“The public won’t believe that, though...will they?” Everyone turned to look at me with pitying looks. I was getting damn tired of being the naive one.
“They public believe whoever’s holding the gun,” the King told me softly. “In this case, whoever’s controlling the army. They’ll go along with it out of fear, even if they disagree.”
“By then that bastard will have siphoned off all of the palladium money for himself and the French. He’ll buy an island somewhere and leave the kingdom in ruins.”
“The French?” asked the King. Jagor brought them up to speed. The King jumped up and started pacing. “Those idiots.” He glared at one of the soldiers who’d stayed to guard us. “You hear that? You’re helping another country take the mines, you traitor!”
The soldier steadfastly ignored him, but raised his rifle a few inches. The Queen put a restraining hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“This is all my fault,” said the King. “You were right, Jagor. I should never have let the army get so bloated.”
Jagor put a hand on his father’s back. “We’ll find a way,” he told him.
***
We both wanted to make sure everyone was okay. So after leaving the King and Queen, we went to the press office. I had a pretty good idea what to expect, but the change was still an almost physical shock.
Vinko and Yuri had put the royals’ own press machine to work for them. Ismelda, Medenko and a few others I recognized sat sullenly working, organizing the next stage in the propaganda campaign. Around the edge of the room, soldiers kept their rifles trained on them. They were literally working at gunpoint, and had been for days.
Both Ismelda and Medenko jumped up when they saw us and ran over. There was the terrifying sound of guns being cocked and we froze, not quite touching. The soldiers were tired and jumpy: not a reassuring thought. We walked the rest of the way very slowly and embraced. I was a little shocked when both Ismelda and Medenko embraced me warmly.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked. “No-one’s been hurt?”
“Some of the guards are down in the cells,” Medenko told us. “A few got into fights with the soldiers when the palace was taken, but nothing that won’t heal. Arno is still free, though.” He said it as if he didn’t completely approve.
“And Doracella?” I asked.
“Unhurt, and in your suite, Exkella.”
“How’s Vinko’s campaign?”
Medenko sighed. “That Russian brute just left. He and Vinko know what they’re doing. They control all of the newspapers, radio and TV stations. Internet censorship is patchy but getting worse.
“He’s already made us tell the media about the execution,” Ismelda said, her voice tight. “They’re doing a live broadcast from here and then bouncing it out from ANB downtown. It’ll be on every channel.” She paused. “I can’t quite believe it’s him, Your Highness.”
“None of us can,” Jagor told him.
***
On the dividing line between the main part of the palace and the wing that contained our private suite, there was a line of Vinko’s soldiers. Arno was waiting for us just in front of them. “Your Highness,” he said very formally. “Exkella. I’m sorry, I—” He looked at his feet. It was disconcerting, seeing the massive guard reduced to a stumbling wreck.
“Medenko said the other guards got into fights with the soldiers,” Jagor said patiently, “and are now in the cells.”
Arno nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. I should have done the same, but...I have no excuse, Your Highness.”
I frowned and looked closer. Was he...blushing?
Jagor blinked. He liked Arno as much as I did: I could see he didn’t want to discipline him, even when he was acting so strangely. “Well. I’m sure you had your reasons. Perhaps when all this is over, you can explain them. In the meantime, it’s good to have you out here, not locked up and useless downstairs.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Arno said quickly. Then, just as we were turning to go, “Exkella?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”
“The soldiers won’t allow me past this point. I just wanted to check if everyone was alright.”
I stopped and frowned. Why was he asking me and not Jagor? Who did....
Oh.
Despite everything, I had to stop myself smiling. “Doracella is in our suite. She’s fine. Would you like me to tell her that you passed on your best wishes?”
I saw him slump in relief. At almost the same time, he blanched and almost squirmed – as much as a man with shoulders that can fill a corridor can squirm – as he realized I’d worked it out. “That would be very kind of you – thank you, Exkella.”
“Think nothing of it. Go and get yourself something to eat.”
“What was all that about?” Jagor asked, when we were a safe distance away.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I told him. There’s nothing like young love to make you forget your problems…even if only for a moment.
***
We’d barely opened the door to our bedroom when Doracella flung herself at me. “I’m so glad you’re alright, Exkella!” she told me. “They haven’t let me leave this wing.”
When she eventually moved back, I looked her straight in the eye – I wanted an honest answer. “Doracella, did they hurt you? Did they—”
She shook her head quickly. “No, Exkella. Until Vinko takes the throne, they know they’re uninvited guests.” She swallowed. “Afterwards....”
“It won’t come to that.” I pretended the next part wasn’t at all important, “Oh - Arno sends his regards.”
She caught my eye guiltily and I gave her a tiny nod. Yes, I’ve figured it out. She blushed.
“Now. The Prince and I would like some time alone,” I told her. “Why don’t you go and eat something? Tell them you’re bringing food for us, if they give you any trouble.”
I watched her go. Hopefully she’d run into Arno in the servant’s dining room and they could sneak away somewhere private. Someone deserved to be happy, in all of this.
