A Guiding Light Page 19

  The RPS agents exchanged looks, and Daniel sighed before saying, “Kings are not exempt from the laws. Attempted murder in a public place is still an attempted murder, and as you did nothing to provoke him, and he turned his weapon on a member of the royal family, he’s guilty of attempted murder of a royal. The penalty for that in most kingdoms is either life in prison or execution.”

  “It’s execution in North Dakota,” Marshal whispered. “But my father won’t see his day in court. I dreamed that, too. His actions lead to his death in every dream I’ve ever had. How he dies changes, but he always dies.”

  “How long have you been dreaming of your father’s death?” Dr. Stanton asked, her tone gentler than I’d heard from her before.

  “I’ve been dreaming my family would die for a few years now. Before, they were infrequent nightmares. Lately, they’ve become more frequent and consistent. That’s how I know it’s inevitable. The less my dreams change, the more likely that future is to happen. I’ve been dreaming about Adam since the day I was born. That’s how I knew he’d change everything. It’s always been Adam.”

  “I’m going to handle the logistics on getting you both proper suppressors instead of temporary ones, and as soon as is reasonable, you’re both getting an appointment with a psychologist.”

  As she was right, I boxed away my misgivings and nodded. I’d needed a psychologist from age fifteen, and all things considered, Marshal had likely needed one from his first memories.

  “See, Adam? I told you. Things will get better,” Marshal said.

  Maybe they would, but at what price?

  He’d already lost his mother, and he believed he’d lose his father, too. Just like mine had, his family was falling apart, and I was powerless to stop it.

  No, I’d caused it.

  How he didn’t hate me, I couldn’t begin to understand, but when I stared into his eyes, all I saw was unquestioning trust I’d continue to bring change no matter what he dreamed.

  My phone rang, startling me from my drug-induced nap on the couch, and I grabbed for it, checking the display. I recognized Peter’s number. It took several tries to swipe my finger across the screen. I answered, “Smith.”

  “Adam,” Veronica growled. I had no idea how women could manage to pack so much disapproval into a name, but it was a skill she had mastered.

  I had no idea what she was angry over, and the list was too long to waste time considering the options. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing in our plans involved you being shot by my father.”

  I was a dead man walking, and I had no idea what to do about it. “I’m sorry.”

  “I saw the news. Is Marshal okay?”

  I sat up, stifled a yawn, and looked around the sitting room to discover Veronica’s brother had taken a lesson from me, sprawled on one of the armchairs. Dr. Stanton and the three RPS agents were in the kitchen, and they watched me. “He’s fine, all things considered.”

  “You told him about our mother?”

  “He was the one who told me, Veronica. He knows. Are you all right?”

  “Damn his talent, anyway. Everyone’s all right. A couple of grazes, a few bruises, but nothing that won’t heal given a week. Peter needs a couple of stitches. My mother’s death was painless.” Her voice sounded calm, but as though her voice somehow renewed the connection between us, her grief roiled beneath the surface, hidden from watchful eyes.

  What was I supposed to say? I was grateful her mother hadn’t suffered. I glared at my calf, which throbbed despite the painkiller the RPS agents had given me. “I’m so sorry, Veronica.”

  “You’re not responsible for my father’s madness. He shot you. If Peter hadn’t given you his vest, you would’ve died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing, damn it! What he did isn’t your fault. However, we will be discussing why you thought luring my father out so he could try to kill you was a good idea.”

  “I didn’t think it was a good idea. I thought it was a necessary idea. And it was. You can yell at me all you want over it, though. I deserve at least some scolding, but I won’t apologize for helping your brother.”

  “And you shouldn’t. I’m grateful. I heard it on the news, but the reports were unclear about any injuries. Something happened. Tell me.”

  Was grazed the right word for what her father had done to my calf? It seemed a bit more severe than a graze to me. “I had a minor altercation with a bullet.”

  “Where?”

  “Along my calf. It’s no big deal. I can even have Dr. Stanton verify it. She’s here.” I cast a pleading look in the doctor’s direction, and the woman laughed at me.

  “Put her on the phone.”

  I held out the phone to Dr. Stanton and mouthed a desperate ‘please’ in her direction. She chuckled, got up from the table, and strolled over. “Hello, Your Highness. Before you worry, Adam will be fine. It’s a deep graze, and we took some precautionary measures. If you’ve noticed a lack of responsiveness in your bond with him, don’t worry. He had a flare. However, he will be loaning your brother one of his suppressor bracelets. I wanted you to be aware so you have a chance to moderate your emotions before it’s done. We’re hoping to control Prince Marshal’s talents. When we have a few minutes, I want to discuss a long-term solution. While his talent isn’t physically dangerous, I believe it’s wise to take some precautions. I’ll also be making some recommendations for a psychologist. Yes, I am implying you should attend sessions as well. It’ll do you both good.”

  I would’ve paid good money to hear Veronica’s side of the conversation, especially when Dr. Stanton rolled her eyes at something she said. “I said psychologist, not psychiatrist. Psychologists are very useful for helping individuals and couples work through old traumas. Perhaps you don’t feel you need one, but Adam certainly does.”

