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The princess fixes her face heroically, but from this angle, I can tell some deep emotions are related to that ring. A ring that I never even laid eyes on. He told me he sold the ring. Why did he tell me he sold the ring?
And now this ring she dropped is all part of a new family lore, one that I feel less and less a part of the longer I stay near these people.
Amidst the clapping and cheering, the gaggle of reporters off to the right seem engaged in something else entirely. Some are taking phone calls, others are conferring with each other heatedly, and still others are scrolling on their phones. I hear muttered curses, guffaws, and people raising their hands. They’re all jockeying for position.
Nancy, who’s handling the media, is not prepared to shut this down. She is a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Doug has made it clear to the press that there won’t be any questions at this event. But we’re about to receive some anyway.
A reporter I recognize from a particularly splashy American news outlet shouts over top of everyone’s heads, “Your Majesty, any response to the claim that Jakob Sterling is actually your son by a former mistress?”
The crowd is stunned. Hell, I already knew this was coming, and I’m stunned.
Holding Jakob’s hand, I glance over at the king and queen. They show no reaction whatsoever.
And then, the queen stands up, waves to her subjects, and strides off the stage, with the princess and Uther not far behind.
All eyes are now on the king, and so is every camera.
The king stands, and a hush falls over the crowd. Jakob and the king lock eyes.
I remember just a few days ago when my life was free of drama. Boring, even.
It’s not likely to be ever again, thanks to the man who sits on the throne.
I squeeze Jakob’s hand, reminding him I’m still here. He squeezes back. We wait for—what, exactly? A word from the king? Acknowledgment? Denial? A nod?
The king’s face pales, as if he had seen a ghost from his past.
After a beat, he winces in pain.
Before I can register what’s happening, the king is gripping his chest.
People in the crowd lurch forward.
The king’s knees buckle, and he collapses onto the carpeted stage, the commotion rippling out over the crowd in waves.
Gasps of shock fill the air as the palace staff and attendees rush to the king’s side.
The queen and the princess, who are waiting by the royal motorcade, realize what’s happening, fear taking hold.
“Someone call for an ambulance!” the princess shouts as people begin trying to reach for the king. The bodyguards form a circle of protection around the king, allowing the queen, Princess Flora, and Torben to enter the circle.
Everywhere outside the circle is chaos.
Reporters elbow each other to reach Jakob.
Uther takes charge, issuing orders to clear the area.
An ambulance siren screams into the plaza, and the medical team rushes in.
So much is happening all at once, I barely remember being rushed away into the royal motorcade, away from the scene.
I’ve seen a man his age collapse like that before. It’s happened more than once at my little supermarket in the village.
Our king has just had a massive heart attack.
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