Page 33 of Crowned For The King's Secret

She didn’t know. What she did know was that she’d been unfair to bring up his parents today. Victoria had experienced cruelty and she’d also once meted it out to the people who cared for her. Acting like one of the trapped animals she’d so often fostered. Afraid to take any kindness in case the person turned on her and hurt her the way she’d so often been hurt in the past.

Was that what had happened today?

She wasn’t sure, but regretted what she’d said. How her words had struck Sandro almost like a mortal wound. He’d flinched as if he’d been slapped. How pale he’d become, almost pained. That pinch round his eyes. Gripping his desk, as though the world were tilting on its axis. Almost as if he didn’t seem well.

She’d done that to him, which meant she had the power to hurt him. She’d never had that in her marriage. In a similar situation, Bruce would have acted with aggression. Sandro had walked away, which meant he wasn’t like her husband, and she needed to apologise, explain. Because if she knew one thing, it was the power of words. How they could hurt as much as heal.

Vic called Dora, asked her to look after Nic, which she seemed happy about. When she arrived, Victoria left to find Sandro. She had no luck at his office. His private secretary said his diary had been cleared for the afternoon, and suggested the gymnasium or his suite. She’d try his suite first.

She picked up her pace to his rooms. Tapped softly on the outer door. When there was no answer, she cracked it open and looked around. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, as if the whole space was covered in a shroud. She couldn’t see anyone, but there were murmured voices coming from the bedroom.

She padded across the thick carpet and listened.

‘You need to take greater care, Your Majesty. Keep to your routine. We’ve spoken about this.’ A man’s voice. One she’d never heard before. Tight with concern.

‘I can’t. You know why. Today I need this to stop. Tomorrow we can talk further management. Changes.’ Sandro’s voice ground out, rough and hoarse. She crept up to the door. It was wrong of her to spy. She knew it, but something was going on here and the feel of it was all too familiar. The darkened rooms, the pained voice.

Pain.

Her old foe. It had taken years of rehabilitation to get to where she was now—drug-free, and mostly pain-free if she was careful. Kept to her routine, just as the stranger with Sandro said. But this wasn’t about her. Sandro was hiding something. And secrets meant danger. She peered through the crack in the bedroom door, which stood ajar. Saw a man she assumed to be a doctor, dressed in a suit with syringe in hand. Sandro sitting on the bed, in nothing but boxer briefs, head in his hands.

‘We need to. The medication is for acute pain.’ Vic couldn’t see what was going on, but she knew. The man took the now empty syringe and dropped it into a sharps container. ‘This isn’t a long-term solution. I’m concerned they’re increasing in frequency and—’

‘Quiet. Please.’ The tortured sound of Sandro’s voice strengthened her resolve, heart pounding at her ribs. This scene was a familiar one, so close to her own history. The agony after her accident she never thought she’d survive. The fleeting, floating escape opiates gave her. How her pain melted away. Physical, emotional. Till the medication stopped working and she needed more and more to escape. She’d learned a terrible lesson—that what had been given to help her in the beginning, ultimately harmed. Controlled. Sandro’s words were what she constantly told herself, that she’d stoptomorrow.

Then tomorrow came, and she took the pills again.

An insidious slide into addiction that it had taken physical and psychological therapy for her to overcome.

Nicci would be the victim here, having an addict as a parent. She would not put him at risk. She clenched her fists. Her jaw. Stormed into the room.

‘What the hell’s going on?’

The man she presumed was a doctor whipped round. ‘Leave at once. I’m attending to my patient. If you don’t go, I’ll call Security.’

She didn’t care about him. It was Sandro she focused on. The lines on his face were etched deep. Except his eyes were blank, as if he barely cared. She remembered that feeling, where nothing mattered at all.

‘Try it. I’m not leaving till I get an answer.’

There was only silence.

‘Fine. You won’t give me answers, I’ll find them myself.’

She stalked into Sandro’s en-suite bathroom, driven to protect Nicci, because sheknewwhat she’d find. Opened his medicine cabinet and there they were, an array of plastic bottles. She pulled them out, one after the other, pills rattling angrily as she read the names. Some medications she recognised like old enemies. Others weren’t familiar, but it didn’t matter. Vic had seen enough.

She took a deep breath, went back into the bedroom. His doctor greeted her.

‘His Majesty needs to rest.’

‘His Majesty needs to start telling me the truth.’

She walked to Sandro and stood in front of him. He sat hunched over, not meeting her gaze. She should have sympathy, but right now all she wanted were answers. He’d promised to keep them safe. Yet how could he, when he was keeping secrets from her? What more was he hiding?

‘You say you’re protecting my son but you’re his biggest danger, aren’t you? Deny it!’

She opened the drawer of his bedside table, rifled through. A few more pill bottles, though these weren’t prescription. She searched further, till her fingers touched a slip of paper with the shape of lips in pink and the wordsThank youin a familiar hand, because it was her own writing...

Everything stilled. The note she’d left him when she’d walked out early in the morning after a night of passion like she’d never experienced. A night that changed her. Created Nic. He’d kept that note all this time.

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