Page 13 of Wicked Queen

“Tell me,” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Can I have someone killed?”

Norris’s face went white before he realized I was joking. In fairness, my jokes were a bit off today.

“You wouldn’t be the first King to do it,” he said with a chuckle.

My mood was beginning to lift, but there was a ceiling on how far it could go. There always was, except for when I was with Clara. But I wasn’t with her now. Not really. Not after she’d told me how she really felt.

“Will Clara be there?” I tried to sound casual.

Norris, who usually had no problem sticking his nose into my marriage, had been oddly silent the last few days. It was as though he—and everyone else—knew I’d finally gone and permanently broken my relationship with my wife. There had been no well-meaning lectures or attempts to force the two of us together. Deep down, I even knew it was him sending the suits to my office every morning. If Norris had given up, what hope was left?

“She’s—” He stopped talking as Clara came into view.

Behind her, an entire press corps was waiting to discover the worst thing I’d ever done. The secret I never should have kept. But it didn’t matter, because, right now, there was only her.

She was dressed in a blue that matched my mood. I would never get used to the sight of my wife. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Delicate but strong. Fragile but unbreakable. We might be broken, but she never would be. She hadn’t been born a royal. She’d been born a queen.

Neither of us spoke, and Norris excused himself and ducked quietly into the white room.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” I had no right to expect anything of her. She’d made that clear.

Clara bit her lip, her lashes fluttering down for a moment, and I realized she was holding back frustration. “I’m always with you, Alexander, even when you think I’m not.”

I extended one hand not certain she would take it. Clara laced her fingers through mine. It felt right to touch her. I kept this thought to myself, although I held her hand tightly.

“Ready?” she asked me softly.

“No.” We walked through the door anyway.

Edward had already arrived and I was relieved to see him. I’d known better than to expect either my wife or brother to stand by my side while I faced the consequences of my father’s decision. It was as much my mistake as his now, though. I’d agreed to it, coerced during my lowest point, but I had been a man when I’d continued my silence. I was as culpable as him.

Friendly chatter filled the room, none of the reporters aware of the scoop they were about to receive. It was best this way, having my family with me. It would lay to rest any speculation about troubles between us. Edward leaned over and kissed Clara on the cheek, whispering something I couldn’t make out. Her soft laugh rewarded him and I felt a pang of jealousy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made her laugh. All I received from my brother by way of greeting was a jerk of the head. It was a start.

Things would soon be different for all of us. One Royal, thought lost, had been found. I couldn’t help but wonder what price we would pay for her return.

There were no table nor chairs set up for the event, but rather a podium. I wanted to keep this as brief as possible. There would be one million questions, and it wouldn’t matter if I answered them all. Every paper from gossip rags to The Times was going to be reporting any information they could get their hands on—fact or fiction. We would sort out the truth later.

Clara’s hand stayed in mine as I took the podium, my brother flanking me on the left. I paused a moment, allowing for conversations to die down before clearing my throat.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’ve called you here without any prior press release. There will be a handout distributed at the end covering a few important items. We will be limiting the number of questions we answer and we ask that you respect our family during this time. It is with equal parts joy and regret—” I paused, gathering the scraps of courage I had left after facing my wife and brother, before continuing “—that I must inform you that my sister, Sarah Cambridge, who was reported dead nearly ten years ago, has awoken from a comatose state and will be rejoining our family soon.”

My words hit like anticipated. Instantly, the reporters were on their feet. Questions flew at me from every direction. Cameras snapped. I’d been right to do this before we brought her home. This was my cross to bear.

One question rose above the others, coming from a dozen different directions: why were we told she was dead?

“If I may,” I said loudly, holding up a hand and waiting for things to quiet to a dull roar. “Sarah’s prognosis following the accident was hopeless. We were told there was no brain activity and that she would spend the rest of her life in a vegetative state. My father couldn’t bear the thought of ever removing her from life support. Instead, he arranged for her to be attended by private physicians at a royal residence. She was not expected to ever wake up.”

As soon as I stopped speaking, the questions started again.

Why lie about her death?

What was the cost of her life support? I was glad I didn’t see who’d yelled that one out.

Will she make a full recovery?

I chose to answer this one. It would be better for them to hear it from me rather than have them try to hunt her down to ask. “Sarah’s progress since awakening has been nothing short of miraculous. The doctors seem confident that she will make a full recovery. In the few weeks since she woke up, she has begun to talk again and to walk. As you can imagine, there has been a lot to catch her up on, which is another reason we ask for privacy for our family at this time.”

I knew it didn’t matter how many times I said it. There would be no privacy. There would be speculation. There would be rumours. There would be gossip. Ugly, terrible gossip. It was yet another thing I wish I could spare my family. I wanted to shield them, but there was no hiding from my mistakes.