Chapter 3 #3
“I’m not sure,” Gunner said, pressing through the door at the top of the stairs, exiting the shadowed utilitarian “below stairs” into the grandeur of “above stairs.” “Good morning, Nigel.”
The footman nodded, waiting to escort them. “Mr. Ferguson.”
It’d been a decade or so, but Michael was not unfamiliar with the palace opulence and hushed reverence.
As a member of the Cross family, he’d attended receptions and garden parties with his parents in his youth.
Even kicked around the football with Princes John and Gus.
Then his parents divorced, and Dad accepted a different position within the government.
Michael grew up, attended uni, joined Her Majesty’s Special Forces, then her security detail unit.
Whatever privileges he had as a child in the Cross family were long revoked.
He was out of place with his black tactical boots sinking into the blue and gold carpet of the Queen’s Corridor.
Over his head, the high arched ceiling with coffered panels was painted with medallions of Lauchtenland flora—edelweiss, lavender, and the soft pink and white Linnaea—twinflower—which were part of the legend. As they bloomed, so did love.
Michael wanted to duck as he walked under the colorful, artful images and the golden glow of the crystal chandeliers. He’d become used to the darkness. As for love… He no longer believed it could be his.
“I don’t have to tell you how this goes.” Gunner looked back at Michael as they approached the Queen’s Quarters of Perrigwynn Palace. “We’re meeting her in the Audience Room.”
He held his reply. What was going on? The Audience Room was for official government briefings, receiving government officials, international guests, and leaders, meetings with her privy council.
“She’s waiting for you.” The queen’s secretary, Mason, opened the ornate and gilded door and stood aside.
“You’ll notice your chairs are distanced from hers.
Please do not approach her. If you cough or sneeze, cover your mouth.
” The curt and formal secretary handed Gunner, then Michael, a fresh, disposable handkerchief.
“She’s been feeling poorly, but keep that to yourself,” Gunner said as they approached a second interior door, intricately carved with the queen’s cypher. “But she demanded this audience with you.”
Gunner and Michael entered the room, stood at attention by their chairs, clicked their heels, and bowed.
“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Michael. Please, have a seat.” Queen Catherine motioned to the tea trolly and the waiting footman. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No thank you, Your Majesty. I’m too full of coffee.” Which now burned inside Michael’s belly.
“Princess Rachel tells me coffee is all the rage with the young.” The queen, in a blue dress and matching shoes, stirred cream in her cup before sitting in her chair, a replica of the first royal throne used by her famous ancestor King Titus.
“They prefer it over tea. Do you think one day we’ll have completely exchanged our tea leaves for coffee beans? ”
“I don’t think so, ma’am.” Michael sat in the tall, wide-with-thick-arms-and-molded-legs plush seat.
Gunner took the chair next to him, reaching for the cup of tea and plate of fragrant cinnamon puffs from the footman.
“We may be trending toward coffee, but tea is in our DNA. Our comfort on a cold, wintery afternoon.”
“Quite right. You’ve eased my concern.” Queen Catherine’s famous smile couldn’t hide the weariness in her eyes.
She appeared thinner than Michael remembered, with a pale gauntness in her cheeks.
Battling Guillain-Barré syndrome was no small feat, yet according to the last Chamber Office update, Her Majesty was overcoming.
“How are you?” she asked, her attention fixed on him. “Not about the incident with the prince and subsequent investigation, but your fiancée.”
She knew about Purnell? “Faring, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Your grandmother, Odessa, used to join my mother and I for tea now and then. She informed me of the unfortunate circumstances. I am so sorry. I know a bit about losing someone you love, not to death, but I’d like to believe you’ll find your way again, Michael.
” The queen sipped her tea, glancing toward the spring light coming through the windows.
“Look at Prince John. He was a grieving widower when I sent him on a mission to Tennessee to woo Scottie into our family. Who could’ve imagined he’d meet his next great love in Hearts Bend? ”
“Yes, ma’am. Prince John was blessed to meet Princess Gemma.” But Michael didn’t want a next great love. He wanted his first great love.
It’d become his practice to avoid talk of Purnell Lindholm, the delicate beauty with large brown eyes, bow lips, and big laugh, who’d captured his heart. He knew he’d marry her the moment she slipped her hand into his on their first date—a move that said I trust you.
He’d have done anything for her, including dying. But that was one feat a Cross man, one who’d earned commendation and respect as an officer in Her Majesty’s Special Forces, a man of might, and her lover, could not do.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I requested your presence, Michael Cross.
” The queen glanced at Gunner, who had a mouth full of puffs.
“My daughter has decided to spend the spring season with me at Hadsby Castle.” The queen sighed and clasped her hands in her lap.
“I don’t mind saying I’m terribly excited, but I’ve yet to hear the outcome of her conversation with her father.
Even so, I maintain high hopes. At the very least, I believe she’ll spend the week of the Hadsby Garden Party with me.
Which would be lovely, having the family all together. ”
“Yes, ma’am.” Michael. Trying to get a sense of where this audience was leading.
“I’d like you to be her protection officer, as well as equerry.
” Queen Catherine leaned forward as if lasering her gaze across the room directly into Michael’s.
“I trust you. I trust your family. The Crosses have been devoted servants to the Crown. I’m hoping Scottie will stay while the rest of the family is managing the Crown’s business abroad, as well as taking in much needed holidays.
