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‘Sir?’ Phillipe motioned to a chair. ‘Again, I apologise for the delay. There was rather a lot to get through.’
‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that this won’t take long,’ Julius said. ‘Don’t ever keep me waiting again.’
So it wasn’t the prospect of his bridal selection that had been winding him up; it was far more straightforward than that—and now he let them know exactly what he thought.
‘I have taken on the workload of my late brother, my sister, who is raising a young family, as well as my mother, your Queen, who is deeply grieving.’ He picked up the agenda and tore it up. ‘I’m going abroad at dawn on Friday, and yet you think I have time to sit out there—’
‘Sir,’ Phillipe was brave enough to interrupt. ‘These pictures need to be addressed. They are rather—’
‘I suggest you stop there,’ Julius said, and thankfully Phillipe took that advice and snapped his mouth closed.
‘What was your King doing that night? Or your Queen? Do they have to report their actions?’
An aide to the King spoke then. ‘The King knows how upset his people are—’
‘Bring me one of them,’ he challenged. ‘There are no baying mobs out there. Know this: I celebrate my brother’s life and I mourn his passing, and how I do that is my choice.’
He clearly did not need Beatrice there to hold his hand.
‘There’s your response,’ he said, and threw her bland words on the table. ‘Don’t you get that every time you apologise for me you undermine my future reign? And whoever put the possibility of rehab on the table would have been marched out through the door if they were working inmyhousehold.’
He looked at every person in turn, marking their cards. They all looked suitably awkward and not all were able to meet his eyes.
‘Don’t forget—sooner or later Ishallbe King.’
He swept out, and Beatrice quickly gathered up her bag and papers, but as she stepped into the Great Hall, she halted—for Queen Teiria stood there.
She was a striking woman.
Always had been and always would be.
Today she wore a red velvet robe, and a headdress with tiny jewelled coins on it. She had passed on her beautiful black almond-shaped eyes to her children, Beatrice noted.
‘Julius.’
She didn’t even glance in Beatrice’s direction. She was there to speak with her son. He suggested they take a walk, or have a late-afternoon tea.
‘I don’t want tea, Julius.’ She stared up at him. ‘You do know a king has to put duty above all else?’
Beatrice stood back, her head down, awaiting Julius’s smart retort—perhaps pointing out that he wasn’t yet King, or that he was currently doing the ‘duty’ of most of his family—but he said nothing.
‘You have had so much leeway, Julius. I have fought for that—just as I have fought for all my children. It’s time to remember the promise you made.’
Beatrice looked up and she saw that the usually very confident heir’s complexion was tinged grey.
‘I have never been more serious, Julius.’
Suddenly, so too was the Prince.
There was no witty retort, no shrug, just silence.
It was Queen Teiria who broke it. ‘No more delays.’
She swept off, and of course Julius offered no explanation to Beatrice. He seemed to have forgotten she was there.
But then suddenly he turned. ‘Thank you,’ he told her. ‘I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day.’
Dismissed.
