Chapter 14
Advisor to the King
“Everything all right, hen?” Rhys asks as I thread a pearl earring through my ear.
“Of course.”
He looks at me in a way that says he doesn’t believe me as he watches me continue to adjust my appearance for this morning’s ceremony.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I know he’s bothered by how withdrawn from him I’ve been. I know what I’ve seen, but I cannot rationalize the glimpses of Suzanne I’ve had. Not that it matters, because my husband thinks I’m insane. I can’t talk to him about this because he’ll just lock me away.
“Yes,” I answer, even though I feel his eyes boring into me.
I ramble on to keep him happy-ish and protect my secrets…
for now. “I’m just nervous about today’s ceremony.
” And the one at the end of the week where his advisors and witnesses will watch me commit a marital act to ensure the line of succession.
“It’ll be all right,” he says, leaning down to press his lips against my forehead. “By this time next week this will all be a memory.”
“And I’ll probably never be able to look Craig or Leo in the eye ever again,” I mutter.
“Does it shame you to have others know that you let your husband fuck you?” he bites out.
“It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?” he thunders.
“It’s embarrassing,” I shout. “I have to be naked in front of others.”
What am I doing? Why am I picking a fight with him over this?
“So am I.”
“It’s different for you.”
“Aye. I would shout to the world that I feel most like a king when I’m balls deep inside of my queen,” he says before letting out a breath and giving up his fight.
I release the breath that I’ve been holding.
“It’s part of my culture, my histories, and my traditions.
I’ve always known that it was coming and you—”
“Didn’t,” I finish for him.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay.”
“It will be, hen,” he says before taking the makeup brush out of my hand and tossing it down onto the vanity top. “You look beautiful. You don’t need to fuss anymore.”
He holds his hand out for me, and I take it, letting him help me up from my vanity bench.
I’m already dressed, makeup done in my usual soft pinks and browns.
My dark hair is twisted back in a loose chignon at the top of my neck.
My dress is a light blue Chanel slip dress with an off-white sweater over it, the iconic large pearl buttons left open.
And Rhys is right, I can’t hide from this forever.
Of course, he looks perfect in another military uniform with extra sashes and medals that denote him King, the top brass of everything. He makes it look so easy to be confident in this role, but as he said, he’s had his entire life to prepare for it. He was literally made for this.
As for the distance between us, it’ll take time for me to adjust to the fact that I am now a bit of an island. Before, I was alone but I still had my friends and the bookstore and my uncles. Now, I’m not sure who I can truly trust to confide in.
Saoirse and her father would just as soon throw me from the battlements atop the castle before helping me and honestly, I wouldn’t trust any kind of about face from them after all they’ve done.
Dahlia and Maeve like me, I know they do, and I feel safe with them.
But they answer to Rhys and they always will.
He is the King after all, and if I tell him I’m now being haunted by the woman I swear I saw murdered, but no one else did, he will absolutely ship me off to a mental hospital, no matter how much he might profess his love for me.
“You’re going to have to tell me eventually,” he threatens mildly. “I do no’ like this distance between us.”
“I know.”
“The only thing I want between us is my cock and your cunt,” he says.
“Rhys,” I start. I have to get out of this conversation before he derails me with sex. “We’re going to be late.”
“They canno’ start without me, hen.”
“That is true,” I mutter, and he chuckles as he leads me to the door.
We walk through our suite, and he stops to pull the main door open for me.
Leo and Rhys’s protection entourage wait out in the hall for us.
Craig is with them with his ever-present leather folio open in his hand and his gold pen flying down checklists.
The frantic energy he’s putting out has the butterflies in my belly flapping harder than ever.
They all bow their heads to their king and then we proceed down the hallway toward one of the formal investiture rooms. The walls are covered in a cream silk damask with ornate gilt trim all around, the floors cushioned in red carpets.
A special rug is placed down over the existing carpet where Rhys will stand during this investiture, signifying how important he is and showing us where we’re to line up.
Hanging from brass display stands are the thirteen banners that will hang from the Advisory room from this day until Rhys’s death or ours or if for some reason, we have to be replaced.
Other than myself, Dahlia, and Taylor, I don’t recognize the other ten advisors to the King.
This is the formal ceremony to install all of us as a panel to counsel the King. One by one, we will each receive the shield pin to protect, the cape to watch his back, and the sash to keep him in our hearts at all times.
Dahlia and I have practiced this over and over this week, so we’d be prepared. I still worry I’ll mix up the words or fall flat on my face when I curtsey. I’m not used to having so many eyes on me and I can’t help but feel like a rat in a cage or a specimen to be studied.
Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, as the wife of the King, I go first in this ceremony and everyone else is lined up behind me.
