Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

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 obligations, had, thanks to a twist of fate, allowed her to marry the man she had always secretly loved. Even despite all those strange little bugs that had come crawling out of her bed and the water balloons that had come flying almost out of nowhere during his visits.

She felt just a fleeting pinch of guilt at being happy over Reginald’s death, but then, she had to be realistic. The man would have made an awful ruler. His personality, that of a self-absorbed hedonist, was cast and set. There was absolutely no reason to believe that ascending the throne would have made Reginald behave in any other manner than he always had.

On the contrary, it might even have made him worse. No one in Silvershire would have been happy, least of all her.

Well, no one, she amended silently, but the women Reginald took to his bed and rewarded with trinkets for their favors.

“Good afternoon, my husband. It’s about time you made a little time for me,” she joked as she turned around.

The smile on her face froze when she saw the somber expression on Russell’s face.

“What’s the matter?” The words slipped from her lips in slow motion as nerves began to knit themselves together and tighten.

Something was wrong, Amelia thought, looking at Russell. Something had changed since last night when, like all the other nights since the wedding, they had found a haven in each other’s arms. Her mind stretched itself in several directions at the same time, searching for a reason for the somber expression on her husband’s face.

Had he found out something more about Reginald’s death? Had someone else been killed? Was there some kind of further trouble or intrigue brewing against the crown?

The burden of leadership weighed heavily on her shoulders. Concerns about subversive organizations and the havoc they could wreak were never all that far from her mind and especially now that she had become the wife of a man who was about to ascend the throne of Silvershire.

Heads of state were given to dark thoughts, even if they tried to maintain a light, gentle touch, she thought sadly, wishing it were otherwise. She had only to look to her father to know that.

Had her father’s thoughts been lighter, more optimistic in nature, she knew that he would have not felt the need to forestall a possible and entirely theoretical attack from Naessa by marrying her off to the future king of a stronger, more powerful country. Within reason and adhering to the proper boundaries of the social world into which she had been born, Amelia felt that she might have been left to her own devices in choosing a mate. Possibly allowed to even follow her heart instead of an international game plan.

And she would have wound up exactly where she was, she thought, married to Russell, who was the man of her heart’s choice.

Sometimes life arranged itself in mysterious ways, she mused.

Russell wasn’t sure just how to say what he had to say. Never glib, he’d still been thought of as being diplomatic. It had always been his job to exercise damage control after Reginald had had one of his escapades. But when it came to matters that concerned him, his tongue felt as if it were bundled up in an overcoat that was two sizes too large.

So he picked his way slowly through what was suddenly a potential minefield to him. “Amelia, certain things have come to light.”

She’d never seen him look like that before, as if hope were only a word to be found in a dictionary. Her heart felt like a solid lump of coal in her chest.

“Things?” she repeated, bracing herself for the worst. “What things? And why do you look as if you’re about to tell me that my pardon has been revoked and that I am about to face a firing squad?”

He nearly smiled. Incredible how her exaggeration had almost hit the nail on the head. At least, as far as his own situation was concerned. She, of course, might have feelings of an entirely different nature if this baby did turn out to be Reginald’s heir. If that caused their union to be rendered null and void, Amelia might not greet the news with a heavy heart. She might even, it occurred to him, be relieved.

He was quiet. More so than usual. This was a bad sign. Amelia tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but it wasn’t easy. And there were no clues that she could discern in his eyes.

When she’d woken up this morning to find Russell gone, she’d just assumed that the new king-in-waiting was going about some sort of royal business. Taking the crown over from Weston required a great deal of transfer of information. And there was the coronation looming before them. The date had been changed, but still, it couldn’t be in the too-distant future. There was a great deal that had to be attended to between then and now in order for Russell to become prepared for that auspicious occasion.