Page 16 of Iron Unicorn

I’d recognized that Deidre would return to Texas when she’d refused to have her beloved horses transferred out of her father’s stable.

They made a good excuse for her to flit back to Texas at her whim, back to the safety of her mother and father, bracing for the inevitable conflict brewing on the horizon.

The RPS whispered of Prince Leonid’s infidelity, and every kingdom with a good relationship with Texas planned for what would happen. If Texas couldn’t retrieve her,someonewould.

Germany led the charge, something I’d worried about until I’d cornered the German monarch some three months ago to ask. He had given me his time, explained how Germany owed King Patrick a debt, one that could only be repaid through an act of heroism or deep personal importance. Without me needing to ask, he’d explained how a much younger King Patrick had spared Germany from losing face from the actions of an exiled son.

And then, from the shadows, the young consort not even yet a king, had made certain the disgraced prince maintained his life and dignity.

I had heard the first part of the story, but I hadn’t known the rest.

The disgraced prince still lived, an old man married with four children—four children King Patrick had seen brought into the German royal family without scorn or disgrace, securing a future for the children of a changed man.

What had begun as an attempted murder had ended in friendship.

“Terry?” The waver in Olivia’s voice warned me the woman struggled to adapt to her changed circumstances, and I twisted around. She stared at me with wide-owl eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I rubbed my nose, and I think my brain rebooted before bursting into flame and falling to the floor as a pile of ash.”

I grimaced. “Woke up and forgot?”

“And I rubbed above the tape, then I bumped where the tape is, and I’m pretty sure I need to never touch my nose ever again.”

As there wasn’t a real issue, I got up, went to her, and took hold of her chin, angling her head so I could inspect her nose. To my relief, there were no visual signs she’d done any damage. “I’m not sure how much you remember from right after the operation, but the doctors and nurses said that would be normal. The nerves are raw, but the underlying work is sound. You still need a week or two to recover, but that’s just to finish the healing process. I’m of the opinion the healing time is meant to give you time to adapt to your changed appearance before going out in public.”

“I expected the change. One of the consulting physicians showed me what my face would look like with the corrective surgery. I’ve been thinking about getting it on my own,” she confessed. “Jessica went with me. I looked at the pictures three times a week at the doctor’s recommendation, to make me familiar with myself. She also recommended that I avoid mirrors, which I did. She wanted me to begin viewing the pictures as my face rather than the deformed version.” Olivia tensed. “And my face was deformed. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just the truth.”

I offered her a smile. “You’re correct. The deformity also made it so you couldn’t breathe correctly. How are you adapting to using your nose?”

“It’s weird. I practiced for a while in the bedroom before coming out here. You made soup?”

I chuckled, shook my head, and headed for the kitchen. “King Patrick made soup. I’m off duty for a while. They are citing a concussion. You’re recovering. As such, we’re in dire need of soup. Tomorrow, we’re getting yams and chicken. After that, you’ll have to deal with my cooking.”

“How utterly tragic.” Olivia skipped to the couch and plopped down. “My face is throbbing, but I don’t know when I can take my next painkillers. And I think I’m the reason it’s throbbing.”

I checked my watch before referencing my phone, which had her drug schedule on it in a text. “You can have your painkillers with your soup. According to this, the doctors want you to stay awake until nine, which is when you get another dose of painkillers and a mild sleeping aid.”

“They actually gave me a sleeping aid?” Olivia made a thoughtful sound. “I wasn’t supposed to have them before.”

Sleeping aids were issued to royalty with alarming frequency, but the RPS handled the dosages, often slipping the drug into their principal’s meal or drinks. Fortunately for my sanity, my queen took her meds on request, asking what everything was and took care with her dosages.

I could understand why Olivia’s detail hadn’t given her many sleeping aids.

Her breathing difficulties would have made the class of drug dangerous at best.

I got up and went to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets I’d spied the on duty RPS fiddling with. Sure enough, I found Olivia’s prescriptions in a set of three travel cases, tagged with morning, afternoon, and evening. I gathered the lot of them, returned to the armchair, and began with the evening case, comparing it with the information that had been texted to my phone. A brief search on the internet confirmed she’d been issued the lightest dose realistic. Further investigation in the bag revealed a series of notecards regarding each medication. The card for the sleeping meds indicated the trial was for one, and if one did not help her sleep, I was to contact one of the royal physicians. “They’re doing a trial on the medication for you. The operation has made it safe for you to have the medication. It’s the lowest dose they issue, and if it doesn’t work, I’m to give the royal physician a call about adjusting the medication. Sleep is important for recovery. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. A lot better than normal,” she replied, grimacing a bit. “My brother is going to become upset if he finds out about that.”

Guilt would be an issue, and I’d make a point of warning the Montana RPS their monarch would be suffering from some problems as a result of Olivia’s operation. “He can handle being upset. The only one at fault for his situation is him. But if rolling him around in the mud will help you both recover from this, I’ll help your cause.”

As hoped for, Olivia giggled. “You wouldn’t really push my brother in the mud, would you?”

“If it makes you happy, I absolutely will. I’ll even sacrifice one of my best suits. That way, when someone inevitably records a New York RPS agent taking out a Montana Royal like he’s a fresh steak somebody left out, unclaimed and ready for the grill, I look good—right up until I get tossed into the mud in retaliation.” I snickered at the idea of rolling around in the mud, waging war against a monarch over his sister. “We can do some scientific research to see if there’s something to Daphne’s habit of rolling people in the mud.”

“I’ve always wondered about that, but outside of when we’re all muddy, I’ve never tried it.” Olivia gestured at her face. “I was afraid of overexerting.”

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