Russell had no doubt that the man had positioned himself outside the double doors, barring anyone else’s entrance until the king was finished with him.
Alone, with no prying eyes to spy on him, King Weston allowed his smiling facade to fall away. He’d known Russell since the young duke and Reginald had played together in a royal, pristine white sandbox. He felt comfortable enough with Russell not to have to maintain a pose. The man was almost like his own son.
In some ways, he actually felt more comfortable in Russell’s presence than in Reginald’s. There was an honesty to Russell that was missing in his own son.
His frown went deep, almost clear down to the bone. As did his frustration and displeasure. “Where the hell is he, Russell?”
“I don’t know.” He was surprised to see that the king fixed him with a long, hard, penetrating look. “I would tell you, Your Majesty, if I knew.” He watched as the expression faded from Weston’s face. “But I’ve been gone these last few days,” he reminded his ruler, “bringing the princess back for the wedding.”
“The wedding.” Despair almost got the better of Weston as he threw up his hands.
Of late, the King had been battling the effects of what he took to be the flu. He felt feverish, at times dizzy, although he said nothing because he did not want the royal doctor fussing over him. But feeling the way he did, he was not up to Reginald’s latest display of inexcusable behavior.
“The wedding is taking place in three days. No, two and a half,” he amended. “Two and a half days,” he repeated.
Russell truly felt sorry for what he thought the king had to be going through. Every man wanted to point to his son with pride, not frustration. “I know that, Your Majesty,” he responded quietly.
“What if he decides to skip that, too, just like he skipped meeting her at the airport, just like he skipped attending the party in his and her honor?” The tension in the king’s voice kept building, fueled by ever-increasing agitation. “What if he doesn’t come? What am I to do then, marry the girl off to a piece of his clothing? Or to the royal sword?”
Though the situation was deadly serious, the question threatened to evoke a smile. Russell did his best to keep it at bay.
“Marriage by proxy has been done, Your Majesty,” Russell allowed.
“Yes, it has. During the Crusades,” the king retorted angrily. “What is he thinking?” The question was more of a lament than a demand for an answer.
Russell had been with the prince on more than one of his escapades and knew the pattern of Reginald’s behavior as the evening advanced. “Right about now, Your Majesty, since the prince is missing, I don’t imagine that he’s thinking much of anything.”
Weston’s pale complexion took on color. “Because he’s dead drunk?”
Russell deliberately kept his voice low, hoping to calm the king down. “That, too, I’m afraid, has been known to happen.”
The king shook his head, not in despair, but in final decision. He had indulged Reginald too long and too much. He had to put a stop to it and he would. Beginning now. The prince couldn’t be allowed to continue behaving like some rutting stag.
“Well, it can’t,” the king said with finality. “Not anymore. He has to learn that he has to grow up. Reginald’s thirty years old, for heaven’s sake.”
The king had begun to pace. Russell moved out of the way, giving the monarch a clear path. “Yes, I know that, too, Your Majesty.”
Weston paused abruptly, as if to gather himself together. His complexion, Russell thought, was much too red. If the king was not careful, he could talk himself right into a heart attack or a stroke. He’d heard rumors, although as of yet unsubstantiated, that the king’s health was not what it used to be. No doubt, Reginald and his reckless behavior had something to do with that.
The king crossed to him. They were of equal height. The king looked at him imploringly, not as a ruler but as a father. A father who had been pushed to the limit of his endurance. “I want you to find him for me, Russell.”
Russell didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. “I don’t—”
The king held up his hand, not letting him finish. “You know his haunts, you know what he’s capable of and with whom.” A sad smile curved her lips. “Probably much more than I do. I pride myself on being informed, but there are some things a father doesn’t want to know about his son.” His eyes met Russell’s in a silent entreaty for understanding. “So I have no idea where to send one of my bodyguards to find him. But you would know.” He paused, waiting for some kind of confirmation. “Wouldn’t you?”
Even though he didn’t go there himself, he knew the different places that Reginald liked to frequent, some he wouldn’t even repeat to the king. “There are a few places I could go to look.”
“Then go. Look.” The words came out like shots fired from a gun, quick, independent and lethal. “And bring the prince back, even if he orders you not to.” Weston squared his broad shoulders. “You have my orders and I can still overrule the prince.”
But for how long? Russell wondered. Once Weston gave up the crown to his son, Russell had more than just an uneasy feeling that there would be no safeguards that could be applied to the unruly Reginald. There would be no one to stop him, at least, not officially. Russell foresaw only turmoil in the months ahead. The way he felt about Amelia had nothing to do with his fears for the realm.
He studied his monarch’s face. The king was an intelligent man. Granted he loved his son, but he had to see that Reginald wasn’t really fit to take charge, no matter what his chronological age. They needed more time to make him ready to assume his responsibilities. Until now, Reginald had only been playing at being a royal. He had taken on none of the duties that went with his position.
For heaven’s sake, he couldn’t even show up somewhere on time.
The words burned on his tongue. Russell couldn’t allow himself just to stand by and say nothing. But he knew the path was one that was lined with mines. He picked his way carefully.
“Perhaps, Your Majesty, you might reconsider the coronation ceremony,” Russell suggested tactfully. “Postpone the official shift of power for a little while until such time as—”
The king wouldn’t let him finish. He raised his hand, stopping Russell. “I understand what you are saying, Carrington, and believe me, I have had the same thoughts. More than once,” he added heavily. “But I can’t go against tradition. I can’t simply break rules when it suits me and expect others not to.”
Russell knew that by “others” the king was referring to the troublesome Union for Democracy. There had been efforts, ever since the group had organized five years ago, to suppress it, to try as subtly as possible to force the members to disband. But instead, it had only grown. Not by any large degree, but enough to deserve further close surveillance. They called themselves a peaceful group, but more than one so-called peaceful group had been known to become the center of violent eruptions. No one wanted to see that happen in Silvershire.
Russell found himself wondering if perhaps having the Union of Democracy take over might not, in the final analysis, be preferable to having Reginald ascend to the throne.
But
