"Our source tells us that the Prime Minister had a secret meeting with the prominent members of the House of Lords," Ellise droned, looking at the gentlemen sitting in the room. "Are you aware of this, Your Grace?" she asked the Duke of Remington.

Caroline's father shook his head. "No, I am not. He knows I am close to the king."

She nodded, scanning the room, looking at the blank faces before her. She ignored her brother who was squirming in his seat, scratching his backside with a groan. "A few men from the House of Commons were also in the meeting."

The men stiffened in their seats, their faces instantly scowling. It was widely known that both Houses of Sutherland were never chummy.

Ellise groaned inwardly because it was clear no one was aware of this piece of information that Tanner forward to her. But she had more news to tell before she could order more boring missions. "The said meeting had a few more guests." She waited until she was certain she had everyone's attention. "Two Maidens from Belcourt."

"You are bloody jesting—you must be," Oliver growled, frozen with his arm twisted to his back.

Ellise glanced at Dior, who was sitting beside his father, the Duke of Calbridge. "This is starting to look like Reginald once again," he said.

"I agree," said Trent, sitting beside Oliver, one leg resting over his knee. "Belcourt manipulated both Houses to dethrone Reginald."

"After grooming the current king to take his place," added another Royal sitting at the back.

"What do we do now?" asked another. "We should just attack the bloody place."

"They have women soldiers who can send you to London with a single shot of their arrow," Oliver said over the voices that were starting to echo around the room. He turned to Ellise, face suddenly serious. "Destroying Belcourt is not the answer."

"Should we wait then?" challenged another Royal. "While the Prime Minister and Belcourt plan another coup? If Napoleon gains access into Sutherland—which is clearly what Belcourt wants—we will not only be fighting for Reginald's throne. We will be part of a bigger war."

Ellise crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the edge of the table, her legs crossed where she stood.

"We cannot get direct orders from the Royal Master," she said, more to herself than to the Royals. "He is currently on a ship bound for Sutherland. Him and Reginald."

"They will not be here for another two months," said Trent. "We have to do something, Darcy."

She nodded, looking at the men. "Group yourselves according to how you see fit. I do not care how you do it, so long as you can work together."

Her brother frowned. "I do not see how that will be efficient—"

"I care not what each group can do," she interjected, scanning the room again. "You are all weapons I can use, and I shall use you according to your strengths. I want to see sets of Royals in two days."

"We can do it now—"

"I do not think so, gentlemen. You will all spend today and tomorrow hissing at each other. I cannot witness that. Two days. Find a group you can tolerate."

"We need to consider each other's—"

"As I said, find a group you can tolerate. I would rather use a weapon with coordinated parts than a perfectly polished pistol that cannot shoot because everyone thinks they are the bullet."

The men looked at each other. Rolling her eyes, Ellise pushed away from the table. "I am not the Royal Master. You can choose not to follow me, but I should remind you that I am still Darcy and you were left in my care. Belcourt is once more scheming to take down a king, gentlemen. That king cannot be Napoleon." She uncrossed her arms and forced out a smile. "Opera is over. And remember, I need good weapons."

*****

Robert slowed his pace when he heard Oliver St. Vincent's voice coming from Ellise's private chambers. The door was open, which meant the siblings were discussing trivial matters. They did not even look in his direction when he appeared in the doorway and leaned against it, waiting for the conversation to end.

Oliver, a large man, was looming over his sister, hands flat on the table, while Ellise stared up at her brother with a deadpan look in her face from where she was sitting.

"You are not listening," Oliver was saying, tone laced with frustration. "It is our mother who is insisting that you return to the villa."

"And you are not listening," said Ellise. "I do not wish to stay there." Her eyes flickered to Robert, then back to her brother. "As Darcy, I order you to step back."

"The bloody hell you are!" Oliver exclaimed, whirling around to Robert. "Can you believe this?"

He shrugged. "She is who she says she is."

Oliver threw his hands in the air. "You two are the perfect pair!"

"You are not the first to point that out," said Ellise.