It’s now or never and I covertly suck in a steadying breath before stepping up to the rug that Rhys stands on and drop into my most delicate curtsey. My husband smiles proudly at me.
“You may rise,” he says, and I gracefully stand to face him. “Do you pledge your allegiance to the King?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise to act with the best interests of this nation in your heart and mind?”
“Yes?” I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but with all that’s happened my version of the country’s best interests may not be the same as the others.
“Will you protect the King in all matters?” He asks this with a raised brow. I know this one is difficult for him because he feels he should protect me, and he hasn’t always been great about that. But in this role, it is my job to protect him.
“Yes.”
“Then I award you the Shield of Valor,” he says as he pins the large brooch to my side. “Do you promise to keep the King and this nation in your heart always?”
“Yes.” I smile at him like the loving wife I’m supposed to be.
“Then I present you the Sash of the Loyal to wear across your chest with pride.” He slips another sash over my head. “And lastly, do you promise to guard the secrets of this nation with your life?”
“I do.”
“Then I present you the Cloak of Protection to be worn as a trusted advisor to the King, blood heir of the Isle of Saints.”
“Thank you,” I reply softly and some tender emotion flits through his eyes for a split second.
I expect him to move on to the next advisor, his brother, Taylor—which is what he should do. It’s what he’s supposed to do.
Instead, before I can move to stand under my banner, Rhys cups the back of my head with his heavy palm and presses a hard, closed mouth kiss to my lips, stealing the breath from my lungs.
When he releases me, I bob another curtsey and move to my banner.
I watch the next few members go through the motions for their portion of the ceremony, but there’s a blonde head just behind the line of those witnessing the ceremony.
I look to Rhys, to Taylor, to anyone to see if they see it too, but no one shows any reaction.
When I look back, she’s gone.
Maybe I am losing my mind…
I stand through the rest of the ceremony with a serene smile placed firmly on my face. I might be freaking out inside, but not one person here is going to know it.
And then, as the ceremony comes to a close, I see the flutter of a blue skirt as Rhys releases us all to mingle with refreshments to celebrate. As if I could drink punch and eat cookies like nothing is wrong… but still, I have to.
“Come, sister,” Taylor says, leaning in close with his hand just a little too low on my back to guide me to the refreshment table. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. My hand shakes as I take the crystal punch glass he passes me.
“To become the Queen,” he says. “It’s very exciting.”
“Yes,” I reply quietly, scanning the room for any sign of Suzanne.
“I know which part I’ll be looking forward to most,” he leers.
“Excuse me?”
“Just think,” he muses, as if this line of conversation is at all appropriate. “If something were to happen to big brother, it’ll be me you join. And I know I’d thoroughly enjoy that. We have to uphold the peace between our countries after all…”
“Excuse me.” I set my punch glass aside and head for the exit. I have to get out of here.
I make it just outside to the garden when Rhys grabs my arm and spins me around. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snaps.
“I had to get out of there.”
“Why?” he asks, studying me.
“It was too much.”
“Did someone say anything to you?” he asks.
“Yes, actually, but that’s only part of it,” I sigh.
“Who said what?”
“Taylor told me if you die, he gets to fuck me at his coronation to save the peace deal between our countries and that he would look forward to it,” I answer. “That was pretty much the final straw. And I need to tell you something and you’re not going to like it. But I guess it is what it is.”
“What’s that, hen?” he asks, a resigned tone to his voice. “Don’t tell me it’s about Suzanne being dead again?”
“It is and it isn’t,” I begin. “Listen before you haul me off to the funny farm.”
“The what?”
“The asylum.”
“What the devil—”
“I said listen.”
“Fine,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest.
I know he won’t be receptive and that’s fine. I’ll take whatever happens next.
“I’ve been seeing her… Lady Thomley.”
“Well, apparently, she’s on the castle grounds somewhere. Although Leo and his team can’t seem to find her,” he says. “So that makes sense.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.”
“It’s just glimpses like someone wants me to see her, or to think I do.”
“Explain it to me,” he says seriously. “Everything.”
“It’s little flashes of a blue skirt or blonde hair. Always the same, but never her face. I think she’s dead, Rhys. I know it in my heart, but someone is trying to scare me. I know you don’t believe me. I know you think I’m crazy, so ship me off. I’m ready for my grippy sock vacation.”
“Well don’t pack your bags just yet, hen,” he says quietly.
The about face knocks me off my mental balance and I just stare at him with my mouth hanging open. “What?”
Rhys just covers my mouth with his hand and turns me to watch a woman who is not Suzanne slink across an upper balcony above us in a blue dress and blonde wig. I know she’s decidedly not Suzanne when I see the profile of her face.
I know this woman.
It’s Maeve.