Page 19 of Scarred Crown

My breath catches at his memory. If we ever had that conversation, it would have only been once. Since I’ve taken over my mother’s position at her request, my hopes and dreams haven’t really been a topic the king and I have delved into. My job as secretary was meant to be a stopover on the way to another life. Instead of a layover, I’ve been stuck, not sure where to go next, what to do, and I’m rapidly approaching thirty.

How do I abandon family, leave the island? Except for my four years in college, I never quite figured out how to loosen the strings.

Now with the king sick, there’s no way I’m leaving the island anytime soon.

Perhaps I should seize this chance, even if it means I’m stuck experiencing my adventure with the asshole version of Nick who appeared out of nowhere at sixteen.

“Yes,” I admit. “This is a trip I’ve wanted to take.”

“Take it. Enjoy yourself. Your mother is cracking the whip here. Keep Nicholas in line and off the grid for a few weeks while we sort some business. Better for all my children to be happy before the news must drop, don’t you think?”

Actually, he should be telling them now in case a tabloid breaks the story before George can inform them. While Bellerive might be a dot located between Bermuda and Ponta Delgada in the North Atlantic Ocean, his three sons have attracted ample attention since they hit puberty. Beauty, arrogance, and wealth attract gossip rags like bees to honey.

Consulting doctors in three different countries leaves loose ends and mouths to flap. To me, not telling his children is incredibly risky.

But I’ve already given my opinion, and one thing I’ve learned as his secretary is that I’m welcome to voice my ideas once. Beyond that lies danger and his sharp tongue. So, I decide to hold mine.

“I think you know your family best,” I hedge.

“Since we’ve got Nicholas’s location, and I now have a contact number for you, there’s no need to check in unless you’re leaving the camp in Tanzania. Once I’ve spoken to Alexander about the coronation and plans are underway, I’ll leave a message for you.”

A sliver of unease wedges itself under my skin. Something about this situation isn’t right. Is it the change of plans after I’ve left? The vagueness about the government initiative he’s working on, or is it simply being stuck in Tanzania with Nick for an undetermined amount of time?

My plan to needle him into agreeing to come home can’t continue if I’m not supposed to goad him into leaving. The new goal requires him to stay.

“As you wish, my king,” I agree. Someone knocks on his office door, and he hangs up before I have a chance to dig any deeper. I could email my mother, but she’s not likely to tell me anything the king doesn’t want me to know.

I replace the phone and stare at the communications center for a moment. “What time does Prince Nicholas return?” I speak to the bustling room, hoping someone will throw out an answer.

“They come back for lunch.” The same person who showed me to the phone enters through a back door, a covered plate in his hand, and he passes it to me. “Prince Nicholas told the kitchen staff your favorite breakfast food was eggs benedict, so they made it especially for you.”

I grit my teeth and force a smile. Eggs benedict is my least favorite breakfast meal ever. The sauce is disgusting. Perhaps I can scrape it off and salvage some of the eggs or English muffins. “So thoughtful,” I mutter. I’ll need to find a polite way to tell the kitchen staff Prince Nicholas made a mistake or I’ll end up with this atrocious meal each morning, I’m sure.

“Prince Nicholas will likely take a night drive. He has nocturnal animals he wants to check off his list.” The man grins.

The idea of a night drive should be thrilling, but my conversation with King George is still playing on a loop in my head. With a deep breath, I try to figure out a new strategy. Needling Nick is still my preference because the alternative is being nice to him. Which, given our history, doesn’t sit well with me.

However, he’s proven in the last twelve hours to be much better at ambushing and surprising me than I am at doing the same to him. So annoying.

“What time will Prince Nicholas return to camp?” I ask.

“Around one.”

“Am I okay to take this to my tent?” I gesture to the plate.

“Of course. Of course. If you need anything else, please let us know.”

Then I remember the one thing I want more than food. “A shower,” I say. “Can you show me how to work the shower?”

“Ah, yes. You’d like a bucket delivered?”

“A bucket delivered?” Nick didn’t say anything about buckets this morning.

“Yes. The showers are heated buckets of water that we pour into a holding tank and then you pull on the string to release water.”

I draw in a deep breath. That asshole. “Right. Yes. That would be lovely, thank you!”

On the way back to the tent, I hatch a plan. While it might be better not to piss off Nick, denying me a shower is one step too far.