The Inherited Series Book 2: The Claimant Read online

  My head whipped around as I suddenly heard the crunch of gravel under feet. M. Arsnault appeared as he rounded a tall, puffy-looking tree. I knew there were about five guards close by, but they had been lurking far enough away to give me the illusion of privacy. I smiled, starting to greet him, until I noticed that he was running towards me. My hands froze on the flowers; in my three months here I had never seen M. Arsnault run.

  "What's up?" I asked tightly, my eyebrows knitting together. Maybe I had accidentally picked some sort of sacred flower that had been in the garden since year zero; that would be bad. I looked at the tiny blue flowers; I was pretty sure they were forget-me-nots. Didn't they grow everywhere?

  M. Arsnault threw his arm over my shoulders, crushing me protectively to his chest and hurrying me back towards the castle. There was more crunching as more men in black suits joined us, surrounding us as we wove through the garden.

  "Lamb secure," M. Arsnault said, holding his hand to his ear. My stomach tightened, my blood running cold. Something must be very wrong.

  "What's going on?" I asked, looking at the security team that surrounded me. None of them said a word.

  "What's happening?" I tried again, my voice harder. I directed the question directly at M. Arsnault this time.

  My guard pursed his lips, his grip on my shoulder tightening. "There has been an accident," he stated. "We need to get everyone secure."

  We were on the steps now – the ones that led up to the ballroom.

  "What do you mean? What kind of accident?" My mind went straight to the crowd of people that still lined the castle gate. Had someone actually managed to get in?

  "That's still to be determined," said M. Arsnault tightly as he stopped me at the doors. One of the men in black hurried inside, only to appear a second later to give M. Arsnault a thumbs-up. We moved into the ballroom, my shoes rattling loudly on the marble floors.

  "Well, what happened?" I tried again, frustrated now.

  M. Arsnault pulled me to a stop, sighing heavily. He turned me around to face him, his bear paw hands resting on my shoulders. "There was an accident at the base," he began, his voice steady. "We don't have the details yet, but we need to get all of you secured in the king's office."

  My breath caught in my throat and panic swept through my body. "Leopold?" I rasped.

  Arsnault pursed his lips, looking at me sadly. "He's been injured."

  The bouquet slipped from my fingers. I ran.

  ***

  Felip's office was full of people. Beatrice was seated behind the desk in Felip's chair; her face was pale and her gaze focused on the door. Her eyes met mine briefly as M. Arsnault accompanied me into the room. Felip was behind her, pacing agitatedly.

  Hector and Rose were standing in front of the bookcase on the left wall. He had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, but his eyes were focused on his father. Rose offered me a weak smile.

  Phillipa, who had apparently returned, was sitting in the blue velvet chair. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her tiny hands balled into fists in her lap. I was surprised, almost, to see the tears. I went to stand behind her, running my hand down her dark hair.

  Felip nodded at M. Arsnault as my guard fell into position beside the door. The other guards left the room.

  "Any news?" Felip asked.

  "Remi is on his way now," replied M. Arsnault.

  I bit my lip. Remi was the head of royal security; it was not good if he was coming here himself.

  The room was silent as we waited for his arrival. All heads turning when the door opened a few minutes later. A tall severe-looking man pushed through the door and nodded once sharply in greeting, the light from the chandelier reflecting off his bald head.

  "The premises have been secured," he declared in a gravelly voice. "We have been in contact with the base. It seems there was an accident involving a helicopter the prince was flying. He is being airlifted to the hospital as we speak."

  I frowned, his words not making sense. Leopold and I had just been flying on the weekend. He seemed perfectly at ease as a pilot. I couldn't imagine what would have happened to make him crash.

  "Send guards over right away to meet him there. Have extras guards travel with the family members who go," instructed Felip, without missing a beat.

  "Right away, sir," Remi bowed. "The cars will be ready and waiting."

  Beatrice stood, clearly understanding the next step. She had some color back now, a steely resolve settling over her features as she slipped into the next room.

  "Hector?" Felip asked.

  Hector nodded and released Rose, stepping up to his father's desk.

  "Take care of your mother, and..." Felip paused for a moment, his voice wavering momentarily. "Call if..." he didn't finish the sentence; he didn't have to.

  Hector nodded and followed after his mother.

  Felip's eyes landed on me next. "Catherine, I would like you to go to the hospital too. I understand if you do not wish to; we have no idea what the situation may be, or what shape Leopold will be in."

  "No," I said, "of course. Of course, I'll go. Thank you." I scrambled for the door, M. Arsnault turning to follow me.

  "Cat," Felip called, making me stop. I turned to face him, seeing the pain and worry evident in his eyes. "Please take care of him."

  ***

  The cars pulled to a stop outside the new hospital. Guards already at the scene surrounded us, helped us from the cars, past the statue of Felip, and to the front doors. There was a nurse waiting for us in the atrium. She led us through the sterile halls to a private waiting area.

