Be My Prince (30 page)

“It is a cancer that spreads quickly through the humors,” the doctor whispered in the melancholy silence of the room.

Alexandra did not believe it. She glanced across at Nicholas and saw a muscle flick at his jaw.

He did not believe it either. She was certain of it. But did he suspect foul play? And if so, would he blame her?

“Nicholas, come with me to the chapel.” She rose to her feet. “We must pray together.”

He regarded her with suspicious eyes, then bowed in agreement and waited for her to lead the way.

They left Rose to watch over Randolph in his deathlike slumber and walked together, without speaking a word, down the wide carpeted corridor.

They descended the main staircase, ventured outside into the bitter chill of a hazy winter morning, and crossed the courtyard to the small stone chapel with a fountain outside the entrance. Everything was covered in a layer of fresh white snow.

Nicholas opened the door for her, then followed her inside, where she could see her breath on the air.

The door swung shut behind them and slammed hard.

Alexandra walked quickly to the altar.

Nicholas followed her up the center aisle, his boots pounding heavily over the flagstones, echoing up into the rafters.

“Is anyone here?” he shouted as Alex whirled around to face him.

The question was met with silence.

They stared at each other fiercely.

“You think I poisoned him, don’t you?” she asked.

“I made no such accusation.”

She regarded him discerningly. “Well,
I
think someone poisoned him. I don’t know who, but whoever it was probably poisoned your father as well.”

Nicholas strode forward and caught her by the wrist. “What do you know?”

“Nothing!” she replied, shaking herself free of his punishing, steely grip. “Except that the palace physician is a bloody fool. I watched him examine Randolph. He did nothing but look at his pupils, listen to his heart, and form his diagnosis.”

“You have some knowledge of medicine you wish to convey?”

“No,” she explained, “but I am quite certain that an otherwise healthy young man found unconscious in his bedchamber—a man who is a king and has many enemies, and has recently been the victim of malicious gossip and slander—should not be diagnosed so quickly. Are you not also suspicious?”

He stared at her a moment, then turned his eyes toward the stained-glass window beyond the altar. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep intake of breath; then he regarded her with dangerous resolve.

“We are of the same mind,” he said.

She let out a sharp breath of relief, then turned toward the altar. “Then pray with me, Nicholas, for I fear for Randolph’s life.”

He hesitated a moment, then knelt down beside her, bowed his head, and clasped his hands. “I will gladly pray,” he said, “but it will take more than prayer to stop the damage from this oncoming storm. I believe we are facing another revolution, madam, but this time, it is being waged with a hidden blade.”

She shot him a quick look. “As long as you do not think it is
my
blade.”

He closed his eyes in prayer and did not respond to the accusation.

*   *   *

After leaving the chapel, Alex returned to her husband’s bedside.

Thank God, her prayers had been answered. He was sitting up in bed.

“Randolph!” A cry of relief broke from her lips.

She hurried to his side and bent to kiss the back of his hand. “I was so afraid I’d lost you. What happened? Where was your valet? I found you on the floor in your bedchamber. Do you have any recollection of anyone coming into the room? Were you struck down perhaps?”

He was dressed in a white linen nightshirt that was open at the neck, and his hair was damp with perspiration. He shook his head on the pillow and regarded her coolly. “No memory. The doctor tells me I collapsed. He says I suffer from the same affliction that killed my father.” His blue eyes met hers with steely skepticism. “I cannot believe it. Does it not seem odd to you that all this tragedy has befallen my family since the day you set out to become queen?”

Alexandra sat back. Her stomach turned over with sickening dread.

“What are you suggesting?” She glanced over her shoulder, fearful that someone might hear him. He was not making sense.

“Not so long ago, I was adored by the people,” he said with bitter rancor. “Now they see me as a villain while you have won their sympathy.”

“You are confused, Randolph,” she gently said, arranging the covers around him. “I do not wish you ill. I love you, and I want you to get well.”

