“Where’s his sister?”

  Kendal’s heart lodged into their throat. No one had contacted her as far as they knew. Was she in on it as well? Was she waiting in the wings to help Ernest finish his plan? Or did she know nothing about it?

  “We believe she’s still in Yorkshire,” Brett said. “We’ve had someone speak to her, but she mentioned not having seen or heard from Ernest since their father’s funeral.”

  “Did you believe her?” Christian asked.

  Brett nodded. “The interviewer did. I stand by their opinion.”

  “Can we check up on her and make sure she’s still where she’s supposed to be?” Christian said, and Brett nodded.

  “So, if she’s not involved, Ernest is all on his own now. True?” Andrew asked. Everyone nodded. “What will a man do when he has nothing left?”

  “Anything he can,” Brady answered, staring at Andrew with a grim expression. “That’s why I want you close to home. He can’t get in here without being seen, and everyone here knows who he is.”

  “I don’t like being imprisoned, Brady.”

  “It’s for your own good, Andrew.”

  They stared at each other as if in a battle of wills, and Andrew capitulated with a sigh. “Fine. But not long. If it takes too long to find him, I’m going back to normal, no matter what.”

  Brady stood, wincing. “Maybe you’ll have time to look online for new chairs.”

  He waved and exited. It must’ve encouraged the others because they stood, too. Kendal rose and kissed Andrew’s cheek. “I’m going to get some work done.”

  Andrew drew them into his arms and hugged them tightly. “Don’t work too hard.”

  Kendal pulled their head back and smiled. “I should say the same to you.”

  Andrew dropped a kiss on their lips, then pulled Kean to them. “We need some assistance,” he murmured.

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Kean said, leaning against him.

  “Kendal’s leaving us. We need to make sure they don’t stay away too long.”

  Kean grinned. “I’m sure we can do that.”

  “On that note, see you later!” Freddie shouted, and footsteps raced to the door. Kendal laughed and kissed Andrew and Kean in turn before pulling away.

  “See you soon.”

  They left the warm embrace and headed out of the door, stopping when they saw Randall with his head in his hands.

  “Randall, what’s wrong?”

  Randall shot upright, shaking his head. “Oh, nothing, Your Highness. Everything’s just fine.”

  Kendal raised their eyebrows and settled opposite him. “Now, you can do that with Andrew, but not with me. What’s wrong?” Randall opened his mouth, ready to argue. “And if the next thing out of your mouth is an excuse rather than the truth, I will have words with Andrew about you being tired.”

  Randall gaped at them, then sighed. “Planning two weddings is taking a lot longer than I thought,” he murmured, lowering his head.

  Kendal’s heart broke for him. “You can ask for help, Randall. No one would deny you aid should you need it. You have a lot on your shoulders.”

  “I haven’t struggled before, Your Highness,” Randall protested.

  “Because you haven’t had two weddings and a king and everything else that we’ve all put on you. You’re only one person, Randall.”

  Kendal turned back to Andrew’s office. “No! Please!” Randall said, coming around the desk.

  “Relax. I’m not telling him you can’t work. Trust me.”

  Randall stopped complaining and lowered his shoulders. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’m not capable any longer.”

  “Of course you are. Don’t talk silly.”

  Kendal left him for a second, entering the office with barely a knock and finding Andrew and Kean locked in an embrace. They smiled and closed the door again, not wanting anyone else to see them.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” they teased. “I need you to hire a PA for Randall. Immediately.”

  Andrew stood straight. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing. He’s more than capable of doing the work, but he’s been given too much. He won’t tell you, no, so I am. Find someone for him. Now. Otherwise, he won’t be fit to do anything soon.” They lifted their finger. “And if you tell him I told you that, you won’t touch me for a week.”

  Andrew gaped at him for several seconds and then reached behind him to pick up the phone. “Portia? You know how you said you wanted a change of pace? Well, how about being a personal assistant?” He listened with a small smile. “Good. Randall’s office as soon as you can.” He ended the call and then held out his hand. “I should’ve thought about it. Thank you, Kendal.”

  Kendal stepped into his embrace, smiling into his chest when Kean’s around looped around them, too. “You’re welcome. You’re busy enough without trying to make sure everyone else is okay, too. It’s all right to lean on us.”

  “I’m an old man, Kendal. I can’t change my spots now,” Andrew joked, and Kendal chuckled at his attempt to lighten the mood.

  “You’re keeping up with us in bed. That proves you’re not as old as you believe yourself to be,” Kean said, sliding his hand lower to cup Andrew’s groin.

  Andrew hissed and narrowed his eyes. “Not now, sweetheart.”

  Kean pouted, which looked hilarious with his strong features, but Kendal loved the playfulness. They needed every inch of happiness and fun they could grab.

  “Right. Let me talk to Randall; otherwise, he’ll think I’m sending him to the gallows,” Kendal said.

  “Tell him Portia will take on a new role as his assistant. She has the same level of clearance as he has, so there shouldn’t be any problems,” Andrew said. “She used to be Louisa’s assistant but couldn’t face working too close right after her death.”

