SEND HIM VICTORIOUS - A Royal Thriller - Chapter 2, part 1

What if the King of England ruled rather than merely reigned?

There’s a new Monarchy on the world stage, and it’s also one of the oldest.

King Alfred reigns.

Frustrated by the lack of real power of the modern monarchy, the King seizes back the power once wielded by his ancient ancestors.

But the world does not want to let him keep it...

In a history where King Edward VIII never abdicated the throne, the British Royal Family turned out differently.

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This is my latest book, which I am serializing for you here on Steemit. You can buy this book on Amazon (clickable here) or any other online bookshop, both electronically and in print, or you can read it free right 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:

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CHAPTER TWO - Risk (part 1 of 3)

People gathered in their thousands. The police found them difficult to manage, breaking their human chain here and there, spectators spilling into the road to be recovered by police and Secret Service personnel. However, the front gates of Buckingham Palace were kept clear, closing behind the King’s limousine once it was inside.

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The King’s office was light and airy, with little of the classical trappings of the rest of the Palace, including a substantial mahogany desk, leather office-chair, sideboard, and coffee table surrounded by leather visitor’s chairs and sofa. On the table was a china tea set.

Now clad in a grey double-breasted suit, Alfred sat on the sofa and Archbishop Youngblood on one of the chairs.

A ginger-haired young man in a dark tailored suit poured cups of tea. He set one in front of the King.

“Now Blair,” Alfred said, “my good friend Woollie will have his black with two sugars.”

The young man complied, putting a cup in front of the Archbishop.

“Thank you, Mr Lindsey,” Youngblood said.

Lindsey moved the tea set to the sideboard, taking a seat in a corner a respectful distance from the King and his guest, opened a leather bound notebook, and extracted a pen from his pocket.

“I think,” Youngblood said, “we could perhaps get you off without the death penalty.”

The King laughed. “I daresay we could. They may just settle for chucking me in the tower and torturing me.”

“Oh no. The instruments of torture bring in the tourists. They are far too valuable to sully with blood.” The Archbishop smiled.

“Royal blood, mind you,” the King said, eyes wide.

The Archbishop and the King laughed.

“If we may be serious for a moment, Your Majesty, you dropped something of a bombshell on us today. You didn’t tell anyone what you were planning.”

Lindsey wrote rapidly, keeping up with the conversation.

“I told General Stewart! And everyone else who needed to know. If I’d told you, would you not have tried to stop me?”

“I would’ve attempted to dissuade you from these Machiavellian machinations, yes.”

“Ah, but the infamous Italian prince didn’t care who lived or died. That’s the difference between him and me. I care deeply what happens to my people.”

The Archbishop’s brow furrowed, his voice rising. “They are only your people in the sense that you are their King, their figurehead. They are not yours to do with as you please. Do you truly want to upset everything that Britain has worked to establish for three hundred years, merely for the sake of short-term gain? To assert your power in your old age?”

“Short-term gain?” The King’s voice rose to meet Youngblood’s. “If it were only me, I’d be content to live out my days in comfort and ease. This is for our children, and our children’s children. The status quo is simply not good enough.”

“While the status quo,” Youngblood said, “may not have been perfect, at least we knew where we stood.”

“And I will remind you, this island’s name is Great Britain, and great she shall be!”

“I must point out – as I’m sure you already know, Your Majesty – that the ‘great’ in Great Britain refers to its size in relation to Ireland, which was once referred to as ‘Little Britain’.”

“Well what would be the point of being King if I could not redefine the name of my kingdom?”

“But Your Majesty–”

“Good morning, Woollie.” The King indicated the door.

Lindsey pocketed his pencil, closed his notebook, stood up, and went to the door.

Youngblood fixed his eyes on the King a few seconds. Then he stood up, shook Alfred’s outstretched hand, allowed Lindsey to open the door, and exited.

The King exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “That went well.”

Lindsey smiled, running a finger along the inside of his collar.

“Right. Who’s next, Blair?”

“It’s your children, Your Majesty.” Lindsey closed the diary, holding it in the crook of his arm.

“Ah,” the King said, standing, looking at the floor, and clasping his hands behind his back. “Can I not have the Archbishop back instead?”

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad, sir.”

“Hmm. We shall see.”

“May I show them in?”

Drawing a deep breath, the King said, “Very well.”

Lindsey opened the door. The Prince was pacing around the waiting room, while the Princess sat on the visitor’s sofa as if posing for a photo.

She stood and accompanied her brother into their father’s office.

Lindsey indicated some chairs. The Princess sat, but the Prince continued standing.

“What are you playing at, Father?” Prince Adrian raised his voice, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s some kind of elaborate joke, isn’t it? Well, I’m sure I don’t understand it. And I’m sure that Parliament don’t either. Nor the rest of the country, for that matter.”

Lindsey moved to the furthest corner of the room as he readied his notebook.

The Prince continued. “You simply can’t use the State Opening of Parliament to stage some elaborate practical joke. Because it must be a joke. I mean, really – you? Rule Britain? You simply can’t do that. Nor I, nor my little sister. It’s prepost–”

“How dare you,” the King bellowed, “address your father – your King! – in such a manner.” He held his hands behind his back and walked around his desk, looking down on his shorter son. “My plans for the New Order include you. You have a part to play which, given your usual behaviour, might also be considered a joke by many. But if you ‘man up’, you’ll get your chance to shine.

“Now, my dear,” the King said, shifting his gaze to the Princess, “do you agree with your brother’s sentiments?”

The Princess stood from her chair. “Yesterday, I’d have said that staging a coup in Great Britain would have been impossible. Today– well, we shall have to wait and see how it all falls out, but I’m absolutely behind you.”

The King smiled, and Frances hugged her father tightly.

Holding his arms in the air uncertainly, the King waited a moment before returning her embrace. His smile disappeared.

She released her father. “Sorry.”

Unnoticed in his corner, Lindsey smiled.

“I hope your plans include me as well,” the Princess said.

“Of course.”

Adrian jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and fell into a chair. “My dear sister, you can have my job, whatever that is. I don’t want any part of this. I like my life.”

The King put his hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed. “There is no going back. Your old life is over.”

Twisting free, the Prince stood up and made for the door.

“Adrian, you have not been given leave to depart!”

Looking back at his father, the Prince hesitated before opening the door, leaving, and slamming it behind him.

“Blair, is General Montgomery here in the Palace?”

Lindsey stepped out of his corner. “No, Your Majesty. The ranking officer on site is Captain Phillips.”

“Raise him.”

Lindsey picked up the desk phone, and spoke in hushed tones.

The King indicated a chair to the Princess. “Sit down, my dear. This won’t take long.”

Frances complied.

“Here he is, Your Majesty,” Lindsey said, holding the receiver to the King.

Alfred snatched the phone away from Lindsey. “Stanley, hello. The Prince of Wales has just left my office. I don’t know which way he’s going, but I want him brought back here. Don’t accept any argument from him – or resistance.” He handed the receiver back to Lindsey.

The King sat down opposite his daughter. “As I was saying, my plans–”

She held up a finger and pointed first to the door, then to the phone. “Er… can you actually do that? Have Adrian brought back by force?”

“As of this morning,” Alfred said with a sneaking smile, “yes.”

Folding her hands across her lap and looking her father in the eye, the Princess grinned. “I see.”