He stared at her as if he had not heard a single word; then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body began to convulse.

She tried to restrain him but could not manage on her own. She shouted to the doctor, who was just outside the room, “
Help us! Please help us!
”

He immediately came running.

*   *   *

“We are seeking a second opinion,” Alexandra said to Randolph, after he had recovered sufficiently from the seizure.

He had no memory of the hurtful words that had passed between them beforehand, and she was grateful for that. Yet their quarrel had injured her deeply, and she shuddered inwardly at the remembrance of it. She felt a terrible wretchedness in her heart. Did he truly believe she wished him ill? Would he ever be able to trust her?

“Nicholas and I have already made arrangements,” she explained, “and he has gone to speak to some young medical men at the university. We believe they may have more current knowledge about diseases such as this, or perhaps they have some experience with the most modern treatments.”

“I will welcome a new diagnosis,” Randolph replied, “other than what that quack doctor has concluded, for that did not end well for my father.” He shut his eyes and wet his lips. “Bloody hell, I am so damn tired. Will you fetch me a drink of something?”

She stood up to pour him a glass of water.

“My mouth tastes like metal,” he added.

Alex stopped abruptly and turned. “I beg your pardon?”

He opened his eyes. “I am thirsty.”

“You said your mouth tastes like metal,” she added. “Are you aware that your father complained of the same symptom? He mentioned it when I visited his bedside. Have you told the doctor about this?”

“Yes. He said it’s nothing.”

“Hmmph.” She poured the water into a glass. “You can be sure I will seek a second opinion about that as well. Drink up, Randolph. You must get your strength back.”

All of a sudden, he reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Promise me you will be careful,” he said with desperate intensity in his eyes. “You must guard our child.”

“Is that all that matters to you?” she asked. “The survival of your heir?”

He relaxed back on the pillows and stared at her for a long moment with eyes that glimmered like jewels. Even when he was weak from a deadly poison, he was still the most attractive man she had ever known, and she couldn’t bear to imagine losing him.

“No, that is not all that matters,” he replied. Then his eyes fell closed and he winced, as if in pain.

Not wanting to exhaust him further, she helped him sit up and handed him the water.

*   *   *

Later that day, a team of three young physicians from the university arrived to examine Randolph. While they were there, he succumbed to another fit of convulsions, which lasted only a few moments but left him further weakened.

After much poking and prodding and heated debate, during which time the doctors referred to a number of heavy medical books they carried with them, the young medical men determined that the king had indeed been poisoned. The offending substance was arsenic.

Alexandra thanked them profusely, then climbed onto the bed beside Randolph to hold him tight, while her heart rose up in an overflowing flood of emotion. Thank God they knew what it was!

“Oh, Randolph, I am so relieved. I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you. I would die without you.”

She felt a wild impulse to kiss him passionately on the mouth, right there in front of everyone, but somehow she managed to control those urges.

He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair away from her face. “Alex, my darling. Do not fret. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We will find out who did this,” she said. “I swear it on my life, and when I uncover the truth, I will want blood.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he gently said. “We must ascertain all the facts before we call in the executioner.”

He glanced across at Nicholas, who nodded at him.

“I, too, am relieved,” Nick said. “But if you will excuse me now, I will accompany the doctors to the kitchen to examine the palace food stores.”

With that, he took his leave, and Alexandra snuggled ever closer to her husband.

*   *   *

Below stairs in the palace kitchen, traces of arsenic were indeed detected in the beef that had been served to King Randolph the previous evening.

An interrogation quickly followed. All members of the household staff were questioned personally by Nicholas and the High Constable. It was also discovered that Randolph’s valet had been hit over the head and dragged into the belowstairs pantry.

“It could have been anyone,” Nick said that night while he played chess with Alexandra in front of the fire.

Randolph sat beside them, watching their game.

