Resilient Reign Page 4

  Speaking to the king on the phone was different than it had been in the past. I felt a shift within me. No longer was I enamored with the attention of the king. The veil hiding the truth of the monarch had been shredded by the sharp words in Noah’s journal. Despite my survival and that of Oliver’s hinging upon my ability to appear unchanged, everything had changed.

  Hearing King Theo’s voice reminded me that this was the man who believed himself sovereign in all things—not only the ruling of Molave, but every aspect of royal life. He believed himself capable of dictating my chances of conception while also offering me as a perk to whatever man he put into Roman’s life.

  While I didn’t and couldn’t let on that I knew the hidden ruthless side of King Theo, the man who in the past had only shown me kindness, my tight grip of my phone was an outward sign that something had changed.

  I would need to do better in Molave City.

  Throughout the drive, I worried that I wouldn’t do better. My new prince had awoken a piece of me that I’d allowed to fade into dormancy. In the presence of the king and queen, I would need to aid its slumber.

  As Lady Buckingham oversaw the maids packing my things for our trip, I slipped into my private study and sought the knowledge that I hadn’t in six weeks. During that time, I hadn’t had the means. Now I did.

  The bombshell came last night, following the prince’s call with a man named Dustin. Roman confided his full name. I wasn’t certain that he intended to offer me his last name, but now that I had it, I needed to learn—who was Oliver Honeswell?

  The circle swirled upon the screen of my laptop as I waited.

  Would this information too be shielded from me?

  My eyes opened wide in shock at the description at the top of the page: American actor. And then in picture after picture, I saw his likeness. I was struck with the absurdity: the Firm literally hired an actor. Oliver’s list of accomplishments went on for pages. His most recent endeavor was that of playing a warlord in a popular futuristic comic franchise.

  Had anyone ever noticed the similarities between the warlord and the Prince of Molave?

  Simply thinking the question made me smirk.

  As I searched through his information, I learned that not only had Oliver done well in film, but he also had a successful career on Broadway. That knowledge triggered a reminder of some things he’d said over the last six weeks. His declaration played on repeat in my thoughts. He’d said he’d spent his life pretending to love women he barely tolerated. He’d also mentioned a voice coach as well as his agent, the one who was now deceased.

  I’d asked him once if he was an actor, and he’d replied that we all were.

  The answer was affirmative—Oliver Honeswell was an actor, currently playing the role of Roman Archibald Godfrey, Prince of Molave, Duke of Monovia.

  Why did this new knowledge give me hope?

  Roman left me in tears with talk of divorce and of Inessa Volkov. The wobbly tower of our marriage that I’d pieced together since the day Oliver appeared in my parlor splintered with tornado-force winds at the declaration of his new decision. As Roman spoke, I’d believed every word as I had since our first meeting.

  Why?

  The man was good. He was convincing.

  He was an actor.

  Even with my knowledge of his true identity, there were times throughout the last six weeks when I’d swear he was his predecessor. As often happens with the accumulation of more information, new questions came to mind.

  What would make a man give up a successful career to step into the shoes of a total stranger, in a foreign country, where fiction becomes reality, and reality becomes a reflection?

  “Your Highness?” Lady Buckingham’s voice pulled me from my thoughts and questions.

  I turned her way, focusing on her hazel stare, in lieu of a verbal acknowledgment.

  “Lord Martin messaged. The prince…he knows you’re on your way.”

  After the way Roman walked away, I hadn’t had the nerve to call him myself.

  That behavior was more in line with what I would have done before the new Roman.

  With my expression unchanged, I nodded and turned back to the window. My thoughts went to the upcoming state banquet. I wondered if I would be able to hold it together on the arm of a man who wanted me gone.

  Seeing the sights outside the limits of Molave City, I tried to take my mind off the prince. Our caravan was traveling through a small village in the Boutch province called Brynad. As we approached the main thoroughfare, a growing scene outside the car caught my attention.

  “What’s happening?” I asked anyone within the car.

  Beyond the windows, a crowd of people stood on the walkway in front of a grocer’s. With the chilled temperatures, they were wearing warm coats and huddling near one another.

  “We should continue on, Your Highness,” the guard seated beside the driver said.

  “No, wait.”

  As the driver radioed to the other cars, the slowing of our procession was noticed by the people in the crowd. With the royal crest on our doors, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to guess who we were. The only question was which one of the royal family was inside.

  Lady Buckingham reached over, laying her hand on mine. “Lucille, remember the last time.”

  I did.

  The new Roman hadn’t admonished me, but applauded, saying I was loved and listened to by the people.

  “I thought the food shortages were under control,” I said in lieu of a reply.

  “We should keep moving,” the guard said again.

  “No.” I turned toward Lady Buckingham. “I’m going to speak to them.”

  Her lips pressed together in a straight line as her complexion paled.

  “Radio the other cars,” I demanded as the car we were traveling in came to a stop.

