The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1)

by Banks, Evie

  She didn’t need to.

  Althena lay in a heap, her eyes staring up at the cobwebbed ceiling. The antique bullet had torn a hole through her white parka. Her mouth opened and closed as if issuing final orders.

  “Princess Althena?” said Renee, breathless, crouching close.

  “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown…” and her eyes closed. She exhaled and breathed no more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ALTHENA WAS DEAD.

  Renee sat back on her haunches in disbelief. She stared at the gun in her hand; it still smoked slightly from the barrel. The final bullet had met its target.

  She couldn’t believe that it had been Althena all along. The popular, quiet princess had killed her entire family and then Renee had killed her. A feeling of nausea welled up in her. She felt trapped in some sort of cyclical karmic nightmare, but she couldn’t dwell on it because Cassandra was shouting.

  “Chase won’t stop bleeding!” Renee tore her eyes away from Althena and stumbled to where Cassandra was crouched over Chase. She yanked off her scarf and ripped it in half down the middle. She tied one strip tightly around Chase’s arm where she had cut him. Then she gingerly pushed aside his coat and sought the bullet wound where Althena had shot him. It was near his upper chest and every time his chest heaved from a breath, it leaked a little more blood.

  Shit.

  A terror gripped her that she had not known even when facing Bretton and Althena. She had been fighting for her life then, but now she had to fight to save a life. She had to stop the bleeding and get him to a hospital.

  “Chase is there a first aid kit in your car?” she asked, trying to sound in control.

  “No,” he breathed. He didn’t even open his eyes.

  Her heart sank. His face was so pale and his dirty blonde hair was plastered across his forehead.

  “Where’s the closest town? I’ll walk there and call for help.”

  Chase murmured something , but it was so quiet that Renee couldn’t understand him. She leaned forward and turned her ear to his lips, but he spoke no more. She looked around the barn. It looked like it had been abandoned in the last century, but it must still have been used at least occasionally because some of the straw was fresh. She got up and gathered an armful of the clean hay. She separated some of it out into a bucket and took it over to a faucet that was leaking water and collected the drops until all the hay was wet. Then she used the hilt of the heavy, antique pistol to ground the hay into a poultice. She had done this once on the ranch for a young horse who had snagged itself on a barbed wire fence. She wished she had alcohol to clean the wound, but hoped the hospital could pump him full of antibiotics to counteract any infection he was sure to incur. As gently as she could, she applied the poultice to his wound with her fingertips. Then she folded the other strip of her scarf into a neat square and laid it over the poultice.

  “Cassandra, apply pressure here and don’t let up,” she said and got up.

  “Where are you going?” asked Cassandra, holding the bandage in place while her eyes followed Renee.

  “I’m going to find a road or a town or something so that we can get out of here!”

  Cassandra looked scared and lowered her chin so that her hair hid her face. Renee zipped up her coat as high as it would go. “Back soon, baby.”

  She took a step out of the barn and was rewarded with a pelting of ice. The wind drove snow and ice into her face and eyes. She lurched past Bretton’s van and onto what she thought was the path back to Chase’s car. He had obviously turned in off a road and if she could just find it, she might be able to follow its trail back to one. She tripped more than once, and her hands were so cold from plunging into the snow each time she fell, she could barely open and close them. She tripped again and instead of finding the ground, she began skidding down a hill until her descent was suddenly—and painfully—halted by a tree. Renee massaged her shoulder and in the faint moonlight that managed to penetrate the snowfall, she could just make out the long gash of disrupted snow that showed her path of descent. It looked impossible and her head throbbed and her arm ached and her hands were beginning to lose sensation. She rubbed them together until they began to tingle, took a deep breath and started the climb up, using her elbows and knees as often as her hands. Inch by inch she scaled the hill, going slowly as she often found herself beginning to slip again. When she reached the top again she allowed herself to crouch a moment to catch her breath and stop her shaking. She was freezing. She should have reached Chase’s car by now, but had no idea where it was or even if she was heading in the right direction. Visibility was limited to about two feet in front of her and even that changed by the second as the winds shifted. Her footprints were barely visible, but she decided she had better follow them back to the barn or risk being lost in the storm all night. She trudged carefully back and when the barn door creaked open at her touch, she was ready to collapse.

