Her Last Protector

The dictator had recognized Georghe’s function within the government and had believed he could control the mild-mannered man. Georghe had played the part, working behind the scenes to ease the peoples’ plight in so many ways and ultimately providing Mirie with the necessary support to overthrow the dictator once she had reached the age of majority.

“Come, come.” Georghe motioned to the chairs. “We have a lot to discuss and some decisions to make.”

Business as usual. “Pour yourselves some coffee, gentlemen.”

After visiting the sideboard, Georghe and the general sat in front of the desk.

“I’m not surprised by Vadim’s attempt to capitalize on the attack,” Mirie said. “But what’s this about an assassination? Who reported I was assassinated? I thought we didn’t announce that I would be attending the funeral as a safety precaution.”

“That was the problem,” Georghe explained. “Since we didn’t issue a press release, no legitimate media were invited. You can thank the paparazzi for the false reports. They camp at our gates, so they followed when you left the compound.”

“Not only were those idiots broadcasting the locations of our units, but they jeopardized everyone’s safety,” the general complained. “There were reporters and video cameras cornering villagers as they tried to get through the gate. I had to sacrifice a unit to get the situation under control.”

Wonderful. The consequences of leaving Briere just kept breeding, like mold. Mirie set the cup aside. It would take more than coffee to make her feel better this morning. “Losing that unit impeded your efforts, General?”

“We might have been able to bring in a few more of your attackers alive if I hadn’t needed to divide my forces.” He scowled blackly. “The paparazzi were a distraction, and we let them know that loud and clear.”

Georghe gave a disgusted snort. “So I’ve heard, thank you. My office was flooded with complaints about your infractions against free speech and the public’s right to know before you even picked up Her Royal Highness. Did you really have to instruct your men to destroy the van’s satellite equipment? We were faxed a bill for its replacement.”

“They’re lucky I didn’t take them into custody. I would have if I’d had the manpower. That won’t happen again. Since they can’t be trusted to use discretion during a crisis, they won’t be allowed near Her Royal Highness. I want to assign a unit to keep them away from our gates.”

Mirie wasn’t sure she understood the point of redirecting their limited manpower. “I don’t leave except to go to church.”

“Exactly. That’s your Sunday routine, and these vultures need repetition to get the point. We’ll create a perimeter around the church to keep the paparazzi at a distance. Georghe can write up one of his diplomatic letters informing these media outlets they’ve lost their privileges.”

Georghe exhaled a low whistle. “I like it. We’ll hold the paparazzi accountable, protect the public and let the legitimate press know we’re taking action so the paparazzi won’t stumble on breaking news again. A show of good faith.”

Helena scribbled some notes while the general raised his coffee cup in a mock salute.

“Now can we get to business?” Georghe asked. “I want to hear what we’ve learned about these attackers.”

The general glanced at Drei. “We believe the transport copter continued through the mountains out of Hungarian airspace. They may have grounded the aircraft. We don’t know. The Hungarians’ radar didn’t yield anything, but they did offer to review surveillance tapes from their military base and a private airstrip in the region.”

“Do you think they’ll find anything?” Mirie asked.

“The attackers would have to be idiots to go anywhere close to civilization. Drei thinks they headed to Ukraine, using the mountains as cover for their escape.”

For the same reasons he had used them to escape with her. Spotty satellite coverage. Terrain that limited radio frequency. Was it any wonder Ninsele couldn’t get a lock on her own borders?

The military had been dismantled and replaced with paid thugs during the authoritarian regime, so the general had been rebuilding their armed forces ever since Mirie’s return. Unfortunately, rebuilding cost money the treasury didn’t have at the moment.

“Do you think the attack was a protest of the upcoming talks?” Mirie had to ask.

“If so, no one has claimed responsibility,” Georghe said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“We do have several corpses, so we haven’t hit a dead end,” the general went on. “The medical examiner is working to identify them now. Hopefully they’ll provide some leads.”

Georghe glanced at Mirie, his expression neutral. He would never say, “I told you so,” but he wasn’t happy. He glanced at Drei, and then said, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something soon. Her Royal Highness is home safely, which is what matters most.”

Mirie sighed. “Let’s discuss damage control for my newest half sibling, shall we?”

Georghe briefed her on Vadim, an American attorney who claimed to have been born out of wedlock during the first years of her parents’ marriage.

“A first child,” she said. “We haven’t had one of those before. And an American. That’s new, too.”

No one replied. Dealing with these claims was always awkward. Her father couldn’t defend himself against the charges and no one wanted to offend Mirie by impugning his moral conduct.

She kept the lead. “Do we know when Vadim was born?”

Georghe shuffled through some paperwork. “I’ve got his entry papers. June 29, 1980.”

Mirie mentally calculated. “My mother would have been pregnant with Alexi.”

No response.

“Do we know yet if my father even visited America during―” more calculations “―October of ’79 or thereabouts?”

Georghe didn’t bother looking back at his papers. “His Majesty visited Washington, D.C., for several weeks the year the honorary consulate opened. The time frame works.”

“And the alleged mother. She was in our employ?”

“That checks, too. An envoy named Ileana Vadim. A Ninselan citizen. She put in her notice in late 1981, and I couldn’t find any documentation that she ever returned to Ninsele. I’ve got my staff trying to track her down now.”

She nodded. “So Luca Vadim has done his homework.”

Silence. Mirie didn’t really need a reply. Everyone around the table was likely thinking the same thing.

Jus sanguinis. Salic law.

She may be in charge right now. She may eventually give birth to a son who could grow up to be king, but she would never be queen. Primogeniture decreed that only males could rule.

She couldn’t change that law even if she had been so inclined. Until she could negotiate consensus on the government structure, such a move would be seen as self-serving and could potentially deepen the rift between the opposing factions that had only tentatively been bridged since the civil war.

“Vadim is an attorney,” she said. “His most likely move will be to take his claim to court and sue for the right to the throne as the only living male heir.”

“He’d have to establish paternity,” Georghe said.

“He won’t,” Mirie said firmly. “Not through legal means, anyway. But if he continues to use the media, he will cast doubt on my right to negotiate with the European Commission. Enough doubt, and he may give the representatives one more reason to delay the talks.”

The very last thing they needed was to make the process of hosting representatives from the European Commission more complex. Like the Western Balkans that endured years of civil war, Ninsele had to be stabilized before it could formally become an acceding country with the commission’s support.