  A woman in a power suit passed through our barricade of security. I recognized Dr. Fleurion from my tour of the hospital a few weeks ago. She was the chief of surgery.

  She bowed her head slightly, stopping in front of us.

  "What's happened to my son?" Beatrice asked as Hector grabbed hold of her hand.

  "Welcome your Highnesses. Why don't we sit down?" Dr. Fleurion offered, indicating a pair of benches.

  We did as she directed, sitting stiffly on the furniture.

  "Can you tell us what happened?" Hector asked again. His voice was calm, just as Felip's had been in the office. Practiced.

  Dr. Fleurion needed no further prompt to start her measured speech. I didn't catch most of what she was saying. Unfortunately the conversational French I had learned during my lessons hadn't covered medical terminology. That, coupled with the heartbeat that sounded loudly in my ears, made it difficult to understand her.

  "Thank you," Hector told her, earning a small smile.

  Beatrice sat rigidly beside him, her face carefully blank.

  Dr. Fleurion nodded, face full of sympathy. "Please do not hesitate to have someone fetch me if you have any questions. I will update you as soon as I have any news."

  She left us then, hurrying back to the elevators. As I watched her disappear behind the doors, my stomach tightened. I could picture the operating rooms in the basement and could imagine Leopold lying on one of them.

  "What did she say?" I asked Hector.

  He turned to me, his face pale, features set. I held my breath.

  "The helicopter Leopold was driving during his test crashed," he began. I noticed Beatrice's hand grip his tighter. "There were two of them inside. The other soldier died on the way to the hospital. They had to resuscitate Leopold on the scene, but he made it here. He is in a critical condition, but he was stable enough for examination and is now in surgery."

  "That's all?" I asked tightly. The word “resuscitate” kept playing over and over again in my mind. He had died. Leopold had died, but he was not dead.

  "She said they would let us know as soon as they had any more information."

  ***

  Dr. Fleurion returned exactly an hour and forty-three minutes later. Hector was pacing back and forth between the chairs, his two middle fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. But he froze at the sound of the elevator doors opening, his head flying up. I put down the cup
of coffee I had been unable to drink and gently place my hand on Beatrice's arm. She hadn't moved since the last time the doctor had been here, not even blinked.

  "So?" Hector asked, slightly harsher than necessary. He seemed to catch himself though, and he cleared his throat. He sat down again at his mother's other side, forcing himself to listen.

  "He is stable for now," Dr. Fleurion said with a small smile. "His external injuries have been looked after, and they will heal in time. There will undoubtedly be some scarring though. He has been burned quite severely."

  "Can we see him?" Beatrice asked, voice rasping.

  The doctor nodded slowly. "He is just being taken to his room now, but yes, in a few moments I will take you there. There are a few things I would like to tell you first."

  Beatrice pursed her lips impatiently, obviously more intent on seeing for herself that her son was okay than having to listen to all the reasons why he wasn't. She listened though.

  "I do not want you to be afraid when you see him," Fleurion explained, pulling out some of the familiar lines she sadly had to use so frequently in her line of work. "The prince is covered in many bandages and splints. His face is bruised and swollen, and we had to shave his head."

  Something clicked in my mind then, as slowly the pieces of what she had said and what she hadn't said were coming together. My heart stopped in my chest as the words began to form on my lips. I didn't know if I wanted to hear the answer to what I was about to ask. "You said that his external injuries had been looked after. Does that mean that there are internal ones?"

  "The prince's brain was damaged by the impact. This caused swelling and hemorrhaging in his brain. We opened his head to relieve the pressure, but we are not sure how severe the damage to his brain has been. We will not know for sure until he wakes up," she explained.

  Hector jumped to his feet again, too anxious to stand still. "You mean he hasn't regained consciousness yet?"

  "He has not been conscious since the crash. The prince is in a coma," she stated simply.

  Beatrice gasped beside me, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

  "He will wake up though," I said, determined not to make it a question, not to doubt that he would.

  "I cannot say for sure. Every case is different. Just in case, though, given your position, I would suggest you start to prepare for the worst. I am very sorry." She paused for a moment, letting the news sink in, and then said, "Now if you will follow me, I will take you up to his room."

  Numbly, I stood and began to follow. I was having a hard time believing what we had just been told. Two hours ago Leopold had died and come back to life. Now he was alive but unreachable.

  We went up to the seventeenth floor. Guards met us at the elevator doors. More had been positioned at the entrance to the stairwell and another pair was stationed at the entrance of the hallway we turned down. M. Lefevre and M. Arnault met us at the last door on the left-hand side. Leopold was like sleeping beauty with an army watching him. But I was pretty sure that true love’s kiss would not wake him up.

  Beatrice, Hector, and I filed into the room, surrounding the hospital bed where Leopold was sleeping. Dr. Fleurion stepped in, shutting the door behind her.

  "What happens now?" Hector asked her. His eyes were fixed on his brother, eyes skimming over the bandages, wires, and tubes that covered his body.