  “Understandable.” Kendal kissed both their cheeks and returned to Randall, who paced in front of his desk. He snapped to attention when Kendal stepped out of the office. “Portia is your new personal assistant.”

  Randall’s shoulders lowered further. “Okay. I’ll get my things.” He headed around the desk, looking forlorn.

  Kendal frowned for a moment, then sighed. “Randall, sit down, please.” He did so immediately—a built-in need to obey orders, possibly. They made sure to enunciate every word. “You are not fired, Randall. Portia is going to be helping you. She is your personal assistant. She will do whatever you tell her to do. She will not take orders from Andrew unless you are not around. She takes orders from you. Clear enough?”

  Randall’s eyes darted around the room as if he couldn’t understand what Kendal was saying. His gaze finally settled on Kendal. “An assistant? My assistant?”

  Kendal nodded. “Maybe she could start by helping you with the weddings from hell.” They chuckled when Randall gasped, a hand going to his chest.

  “They’re not hell, Your Highness!”

  Kendal waved a hand. “I’m joking, Randall. Trying to loosen you up a little.” They turned to exit the office but paused and faced Randall again. “Just make sure you learn to delegate because I will check on you.” They waved a finger at him just as they had at Andrew.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  The slight smile on Randall’s face was enough to know they’d done the right thing. They headed back to their office and settled in to go through their emails and messages. Being a personal assistant themselves, they knew the weight they carried, even though their weight wasn’t fraught with life-threatening issues. At least, not at the moment.

  After checking in with their three authors, one of whom had just woken up on the other side of the world, they set to work. The most time-consuming task, which they always did first, was advertising or promoting the books. They had to visit different social media platforms to post about the books, and although a lot of it was copy and paste, it took enough time to make sure the graphics and wording were right for the group they were in.

  Once that was done, they set about answering the most important emails first, then scheduling information on the relevant author’s calendar. Then they looked ahead in the calendars to see what was coming up and made a list of the items that needed to be completed before those events began. They sent emails to the relevant people and added tasks to the calendars.

  For some, it might seem tedious, but for a perfectionist like Kendal, that type of job fit them like a glove—or a crown, in this case. They chuckled. What were the chances of them ever wearing a crown? They might be considered Prince Consort, but they’d never need a crown to do their duties.

  Would they have duties as a Prince Consort? They hadn’t asked Andrew, but maybe they needed to. They might have to schedule time in their day to do that as well as their job. Hopefully, it wouldn’t impede on their author time, though they were sure they could juggle it all. The thought made them remember they hadn’t asked Kean about the job they’d been speaking to Randall about. They’d have to ask them when they spent time together that night. Randall would’ve found him the perfect job. Kendal knew it. And if they knew Kean at all, they would understand how impatient Kean was to start, too.

  Hours passed, and they managed to complete their task list for the day with barely any issues cropping up. They signed off with the authors, letting them know to message them if any fires needed putting out, but they didn’t have any regrets when they logged off the computer. They also had no concerns about anyone finding out who they were. They used a pen name as a business, and only computer-savvy people could find out their real name. Kent Worthing wasn’t original by any means, but it was better than the alternative he’d been called as a child—Ken-doll got old fast.

  They chuckled to themselves as they got ready to leave the office. It hadn’t been something they’d thought about recently, and they certainly had no plans to share the name with anyone. Even Andrew and Kean. They would undoubtedly have too much fun with it.

  ****

  Chapter 33

  Andrew

  It had been years since Andrew had watched The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The last time must’ve been when George was a kid, and though Andrew had forgotten a bit of the storyline, he enjoyed watching it. They were just setting up the second film when the phone rang. Andrew frowned at it but rose to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, Your Majesty, but I’ve realised I’ve forgotten to complete one set of paperwork that needs your signature,” Randall said. “Would you mind coming to the office to sign it, please? I wouldn’t usually ask, but it’s the papers for the Chancellor.”

  Andrew rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Of course, Randall. I’ll be there shortly. Although…why are you still working? I thought you’d gone home?”

  Randall cleared his throat. “I had, Your Majesty, but I’d forgotten something, and when I got back to my desk to collect it, I found the paperwork.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. And I’m sorry again.”

  “It’s fine, Randall.”

  Andrew hung up the phone and exhaled. “I’m going to have to miss the start of this one. Randall needs me to sign some paperwork before he leaves for the day.”

  Kendal frowned. “I thought he’d gone home?”

  “I did, too, but he said he’d forgotten something. I shouldn’t be long. These papers are important, so it needs doing sooner rather than later.”

  “Hurry back. We promise not to eat all the popcorn,” Kean said, shoving another handful in his mouth.

  “I’ll believe that if there’s any left when I get back,” Andrew joked.

  He headed for the door, his guards standing at attention when he emerged. “Sorry, Colt, Dominic. I’m needed at the office for a quick job. It shouldn’t take long.”

  They strode down the corridors to the office, and Andrew entered, leaving his guards at the door as he always did. He glanced around, not seeing Randall. His assistant would usually wait in the foyer office for him. The man had seemed frazzled that day, even with Portia’s help, so maybe that made for the strange behaviour.