  “You might want to assign me two, because I don’t think one can handle all my issues.”

  That earned me a glare from my doctor. “No, Adam, you do not need two psychologists. One is sufficient, I assure you. My apologies for the interruption, Your Highness. Thank you for the update. Please have Peter discuss with the RPS agents here and come up with a plan. If possible, limiting how often we have to move Adam would be wise. Be careful, keep your head down, and keep us updated. Adam did flare, and I’d like to keep things calm until he has a chance to rest.”

  Dr. Stanton hung up and returned my phone. “She’s going to try to rendezvous with us tonight, but Fargo is in a state of chaos right now. Word on the street is that the king is planning on making a special announcement on the morning news, and it has everyone in a frenzy of speculation. Unless His Highness wakes up on his own, we’ll begin our experimentations with your suppressors tomorrow, after Veronica is on hand to help as needed.”

  “Don’t I need to learn how to control my talent?” I complained. “It’s not fair for her to do the work.”

  “It’s going to take both of you, and she has a great deal more experience than you do at handling emotions. She won’t be doing most of the work, but she will be there to help catch you when you have trouble separating your emotions from hers—and you will, often. It gets better with practice, but without the suppressors, at your level of talent, you’ll always be aware of her when your talent properly matures and has a chance to grow. Once you’ve learned to identify the entire range of her emotions, it’ll be easier on you. She has some learning to do, too, as close proximity will make your emotions stronger. She only has an advantage because she’s already used to identifying your emotions.”

  “It’s okay, Adam. It’s a problem my sister’s happy to have, so don’t worry. Except the psychologist part. She hates those.” Marshal yawned and stretched. “She’s always hated them. They’ve always tried to tell her she was wrong to want Adam in her life.”

  “Those weren’t psychologists,” Dr. Stanton spat. “They’re pathetic fools.”

  “Maybe if you call them therapists she won’t freak, but
I wouldn’t count on it. Changing her mind will take a miracle.”

  My doctor snorted. “I don’t need a miracle to change her mind. I have Adam, and once she sees what a good psychologist can do with him, I won’t have to change her mind. It’s not her fault, or yours, that your father has done everything in his power to sabotage their bond.”

  “Ever since I was little, everyone told me it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Adam loved my sister from the moment he saw her. Why does my father think he can separate them?”

  It amazed me how a child could ask such a difficult question, one I didn’t have the answer to. Dr. Stanton sighed, and I wondered if she had the answer.

  Did anyone?

  “I don’t know. Greed. Insecurity. A desire to hold the power he never had to earn because he happened to be born first. There are many reasons why he decided to do as he did. In the beginning, perhaps he felt Adam would be pliable and make a suitable puppet. Plenty of royal families around the world pick consorts for that reason, so they might be able to continue their rule through their heir. There are few good reasons for children to be betrothed young.”

  “Veronica says a good betrothal protects us from becoming worse than slaves,” Marshal replied.

  “She’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make the practice right. Wouldn’t it be better to live in a society where such things aren’t necessary because children are no longer a currency?”

  I sure as hell didn’t have the answer to that question and judging from the way Marshal’s expression twisted and darkened, he didn’t, either.

  “That’s why the laws need to be changed, and your sister and Adam are in a unique position to make that change happen. They’re victims of the system, and we have all the medical proof we need of the consequences of the current system’s existence. If the laws can be changed to ban the marriage and betrothal of children, what happened to them might not happen to anyone else.”

  Marshal turned to me. “Adam?”

  “Unless laws can be written barring citizens of other kingdoms from marrying abroad until over a certain age, unless all kingdoms pass similar laws, it’s pointless. It won’t prevent someone from kidnapping a coercing someone into a marriage agreement. And this could happen to adults, too. It’s entirely possible North Dakota’s laws can be changed, but that isn’t going to do much beyond set an example. Too many people have too much to lose from banning the practice,” I pointed out, shaking my head. “There’s no miracle cure for the problem.”

  “Texas and Montana set a precedence for wide-sweeping changes on a global scale. Texas’s child trafficking laws were validated as holding weight on an international level. You could piggyback the marriage laws in conjunction with the child trafficking laws. I think it’d be trivial to forge a connection to the two. If physical relocation and enslavement of children is illegal on an international level, then the enslavement of children through marriage should likewise be illegal.”

  I opened my mouth to protest youth betrothal wasn’t an enslavement of children, but when I thought about it, I realized Dr. Stanton had a valid point.

  In most kingdoms, eighteen was the legal age someone was considered an adult.

  “Can it be done?” Marshal asked.

  “I don’t know. But if no one tries, nothing will change. Will it be easy? No. These changes would remove a lot of power from the royals around the world. Their children would be able to decide for themselves which alliances should be forged. It’s more than eliminating child marriage. It’s establishing that children shouldn’t be forced into marriages when they’re not considered adults in the eyes of the law. They can’t drink alcohol, they can’t drive without restriction, they can’t vote, and they can’t file financial paperwork without a court order or parental consent. It makes zero sense they should be considered mature enough to be wed.”