  Cassandra ran to her and began brushing off the piles of snow that had formed on her. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find the road.”

  Cassandra hugged Renee tightly.

  “How’s Chase?”

  Renee let go of Cassandra and crouched by Chase. She gently lifted the makeshift bandage and watched him breathe for a minute.

  “He’s not bleeding anymore; that’s good, but we can’t move him. We’ll have to wait here until morning.”

  She looked around at the bleak surroundings. She certainly wasn’t a stranger to barns, but it was freezing in here. In one far corner, was the dark form of Bretton. She didn’t know if he was alive and had no intention of going over there to find out. He could freeze for all she cared.

  By another wall, was the lifeless body of Princess Althena. Renee found a dirty horse blanket in one of the stalls and used that to cover the body. As she drew the blanket over Althena, Renee had conflicted emotions. This young woman had seemed so certain that she was working for a higher purpose. It was hard to imagine that a woman as intelligent as Althena could have been brainwashed. No, she had willingly embraced ideals that led to the murder of over three-thousand innocent people and had sought to end nearly 2,000 years of history. What a wretched ending.

  On the other hand, through her actions, Renee had been elevated from her hardscrabble, meaningless life to a position of wealth and responsibility, and she couldn’t be sorry for that. A pang of guilt shot through Renee and she had to shake off the feeling of being partly responsible. She covered Althena’s face, flawless even in death, and went to join Cassandra, who was shivering violently—she had only been wearing a light sweater when she had been taken. The barn provided shelter, but no warmth.

  “We’ll have to huddle. Here, help me put some hay on Chase; it will keep him warm. The two of them brought armfuls of the cleanest hay they could find and spread it evenly over him. Renee made a pillow of soft straw and lifted his head, then she and Cassandra buried themselves in hay next to Chase and hugged each other to keep warm. Renee rubbed Cassandra’s arms. “It will be ok. We’ll leave in the morning,” she repeated over and over again even though she had no idea if it was true. The howling of the storm and the various creaks and moans of the barn provided a backdrop of noise. She continued to murmur that it would be ok until her eyes closed and she nodded off to sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT WAS THE QUIET that caused Renee to wake with a start. Daylight streamed through the chinks in the walls. Cassandra’s head lolled against her chest and for a minute Renee couldn’t remember what she was doing here or why she was covered in hay. Her eyes adjusted to the weak light in the barn and then she saw Chase lying beside her, blanketed in hay, and the entire terrible night washed over her in an instant.

  “Oh my God, the Coronation!”

  She moved her stiff limbs and tried to extract herself from Cassandra who yawned and rolled over. Renee bent over Chase and checked his bandage. There was no more bleeding and his skin color was better—not so pale. “Chase, can you hear me?”


  His eyelids fluttered a little, but remained closed.

  “Chase,” she whispered, “I’m going to get help.”

  His lips parted slightly. “Water,” he breathed.

  Renee’s heart leapt at the sound of his voice and she scrambled to her feet. She cupped her hands under the dripping faucet and carefully brought the water to Chase, and poured it slowly into his mouth. She did this two more times as she lost much water each time she walked to him, and she wiped away any that dribbled down his face. After he had drunk enough, he turned his face and was quiet again.

  Renee stood up to take stock of the situation. Two useless cars, one injured man, one underdressed little girl, and one dead body. She did a double take.

  Weren’t there supposed to be two dead bodies?