” She emphasized “much needed” with a raised chin and squared shoulders. “Are you up for the job?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Michael glanced at Gunner. “I’ll serve in any way you require. But are you sure? After that business in Brighton Kingdom, I—”
“Michael, do you ride horses?” she said, to which he gave a nod. “Ever fall off?”
“Several times.”
“Clearly you didn’t quit after the first fall.
I think you need to get back on the protection detail horse and look after my daughter, whether she stays one week or eight.
Your résumé from your Special Forces service is exemplary.
Your final years in service were as Principal Staff Aide to our Chief Defense Officer, correct? ”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m satisfied you’re more than skilled to manage Scottie’s diary and your devotion to Her Majesty’s Security Detail proves you are qualified to look after her safety.
Which I can imagine won’t be easy. She’s a small-town, wholly independent American woman who doesn’t see the need for a protection detail or to inform us on when she’s going out for a walk.
” The queen nodded at Gunner. “Remember her first Christmas here? She left the palace to see the Christmas decorations and lights on Clemency Street. We were frantic for over an hour.”
“If you believe I’m right for the job, I’ll serve at Your Majesty’s pleasure.” Michael eyed Gunner’s puffs before snatching one from the plate. The sweetness combated the churning in his belly. Just nerves over the Brighton incident. That was all.
“Very good. I’ll inform Gunner of her arrival and length of stay when it’s confirmed.
I’ll be traveling to Hadsby next week, since the doctor has ordered me to rest. When Scottie arrives, you’ll join her at Hadsby.
I’m styling her as Lady Royal Blue, quietly, but the Chamber Office will make an announcement.
If I know her, she’ll want you to call her Scottie, Michael, but in public please use her title.
It will help her, as well as the people, to understand she’s a member of the Family.
I’ve asked Choko Danes to be her maid and stylist. She won’t want one, but our way of life is very different than what she knows.
She can fit Scottie for the Garden Party and other spring engagements.
My hope is she’ll stay for the Rose Ball at the end of June. ”
In the short amount of time he’d been in the room, Michael sensed the queen’s growing weariness.
“Have Mason give you access to my working diary so you can match Scottie’s.
Give her lots of liberty to explore Dalholm, The Haskells, and the Highcrest Mountains.
I know she’s curious about the Midlands, where we were once a leader in textile manufacturing.
However, I do want a regular afternoon tea with her.
For your ears only: Guillain-Barré sets me aside more often than not.
I’ve assigned my sister, niece, and cousins to take on engagements out of Perrigwynn.
In Dalholm, Scottie may need to take an engagement for me alone. ”
“It sounds as if you’re sure she’s coming,” Michael said.
“Let’s just call it faith, shall we?” The queen stood, a sign of dismissal. She wished them a good day and moved toward a far side door. “I’ll keep you informed.”
Michael turned to Gunner. “I was going to tell you to keep my assignment in the Operations Room.”
“You’ve been trumped by the queen.”
Out of the Audience Room, Gunner took a call on his phone. Michael continued down the Queen’s Corridor to the backstairs, pulling his thoughts together in case the next few weeks did not include the dark Operations Room and hiding from the world.
He checked an iPad out from IT and secured access to the queen’s diary. Those simple chores done, he decided to refresh his intel on the Renaissance Coalition, also known as the RECO party, the anti-monarchists who had elected their charismatic and vocal leader to parliament.
Michael suspected the fringe members of the party may have been behind the attack on Prince John. Though the investigation had not announced any conclusions, Michael wanted to be informed on the latest intel.
Thirty-eight-year-old Scottie O’Shay, the queen’s illegitimate daughter, didn’t seem to pose much of a threat to the RECOs, but they were in a lull. And a lull meant they were bored. Scottie’s arrival and styling as Lady Royal would awaken the bear.
He’d just started wading through recent classified reports when Gunner returned to the Operations Room.
“What were you saying about staying in Operations?” he said.
“Mate, you should be chuffed the queen asked for you by name. You do not belong in this dungeon. You’re an aboveground, working-with-the-House-of-Blue sort of chap.
You bear the Cross name, for crying out loud. Defender of Crown and Country.”
“The world has changed since my ancestors fought the Normans with King Titus the First. We’re diplomats now. Keepers of history. Lawyers and advisors.”
“You served in Her Majesty’s Special Forces with distinction.”
“Along with every other man in my unit.”
“I don’t get it, mate.” Gunner perched on the side of the desk. “You’re a senior officer. A former aide to the head of Lauchtenland’s national defense. Why would you want to remain belowground in this dark hovel?”
“If I speak it out loud, you’ll think me a loon.”
“I already think you are, so try me.”
Michael gave a short, wry laugh. “All right, here it is. Purnell hated being alone. Hated the dark. And when I’m in this room, I feel I’m helping her bear the darkness of her death.
” He pointed to the small corner lamp on his desk.
“I keep that thing burning for her in case she happens by to see me, if that’s even possible.
I wouldn’t want her to be in the dark. I know, I know, she’s in a reality like heaven, which is full of light, but I want her to know I’m thinking of her and that darkness is only a shadow. ”
There. Done. Confessed. Could he carry on with his work now? But Gunner, clearing his throat, clapped a hand of understanding on Michael’s shoulder.
“That doesn’t sound loony at all, mate. Not at all.”