  I considered the problem. On a whole, it was too big of an issue for one man to take on alone, but if I could somehow involve Montana and Texas, Dr. Stanton’s theory that child marriage controls could be tacked onto international child trafficking laws might work. There’d be the issue of active betrothals, but unless someone—unfortunately, me—tried to face the problem head on, nothing would change.

  In that, she was correct.

  “We’re putting the cart before the horse. We have more immediate problems to worry about. It needs addressed, but until His Royal Majesty is dealt with, there’s little point in talking about it. As things stand, I’m in no position to do anything about it.”

  “But you will be,” she replied.

  “And when I am, we’ll continue this conversation. Until then, we have more important things to worry about.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Riots kept Veronica, Ian, and her family from leaving Fargo, but they found a place to hide in the city without drawing attention to themselves. I assumed a miracle was involved—or they’d been recognized by the right people, who aided their escape by maintaining secrecy.

  A miracle seemed more likely to me, but I worried I’d underestimated the public’s dislike of their king. The riots were evidence enough to convince me change was coming, but when the dust settled, I wasn’t sure what sort of change I’d face.

  The scariest one involved a princess rising to become a queen, a throne, and a crown I’d have to wear. When I’d been young and foolish, I’d believed myself prepared to tackle the responsibility of ruling a kingdom.

  As an adult, I’d put away those childish things, packaging them into a box and burying it as deep as I could to avoid the memories I couldn’t escape. It hadn’t worked, and time had done nothing more than convince me of the unpleasant truth: I’d believed in so much as a child—too much.

  I doubted I could handle being a husband without a lot of help, likely of professional nature. I’d test Veronica’s patience, and I’d likely drive her to the brink of insanity before I figured out how to be a good partner for her. I’d spent too much time alone.

  I had no idea how to do a lot of things, including be a king.

  I had no idea if anyone would actually want me to be one, either. The events at the mall had catalyzed a revolt, but I had no way of knowing if the people revolted because of tyranny or because they desired the change I’d inevitably bring. After the initial reports showing the shooting, the news outlets had gone quiet—suspiciously quiet. Had the king usurped power, cutting off the broadcasts? Or was the media making plans of its own?

  Were they waiting to see what the king had to say in the morning before taking action?

  Adding to my concerns, no one would tell me where Veronica and her family were in Fargo, but I kept my misgivings to myself. The fewer who knew their location, the lower the odds the wrong people would find them. I worried, but I did my best to quell the emotions as they rose.

  Veronica had enough on her plate with me adding to it.

  My worries and fears grew with each passing hour, and I relied on old tricks to keep myself from fidgeting and pacing. Controlling my breathing helped some, although not enough. I wanted to confirm Veronica was safe with my own eyes. I wanted a lot of things, including some peace and quiet, neither of which I’d find until the problem of His Royal Majesty of North Dakota was resolved. Since he wasn’t going to disappear without a fight, I had a lot to do and no idea how to do any of it.

  Staging a stock market collapse I could handle.

  Reining in a kingdom-wide rebellion was beyond me. Despite my awareness of my shortcomings, I no longer had a choice. Someone had to do something, and that someone was me.

  It had begun the day Veronica had tumbled into her father’s moat. In some twisted way, I hoped the scar would never fade, reminding us of the day we’d met. I’d hooked her arm, she’d hooked my soul, and while we couldn’t undo what had been done, I’d give Dr. Stanton what she wanted.

  No one deserved to be put through what we’d endured. We weren’t like most children. Magic tied us together, but I liked to believe we’d played our part
in our desire for each other’s company. I had no idea if we’d make a difference, but once Veronica’s father was dealt with and North Dakota had a chance to recover from the rioting and growing rebellion, I’d do what I could.

  Too much of the future remained unclear.

  That worried me as well, as I had no idea what Marshal would dream. What he’d foreseen had happened, and endless possibilities awaited. It occurred to me the possibilities weren’t endless for him, and I wondered what it would be like to live in his shoes for even a day.

  Did he become a slave to the futures he witnessed in his dreams? I believed he could change things—he had.

  Instead of his entire family dying, he’d only lost his mother. If his dreams were to be believed, he’d soon lose his father, too. How could anyone think it was right to burden a child with his magic?

  That magic was valued more than the people who wielded it would bother me until the day I die. In some ways, it was a comparable problem to the rampant betrothals of children of elite and royal families.

  Magic ruled over all, and I wished it didn’t.

  Without magic, would betrothals become an exception rather than a rule? Without magic, what would become of us as a society? It’d been so long since we’d lived in a mundane reality I wasn’t sure what to think would happen to the world if magic were to disappear. If some historians were to be believed, magic had a flow, rising and falling through the ages.

  What would happen if Marshal’s talent disappeared?

  I couldn’t understand what it was like to look into the future night after night. Would the uncertainty drive him as crazy as it drove me? Could his magic be as much a blessing as it was a curse?

  I considered the bracelets around my wrist. Would giving him one be enough? Would giving him both be too much?

  How strong was his magic, and how much of it was an integral part of his life?