Of Heirs and Havoc ✔️ | Of Crimes and Crowns Book 2

three: of disasters and delegation

Connor held Grace more securely to his chest; she was asleep once more, her breath coming in soft puffs against his neck. He walked over to the corner of the nursery and set her down in her oak, satin-lined bassinet. The wet nurse stepped into the nursery once Grace was settled, and with a dip of the head spoke. "I can take care of her, Your Grace. There's no need for you to fuss over your daughter."

It had been harder—for both Connor and Natasha—to relinquish their daughter during the first few weeks of her life, seeing as she had born too early and too small, but after too many sleepless nights they had agreed to be more delegating. To be less controlling, which he knew was especially hard on his wife.

"I'll be back, Gracie." He bent to press a kiss to her forehead, and saw her nose crinkle.

She was so small—so delicate, so defenceless against the harsh world. But he knew beneath the fragile exterior, lay a soul as strong as her mother's. Strong as her father's.

Connor gave a final nod to the wet nurse, and then left to join Natasha where they would receive the news together. The corridors were too long for his liking, his footsteps echoing as quickly as his heartbeat, as he nearly raced through the halls to reach the throne room. Blue and violet tiles seemed to stretch on forever in their mosaic of stars, but above them was a new mural—gentle feathery patterns of gray and white snowflakes. The White family crest, a nod to Connor's bloodline as well as Natasha's. They had agreed that Gracie should be put down for a nap before they heard the announcement, and Natasha had promised to wait for him... but he was human, and impatient.

Finally, he reached the throne room, the guards parting for him to enter. Connor surveyed the room: Blake was on guard next to a divan where Victoria reclined. Then he stood at Natasha's side. She sat, legs crossed he knew beneath the voluminous black mourning gown, so calmly on the rococo throne that no one would have thought she was just as eager to hear the news as he was.

They had agreed, five months ago when Gracie was born, to begin searching again. To look for her parents, and her brother, lost in that shipwreck or storm or something or other those many years ago. Had decided that their daughter needed at least one grandparent, or a blood-related uncle amongst the overwhelming number of aunts. They had sent out ships and messengers and kept their hopes up despite all the signs pointing to the contrary. Could this visit finally be the answer to their dreams?

"You may begin," Natasha spoke, her hand covering his on the cold marble arm of the throne. "My husband is here."

He felt himself warm at that misleadingly small declaration—to anyone else it would've been nothing. But for Natasha it was everything.

"I see." The messenger cleared his throat, and fished a scroll from his coat pocket, glancing at it for reference. "A week ago, I received word from a ship's first mate—that is, Captain. He became Captain of The Neptune when its former Captain, Captain Ferdinand, was thrown overboard in a mutiny. The ship was overtaken by... rebels. Rebels against the crown."

"But my parents and brother did not go missing on The Neptune—they did so on The Siren," Natasha interrupted, the clearing of her throat the only sign that there was irritation as well as the desire for factual correctness in her words.

"I'm getting to that part, Your Majesty." The courier's bushy white brows furrowed. "Both ships—The Siren and The Neptune—docked in a port in Ruida. The crew members of The Neptune took the opportunity to seize your parents and brother, whilst other men took control of The Siren and wrecked it, managing to save their own lives."

Their own miserable hides, he read on Natasha's face. Connor could not help but agree.

"And then?" She prompted in a voice as cool as the icicles hanging from the roof.

"Your parents were living in captivity with a man who is believed to be the ringleader of the Neptune's crew, and have been recovered. They shall arrive in Arlea in a month. Your brother, fortunately, was never found by the crew of The Neptune. He was believed dead," the courier continued. "But then, he was discovered marooned on an island."

"Then why did you not bring him with you?" Natasha asked, her fingers curling tightly around Connor's.

"He refused to come back, Your Majesty."

Connor felt Natasha's pain as sharply as his own—however her face remained unchanged, her demeanour cool as she gestured for the man to go on.

Just as the messenger opened his mouth to go on, Connor expressed the torment for her. "Did you attempt to persuade him at all? Or did you simply ask, as a complete and utter stranger, to a paranoid man who has been on the run for five years, if he wanted to leave with you?"

"I—" the man blustered. Natasha cut her eyes at Connor, not in chastisement but simply telling him, thank you, but I can manage this on my own.

"If he refuses to come home, I will have to send someone to retrieve him." Natasha scowled darkly before turning to the corner of the room. "Lord Rutherford, would you care for the honour?"

She was not asking—only commanding. Connor watched, with a nervous swallow, as Blake stood and bowed. "It would be a pleasure. But, I have one request."

Natasha's skirts rustled as she uncrossed her legs. "By all means."

"If my sister might accompany me. My mother is unwell, as winter makes her much of a recluse, not to mention that headaches keep her fatigued and unable to chaperone my sister as she should. I would fear to leave Victoria by herself for an unknown period of time," Blake spoke.

Connor did not love Victoria anymore. But as he watched her, he was disappointed. The Victoria he has known would have proclaimed herself perfectly capable of protecting her own virtue, or would have begged to go with her brother, to travel to new and uncharted places. Blake would not have to drag her by the ear. This Victoria—this girl simply lay despondent on the settee, her fingers tracing the pattern of the jacquard seat over and over, her eyes gazing unseeing at the floor. This Victoria—was lifeless. The spark had gone out of her.

He looked at Natasha, his eyes begging her to see. And she saw. "Very well. You will leave within the week. Courier, if you would be so good as to acquaint Lord Rutherford and his sister with the first mate of the ship you mentioned, as well as outfitting them with the necessary equipment for their journey."

The messenger obliged. Natasha got up. The news had been delivered. Orders had been given.

Now, it was time for action to be taken.