  The horse blanket lay undisturbed over Althena, but the corner where Bretton had lain, ignored, was vacant. She quickly scanned every inch of the barn and then ran to the door and peeked outside. He was nowhere. Dried blood stained the area and part of a zip tie was still around a post. It had been cut. He must have done it while she was sleeping. With a sinking feeling she remembered the pocket knife that she had dropped when Chase had stopped her from stabbing him. She should have gone ahead and done it anyway, she thought angrily. She didn’t know how far he could get with a bullet wound, but it made it imperative that she find help immediately.

  Cassandra sat up and stretched her arms to Renee. “Don’t leave,” she pleaded.

  “I have to, honey. It’s the only way we’ll get out of here.” Cassandra’s lip began to quiver and Renee was reminded that although Cass was a force to be reckoned with, she was still only eleven. She cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and kissed her on the forehead. “Be brave just a little while longer.”

  Cassandra bit her lip and nodded.

  Just in case, Renee put Chase’s gun in her pocket and then pushed open the barn door just enough to slip through. The early morning colors were just beginning to burn off, revealing that it would be a clear day. Renee pulled her coat tight and trudged through wet snow past Bretton’s van and onto the path that had led to Chase’s car. In the light she could see the obstacles she had tripped over the previous night and saw where her foot had slipped, sending her down the slope. Without having to inch her way forward in darkness, she found Chase’s car in minutes. If there had been a road he followed, she couldn’t see it as it was buried under snow. Still, she felt more confident now and walked in the direction she thought the car had come from, grateful for her tough boots. After about fifteen minutes of hard walking, she came to what was clearly a country road. Surely, somebody would drive by, but there was no traffic at all and after a few minutes she remembered that it was Christmas morning. Everyone would be at home having a hot breakfast and unwrapping gifts. She recalled past Christmases with Cassandra who enthusiastically tore into the wrapping paper while Renee flipped pancakes and Ray lounged on the couch, hardly noticing. Ugh, Ray. His intrusion into her memories fired her steps.

  After some more minutes of angry marching, without ever seeing a building or automobile, she thought she saw some smoke curling in the distance and the faint sound of rock music. She squinted her eyes against the blinding whiteness and thought she saw a smudge among some far trees—a building? As she drew closer, she caught the glint of sunlight off of metal and flashing colors like a neon sign. She directed her steps towards it, but soon realized that sound travelled farther in cold temperatures, and was completely winded by the time she found the lane that twisted towards what appeared to be a large shack. Tire tracks cut through the snow and she smiled because she recognized what made them: motorcycles.

  If she hadn’t been in such a desperate situation, she might have taken a moment to examine the forty or so motorcycles parked in front of the squat, dirty building. Her brain made a mental note of the 1977 Harley Café Racer, a classic. A neon sign for Poor Dog Beer blinked in the fogged up window and despite the early hour, music blared from within. She could hear the sound of loud, male voices and an occasional cackle of a female one. Renee hesitated before opening the door even though she had been in plenty of biker bars before. All she needed was a telephone, that was it. She opened the door.

  A cold draft swept in behind her and Renee was faced with a preponderance of facial hair and leather. Some haggard looking women looked up from their beer steins, but apart from a few people who were passed out over tables, everyone turned to look at her. She stuck her hands in her coat pockets and felt Chase’s gun.

  “Hi, is there a public telephone I can use?”

  A large man with unkempt gray whiskers that nearly hid his whole face and a stomach that bulged out of his leather jacket got off a stool by the bar. “This is a private club.”

  He came close enough for Renee to smell the beer and halitosis, but she didn’t step backwards. She’d be damned if she was going to let this gorilla get in the way of rescuing Cassandra and Chase.

  “Is there a phone or isn’t there?” she asked and her hand tightened around the hilt in her pocket.

  The whiskery man loomed over her. “That all depends, don’t it.”

  Renee prepared herself to either shoot him or knee him in the groin. She saw a phone in the corner and she was going to get to it even if it meant killing someone.

  A voice from the back spoke quietly, but full of authority. “Go ahead and let her use the phone, Pyro. Ain’t no harm done.”

