Chapter 3

Nick

Is Prince Frederick the right heir for the job?

By Malachi Sanders

We've had this discussion before, but nothing shows as being incapable as messing up an official meeting with the heads of several countries in attendance. But leave it to Prince Frederick to do so.

Once again, the heir to the throne has shown how much he still has to learn before he can follow in his father's footsteps. Not that the king is doing a much better job, but at least, he's learnt some tact.

Nick growled at the article, ready to shake the reporter until his thoughts rattled around in his head and created some sense rather than the bumble of craziness he vomited onto the pages of his column.

"Stand down, Nick," Brett said.

"He's…infuriating!"

"He is, but he's not the only one. We have eyes on the ones we think have the potential to deteriorate and cause problems, including Malachi, but we don't have concerns with them yet."

Nick sighed. "It's not right."

"That's the freedom of speech for you. Regardless of whether it makes sense or is true, anyone has the right to say anything," Felix added.

"Isn't there any way of stopping him from attending this evening?"

Brett shook his head before Nick had even finished talking. "No. We're not going to single him out when everything has been confirmed. That's the perfect way to bring about chaos."

"We'll need to keep a closer eye on him, and those others, whenever they're near the king and princes."

Brett nodded. "That we will do. Okay, let's continue the topic around to tonight's dinner event," Brett said. "To confirm, we have King Andrew, Prince Consorts Kean and Kendal, Princes George, Timothy, Eddie, Christian, Oscar, Patrick and Kieren in attendance. There will also be CEOs of several companies, members of Parliament and other high-ranking officials, including some military higher-ups. On top of that are the reporters, including Nick's favourite. There will be ten of those in attendance."

"This is going to be a shit show," Landon muttered.

"Hopefully not," Brett deadpanned. "We will have all the exits guarded by people we trust, and the king will have his usual guards surrounding him, as will the princes. I'm working with the military personnel to confirm which of their guards they are bringing so we have a complete attendance list to go by. I will be working behind the scenes this time, while Locke guards Christian in my stead. We have extra security attending also; you will receive photo confirmation of these people before the evening begins."

The meeting continued, but the frustration built inside Nick. He was an easygoing guy most of the time, but when someone hurt the people close to him, that could change in an instant. It was hard to find the humour most people expected from him in times like those.

"Okay. Get to work, and we'll reconvene at five o'clock this afternoon," Brett said.

Nick took one last look at the headline and shook his head, leaving Sec HQ for his post at the king's office. He was due to swap with Colt and would work for a couple of hours before getting some rest before the event that night. It wasn't supposed to be a long evening, but it would be a stressful one. They always were. He was good at hiding it, though.

The journey to the event was a short one, with it only being at the Fairmont Hotel on the outskirts of Windsor. It had five-star reviews and cost upwards of seven hundred pounds a night. The event room was a logistical nightmare with far too many windows, exits and entrances for anyone's peace of mind. But they made it work. Brett and Felix had worked with the event coordinators to reduce the risk as much as possible, but that didn't mean it was completely gone. As with anything, there were areas they couldn't cover, no matter how much they tried.

Nick, Dominic, Viola and Landon climbed from the cars, studying their surroundings before Dominic gave the nod for the king to get out of the car. Kean and Kendal had arrived in a separate car a few minutes prior, and the princes around half an hour before. Staggering arrivals worked better than having everyone arrive at the same time. Far too many targets all at once when that happened. It was unavoidable sometimes, but they tried to stagger them whenever they could.

Entering the hotel, Nick barely saw the decorative embellishments of the place, concentrating as he was on whether there were any threats, but he'd already studied everything about the place he could. He'd memorised where every possible exit was, every hiding place, every nook and cranny of the place to ensure he could get the king out if something happened. He refused to allow the previous unnecessary deaths to happen again.

"London has entered the building," Dominic said into the radio.

"Roger that," Brett replied from his stakeout in the security room of the hotel. They had cameras at every possible angle, some they had placed specifically for this event to avoid any blind spots. "Oxford, Cardiff and York are mingling in the hall."

Having pseudonyms for the royal family only worked when people didn't know who they were talking about, and most of the world had figured it out by now, but they still used them for the major players. Habit, probably, more than anything else.

