“Yes, your majesty.” He lowered his head and hoped he appeared appropriately contrite. “It won’t happen again.”
She stood, and a flurry of servants were instantly by her side while she moved to a large wing-backed chair in the sitting area of the room. “Well, don’t dawdle, come join me.” She beckoned with her hand.
He moved quickly to the seating area and selected his chair.
“Hmmmm. I am most concerned about this current situation. I simply will not abide a lunatic murdering my military leaders.” She pounded her fist on the armrest. “Soon I will have none to rely on. Precisely how am I to civilize Africa if all of my military leaders are deceased?”
He bristled at her use of the word “lunatic.” He was not some common madman going about London murdering just anyone. This was his destiny. Everything had been explained to him, in detail, when he was a small child. His grandfather had seen to it that Spencer had grown up knowing precisely who he was—the Chosen One. When everyone else had failed him, his grandfather had been there to show him the way.
“Well, of course you cannot,” Spencer said, continuing to play his role as faithful advisor. “The whole of your empire will feel the effects of the loss of these important men.” He crossed his legs. “But we will get this situation under control, and your African missions will move forward as you have carefully planned.”
He’d needed to infiltrate her defenses, to make her fear for the safety of the country. Without having a role in the government, without being close to her, his random killing of the generals would have served no purpose. Just as carefully as he’d orchestrated the kills, he’d created a relationship in which she would rely on him. He hoped the next words out of her mouth would be the ones he’d been waiting to hear.
“I want you to meet with the lieutenant-generals,” she said. She sat back in her chair and gripped both armrests. “See which of them is up to the task. I’ll get recommendations from others, but you’ve always had a talent in that area. I need you to help me select who should be the next in command,” she said.
There it was, the assignment he’d worked for. All his efforts were paying off. All of the years he’d spent trying to work his way into her cabinet, and then once he’d arrived, the exhausting hours of pandering and fawning over her. They had not been for naught. He said nothing and tried to keep any indication of his excitement out of his expression. So he merely nodded.
He knew precisely which men to contact. He’d already selected them and slipped them elixir in preparation for this very moment. And it was working. The elixir was feeding their aggression, making them stronger and their minds more cunning. Spencer’s army would be brilliant and unstoppable.
“I can’t very well traipse about in the training field,” the queen said abruptly, pulling him out of his fantasy. “I want those five men replaced in two days with the best you can find. I know there are men up for promotion, but I want these hand-selected. By my decree.” She tapped her chest.
He smiled; he could not help himself. “Yes, your majesty, I will get to work on this straightaway.” Of course, she’d have two more to replace before all was done, but his plan was falling into place. “I will find the perfect men to lead us into battle,” he said.
Soon they’d be ready for his command, and then he would control all of Britain’s military, just as the prophecy had predicted. And he could see his ancestors’ plan through to fruition. Atlantis might not physically rise, but he could ensure an Atlantean ruled all.
“You are dismissed,” Victoria said.
He stood to leave.
“Oh, and Cole”—she held one finger up and leveled her shrewd eyes on his—“the next time someone comes to see me about this matter, especially Maxwell Barrett, you are to allow him entrance.”
“Of course, your majesty.” He nodded, then backed out of her presence. Perhaps Spencer should do something about Max to make sure that never happened.
CHAPTER11
Sabine knew she was going to walk through that door and break Agnes’s heart. To say she was not looking forward to it was a gross understatement. Regardless of how difficult it might be, this was not something Sabine could keep from her aunts.
She stepped into the large bedchamber they all shared. It was the sort of room designed for children, with more than one bed along the expansive wall. But Max had no children, so he’d had the room designed to cater to guests. He’d offered her aunts their own bedchambers, but they’d opted to share this one. They’d always shared a room, and they’d seen no reason to do differently.
It was late in the evening, but her three aunts were still awake. Lydia sat in a reading chair in the corner, book in hand, while Agnes stood behind Calliope braiding her hair. For a moment, Sabine could imagine how they’d been as girls, with her mother right there with them. Four sisters and the best of friends.
“Sabine,” Calliope said with a warm smile. “Welcome back.”
Agnes immediately walked over. “How was he?” She put her hand to her throat. “How was Phinneas?”
Sabine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Agnes, I’m so very sorry.”
The color completely drained from her aunt’s face, and immediately her two sisters were there by her side as she crumpled to the floor. She clung to them as she wept, and they cried with her. Sabine stood quietly, watching, her tears clouding her vision. There was nothing graceful about their grief; it was raw and intense and utterly unapologetic.
After several moments, Lydia stood. “The Chosen One had found him, then?”
“It appears so. We found Phinneas in his garden. Max made certain to give him a decent burial there.”
Agnes swallowed and tried to smile. “He loved that garden.”
Calliope and Lydia helped her to the edge of her bed, where she sat. Her head and shoulders hung down in defeat.
Sabine knelt at her feet. She placed the stack of letters in her lap as well as the ribbon collection Max had found. “We found these. We thought you’d want to have them.”