  The big whiskery man turned, mouth agape, to look at the man who had spoken. He sat half-obscured in the corner. His beard was black and his hair was slicked back. “Go ahead, the phone’s right over there.”

  Renee edged around the hulking Pyro—cute name, she thought—and slipped into the booth in the back. She kept one eye on the room. Everyone was silent and watching her. She picked the receiver up off the hook and it gave way. The cord dangled by her knees. The room exploded in laughter and she slammed the phone down back onto its hook. She marched over to the table where the man with the black beard sat shaking with laughter.

  “I need a mobile.” It wasn’t a request.

  He looked up at her from under hooded eyes. “I’m sure an equitable exchange can be arranged.” He looked her up and down.

  Renee narrowed her eyes. “If you interfere with me or try to extort me, I’ll have you charged with interfering with national security.”

  The man laughed out loud this time and everyone followed suit.

  “National security, eh? You and what army?”

  Renee ticked off her fingers. “The royal guards, Scotland Yard, MI5. I will personally give the order to bulldoze this ridiculous, pale imitation of an actual biker den.”

  The man still grinned, but a look of doubt crept into his eyes. He reached into his denim jacket and pulled out an older model cellular phone. He pushed it across the table. “Here you go, then. No one can say that Villain doesn’t take pity on the insane.”

  She snatched it up and then hesitated when she realized she didn’t know who she should call. Roberts’s didn’t have his mobile anymore and she couldn’t call Harry or John. She dialed Audrey’s number and waited. And waited. Then she heard nothing, not even the distant sound of a ringing phone.

  “Goddammit!” she yelled. “There’s no service. Let me guess: you have the cheapest service provider?”

  The man called Villain looked sheepish. “I like having bad service; it means the Missus can’t call and nag me to take the bins to the street.”

  “I’ll walk until I find a signal. What’s the number for the police?”

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Villain, snatching the phone out of her hand and sitting back down again. He bared his teeth. “That is not the sort of clientele we’re looking to attract.”

  Renee unzipped her coat and straddled a chair across from Villain. They glared at each other. It was time for her to lay her cards on the table.

  “Look, a man has been shot and needs an ambulance.”

  Villain
sat back, alarmed. “We don’t want that kind of trouble here. Maybe you should clear out.” He leaned forward and hissed, “Guns are illegal.”

  The large whiskery Pyro made a move to throw her out, but Renee smashed an empty beer bottle against the edge of the table and held up the jagged edge. Everyone in the bar tensed, ready to jump in.

  “STOP!”

  It was Villain who had shouted. Pyro wobbled on one foot, for he had grabbed a pool stick and had been about to snap it over his knee. Renee turned to see why Villain had yelled.

  His face was white. He raised a shaking finger and pointed at her shirt. “I’ve seen that shirt in the shops.” He looked from the shirt to Renee’s face and back to the shirt again. “Oh, dear Lord,” he said and wiped sweat from his forehead. “She’s telling the truth. It is her; it’s the Queen. This cannot be happening…just wanted a pint before the little terrors start ripping their Christmas presents to shreds and looks what I get. Oh, sod. Everybody get to your knees!”

  Villain’s face looked as if he’d had his cards read and they’d all come up spades. Nobody moved a muscle until Villain bent to one knee and with a trembling voice said, “Your Majesty, please forgive me. I did not recognize you. I didn’t expect…I mean who would? To walk right in the bar dressed like a deranged gypsy. The Missus will kill me if I go to prison.” Villain seemed to run out of words, but his lips moved silently as if he were praying.

  Renee took to the opportunity to speak. “Nobody will be punished, but I do need your help. A man needs to get to a hospital before it’s too late and I need to get to London.”

  She looked at the clock behind the bar. It read 7am. She was supposed to get into the limousine at 9:30am sharp for the short ride to Buckingham Palace and then start the procession to Westminster at 10am in the royal carriage.

  Pyro spoke up. “I’ve got the Prius parked round back.”