As Andrew entered the hall, the charity organisers stepped forward to shake his hand. They spoke for a few minutes before one organiser, Adele, gestured for them to move further into the event. That was the time it became more difficult to keep control of the situation. When people congregated around them to meet with the king, they became obstacles between them, but with years of practice, they worked as a team to ensure Andrew was safe.

As the guests settled into their seats for the dinner part of the evening, Nick relaxed a little, at ease against the wall between the king and the reporters, funnily enough.

"I'm sure you did this on purpose," Nick muttered into the radio as his gaze rolled over the man who sent the recently banked embers of frustration back into an inferno.

"I thought you might prefer having him in your sight. That way, you can keep an eye on him," Brett replied.

"Hmm," was all he said in response.

He couldn't keep his gaze from drifting to Malachi, checking he wasn't misbehaving, but he seemed to be enjoying the meal set before him, laughing and chatting with those seated at the table with him.

When the dinner finished, the organisers stood before their guests and spoke about the charity—one that benefitted children from all walks of life for whatever they needed, no matter their status or background—and had several guest speakers talk about their interactions with the charity. Even though Nick concentrated on the security side of things, the charity sounded good. The problem was that there were so many fantastic charities around and not enough money in his pocket to donate to them all.

Once the speeches ended, it was time for the second part of the mingling, another time to be on alert.

"Nick, keep to the perimeter," Brett said.

"Done."

He was happy to stay back because he could see the wider picture, and it also meant he could monitor the reporters. Everything seemed to be going well. At least until Malachi disappeared.

Nick scanned the ballroom over several minutes, giving the man enough time to return from a bathroom break if he'd been on one, but after twenty minutes, he still hadn't returned.

"Brett, any eyes on Malachi?"

"Looking now. Why?"

"He's been absent for twenty minutes now."

"Anyone else missing?"

Nick scanned the area again, already having checked but wanting to triple-check. "Not that I can see. Everyone else is present and accounted for."

"We have him on the cameras leaving the ballroom with a server." Brett paused. "They went into a room down the hall. I'll send someone to check."

"I'll go," Nick said. He froze as he waited for Brett to argue.

"Okay. Jade, pull back and take Nick's place."

"Understood," Jade said, and Nick watched her break away from Patrick and head towards him.

Jade nodded when they swapped, and Nick headed to the nearest exit.

"Which room, Brett?" he asked as he strode down the hallway.

"Next on your left."

Nick paused at the door, listening for any sounds inside but couldn't hear anything. "Do I announce or enter immediately, boss?"

"Enter," Brett confirmed.

Nick tried the doorknob, but it wouldn't open. "It's locked. I'm booting it down."

"Okay."

He stepped back and kicked at it, the door flying back on its hinges. He took in the scene in one glance, and fury flowed through him. Before he realised it, he had the server in his hands and held him to the floor, sitting on him when he struggled. He peered at Malachi, who was completely out of it with his clothes half off. He mumbled something incoherent, and Nick growled.

"Brett, get first aid in here, and the police. The fucking server drugged Malachi. He was trying to—" He broke off, unable to say the words. Memories of his sister flooded his head, and it took everything in him to wipe his mind clear so he could think. Malachi wasn't in any danger at that moment, so he let him be, but the server still bucked and cursed beneath him.

"You have no right to hold me!" the guy shouted.

Nick leaned down, his mouth right at the guy's ear. "I have every right," he growled. "And I'm going to make sure you pay for this. My reach is long, and I guarantee I can find something in your past to show you've done this before." The guy paled at Nick's guess, and Nick tightened his hold. "I will find every single person you have done this to and make sure you spend the rest of your life in jail. You feel me?"

The guy fell silent and stopped trying to dislodge him. Nick wished he would fight so he had an excuse to knock him out, and he almost decided to let him up so he'd have the excuse, but the cavalry arrived before he could lose his mind.

"We'll take him from here," two police officers said.

Nick let them take hold, but he grabbed the server's chin. "What's your name?" The server licked his lips but didn't reply. "Either tell me or you spend your hours with me instead of them."

The guy paled further and muttered, "James Richardson."

"Date of birth?" Nick asked.

"29 November 1989."

Nick shoved him away. "Do not let him out of your sight," he told the police officers. "This isn't the first time he's done this."

"Yes, sir."

They took him away, and Nick refocused on Malachi, ignoring the ache in his calf. He was fully dressed again, and the medic tended to him. Nick swallowed repeatedly, glad he'd been able to stop something so heinous from happening but wishing he'd not had to. Despite Malachi's need to drag the Sutcliffes through the mud, he wouldn't wish what had happened on anyone. He exhaled and rested his hands on his hips, watching what the medic was doing.