“Should I ask why my best guard appears to be compromised?” Jagor asked tiredly.
“No.”
He shook his head in amazement. “You’ve really settled into palace life,” he told me. “Just as this happens.”
He plumped down on the bed, and I sat next to him. We both stared at the wall. Arno and Doracella had been a welcome distraction, but now we were finally alone it was time to talk.
“If we pleaded with Vinko,” I said carefully, “If we agreed that we’d flee the country, never to return....”
“He needs the execution.” Jagor had his hands clasped together. I could see him clenching them tighter and tighter, raging but powerless. “With my parents and me gone, there’ll be no confusion for the public. They’ll know who’s running the country.”
I put my arm around him. “If that’s true, why keep me alive as his—” My voice broke. I tried again. “His slave? Why not kill me too?”
He turned to look at me, his eyes full of pain, but said nothing.
“Tell me,” I said softly.
He managed to hold my gaze while he told me. “Because you’re not a threat to him like we are. You’re a...possession, Lucy. He’ll take you just as he’s taken the palace. To show that he’s beaten me.”
I could see the guilt tearing him apart. The knowledge that he’d introduced me to this world, with a system as dark as it was beautiful. “I’m sorry,” he told me, and pulled me close.
“I’m not,” I whispered into his shoulder. And I wasn’t: if I could have gone back to that moment in the embassy bedroom I would have done exactly the same thing. It had been the right decision, even with all it had brought, and now I was making another one. After Jagor was dead, I wasn’t going to be Vinko’s. I’d die first.
Chapter Twenty Five
As night fell, Vinko’s troops did what all conquering armies do: indulged themselves. To stop them pillaging the palace, Yuri had wisely or
ganized a party for them outside. Beer and wine from the cellars was sent out and according to a disgusted Doracella, a dozen slaves from the slave market had been sent for, to “entertain” the soldiers.
We ate silently in our room, listening to the growing din outside the windows. At one point I peeked outside, looking down on the garden Jagor had taken me to for the surprise picnic. The hedges had been flattened by a tank, and broken bottles were strewn around. Soldiers were whooping and cheering, occasionally firing their guns into the air. I saw a slave on a leash, virtually naked, and turned away quickly with tears in my eyes.
The ticking of a clock seemed to mock us. When it reached midnight, Jagor would only have twelve hours to live – and still we had no plan. So I did the only thing I could do: I put my arms around him and held him close.
When the clock struck midnight, he couldn’t take it any longer: he got up stared out of a window towards the lights of the city. “I never thought it would end like this,” he told me. Then, “I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“When Vinko takes you—” He caught my eye and I looked away guiltily before I could stop myself. He’d always been able to read me like a book. “Lucy! No! You have to promise me you’ll do it.”
I shook my head, tears filling my eyes. “I can’t. I can’t, I’d rather—”
“You have to.” He came over to me and there were tears in his eyes, too. “I need to know you’ll survive this.”
“You bastard!” I was sobbing now. “How can you ask that of me?”
He put his arms around me and hugged me tight. “You’ll be all that’s left of us,” he told me.
I kept sobbing, but eventually nodded. I’d do it, if that was what he wanted. I’d live out my days with Vinko, drawing strength from the memory of Jagor.
He held me like that for a while, and eventually, as I sniffed back my tears, I asked, “Do you remember when the biggest problem we had was keeping our secret?”
He smiled through his tears and rested his forehead against mine. “When I hid you behind the screen.”
I brought my hands up and laced my fingers with his. “When I wore the raincoat…and your guards didn’t know I was in my underwear, underneath.”
He closed his eyes, remembering. “You under the table.” We both laughed, through the pain. “Worrying Medenko would find out. Worrying the media would splash it all over the news.”
His eyes opened and he blinked at me.
“What?” I asked, confused.
He stood and took a few halting steps away. There was something different about him. He was standing taller, more erect. It was so long since I’d seen it: it took me a while to realize I was looking at hope.
Jagor slowly turned to me. “I know how we can win,” he told me. “I know how we can take it back.”
“The palace?”
“The kingdom. Call Ismelda. We have work to do.”
***
Ismelda brought Medenko with her, both of them pale and haggard.
“I have a plan,” Jagor told them as soon as the door was closed. “Tomorrow, for the execution – you said it’s a live broadcast, right?” Ismelda nodded. “But it’s not being sent from here – it’s being beamed to ABN and then spreading out from there?” ABN was the Asterian Broadcasting Network, the state-owned TV station.
“Yes,” Ismelda said carefully, unsure how that helped.
“Vinko and his troops will be here, to make sure the execution isn’t disrupted, correct?”
“Of course,” Medenko said, shrugging. “So…?”
“So will anyone be guarding ABN?”
There was a stunned silence.
“No,” Ismelda said quietly. “No, they won’t. That’s very clever, Your Highness.”
“If we could get there,” Jagor asked, “Do you think we could persuade them to do it?”
“Persuade who to do what?” I asked. “Someone explain!”
