Page 44 of Crowned For The King's Secret

Sandro ran his hand over his face. The buzz of white noise filled his ears. This was what he’d feared, what he’d tried to prevent, and yet here in the palace, which should have protected his son, protected Victoria, he’d left them at risk.

‘Then why isn’t Nicolai here now?’

‘One armed intruder remains on the loose. He was last seen near your son’s—’

‘No!’

Sandro spun round to the sound of Victoria’s wail. She gripped on to the back of an armchair, knuckles white. Face contorted, eyes red-rimmed. Her breaths sharp and fast. He strode to her and took her in his arms again as she clung to him, murmuring over and over into his chest a jumble of words pleading for the safety of their son. Dark memories overwhelmed him then, of another murderous night when he had lost everything. The wash of hopelessness, helplessness, making him feel like that nine-year-old boy again, and not the King he must be.

His head of security retreated, giving Sandro time with Victoria. How could he have forced her into this position, placing her in danger? He didn’t know how to fix it. So he simply held her, unable to do anything more, as the interminable minutes ticked by for some word of Nicolai’s safety. And he could do nothing, nothing at all.

‘Your Majesty.’ His head of security had joined them once more. How much time had passed? It was as if the world had sped up and slowed down, all at the same time. ‘We’re confident all the intruders have now been captured.’

Victoria’s head lifted from his chest and she pulled from his arms. A sharp knock sounded at the door of the suite. It opened and Isadora entered, holding Nic. His face a little tear-stained, his eyes wide at all the bright light, the people. Victoria moaned and ran to them, taking Nic and clutching him to her chest as he snuggled into her neck. Sandro went to them both. Enfolded them in his arms, accepting the fiction that there they were safe. Being a king could wait. For now he allowed himself a moment of profound relief as a man.

Whoever did this would pay. He took a long, slow breath. As much as he wanted to stay, he had a job to do. The tension inside him wound tighter and higher. He clenched his teeth, so hard he feared they’d crack.

He looked over at his head of security. ‘Take me to them.’

Victoria stiffened in his arms.

‘Sir, that’s unwise.’

‘What’s “unwise” is what they did tonight. I want each one to know what they’ve unleashed, coming near my fiancée, my son.’

He pulled back, cupped Victoria’s cheek. ‘I have to leave for a little while. What do you need?’

‘You,’ she whispered, and the words almost cleaved him in two.

He hadn’t protected her and he certainly didn’t deserve her. Yet she still wanted him.

‘Soon. Anything else?’

She nodded. ‘Some milk for Nic.’

Isadora moved into view. ‘I’ll arrange it.’

‘Thank you for looking after him,’ Victoria said.

‘Lady Astill, it’s my privilege.’

With reluctance he turned and strode from the room surrounded by his personal protection. As they made their way through the palace, thoughts whirred in his head. What if his security hadn’t stopped them? Would Nic have been kidnapped, or worse? What of Victoria? They wouldn’t have needed the mother, she’d be dispensable. Everything inside him rebelled at the thought ofanyharm coming to her. Sandro blew out a long, slow breath. He couldn’t think like this. He needed to focus on what he could control, not on the horror of what might have been.

‘Are they in the cells?’ he asked his head of security as they journeyed to the bowels of the palace.

‘Yes.’ The man nodded.

Good. They’d know the brutal history of those rooms from the last twenty-five years of his uncle’s and cousin’s reigns. Let them fear what might befall them.

‘I want to speak to one. Your choice. I want the others to hear as well.’

‘We can open the intercoms between the rooms if that’s what you wish.’

He did. He’d send a message that would never be forgotten.

His head of security stood faced with a number of doors as if in contemplation, then chose one and opened it. More security officers were inside. The room sparse and grey. Dimly lit with a single, naked bulb. A scarred and stained table at its centre, and the temperature set too cold. A man sat in a chair, handcuffed. Dressed in black. The bile rose in Sandro’s throat. He clenched his fists as he tried to keep the reignited rage from overflowing.

Who had this man been coming for? Him? Victoria? Nicolai?

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