SEND HIM VICTORIOUS - A Royal Thriller - Chapter 1, part 1

What happens when the King of a modern first-world country topples the government and takes power himself?

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By way of introduction, this is my latest book which, starting today, I am going to serialize for you here on Steemit. You can buy this book on Amazon or any other online bookshop, both electronically and in print, or you can read it free here.

I am also thinking of recording an audiobook of this title. Please let me know if you would like that.

I look forward to interacting with you. If you have any questions about the story, locations, characters, events, or background, please ask (though I will only answer them if it doesn’t require revealing spoilers!).

This book is the product of years of preparation, research, and writing. I hope you enjoy it!

Read on:

CHAPTER ONE - Overthrow

Four Army transport trucks rolled into the New Palace Yard, a fenced open area at the corner of Westminster Palace in the shadow of Big Ben. Moving onto the oval-shaped drive the vehicles formed a semi-circle, blocking access to the ramp leading to the underground parking for the Lords and Ministers of Parliament.

A General and a Sergeant were already on the ground. The Sergeant barked orders to his men who poured out of the trucks, their weapons rattling as they moved. The General entered the Houses of Parliament through a side door. The Sergeant followed, leading scores of soldiers from the yard into the buildings. Another officer and several lower ranks stayed behind to keep guard, watching the rest enter the hallowed halls of the British Parliament behind their commanding officers.

The remaining guards closed the gates, walking a circuit around the Yard, passing the guards’ hut where two uniformed guards sat trussed with cable ties.

The flow of people, some going about their business, some tourists, passed by the gates. Noticing the activity, a small crowd was gathering.

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An attractive middle-aged woman clad in a silk kimono dressing gown and satin pyjamas, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders, sat in an armchair. The decor was sumptuous with thick curtains, flocked wallpaper, classical paintings, and antique furniture. A television showed the State Opening of Parliament in which Alfred, the reigning King of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, wearing the Imperial State Crown on his head and his state robe over his naval uniform, took his seat on the throne.

A butler entered bringing her continental breakfast on a polished brass tray.

“Thank you, Bernard,” she said in the clipped accents of Received Pronunciation. “That’s all for now.”

“Very good, ma’am.” Bernard went through the door, attempting to close it after him, but a man got in his way.

“Good morning sir,” Bernard said. He finished shutting the door behind him as the other man entered.

Of a greater age than the woman, wearing a towelling dressing gown with no visible clothing underneath, he stood between her and the television. “Good morning sister. Only just having breakfast? Isn’t 11:30 a bit late for you?” He rubbed his eyes, yawning, and pushed his hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair.

“Good morning Adrian. I don’t have any engagements today so I allowed myself a lie-in. What’s your excuse?”

Adrian caught her blue eyes. “I had an engagement last night.” He grinned, and winked.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t even know you’d slept here until Bernard mentioned he’d seen you.”

“Well, you know, your house was the nearest place. Though ‘last night’ might be stretching it since I only got here at four. And what are you watching?” He turned to the television, shifting his weight and putting his hands in his pockets.

“I’m trying,” she said, leaning to see past her brother, “to watch Father open parliament.”

“Oh, is that what day it is? Really, Frances, I don’t know why you bother. What pleasure does it give you to listen to Father read the government’s vacuous drivel every year? I think it’s embarrassing.”

She motioned him out of the way as she buttered her toast. “It’s one of the few times I get to see Father, so just let me watch in peace.”

“Don’t be so silly.” Adrian picked up her Delft teapot, pouring himself a cup and replacing the pot on the tray. “You see him every day.” He indicated the picture of the King on the mantelpiece and took a sip of tea. He smacked his lips as if tasting wine. “It’s missing something.”

“Milk?” The Princess proffered a small jug.

“No,” the Prince said, “it’s something else. Ah-ha!” He produced a hip flask from a pocket and poured a little into his tea. “Jack Daniel’s. I call this ‘Texas tea’.” He sipped it and smiled.

“That’s very like you, Adrian,” the Princess said. “Jack Daniel’s is made in Tennessee.”

“Tennessee tea then.” Prince Adrian sat down on the two-seater. They continued watching the pageantry on the television.

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“My lords and members of the House of Commons,” King Alfred sighed, reading from a page in his hand, “my government’s plans for the coming parliamentary year are broad in scope and ambitious in content. My government will seek to build upon its existing programs, strengthening the police force to counter an ever-increasing terrorist threat, to root out injustice and prejudice in the Armed Forces, to build upon our economic strength through increased encouragement to the private sector, and to ensure a safe, competitive society.”

The King’s tone was uninflected as he spoke to the gathering in the House of Lords, amplified by a public address system. The lights shone down upon him, almost drowning his view of the assembled gathering so that the meagre television audience would get a good picture. The opulent trappings near the ceiling of the Chamber – the paintings, the wrought metal, the carved stone – were to him all but invisible behind the incandescent glare.

His thick silver hair showed below the fringe of the bejewelled golden crown which framed his kindly but authoritative face, handsome with a dominant nose, intent eyes, solid cheekbones – advanced in years but not decrepit, a striking and regal figure, even seated.

“My government will strengthen relationships with our friends in the Commonwealth, the European Union, and the G20, to ensure environmental and economic sustainability while maintaining Britain’s distinctive characteristics in our increasingly globalised society.

“My government will bring forward its plan to tackle cyber–terrorism and other threats within the online community, while encouraging the free interchange that makes the Internet so important to our lives today.

“I look forward to our state visit to Tanzania, as well as receiving the Tanzanian President as a guest of my government later this year.

“My government will continue to press forward its programme of ameliorating Great Britain’s contribution to climate change, seeking the cooperation of America, Russia, and China in lowering carbon emissions.”

A brief shudder took hold of the King.

He looked up and scanned the room, locking eyes with a few of the people that he recognised. He looked at the speech again. A murmur went through the Lords’ Chamber while the King took this unscripted pause. The lords, the journalists, the ambassadors, the Yeoman Warders, even the pageboys, wondered at their ageing King.

King Alfred took a deep breath, straining his buttons. “I–” His voice cracked. “I really don’t know who writes this interminable nonsense. The Prime Minister? No Quincy, I’ve seen your writing, and it isn’t this good.”

Coughs, clearing of throats, a multitude of hushed voices filled the air.

Lord Speaker Baroness Overhill shouted for order. Lacking amplification her voice was lost in the din.

“My lords and ladies,” the King said with authority beyond the amplification of the loudspeakers positioned around the Chamber, “did you really come here to listen to the government’s vapid claptrap? Do your expectations and aspirations go no further than seeing policies enacted, bills signed, and the business of government rattling on, imposing its increasingly out-of-step will upon an increasingly compliant people?” He stood, six feet four inches plus the height of the dais, dominating all in the Chamber and silencing even those in the gallery.

“You’ve listened very patiently to this more or less recycled speech every year. You’ve heard the government’s program.” He drew a deep breath. “Now hear mine.”