"No, sister, I meant the perfect pair of heads to have on my table!" Oliver retorted, grinning at them both, finger pointing at them back and forth. "I itch to slice through your brains and see where science had gone wrong. There should be an explanation to this rare condition you both share—there must be."

Ellise rolled her eyes.

Robert, sensing the argument was over, walked into the room and settled in the chair across from Ellise's desk. In five minutes, Oliver St. Vincent would end his rant. He would then rush out to go home to his wife and daughter.

"The condition being the lack of empathy, of frozen expressions—ah, there must be," Oliver continued, caressing his bearded chin. He pointed at Ellise. "Yours may be hereditary. From mother's side of the family, of course." He turned to Robert and narrowed his eyes. "I am yet to find out. I am still studying your father."

Robert turned to look at Ellise, brows arched. She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Oliver was fast to say, "You have to convince Mother why you have to stay here longer. I am done giving excuses. Father is no help as well."

"I will send her a missive—"

"No, you tell her on Monday."

Her eyes flickered to Robert, and they both shared a look. "I am not available on Monday. I have plans."

"Monday, Ellise," Oliver said, voice serious this time.

Robert looked at the man and he was reminded once more of Everleigh. Oliver St. Vincent was not like his sister. Despite his colossal form, he was a man with a big and gentle heart. He was trained to save lives, not end them. He was never proficient with swords or pistols. While Ellise spent most of her time training with swords when they were younger, Oliver was running around with their uncle, learning how to mend broken bones. He never knew how to fight.

And that day in Everleigh, while they were being attacked, St. Vincent placed himself between another man and a rain of bullets.

While he, Robert Dior, a man trained to fight, lay frozen on the ground.

He blinked away the memories and realized Oliver had left and Ellise was walking to the door to shut it close. When she turned to face him, a slow smile crept his face. "Monday is not our day."

She sighed and went back to her seat behind the desk. Her eyes settled on him and Robert met her gaze with amusement.

There was a glint of impatience in her eyes. "Perhaps after your family dinner."

Her lashes caressed her skin when she blinked again. "I do not have to attend dinner. We should proceed with our plan."

"I would rather you do not irk your mother."

"Are you avoiding our planned tryst?"

His smile widened. "Is that what you call it?"

"What else could it be?"

*****

Sasha stopped what she was doing, giving up on stitching her husband's torn trouser to look at the man sitting across from her.

Reginald Stanhope looked old and frail, but his perfectly trimmed mustache and his piercing blue eyes were enough to make anyone bow down.

But not her.

He may be the rightful king, but he was still like everyone else. He was capable of many things. And he still craved for power. Just like all players in this game.

"You have met my son?" he asked, voice croaky, almost silent. Merely three years to his eightieth, he was deteriorating.

"Yes."

He nodded, shifting in his lanky form in the winged chair he occupied. It still surprised her whenever he was in motion, because he barely moved at all since she met him weeks ago in London. He often complained of aching joints, yet whenever he moved, he was regal and composed.

"Your husband told me you do not agree that I should take back the throne," Reginald said, his bushy white brows hooding his piercing blue eyes.

"Yes," she replied with a smile. "Because you are too old."

The corner of his lips quirked. A smile. "He also told me you have a profound fascination in the study of the mind."

"I do."

He shamelessly stared at her bulging abdomen. "Do you fear for your child's future? Is that why you are taking me back? Because you hope I can return to the throne and stop the French from coming in? Despite not wanting me taking back the crown?"

Sasha covered her abdomen with her husband's trouser. "I am returning you to Sutherland because I am hoping you can reunite with your son. He needs someone to teach him the ways of a king."

Reginald finally chuckled. "You are hoping for my son to be king then."

"He is far younger." She maintained her smile while she held his gaze. "Does it bother you, Your Highness?"

"Of course, it does, young lady," he replied. "My son is not fit to be king yet."

She shrugged. "Of course, he is not. Which is why he would need an advisor."

Another round of chuckle which ended into a fit of coughs. "You—" he coughed again, "Me, an advisor?"