  "We keep him here, under monitoring," she said. "We will keep him medicated so he is not in pain, we will change his bandages, and we will put his joints through normal motion every day to avoid stiffness. You may want to begin looking at options for when he is able to go home." She paused for a moment, as if she was leaving room to correct herself silently, "if" he is able to go home. "There may be complications when, or if, he regains consciousness. Based on the scans there is a high possibility that he may be blind. I will give you the information on whom you can contact. There are many people and groups who can help."

  Beatrice nodded. "I will take care of that. I will give you the number for my personal secretary so you can forward me all of the information."

  "Very well," Dr. Fleurion nodded. "Other than that, there is nothing more that can be done until we wake him up. I suggest that you all go home and assess your options."

  "I want to stay," I blurted.

  "You don't have to do that, Mademoiselle," Dr. Fleurion said. "The prince is in very good hands here. I am sure you would be much more comfortable at home."

  "I know, but I want to," I insisted. I turned to Beatrice. "The guards are all here. I will be fine. I don't want to leave him here all alone."

  "It goes against protocol," said Hector. "Plus, there is nowhere for you to sleep. You can come back tomorrow, Catherine."

  Beatrice shook her head. "Let her stay."

  She looked at me, eyes glistening. "Let Catherine stay. She should be here. I want her here with him. Felip would agree."

  Hector rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, I will go tell security and call Dad. He will be waiting for news."

  "I'll follow you," said Dr. Fleurion, "and I'll make some arrangements on my end as well."

  ***

  I was finally left alone with Leopold later that night. Beatrice and Hector had left, Dr. Fleurion had finally stopped checking in on me, and the night nurse wasn't due for another hour.

  Somehow, someone had managed to locate a futon in an office somewhere in the hospital, and they had it carried down to Leopold's room for me to sleep on. I was sitting on it now, wearing the pajamas that had been dropped off for me, hugging my knees to my chest.

  I let my eyes roam over Leopold's broken body. Two of his fingers were in splints, and the ends of small metallic pins that held the bones in place could be seen sticking out here and there between the braces. His left arm was in a sling, keeping his shoulder, which had been popped back into its socket, still. My eyes drifted from there down to his ribs. They were hidden beneath blankets and a hospital gown, but I had caught a glimpse of these injuries earlier when the nurse had come to change Leopold's bandages. Leopold's left flank, from under his arm down to the inside of his left hip, was covered in an angry burn. The nurse had told me that it was a severe second-degree burn, bordering on third-, that it was very painful, and that it would scar.

  Beneath the damaged flesh, three of his ribs were cracked.

  My hand swiped at my cheeks as I finally allowed the first few tears to fall.

  My eyes ran upwards, toward the lines of stitches on his bicep, up to his collarbone, until I finally stopped at his face. His features had been distorted by the swelling; the usual sharp lines of his jaw and cheeks were hidden under the puffy, bruised flesh. His hair was gone. The thick messy strands of copper and gold had been shorn off and replaced by an angry red line that stitched along the crown of his head. Even the soft gold hair of his arms was gone, apparently singed off by the fire.

  He was virtually unrecognizable. There was nearly none of the Leopold I knew left on the bed beside me.

  Finally alone, I let all of the pain and the worry of the day wash over me. I took hold of his large hand, careful to avoid the intravenous line, finding relief in the fact that at least this felt the same. There was a comforting familiarity in the long calloused fingers wrapped through my mine.

  I slowly cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Time in the hospital was made up of short eternities. The hours were fluid, running into each other so that they blurred and pooled together. Minutes dragged on infinitely, counted out in the beeping of heart monitors and breaths. I could only be sure of what time it was because of the visitors. Nurses came on set schedules to check vitals, give medications, and change bandages. Security guards, doctors, and custodians came too, all passing in and out of the relentless infinity Leopold and I had been immersed in.

  I spent my time pouring over documents: all sorts of treaties, laws, and accords. It was homework that had been brought to me by M. Arsnault, things that I would be covering in law, econo
mics, and civics lessons in the months to come. It was the only thing that kept my mind busy. Anything else (books, TV, wedding planning) allowed my mind to drift into dangerous panicky territory. As long as I could focus on taxes and budget plans, I could stay calm and rational.

  Leopold remained unconscious. His bruises melted together, his skin grew less puffy, and cuts began to seal. But he did not wake up. The nurses and doctors assured me that everything was fine, his injuries were healing well, and he would wake up when he was ready. They said it was good that he was asleep, that sleep would help him heal, and his body was helping him by letting him forget all of this. It was what they didn't say that scared me: that he may not wake up or that there may be something even worse to discover when he did.

  The DuMonts took turns visiting. It was Phillipa who came first, on the second day we had been in the hospital, bringing Hugo with her. She went straight over to her twin and delicately placed her fingertips on his cheek. "What have you done this time?" she asked softly. I looked away, feeling as though I was intruding on something far too private.