  Andrew opened the door, immediately spotting Randall sitting in his chair behind his enormous desk, hands flat on the surface, no paperwork in sight. Andrew didn’t close the door, a shaky feeling of betrayal working its way through him as he faced his most trusted assistant.

  But that feeling only lasted a few seconds until the door slammed shut behind him, and an icy sensation pressed against his nape. Andrew glanced at Randall.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears.

  “I told you to stay quiet,” a deep, calculating voice snapped.

  Andrew exhaled quietly and sent a small smile to Randall. He wasn’t sure how they were going to get out of this because the bullet from the gun would hit him a lot quicker than his guards could get to him if he shouted. His best bet would be to keep Ernest talking until someone came looking for him because he was taking too long.

  “What do you want, Ernest?” he asked.

  “What do I want?” The gun—which was what he assumed it was—pressed harder against his neck, pushing him forward slightly. “I want you gone. I want the entire Sutcliffe line to disappear. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Why?”

  Ernest snorted. “Why, he says. For god’s sake, Andrew. I sometimes wonder why you’re on the throne at all.”

  The gun left his nape as Ernest walked around him until they were face-to-face. It never wavered in his hand, no trembling, no uncertainty, just plain brutal resolve.

  “Sit, brother-in-law, and let me tell you a story.” Ernest motioned to the sofa next to Andrew, and he sat, Ernest taking the sofa opposite and resting his gun on his knee, though still pointed at him.

  Now that he could see him, he saw the edginess in his eyes, the dark flush to his cheeks and the relaxed demeanour of his body. He hadn’t changed much over the years, and despite being older than Andrew himself, he hadn’t allowed his grey hair to grow out. He still dyed it to its original colour. He was a little thinner than Andrew remembered him being the last time he’d seen him at the charity event, but what worried Andrew the most was the steadiness of his hand. Ernest had no qualms about what he was planning to do. A desperate man making a last-ditch effort that might just work.

  His desk chair squeaked, and Ernest narrowed his eyes on Andrew but spoke to Randall. “One wrong move, Randall, and you know what will happen.”

  The squeak subsided, and Andrew wanted to look at his assistant to see what he was doing.

  “Would you like a drink, Ernest?” Andrew asked instead.

  “Do you know? I think I will, actually. Randall, get me a whiskey. And get Andrew a bourbon, and then sit back down.”

  Randall did as Ernest asked, handing him a glass filled halfway with the golden liquid, then handing one to Andrew.

  Ernest swirled the glass, then sipped, making an agreeable sound. “I appreciate you giving me the finer things in life, I must admit, Andrew, but having to spend so many years pretending to love your sister was almost more than I could bear. But I held on, knowing my time would come and enjoying bending your family to my will in the meantime.” Ernest chuckled, the dark sound filling the room, and Andrew wanted to punch him.

  “What did we ever do to you?” Andrew asked, feigning ignorance.

  Ernest studied him as if trying to figure out whether he knew the answer to his own question. Then he shrugged. “You were supposed to marry my sister. I would’ve been elevated to a better station than what I ended up with.”

  “You’re a prince, Ernest. What could be better than that?”

  “I’m a prince because I married a princess.” He slammed the glass onto the coffee table. “If you had married Nora like you were supposed to, I would’ve had a title of my own right rather than given to me because of someone else.”

  Andrew didn’t understand what the difference was. A title was a title. And technically, he would still have only been given the title because of his marriage to Nora.

  Ernest huffed. “I can see it in your eyes that you don’t understand. Those who were born into privilege rarely see what common-born people do. If I had a title, I wouldn’t have to bow to anyone. They would bow to me because they wanted me happy. Where I am now is that people bow to me only because Charlotte is my wife. If she wasn’t, I would have nothing.”

  Andrew still wasn’t sure he understood, but Ernest believed it. That’s all that mattered. He waved around them. “Then what is all this for?”

  “I told you; I’m telling a story.” Ernest picked up his drink again and finished it in one gulp. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who had big dreams. Bigger than Earldom, but to gain what he wanted, he needed his sister to marry the future king. Unfortunately, that heir fell in love and broke a sacred agreement between their families. The boy was angry, and he raged at his father to seek justice, to demand what was their due, but he refused. His father was a romantic at heart and believed in love itself. The boy, however, did not. He believed in fate, and he knew he would get what he so rightly deserved one day.

  “It took a lot of finagling to get himself right where he needed to be—next to the princess he could woo—lots of research, studying, improvising his resume, but he got there. She didn’t fall for his charms straight away, though. He worked at her, wooing her gently but steadily, and eventually, she gave in to him. He’d succeeded.”

  Ernest clenched his jaw. “The problem was, he couldn’t be happy about it because he wasn’t given the title outright. It came with conditions. Mainly giving the princess an heir. He did his duty—twice—but received nothing but weak impersonations of him. He wanted an army, and he got disappointment instead. The anger from his sister’s disgrace festered inside him, and he, once again, sought his father’s counsel. But yet again, his father denied him retribution.”

  The story wasn’t much different from what they’d guessed, which pleased Andrew. He was glad they’d seen behind the curtain of his greed and anger. But the crucial question was, what was his endgame?