Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

Four Years Ago

“Rhys . . .” My name falls from Lennon’s lips just before she presses her hand to her mouth and quietly closes our mother’s bedroom door. Her eyes are rimmed red with tears flowing freely down her cheeks, and her shoulders rise and fall as she drags in a deep, fortifying breath. My sister looks between my brother, Atticus, and me, heartbroken. And here’s the thing, it’s not just her. We all know what’s coming, and each one of us is doing a shit job of faking it right now. “Mummy is asking for you.”

Father folds his newspaper and rises from his armchair on the other side of the sitting area outside Mother’s bedroom, but Lennon shakes her head and quickly looks back at me. “She wants to speak to Rhys . . . alone.”

“But . . .” Father groans before Grandfather looks at him the way only a king can, shutting him down without uttering a single word.

Thankfully, one of us can.

“Go, my boy,” the king commands, his eyes softening when they come to me. “We’ll be right here.”

Grandfather doesn’t do emotions. They’re far too messy for him, and messy is not his way. But the squeeze of his hand on my shoulder as I nod is more than he typically offers and more than I’ll get from my own father as I walk past our crumbling family.

Fucking cancer . . .

I swear on all that’s holy in this wretched world, if I ever do anything worthwhile, it will be forwarding research to eradicate this rotting disease.

We all knew this day was coming . . .

Even if somehow I’d managed to convince myself we’d have more time.

That my beautiful, barely fifty-year-old mother wasn’t really dying.

That there wasn’t going to be a gaping hole in our family and our country.

“Future queens don’t die of cancer,” my grandfather had announced when my mother had given him the news over tea and biscuits one afternoon. Like our birthright somehow would protect his daughter from dying.

I remember thinking how ridiculous he sounded. Pompous.

What I hadn’t realized for months was he wasn’t being ridiculous or pompous. He was scared. Not an emotion I’d ever seen from him before or since.

So he did what he’s always done . . . he tried to bend the cancer to his will.

Shame it didn’t work.

Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Gwendoline Allison Caroline Windsor is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known, but not even she could beat this miserable disease. Grandfather tried everything in his power to make it so. He brought in the best specialists from around the world, and when that didn’t work, he demanded Mother try every alternative treatment out there. He refused to believe he could lose her, and her being the ever-dutiful daughter she is, she did as he asked. Tried every treatment. Fought with unmatched grace and strength. Something the rest of us couldn’t manage to muster as we watched her slip slowly away, day by agonizing day. We knew what was happening, even if she refused to share her pain with us.

The crown is a sign of hope, she’d said. It is not my job to garner sympathy from my people. It’s my job to give them hope.

So that’s what she did.

She continued to carry out engagements for the past two years, selflessly. Refusing to let treatments slow her down. Never showing the pain she was in. Not until just a few weeks ago when she and I were coming home from a meeting with Grandfather and the high council. Mother stumbled, and before I could steady her, she passed out . . . Just dropped to the ground without any warning.

Well, without any warning for my siblings and me. Father and Grandfather weren’t surprised.

My eye twitches with the nearly constant anger I’ve harbored for days.

But now isn’t the time to harp on that.

I’ll deal with my father later.

For now, I close my eyes and hold my breath as I step through her door, bracing myself. My mother is a beautiful woman. She’s vibrant and full of life with a quick wit, tremendous laugh, and a wickedly sarcastic sense of humor. But today, she’s lying in her bed, attached to a machine. Her already pale skin is ashen, with an almost translucent appearance, and her green eyes . . . they’re no longer emerald green. They’ve lost their light.

She’s lost her light.

“Come, Rhys.” Hoarse words push past her dried lips as she reaches for me with a shaking hand. “Sit with me, darling.”

I ignore the doctor in the corner of her room and move to the side of her bed, trying desperately to keep it together as I take her frail hand between mine.

Unable to speak.

Unsure what to say, even if I could.

Mother’s gaze drifts over my face, like she’s committing it to memory before a sad smile seems to take far too much energy from her. “I’m so sorry, darling. I wanted you to have a lifetime before this weight was yours to bear, but I’m afraid that lifetime was destined to be much shorter than I’d hoped . . .” She swallows with tears filling her tired eyes. “It’s going to be yours now.”