"You have the experience. You are the best candidate." Her eyes narrowed. "But I am only one person. My opinion does not hold much weight. And since you seem to be the kind who enjoys wearing a crown, I cannot blame you for wanting it on your head again."

The old man scoffed. "You do not act like a duchess."

"I was never taught how to be one," she said with a smile. "But I am certain my husband will show me how. He is an excellent advisor."

"You mock me."

"To dare do so is a luxury I enjoy. You are not yet king—again."

He looked around the cabin. They had been on the ship for merely a week, yet he had been complaining as if he was a prisoner.

"And when I become king again, it shall be my pleasure to see you bow before me, young lady."

"For everything I went through to get you here, I deserve a far better position than bowing, Your Highness."

"And what position would you like, young lady?"

She shrugged and stood. Her legs were aching, and she needed to stretch them again. "I am yet to decide. Perhaps I want to be the next Prime Minister."

"What an ambitious woman!" the old man guffawed.

"Not as ambitious as you, Your Highness," she said, chuckling.

"Blackwood also said you planned how Sutherland will be prepared for my coming."

"Yes, I did."

He looked doubtful, but he did not voice it out.

"With Darcy."

"Now, that is interesting. Another woman."

"Another Royal," she corrected.

*****

What else could it be?

Robert scoffed, his eyes on the façade of the edifice passing by the window of his carriage. They rolled past a couple walking down the pavement and he sighed.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against his seat.

His lover left him two fortnights ago because of another man, but Robert was not quite certain if he wanted another to take her place just yet. He had been quite fine without someone to warm his bed, but Ellise St. Vincent...

Now, Ellise St. Vincent was different.

She would either make it difficult or perfect.

His eyes flew open. The carriage was slowing down, turning into the familiar street that led up to his villa.

Would it change their friendship?

They kissed once. But that was too long ago. And they did it as an experiment.

That changed nothing. In fact, the kiss merely led them to gain more understanding of each other. It was their first secret together, and it still was to this day.

He moistened his lips, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and reached for the door just as the carriage drew to a stop. When it did, he jumped out and rushed straight up to his doors as his butler was opening them.

"My lord—" the old man called out, but Robert was already stalking up the staircase.

Entering his bedchamber, he stopped at the foot of his empty bed. His hands went to his hips, and he frowned. He looked around and realized the curtains were too dark.

His valet entered the room. "My lord, someone is here—"

"Pier," he said, interrupting the young man, "What color are these sheets?" he asked.

"Blue, my lord," said the man, walking closer. "My lord, there is a minor problem that came to—"

"Change them to white," he ordered, frowning at the bed. "And the curtains look too green."

"They are red, my lord," Pier corrected, "and as I was saying, there is a matter that needs your attention—"

"Change it to something not red," he said, whirling around, finally fixing the distraught man a look. "What is it?"

"Someone is here, my lord."

"I said I am not accepting callers today."

"It is not, my lord." Pier stepped back. "Perhaps you would want to see for yourself, my lord."

Robert followed his valet down the stairs, through the dining room, into the kitchen, and into a narrow corridor that led to the servants' quarters. He had only traversed this path twice before: first when he first came into the villa, and second when he tried to hide from his mother years ago.

"Can this person not be brought to me?" he asked the valet.

Pier shook his blond head slowly. "No, my lord, I am afraid not."

Making no more comment, he followed the young man into a room. There were two beds on each side of the room. One was empty, the other was crowded. Three maids were bent over someone lying there.

At their entry, the three maids jumped to their feet, alarm on their faces. The housekeeper threw Pier a sharp look before saying, "My lord, you need not have come. We have contacted someone to take away—"

"You are harboring a sick stranger in my household, Mrs Brown, when I have been clear from the start that I want nothing to do with that," he said, stepping closer, hands behind him.

The maids bowed their heads.

"Step aside," he ordered.

They reluctantly did, giving Robert a view of the bed. And then he saw why his servants found the need to take the stranger in.

It was a child.