"Is he okay?" Brett asked—from beside him instead of in his ear.

The medic glanced at him. "His blood pressure is fine, and I can't see any signs of issues, but I think a trip to the hospital would be a good idea. If he was going to react to whatever he was given, he would've had it by now. It just needs to work its way through his system now."

Brett nodded and nudged Nick. "He's in excellent hands, Nick. I need you back in the main room."

Nick growled and turned away, stalking from the room and into the hallway. Brett caught up with him, tugging him to a stop.

"Nick, calm down."

He glared at his boss. "Calm down? After what almost happened? Jesus, Brett." He stalked off, Brett's parting words following him.

"The king needs you."

Nick swallowed hard and entered the ballroom. "Understood, Brett. Understood," he replied through his radio.

Pushing what happened to Malachi aside for the moment, which was more difficult than it should have been, he focused on the king and on making sure he survived the night. He wouldn't want his inattention to be the cause of more casualties, so every time Malachi's face floated into his head, he wiped it clear and recentred himself. It happened more than he wanted, and by the time they were in the car and on their way back to Windsor Castle, he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Nick, what happened tonight?" Andrew asked.

On that journey, he was sitting in the back with the king with Emmy, and Colt sat in the front. He inhaled. "A reporter was drugged, but he's at the hospital and being looked after now."

Andrew sat forward, piercing Nick with his gaze. "Tell me what happened from start to finish."

Nick replayed the events that led up to finding Malachi, and when he finished, Andrew fisted his hands.

"I want regular updates on the attacker and Malachi Sanders. In fact, as soon as Malachi is feeling better, I want a personal meeting with him at Windsor. I will get Randall to arrange that. It's the least I can do after what happened."

"Is that the best idea, Your Majesty? After all, he is the one writing nasty things about you in the media."

"Everyone has the right to say what they want, Nick. You know that. It's how we react to it that makes the difference. If it was someone else, I would've offered the same thing, so I refuse to not offer it to Malachi just because of what he writes."

Suitably chastised, Nick nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"And anyway, think of it as a chance to change his stance on us."

Nick didn't think that was possible with how much hatred Malachi seemed to hold for them, but he allowed Andrew to think he could change his mind. And knowing the king as he did, Andrew might be the only person in the world who could change Malachi's mind.

Dominic and Colt took Andrew to his suite when they arrived back, and Nick headed for Sec HQ, bracing himself for a telling-off from Brett. He didn't get one, though.

"Are you okay?" Brett asked instead, pulling him aside.

Nick exhaled. "Yeah. Thanks for pulling me back."

Brett chuckled. "I would've happily let you go at him, but I needed you there. I'm happy to arrange a ‘meeting' with the guy if you like?" He smirked.

Nick huffed and shook his head. "Better not. You might end up having to bail me out."

"It'd be worth the money." Brett sighed. "I checked up with the hospital. Malachi is sleeping it off. The doctors can't see any reason he would have an adverse reaction to the drug—which they found out was Rohypnol—but they're keeping him in until he's fully coherent and drug-free, to be sure."

Nick's chest eased with the news. "Thanks. As much as he drives me insane with what he writes, I'm glad he's okay." He exhaled. "Has Andrew told you his plan?"

"What plan?"

"He's inviting Malachi for a meeting once he's better."

Brett rubbed a hand over his face. "Wonderful." His tone implied it was anything but.

"He's hoping he can change his thoughts on the royal family."

"Doesn't surprise me that he'd try." Brett clapped him on the shoulder. "Go home. Get some rest. I'll see you in a couple of days."

As Nick headed out, images of things that had happened merged with things that could've happened, and when he arrived home, he dropped into bed without getting undressed. Curling onto his side, he closed his eyes against the torrent hitting him. His stomach cramped as he remembered his sister, Eliza, in the aftermath of her attempted rape. The same sense of helplessness he felt then was back with him. As much as he wanted to physically check on Malachi himself, he knew it wouldn't help. When Malachi realised what had almost happened to him, he possibly wouldn't want anyone he didn't know near him.

Nick would have to wait until Malachi accepted the king's offer. Because he would. Who couldn't resist the lure of something they wanted when it was handed to them on a plate?

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