SEND HIM VICTORIOUS - A Royal Thriller - Chapter 3, part 4

What if the Army entered the houses of Parliament and forced Britain to accept a new regime?

King Alfred II reigns over Great Britain.

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 Queen Elizabeth II never came to the throne, the British Royal Family turned out very 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 THREE - Rule (part 4 of 5)

“But such is the weight of responsibility he feels, that he must give himself fully to the role that God and fate have given him. I do not envy him this responsibility. It would break a lesser man.

“But my father is not a lesser man. He is a man who deserves our respect and support. He has worked tirelessly for this country his entire life. Even in the last decade, while you didn’t seen much of him, he was working, preparing his government.

“The New Order brings with it a multitude of possibilities. Not just for England, or Scotland, or Wales, but for all British people, both individually and collectively. Britain is already beginning to regain the respect of the world. The messages coming in from our friendly nations – and even those of the less friendly nations – are encouraging.

“Visitor numbers will undoubtedly increase. Our little monarchy has always been a source of fascination for the Americans and much of the world.

“Investment will increase as well. Our ambassadors are already involved in negotiations with some of those friendly powers, and much of that investment could come here. Scotland could enjoy a renaissance. She could be as good as she ever was, and better.”

The crowd began to show its discomfort, harrumphing and grumbling with discomfort.

“We stand today on the threshold of history. Can we not, like a newlywed couple, carry one another over it? Can we not meet the challenges of this young century together?

“There is still ample time to make this century the one where the United Kingdom stands truly united. One where love speaks louder than greed, and where Britain is its best voice.

“Working together will be the best thing for all of us. Let us show unity to the world.” The Prince looked out at the assembled gathering, as if expecting something other than the silence that continued to greet him.

One of the minsters stood. “Scotland could just about live with England while the monarchy was reined in. A peace – if an uncomfortable one. But Scotland remembers the last time an English King held sway over her. It’s not going to happen again.”

The minister sat down to a thunder of applause, his colleagues supporting him as if the Prince’s word had made no impression.

“My friends” – the Prince held his arms out, pleading – “my brothers, what is the alternative?”

“Independence!” A large number of ministers chimed their agreement.

Adrian backed away from the podium as the crowd increasingly voiced its displeasure. He looked for and found David, who was on his feet at the back of the stage. Adrian glanced at David and gestured a wordless demand. The security man spoke into his walkie-talkie, and was joined by several more. Together they guided the Prince out the same way he entered, forming a barrier on either side of him against the hostile ministers.

Outside the security forces worked hard to hold the crowd back as the Prince re-entered his vehicle.

Safely inside his limousine, the Prince breathed a deep sigh, once again mopping the sweat from his brow. David spoke again into his walkie-talkie. “The package is en-route. Repeat, the package is en-route.”

More than once, thrown missiles sounded against the car’s exterior. The Prince flinched at each one.

“Don’t let them get to you, Your Highness. They’re only politicians. They wouldn’t actually do anything.”

“If the crowd inside was safer than the one outside, then why the need to bundle me out?”

“Just normal security protocols, sir. If you’re threatened, get you to a safe location. That’s what we’re doing.”

A hostile crowd spilled onto the street, and the vehicles frequently had to slow down to allow the police to clear the way.

Adrian saw in the crowd two women and one man holding up a banner with a hand painted slogan: “Scotland loves her King!”

“Look at that, David.” The Prince gazed as if about to weep.

“Now that is nice,” David said.

Another group attempted to swamp the three Royalists and their message. The banner was pushed to the background as those holding it were attacked by the mob. But they re-emerged to the front of the crowd, enthusiastically showing their banner despite fresh blood on their faces. Again this supportive minority was forced back, and again they re-emerged to the front, before the crowd decisively knocked them down and swallowed them up.

The noise level greatly increased as the crowd surged, attempting to reach the vehicle and, in places, succeeding. As fists thumped and pounded on the car, the Prince slumped in his seat, pressing his palms to his eyes.