“No, Mum.” I shake my head, refusing to accept what she’s saying. And suddenly I understand Grandfather’s insistence even more. “It’s still yours, Mum,” I murmur and force down the emotion clogging my throat. “I don’t want it.”

“Look at me, Rhys . . .” Her words are stronger than I thought she’d be capable of. “We both know I don’t have much time left.”

My heart cracks painfully in my chest, and I drop down into the seat next to her bed.

“My God, I wish it wasn’t true, darling, but it’s our reality now. I wish I wasn’t leaving any of you. Not your sister, or brother, or father, but especially not you. My wish has always been for you to live as free of a life as possible for as long as possible. I’d hoped I live to a ripe old age and that the crown wouldn’t be so close to you for so many more years to come, but I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for us.” She pulls our hands to her lips and kisses my signet ring.

“But it can be,” I whisper, knowing I sound like a child but simply not giving a fuck. I’d give anything to be a child again if it meant I’d get another twenty years with her.

“It can’t, Rhys.” Her smile is tired and barely touches her lips as she shakes her head. “Tell me I did a good job. Tell me I taught you how to be smart and fair and empathetic. Tell me I taught you how to balance duty with honor and respect and love. Tell me you’ll do that last part better than I ever did.”

A flurry of moments frozen in time flash behind my eyes. Each one tugging at another breaking piece of my heart. Thousands of memories of being by my mother’s side as I learned what my future held.

How to rule a kingdom.

How to protect our people.

How to navigate the politics of it all.

How to be king.

“You did,” I finally manage to promise as I lean closer to her. “I listened to every word, Mum. Each lesson. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

Lies.

All lies.

I ignored half the lessons she gave because I thought I’d have a lifetime to learn this shit. Grandfather may be older than dirt, but Mother is barely in her fifties. I thought I had forty fucking years before I’d be looking so closely down the line at the goddamned throne.

Mum closes her eyes and sighs as her shoulders relax, like I just gave her permission to do so, and it dawns on me that’s what she needs most from me now.

My reassurance.

My permission.

I’ll carry more weight in my life than most ever will, but I doubt any of them will be heavier than that realization.

I was always going to be the one with her when the time came.

Her heir.

Her future.

Her replacement.

“I’ll take care of Lennon and Atticus.”

“Promise me,” she whispers, and the first tear I’ve ever seen my mother cry slides down her sunken cheek in a delicate line.

“I promise,” I choke out. “Whatever it takes. I’ll keep them safe.”

“They’re not made for this world, Rhys. Not like you and me. Your sister is a dreamer, and Atticus . . . well, he’ll make a good advisor for you one day, but he needs to grow up first. Give him time and space. Let him surprise you.”

“I hate surprises,” I joke, and she laughs before a rattling cough builds in her chest, shaking her frail body.

I lift a glass of water from her bedside table and guide the straw to her lips until she finally pushes it away.

“Sometimes surprises are the best things in life. Be open to them, darling. More open than I was. Please, Rhys . . .”

I nod wordlessly, unable to compose myself.

“Keep your inner circle small. Trust few and love even less. Guard your heart, Rhys. Everyone will want a piece of it. Save it for only those who deserve it. And trust that someone out there will deserve it. Don’t let the suits decide it for you, like they did for me. Like they did for your sister. Be stronger and smarter than I was.”

I drop my head to her hands. “I’m not ready to lose you, Mum.”

“You’ll never lose me, darling,” she whispers, her voice soft and weak. “I will always be with you. And one day when you sit on the throne and they rest the crown on your head, I’ll be there with you, watching over you. Guiding you and protecting you,” she cries quietly. “I will always protect you, my prince.”

“Mum . . .” I lift my head and watch as she closes her eyes.

Her chest barely moves until it doesn’t.

Until the machine she’s hooked up to stops moving, and the doctor, who’s been silently watching from the corner of the room, steps up and turns it off.noveldrama

Until I press my lips to her cheek and my tears soak her sheets.

“Rest now, Mum. I love you, and I will make you proud.”