have her other medications.”
I nodded. “We’ll have them sent over. I’m not certain I understand, though. Was there a mistake? Was she taking the wrong medication? Did it cause the heart attack?”
This time he hesitated and the pause sent a shiver running up my spine. “It’s difficult to say. We don’t usually see this kind of thing in a simple heart attack.”
“What are you saying?” I demanded. “Was it a heart attack or not?”
“Yes,” he said firmly, “but it doesn’t appear to have happened naturally.”
“She was ninety,” I snapped before the meaning of his words sank in.
“And in optimal health during her physical six months ago,” he said.
“A lot can change in six months.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but it’s our duty to look into this sort of thing—unless you ask us not to.”
He’d placed the decision on my table, waiting to see if I would take a bite. But there didn’t seem to be much of a choice. If there was a possibility that this wasn’t natural, then that meant foul play. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to my family, and more proof that the Crown had cause for concern would only help my case with Parliament.
“Of course, you should investigate. We’ll cooperate in any way.”
“In that case, we will need to speak to anyone who handled her medication.”
“That would mostly be Henry,” I said, struggling to remember if my grandmother had another attendant she trusted with such matters. “I’ll ask my uncle for any other household staff that might have had access.”
“I appreciate your cooperation,” the doctor said, “but I must warn you—this means we’ll need to speak with your wife. She handled your grandmother’s medication as well.”
* * *
The North Wing was dark when I reached it an hour later. The official press release could wait until tomorrow. My mobile had kept dropping my calls to Norris and Clara—an annoying quirk of old buildings that had survived the Blitz.
I went to our bedroom expecting to find Clara there lying awake. I knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until I returned with news. I wish I didn’t know that from experience. But I found our bed empty.
Turning to the nursery, I opened the door to find Penny asleep in the window seat and Elizabeth curled into a ball in her new bed.
I shut the door, opening another one to panic. I went to every room in the wing, to the office. I was on my way to the Belgian Suite when my mobile buzzed.
But it wasn’t Norris or Clara. It was a text sent from an anonymous number.
From within.
Chapter 30
Clara
Cold. Hard. Naked.
Red. Blue. Black.
Slowly the pieces formed into complete thoughts.
The room was cold.
The floor was hard.
I was naked.
I struggled up, wrapping my arms around my body and I listened. Teeth. Mine. I couldn’t control them. Then I felt it: the tremble as it rolled through me and took over my body.
The next flashes were less present. I saw the red fade of my eyelids as the rag covered my mouth, freezing the image of Norris in my mind. His mouth was covered in blood and he was trying to tell me something.
“Blue.”
That didn’t make any sense. A terrible thought occurred to me and I stumbled to my feet. I had no idea where I was. The room was dimly lit and there was one door. I went to it and yanked, thrown back when it opened easily.
A new word processed: corridor.
I kept my arms around my belly, protecting myself from the chill and shielding my body. Lights flickered overhead. I looked for windows and I found doors.
These ones were locked and as I reached for one I saw red.
My wedding band. I still had that.
When I reached the last door on the left, a strange sensation swam through me. The door opened to me and I swallowed back a sob when warmth rushed over my body.
There was a bed and clothes. I rushed to them and began to dress, scanning my surroundings as I did. The clothes were too small for me, but I didn’t care.
There was a chest of drawers and in them more of the same clothes. I opened each one, my panic ratcheting with each discovery of the same.
There were a handful of books on a shelf: a Bible and the torn up remains of a novel. I picked up the black cover with trembling fingers, thinking of the word blue.
Blue. The Range Rover had been blue. Not black.
Not ours.
Norris had seen and they had…
The cover fell from my hands fluttering down in a swirl of black and red and white. I nearly choked. Falling to my knees, I vomited on the floor.
Sitting back, I swiped at my mouth, feeling my stomach turn again and the baby begin to kick.
And then the door opened to the face of a familiar stranger.
If this is a game, what is the prize?
* * *
Alexander faces his worst nightmare while Clara fights through the darkness overwhelming them both as the future of the throne, their love, and their child hangs in the balance.
* * *
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Thank you!
I wanted to drop a quick note to thank you for reading Wicked Queen. This story means so much to me. I laughed and cried and ranted the whole time I was writing it.
After Hard Reign, the Royals Collection will continue with new stories and I’d love to hear what characters you’d like to see get their own books! Drop me a line and let me know: [email protected]
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Thank you for sharing Alexander and Clara’s journey with me.
For always,
G