They were all extremely grateful that Rand’s condition had not worsened since the disturbing seizures that morning, and the doctors’ prognosis was promising. They believed he would enjoy a full recovery as long as he did not ingest any more of the deadly poison. Eventually it would simply leach out of his system.

Randolph pointed at one of Alex’s chess pieces to suggest a particular move. “I agree it could have been anyone,” he said to Nick. “My popularity has most certainly diminished since my return from Vienna. Someone in the street shouted to me a few days ago. He said I was not worthy of the crown.”

“Who said such a thing?” Nicholas demanded to know.

“A faceless stranger in the crowd,” he replied. “I am no fool, Nick. I know there are many who would take pleasure in seeing me dethroned. We cannot hang them all.”

“That will not happen,” Alex said. “You will not be dethroned.”

She was uncomfortably aware of Nicholas’s dark, brooding eyes watching her every move over the chessboard. She was quite certain he still did not trust her, despite how she had proven herself with the doctors.

For that matter, she was not entirely sure of her husband’s feelings either.

Not after what he had said to her before his seizure.

“What about the countess?” she asked. “Has it not occurred to either of you that all of this began after she revealed herself at that masquerade ball? Ever since that moment, you have been skewered from all angles, Randolph, and I assure you I have taken no pleasure in it.”

“But you have enjoyed the fact that your popularity has grown,” Nicholas suggested.

She boldly met his gaze. “You believe I am pleased about this turn of events?”

He repositioned a knight on the game board and lounged back in his chair to await her next move.

“Stop it, both of you,” Randolph said. “We are all on the same side. The countess should indeed be a suspect. She is a woman scorned, is she not?”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “I certainly hope so.”

Randolph leaned closer. “Are you still jealous, Wife?”

“Not of
her,
” she replied. “I would never allow myself to indulge in such a pathetic indignity.”

Nicholas chuckled as he watched them. “Perhaps not, but I suspect you would enjoy tossing her into a well.”

“I beg your pardon?” Alex replied. “You insult me, sir.”

Nicholas laughed again, and she found herself bristling in return.

Randolph raised a hand. “I said simmer down, you two.”

Alexandra took a deep breath and let it out. “May I assume that Nicholas has not been able to locate the countess?”

She raised a triumphant eyebrow in his direction over the chessboard.

“Your assumption is correct,” Randolph replied. “She is both disgraced and missing.”

“And a danger to herself,” Alex added. “With a brand-new wardrobe. It reeks like rotten fish to me.”

She continued to study the chessboard, but had no idea where to move next.

*   *   *

After the newspaper reported the botched attempt on the king’s life and a great wave of shock rippled through the nation, a most conspicuous letter arrived at the palace, addressed to Her Majesty the Queen.

Alexandra was about to begin breakfast but set down her fork to pick up the letter from the silver salver that was presented to her by a white-gloved footman.

Curious, she broke the seal.

Your Majesty, I must speak with you. I implore you to meet me in the palace chapel this morning. Alone.

I have the honor to remain Your Majesty’s most humble and obedient subject,

The Countess of Ainsley

Good God.

Alexandra wished impulsively that she had a quill and ink to write a brash response and inform the countess that she would not, under any circumstances, meet her alone. If Lady Ainsley wished an audience, she would come to the throne room like everyone else.

But Alex did not have a quill at the breakfast table, nor was there a return address on the letter. Nor did she wish to squander an opportunity to apprehend a possible suspect in the attempt on her husband’s life.

After a brief moment’s consideration, she sent for Nicholas and prayed to God it was the right thing to do.

A short while later Nicholas walked into the breakfast room and bowed to Alexandra. “Your Majesty.”

She knew it was time to break bread with Nicholas, or break out the guns. They had been at each other’s throats since her arrival in Petersbourg and she very much wanted it to stop. He was her husband’s brother and closest ally, and the last thing she wanted was to drive a wedge into their relationship.

But if she was ever going to earn her husband’s complete trust, she was going to have to win this man’s support as well.