  As I buttoned my wool coat and slid my hands into long gloves, preparing to meet the people, I had a strange and overpowering sense that this was why I’d agreed to marry Roman, to become princess. It was to help the people, not to live in a remote castle atop a mountain. Roman had mentioned skywriting or banners—something to tell the world about our union.

  This, beyond the window, was just that—a proclamation. Not of our union, but of my emerging role. I’d seize it before I could be replaced.

  At some point in the last few hours, I was hit with the realization that the Firm would trust the future of Molave to an actor but not to their princess. If my new husband was correct and the people did care for me, then I would be a face and a presence beyond the walls of Annabella Castle. If this worked, it would be more difficult for Roman and the Firm to send me away.

  With the guard now outside the car prepared to open the door, I recognized that I was working against Roman’s—this Roman’s—wishes. So be it. I’d spent too long following the rules only to be discarded for another.

  Speaking to and for the people could be one of my last chances to fulfill the destiny I’d accepted. Breaking rules wasn’t going to stop me.

  “Princess Lucille,” the crowd chanted as women curtsied and men bowed their heads.

  “Please tell me,” I said, my voice raised and coming forward in puffs of foggy air, “what is happening?”

  There was a nervous murmur before an elderly gentleman stepped forward. “Princess, the market has been closed for three days. There was a rumor of it reopening today. With shelves low of supplies, we didn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

  I looked up and down the street. “Is there another market?”

  “No, Your Highness, not without traveling miles.”

  A woman by his side spoke up. “Those with automobiles tell us that the shops in Deca and Gekfjord are also closed.”

  “Surely, the grocer has informed you of the reason and given you a time when it will reopen,” I said.

  The crowd parted, showing me a sign written in both English and Norwegian that said ‘Closed until further notice.’

  A younger woman came forward with a curtsy. “Your Highness, those of us who work for the mines were recently paid our wages.” She took a deep breath. “My child needs food.”

  “Three days?” I asked.

  The crowd nodded.

  “Where is the grocer?”

  “Hiding,” someone from the crowd yelled.

  “Who owns the market?” I asked.

  “You do,” another woman spoke. “The royal family.”

  My years of training came back to me. “The stores are to be subsidized if needed, but the ownership is private.”

  The most recent woman spoke again. “Not anymore.”

  “When did this change?”

  “Are you really so unaware?” the woman said.

  I straightened my shoulders as my cheeks continued to chill in the autumn air. “I’m sorry. I am. I’m also on my way to the palace where I’ll bring this up with my husband and the king.”

  While the younger woman didn’t appear appeased, the older man who spoke first bowed and offered his thanks. “Thank you, Princess.”

  Knowing that I was speaking without permission, I added, “I will give you my word to return here tomorrow at this time to ensure that the market is open.”

  The offers of thankfulness filled the air.

  Once I was back in the vehicle with Lady Buckingham, our driver, and a guard, I felt my lips curl into the first smile I’d had since Roman’s promise of divorce.

  “What you did…” Lady Buckingham said disapprovingly.

  “Mary,” I said, addressing her by her first name, “if my husband thinks I’m so easily discarded, then I have nothing to lose by vowing to help the citizens of Molave.”

  “The king.”

  “Will be angry as will the prince.” I laid
my gloved hand on top of her hand. “I’m tired of being an accessory. I’m not leaving Roman or Molave without a fight.”

  “Where is this coming from?” she asked softly.

  Taking a deep breath as the car began to move, I contemplated her question. “It’s always been here. I tried playing by the rules, and it’s gotten me no place.” With my neck straightened and my resolve strengthened, I added, “Now I will fight with what I have as long as I have it.”

  My title.

  My popularity.

  Roman

  “Your Grace,” I said with a bow as I entered King Theodore’s private office.

  He was seated behind his ornate large desk. Despite the earlier circulated concerns regarding the monarch’s health, King Theodore appeared as strong as he had on films I’d viewed from over a year ago. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t aged. With my studying, I saw how over the years his dark hair turned to white, the wrinkles surrounding his eyes and lips had grown more pronounced, and his body no longer appeared to have the muscles and bulk of a younger man. Even so, there was nothing frail about the monarch before me.

  “You were expected yesterday with Lord Taylor.” His voice boomed with displeasure, echoing in the large room.

  “We communicated yesterday.”

  “Not in person,” he said, standing behind his large desk. “You have responsibilities to the crown and much more to learn. Spending dinners with the princess isn’t the best use of your time.”

  His statement indicated that someone among Lucille’s and my staff reported to the king. I’d have to give that more thought another time. Now, my focus was on King Theodore and the inroad he’d unwittingly offered. “I fear, sir, that any ongoing relationship between the princess and Roman is unlikely. The strain already present is too much.”

  “Don’t speak of him in third person.”

  “Yes, sir. Our relationship is irreparable.”

  “What has she said?”

  “Nothing.” I exhaled. “Lucille responds in short sentences as if she can barely tolerate being in the same room with me.” If the king was aware of our nightly rendezvous, he’d know I was lying.

