Capturing the Crown Bundle. Nina Bruhns
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name she was using.’” The king furrowed his brow, concern marking his features. “Why wouldn’t she be using her own name? Do you think this might be some kind of deception?”
The question struck Russell as odd. The king was usually sharper than this. “Your Majesty knows that royalty has always been the center of intrigue. Nothing is ever what it seems.”
Eyes that were red-rimmed from tears met his. “You are.”
Russell smiled. In all his years of service, and in the years that had come before that, when he had been Reginald’s “chosen friend,” he had not once ever lied, not once tried to present anything but the truth. “Thank you, Your Majesty, but I am the exception.”
The king laughed at the simple remark. And then his features sobered until they bordered on grave. The monarch looked at him. “You realize that if there is a child and it is Reginald’s and a male, then you won’t be the next ruler of Silvershire.”
Again, Russell inclined his head. The smile that was on his lips was not forced. It rose of its own volition. “Yes, I know.”
A man completely devoid of ambition was rare. “And that would be all right with you?”
That would be perfect with him, Russell thought. Aloud, he said, “You might recall, Your Majesty, I never wanted to be king.”
Weston was aware of that, but circumstances bring about changes, and desires flourish even in desert terrain.
“That is not what I am asking.” The king paused. “Thirty years ago, I didn’t want to be king, either. Not with as much resistance as I witnessed you originally display, but I had made peace with the fact that Vladimir would be king once King Dunford passed on the crown. Even though I didn’t feel that Vladimir had the best interests of the people at heart, he would have had my allegiance.
“However, after my protests had been overridden and King Dunford gave the crown to me, I discovered that I liked being the king. Liked having the reins of the country in my hand. Liked the thought that perhaps I was helping the people I was serving. I knew in my heart that Vladimir would abuse his power, place himself first instead of in the service of his people, so initially I took it as my obligation.”
For a moment, Weston allowed his thoughts drift to another time, a time when his hair was dark and his body firmer. When there had been a wife by his side and anything was possible.
“And eventually,” he continued, looking at Russell, “I was glad I did. Eventually, I came to enjoy my lofty position. It is seductive in its own right, being king,” he confided. “Now things are in place for your coronation and I want to know, if this child does exist and we do find it, how are you going to feel?” When Russell said nothing, Weston supplied a word for him. “Cheated?”
“Relieved,” Russell finally countered after a moment had passed. “I have never in my life wanted to be the center of attention. I always did much better when I was allowed to work off to the side.”
But the king heard only one thing. “There’s hesitation in your voice, Carrington.”
He couldn’t dispute that. But he wasn’t hesitating because he wanted the crown. Not for its own sake at any rate. “I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
There was no delicate way to broach this. Russell felt almost transparent as he asked, “If I am not to be king, will my union with the princess be annulled?”
The question caught Weston by surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe so, but it would have to be discussed with King Roman.” And then the thoughtful frown disappeared, to be replaced with a tickled laugh. “Forgive me, Carrington, but this is placing the horse before the cart. If there is a cart. If there is a horse,” he added with a hopeful note.
To Russell’s surprise, the king let out a long, soulful sigh. “I still cannot make myself believe that Reginald is actually gone. I miss him, Russell,” he confided, his voice lowering to almost an intimate whisper. “Miss the thought of him, actually. Our paths did not really cross all that often these last few years.” The king waved his hand vaguely about. “I was always involved in matters of state and he was always out, doing something,” Weston’s mouth twisted in an indulgent smile, “unstatesmanlike I suppose would be the best description of what he got himself into.”
Russell felt for the man, but he knew that they had to move the investigation forward on all fronts. And the king had stymied one avenue. He began as gently as he could. “Your Majesty, about the autopsy—”
Momentarily lost in thought, in the possibility that Reginald had left behind a piece of himself, it took Weston a second to realize that Russell had allowed his voice to trail off. “Yes? What about it?”
Several people had put the question to him, asking him when the funeral was going to be held. The funeral couldn’t be arranged until after the autopsy was performed. “I think we need to attend to that.”
Weston looked away, gazed out the window, saw the years that had passed. “We will.”
“Sooner rather than later, sire,” Russell urged. “Arrangements need to be made for the funeral. I can handle that for you if you wish, but first—”
“I know, I know, the autopsy. Yes, you are correct, of course. I’ll give instructions about that presently, I give you my word.” Turning from the window, he looked at Russell again. “A baby, you say?”
Russell smiled indulgently, knowing that he would not be leaving soon. “Yes, sire, a baby.”
When Russell finally left the king’s quarters some twenty minutes later, he was concerned about Weston’s state of mind as well as the monarch’s general health. The king, always so robust, so vibrant-looking, suddenly seemed to be wearing his years heavily. Russell knew it was the shock of the prince’s death on top of his concerns about the state of unrest that was presently rocking Silvershire. The actions of the Union for Democracy had stepped up. Rumors of it coming to a head had been heard. He’d half expected something to take place during the wedding. The king had called in extra security around the palace just in case.
It seemed too much for one man to handle.
Reginald’s autopsy was the immediate matter that really needed to be seen to, but there was no way to overrule the king. At first the delay had been because he had wanted his son’s body to remain whole until after the wedding. Then the excuse was that he only wanted the royal medical examiner to perform the autopsy. Away on a short vacation, the doctor had turned around immediately and taken a flight back, only to be caught up in a temporary quarantine because two of the passengers on her return flight came down with a mysterious ailment. But she was here now, and still the autopsy was being delayed. He could only hope that the king’s common sense would finally prevail.
Maybe news of the baby would finally get the king to move forward. Thank God Lazlo’s operative was making some headway. The woman felt she was getting close to cracking the prince’s code, which would open up the rest of the files to them and perhaps give them a better insight as to who might have wanted not merely to threaten the prince, but to actually carry out that threat.
And then there was the matter of the blackmail. Who and what was behind that?
He had a dozen questions and so far, no answers. He reminded himself that patience was a virtue, but he wasn’t feeling very virtuous right now.
Amelia heard him before he even had a chance to enter the informal dining area within their quarters.
Her mouth curved. Strange how quickly she had gotten in tune with the sound of his steps. Her smile widened, its tributaries spreading out all through her.
Ironic, wasn’t it? This was the first time that she was actually happy to be the princess of Gastonia. Not that she didn’t love her country, but she could have loved it just as much if she’d been a commoner. But being the princess, with a princess’s