The driver put his foot down, dispersing the crowd as they scrambled out of the way, causing havoc as the people swirled in frenzy.

Car horns and sirens blaring, the Prince was carried away faster than the conditions should have reasonably allowed.

The crowded city centre was treacherous, but the procession evaded damage and no injuries were recorded. When they reached the port Adrian was quaking, breathing raggedly.

The limousine came to rest at the bottom of the HMS Dominance’s gangway.

Captain Roberts greeted him at the quayside.

“I’m so sorry for how this has turned out, Your Highness. Please accept my and the crews’ deepest–”

The Prince strode past Captain Roberts and entered the ship.

Maintaining a brisk pace, Adrian moved through the vessel in a trance. Ratings and officers stood aside holding respectful salutes, which the Prince ignored, failing even to make eye contact.

He stopped at a junction of corridors and stairs, looking this way and that, up and down, vacillating between the possible routes.

A junior rating stopped next to him, offering a salute. “Can I help you, sir?” The young woman’s nervous voice was almost lost among the background sounds of the ship. “We all get lost when new to a ship, Sir.”

The Prince straightened, and he began to climb the stairs. “That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you.”

After more twists, turns, and uncertain junctions, the Prince found his quarters.

Entering, Adrian sat down on the bed, removed his coat, threw it on the floor, loosened his tie, and gripped his head in his hands.

His suitcases lay open on the floor, much of the contents strewn around like a teenager’s bedroom. The trunk was open, and clothing spilled out of it like entrails from a wound.

Throwing a few unidentified items from his bed across the room, he lay down.

The intercom on the desk bleeped.

Adrian stood up with a growl, stormed across the room, grabbed the receiver, and clamped it to his ear.

Apart from the sound of breathing, there was silence on both ends of the phone line.

Captain Roberts broke the hush. “Er… what are your orders, Your Highness?”

“You’re the Captain! You work it out! Just get us into English waters.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, aiming it toward its cradle, but then snatched it back. “One more thing. Send me that Commander Indrani, and tell her to bring a tray of tea.”

“Your Highness, Commander Indrani is this ship’s executive officer. It would be more appropriate for a rating–”

“Send me Commander Indrani!” Adrian chewed up and spat out the words. “Don’t argue with your Prince,” he shouted.

“Very well, Your Highness. By the way, sir –” Roberts paused before continuing. “– If you’d like to discuss today’s events, if you’d like someone to talk to, I’m at your disposal.”

The Prince pulled the receiver away from his face as if it had been stuck there with glue, and slammed it onto its cradle.

He returned to his bed, dropped onto it heavily, and closed his eyes, sprawled, unmoving, until a knock came at the door.

Springing up, Adrian almost leapt across the room, putting his hand on the door, but then paused. He straightened his posture, assumed a serious but welcoming frown, and opened the door.

Commander Indrani held an elegant silver tray with china tea service for two.

“Ah, come in Commander.”

She complied, the Prince taking the opportunity to look her over while her back was to him.

Examining the carnage of the Prince’s room, she attempted to discern a clear path. She emitted a barely audible sigh before placing the tray on the coffee table.

“Will you be mother?” The Prince sat on the sofa, motioning for her to join him.

“Of course, sir,” she said as she began pouring. “Now, you take it strong, with milk and one sugar, correct?”

“You are a most remarkable woman,” he said.

Indrani placed the cup and saucer in front of the Prince before pouring one for herself. “Why me, Your Highness? Any of the galley staff could have brought you your tea.”

“I feel it’s better to have the officers do a few, shall we say, menial tasks from time to time where members of the Royal family are concerned. It’s better for discipline in the ranks – or I think it is. I could be mistaken, but it’s what I’ve always done. And especially in the light of the New Order, it must be seen that nobody is above these things.”

“I see,” she said. “Is that the only reason?”