  King Theo gripped the back of his office chair and shook his head. “It may be too late. My damn son…”

  “Sir, I was made aware of a possible answer to this dilemma.”

  The king’s dark eyes snapped to mine. “What answer?”

  “Divorce.”

  “Impossible,” he bellowed. “Not as long as the arrangement with Senator Sutton is under negotiation.”

  “We reached an agreement.”

  King Theo shook his head. “A gentleman’s agreement is far from the final word. Once the new provisions are passed into law, then we can discuss alternatives.”

  “Inessa Volkov?”

  “The States will not agree to work with us if we collaborate with Borinkia. You should know that.”

  “I do, sir. I also have been made aware that there has already been collaboration.”

  His eyes narrowed. “By whom?”

  “The information was noted among the volumes I’ve been allowed to access.” That wasn’t true, but my suspicion that I was onto something facilitated the untruth.

  “That is unlikely.”

  Since I hadn’t been offered a seat, I was still standing near the chairs neatly facing the king’s desk. I took a step closer. “Your Grace, I have no other way to obtain information. I could look for the document if you’d like to see it.” When he didn’t speak, I added, “If I’m asked about that possibility at the state banquet or the summit and I respond without the knowledge Roman had, there will be questions.”

  “No one would dare ask such a question. It’s treasonous. The diplomat banquet will be a fine dress rehearsal for dealing with many dignitaries at once.”

  Lord Martin and Lady Caroline had been instructing me on behavior during both upcoming events. That didn’t mean I was confident.

  He spoke about the different ambassadors who would be in attendance.

  I wasn’t as easily distracted. “Back to what I’d been told. Are you informing me that officially there has been no talk of the princess and me divorcing or a union between the princess of Borinkia and myself?”

  His dark stare studied me up and down. “Persistent. That can be a good quality when not used with me.”

  “It is my vow to support Molave, not to cause harm because I didn’t properly prepare.”

  The king took a deep breath. “An arrangement such as that could make your life—your role—easier. You wouldn’t have the concern of Princess Lucille.”

  What the hell?

  Now he was admitting such a discussion.

  “If that is the plan, I’ll keep it close to my vest.” I took a deep breath. “There’s no reason for Lucille to complete the procedure. It wouldn’t make sense for her to become pregnant and then divorce.”

  “The procedure is set. Lucille is on her way to Molave City.” He exhaled. “You should have insisted she accompany you since the banquet is a few nights away.”

  “You’ve told me to have little interaction.”

  “A different car.”

  I gestured toward the chair. “May I?”

  The king nodded as he took his seat again. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on the top of the desk. “As a small sovereign country, we must constantly be on watch. Lucille is our ace in the hole, so to speak, when it comes to the States. Getting on the bad side of her country won’t help Molave.”

  “Why negotiate with Borinkia at all?”

  “It was Roman’s idea,” King Theodore said, exhaling and sitting back against the chair. “Merging Borinkia and Molave would more than double our landmass. The additional port cities would help with trade. Borinkia has been hit with embargoes since overtaking Letanonia. Time heals all. It’s been nearly two decades, and Borinkia wants to be recognized as part of the European Union and as an ally around the world.”

  “Prince Volkov rules Borinkia,” I said, knowing that was true. “I’m less familiar with its government. Does he answer to a parliament or advisors?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Basically, he’s similar to your role.”

  “Yes,” the king replied. “Absolute power.”

  “Did Roman tell you he was working with Alek?”

  The king’s jaw clenched. “This subject is classified above your clearance.”

  “How did you find out?”

  I knew I was pushing, but I had the feeling I was onto something big. Maybe Noah’s downfall.

  “I’d heard rumors. I confronted him. He lied to me.”

  “Is that the reason,” I asked, “why I’m here?”

  One nod.

  Almost imperceptible.

  It was my answer.

  “Do you want me to continue covert communications with Alek, or do you want that line of communication to disappear?”

  “I want both, the US and Borinkia. I want more than that, but Borinkia could make Molave a greater power.”

  “Wouldn’t it work both ways?” When the king merely appeared puzzled, I went on, “Molave could make Borinkia a greater power. Molave has more allies and a higher standing across world leaders.”

  The king nodded. “That was Roman’s mistake. While he only saw Molave as the victor, the negotiations he was facilitating could too easily have resulted in Molave’s defeat. Right now, we can’t risk our relationship with the US. Once Lucille’s procedure is complete, you have my permission to work on improving your marriage.”

  It took every ounce of determination to keep my lips from moving, from telling King Theodore how archaic and misogynistic it was for him to grant permission to those who weren’t his to give.

  “Sir? She’s married to your son.”

  “You are now he.”

  “Surely, when Roman returns…”

  “I will speak to Elizabeth about increasing your salary.”

  My salary?

  Was I now being paid to fuck the princess, to keep her happy?

  “My salary is sufficient, Your Majesty. Maintaining a relationship with the princess was not in the job description.”

  “Yet you’re willing to consummate a marriage with Inessa?”

  “No. Yes. It would be my marriage.”