Marie Ferrarella - Capturing the Crown - The Heart of a Ruler

The doctor’s tone indicated that he was not so sure. “Don’t underestimate the old man. He’s a lot tougher than you think.”

“Even tough men have been known to fall apart and he hasn’t been looking too good lately,” Russell said quietly. “How long will it take you to get to the palace?”

The doctor didn’t need any time to consider. He’d made the trip often enough, both from his home and from his office. “Fifteen minutes.”

“All right. I’ll wait fifteen minutes, then,” Russell replied. “Once you see to the king, I need you to come here.”

“Of course,” the man agreed. “And here would be—?”

“The prince’s country estate.”

“I’m on my way,” the doctor promised.

His eyes never leaving the prince’s body, Russell slowly closed his cell phone and slipped it back into his pocket. A shaft of guilt pierced him. God help him, but his first thought was that Amelia wasn’t going to have to go through with the wedding.

He couldn’t think about that now.

There was a brocade armchair in the corner of the room beside the window. Russell dragged it over next to the bed and then lowered himself into it, his eyes never leaving Reginald’s body.

What a waste. What a terrible waste.

He thought for a moment of dressing the prince, of giving him a dignity in death that Reginald had turned his back on while he’d been alive. But he knew better than to tamper with anything. Although there were indications that the prince might just have finally taken the wrong combination of alcohol and drugs, this might still be considered a crime scene. It was bad enough that he had touched first Reginald’s shoulder and then the pulse at both the prince’s throat and his wrist. He didn’t want to compromise the scene any further.

Russell folded his hands in his lap and proceeded to wait for the longest fifteen minutes of his life. The minute hand on the ancient timepiece his grandfather had given him dragged by like a snail dipped in molasses working its way along a rough surface. It seemed almost frozen in place each time he looked at it.

Fifteen minutes took forever. But finally, the minute hand touched the sixteenth stroke. Russell flipped his cell phone open once again and called the palace.

It took several more minutes for someone find the king. He’d initially met with resistance when he refused to divulge the reason behind his call, saying only that the king was expecting it.

No father ever expected this kind of a call, Russell thought sadly.

As modern-thinking as the king was, Weston refused to carry a cell phone, feeling that it was too invasive. When he finally came on the telephone to speak to him, Weston was on one of the palace’s secured land lines.

“This is King Weston,” the deep, unmistakable baritone voice echoed against his ear.

God, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this . “Your Majesty, it’s Carrington.”

The king’s voice was immediately eager. “Did you find him? Did you find the prince?”

Each word felt like molten lead as it left his tongue. “Yes, Your Majesty, I did, but—”

“What did he have to say for himself?” the monarch demanded. It was obvious that although he had been indulgent for all of Reginald’s life, the king was finally coming to the end of his patience.

“Nothing.” Russell stalled for a moment, still concerned about the king’s health despite what the doctor had said. “Your Majesty, is the royal physician with you yet?”

“No, why should he—” There was a pause. Russell heard the sound of someone knocking and then a door being opened in the background. “Doctor, what are you doing here? Is someone ill?” the king asked, addressing the doctor.

“No, Your Majesty,” Russell answered for the physician. “The doctor is there to help you.”

“Help me?” the king echoed, confused. “Why would I need a doctor—?” Abruptly, a note of fear entered his voice. “Carrington, there’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

“I’m afraid there is, Your Majesty.”

Russell could almost hear the king holding his breath. As if by not breathing, that would forestall whatever bad news was coming. “It’s Reginald, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, it is.” It was as if the words refused to materialize, refuse to enter the atmosphere.

There was desperation in the king’s voice. He was stalling, trying to find a reason for this melodrama that he could live with. “What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into this time?”

There was no way to say this, no way to couch the words that had to come out so that they wouldn’t leave wounds, wouldn’t hurt beyond measure. In his heart, Russell damned the prince for living the kind of lifestyle that had brought him to this. Most of all, he damned Reginald for making him have to say this to the king.

“Your Majesty, Prince Reginald is dead.”

“No,” the king cried. “No! This is a lie, a trick. You’re not telling me the truth. Reginald is trying to play me, the way he always has before. So, what does he want? What does he hope to gain from all this?”

“Nothing, Your Majesty. This isn’t a hoax. I’m very sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but the prince really is dead. I found him at his country estate and he’s been dead for hours, perhaps more.”

He heard the receiver being dropped. And then the line on the other end went dead.

Russell folded his cell phone and placed it back into his pocket. He didn’t try to reach the king again. He knew that they hadn’t been disconnected because of any signal that failed to get through. Undoubtedly, the king had terminated the conversation, unable to listen any longer. He couldn’t blame him. He had no idea how he would have reacted in the monarch’s place.

But then, he would have kept a tighter rein on Reginald than the king ever had. Maybe if safeguards had been put into place early on, if rules and a sense of moral values had been drummed into the prince’s head, he wouldn’t be where he was right now.

Naked and alone.

Well, almost alone, Russell amended. He shook his head, looking down at the cause of the king’s grief. “Well, you did it again, Reggie. Even in death, you’ve managed to disrupt everyone else’s life.”

And even in death, the prince had managed to be selfish, without a care for those he left behind.

Russell was worried about the king. Granted, to the passing observer, except for the last few days, the king looked to be in excellent condition, especially considering his age, but that was just the outside packaging. He knew, though it was never publicized, that the king had a number of health issues, none of them ever elaborated on, which, of course, was understandable. The public wanted an invincible ruler. If the king had a heart condition, or some sort of other malady, that would be a matter only between the king and his doctor. No one else would ever need know.

The king was by nature a private man. It physically upset him that Reginald brought so much attention to his less-than-sterling behavior. The escapades of the last few weeks had taken a toll on the monarch. His color had paled and he looked … unwell, Russell supposed was the best term for it. News of Reginald’s death might cause his health to take a sudden downward spiral.

Sharp nettles of regret dragged along his conscience. Maybe he should have waited before calling the king, or better yet, left the job of breaking the news to the royal physician.

But that would have been cowardly, he upbraided himself, and he was not a coward. He did what needed to be done, regardless of the personal consequences. In all good conscience, the king had to be informed and the sooner the better. Russell knew the king. If Weston learned that he had been kept in the dark, even for his own good, he would not take the news well.