Ismelda turned to me. “The execution will be broadcast live from the palace, but the signal will pass through ABN to be put out on all channels. If we could take over that building and get them to put the Prince on the air instead, he’d be live in front of everyone in Asteria.”
“We could tell them the truth,” Jagor said. “About the French, about who’ll really get the money from the palladium. Maybe get the army back on our side. And if we have the army, we have the kingdom.” He sounded different. He sounded like a prince again.
“Alvek is still alive,” I said suddenly. “He was getting his wound treated when Vinko raided the hotel. He can help us. But what about your parents?”
“This only works if it’s the two of us. We need Vinko to think the execution is still going ahead until the last minute. If we took my parents with us, the whole thing would be cancelled and we’d never have a chance to speak to the public. He has all the media locked down, remember.”
“But…what if something goes wrong? What if we can’t persuade the TV station?” I asked.
Jagor looked round at all of us. “Then my parents die,” he said simply.
“For this to work, we have to get you out of the palace,” said Medenko.
I had a sudden thought. “I might know someone who can help with that.”
***
We didn’t have much time to say our goodbyes. In the King’s chambers, we both embraced Jagor’s parents.
“You could run,” the King pointed out. “Head for the border with the Exkella.”
“This is the only way we get the kingdom back,” Jagor told him. Whenever I’d seen them interact, it had always been very clearly father and son. Now, for the first time, they sounded like equals.
The Queen looked as if she might cry and simply hugged Jagor again, not daring to speak. When she hugged me, she whispered, “Take care of him.”
***
Down in the depths of the palace, we eventually found our way to the room Doracella had told us about. She was waiting there for us, with two wheeled laundry bins. “Your Highness,” she said. “Please get in the bin.”
Jagor looked at her. “Will this really work?”
“It works every night for me, Your Highness.”
“Every night? What are you—”
“Arno,” I said simply.
I saw realization dawn across his face. He climbed inside the bin: there was just room for Doracella to load a layer of crumpled sheets on top of him.
Before I did the same, I hugged Doracella. “Will you be alright?” I asked.
She looked at me fearfully. “Will you do it? And stop Vinko?” I nodded. “Then I’ll be alright.”
I climbed into the bin. Everything went dark as the sheets were dumped on top of me. Then Doracella’s muffled voice: “Keep quiet while you’re loaded and on the journey. When you’re unloaded, you’ll be at the commercial laundry in the city. They don’t start the washing until the morning shift so you’ll have plenty of time to get out and slip away.” It went quiet. Then a moment later, as an afterthought, “Good luck.”
I tried not to think about how much was riding on this insane plan.
***
I could tell you about the bumping and crashing. The claustrophobia as the sheets pressed down on me; the dread fear of not being able to breathe, magnified by not daring to take a deep breath lest we be heard. I could tell you about the countless stops the truck made at the checkpoints leading out of the palace, and the hot, prickling tension while we waited for soldiers to find us. But the main memory I have of that trip – and it took well over an hour, from start to finish – is this: Doracella was doing this every night. Risking her freedom, risking possibly being sold back to the slave market, all for love. If she could do it, we could do it.
When the bins had been unloaded and everything was quiet, we waited another few minutes before cautiously creeping out. We were in an indoor loading dock in what I assumed was the laundry. Tens of other bins were all around us, and a vehicle-sized door was open o
nto the street. There was no one around, and no security that we could see: but then, who steals sheets?
We’d disguised ourselves, as best we could, hiding beneath hooded raincoats. We made for the hotel where I’d left Telessa – I was hoping Vinko’s soldiers hadn’t found her in the meantime.
Luckily, they hadn’t. She rented a car for us, using one of the city’s less reputable firms who didn’t ask questions. We hadn’t dared call Alvek’s emergency number from the palace, or even from the hotel, but we found a callbox and called him from there. After a long, agonizing wait, he picked up and we filled him in.
Then there was nothing to do but wait. We couldn’t go to the TV station too early: there was a chance that someone loyal to Vinko would see us and raise the alarm. But if we got to the TV station even a minute too late to go on air and block Vinko’s broadcast, he’d go ahead with the execution. We’d been up all night, but sleep was out of the question. So we drank coffee, paced and went quietly crazy.
At eleven, Telessa drove us to the TV station. We parked one street away and hunkered down in the back of the car.
At quarter to twelve, Alvek arrived with two men – the ones who were with him when the rest of his men were killed at the hotel. One of them carried a sports bag full of guns.
At ten to twelve, I held Jagor’s hand as we strode across the street to the huge ABN building.
The woman behind the reception desk was on the phone. She barely glanced up as we entered, chattering away busily about when a delivery was due.
Jagor and I pushed back our hoods. She glanced up again and dropped the phone. I watched as she backed away from the desk, knocking her chair over behind her, her hands up to her mouth. Then she bowed very low.
***
There were three soldiers guarding the news room. They’d been there since the start of the coup and had long since grown lazy and careless. Alvek and his men disarmed them without bloodshed.
Asteria - In Love with the Prince Page 31