The King's Bride

Chapter 21

Killian Dufort

"Must I?"

"Well...." Bertram tilted his head. "You don't have to, but it would be quite poor on your image if you didn't."

Fuck.

Killian picked his head up from his desk and blinked at Bertram. The king had gotten another headache last night and it had kept him from sleeping. So, he hadn't started the day in a great mood.

Which was bad for everyone else, I think we can agree.

"My image?" he said. "What does that have to do with a phone call? Who's going to know it was me or not besides her? Bertram."

Bertram exhaled. "There are media outlets surrounding the young lady's home, my lord," he pointed out. "Perhaps instead of a call, it should be a visit. Let them badger you instead of her, seeing as you're far more equipped to handle it."

That was a good point. Calling Nova, no matter who did it, would likely only serve to make the media coverage worse. People were curious over the woman that the king that been seen getting on one knee for. Technically, nothing had been made public by Killian himself, but he'd intentionally made it quite plain in the gardens, knowing that people would be watching. Which meant every person Nova contacted she was under scrutiny for. So...the swarm was his fault.

And though it would've been simpler to just call her, Killian supposed it would make him look good to visit his fiancée personally.

"Fine," Killian agreed, tossing a pen down. "Let's go."

—

"Bon dieu," Bertram murmured as they approached Nova's residence.

Good god was right.

There was an unpleasant number of journalists and other media-related...people hanging around Nova's home, which, thanks to them, wasn't particularly hard to find. Killian was used to a much bigger crowd than this, but, he was the king. This would be incredibly overwhelming to the average person.

Of course, upon seeing that the king himself had arrived, the media attention shifted dramatically. Here we go.

Killian took the attention in stride, deciding to do what he normally did when swarmed with press and didn't actually want to talk to them. He simply smiled, waved, mumbled a few things, and otherwise pretended they didn't exist.

Unsurprisingly, when he went up and knocked on the door, there was no response. However, there were two cars parked in the driveway, so obviously someone had to be home. It wasn't hard to fathom that whoever was home was avoiding any openings to the house like the plague, including and especially the front door. Killian had half a mind to turn around and tell the press to fuck off, but that would be more of a PR headache than anything else he was dealing with at the moment. Instead, he merely trusted his security detail to take care of it.

The king knocked on the door again.

"Go away!" came a voice from inside, sounding extremely irritated and exasperated with the situation.

"Mr. Reed?" Killian assumed. "I think you'll find the media has taken a step back. Is Nova home?"

There were quiet footsteps, mostly muffled by the fact that there was a door in the way, until they stopped at said door. "Who's asking?" Mr. Reed said through the door suspiciously.

"Your king," Killian responded, attempting to keep his patience from waning. From what Bertram had told him, Nova's father didn't think too highly of the monarchy, seeing as he referred to marrying into it as stooping.

Joke's on you, Reed.

But that wasn't the point at the moment. Technically, Mr. Reed hadn't said anything to Killian's face, so he had little reason to be...too hostile.

"Oh. It's you," Mr. Reed's voice came through, a poorly stifled hint of sarcasm in it. "Well no. Nova isn't home."

....

"Well where is she?" Killian asked, frowning. He made an effort not to appear distressed in some way, mostly because he was well aware of the people snapping photos and recording video.

"Not home."

Well no shit Sherlock. Killian took a deep breath. "I didn't ask for where she isn't, Mr. Reed. I asked for where she is."

"Not sure. West somewhere. Why do you want to know, pray tell?"

....Getting the distinct feeling that Mr. Reed wouldn't be happy in the slightest to hear what Killian was here to tell Nova, he had to...choose his next words carefully. Or lie. That worked too. "Is it so wrong of me to want a word with the woman I'm to marry?" he asked, trying to keep from gritting his teeth.

"Do you have a phone at that big palace of yours, Your Highness?"

Deep breaths, Killian. "Phones are so very impersonal, Mr. Reed. This is something that should be discussed in person."

"Well. I don't know what to tell you. Nova's not home. I don't know where she is. Try her cell. And do me a favor, would you? Get those people off my lawn?"

Well, that was a fair request, but regardless, Killian was quite unhappy with the situation. Either Mr. Reed was bluffing, or Nova had skipped town. If the latter were the case, she could quite easily find someone that would help her expose Killian for what he'd done. And if she was heading west, like her father said she was, she could even be trying to go into the Netherlands.

If she blew the whistle there, it would make Killian's trouble so much worse. A king's misconduct was meant to be contained within his own country. When others got involved, the world got involved.

America got involved.

And that was a nightmare in itself.

The king put on a calm exterior, as he was so used to doing, and prepared himself to face the press again. Seeing as Nova wasn't here, there was very little reason for him to remain here.

Killian had wanted to be nice about this. He'd tried. He'd come here to speak to Nova in person about her leaving home and moving into the palace.

But she decided she wanted to run.

He shook his head and turned to head down the porch steps, parting the Press Sea, and returning to his vehicle. Bertram, who had been waiting inside, furrowed his brows. "What happened?"

"She isn't home," Killian muttered, allowing himself to look as irritated as he felt now that he was protected from the media behind tinted windows. "And her father doesn't know where she is."

"Oh dear," Bertram murmured. "...Do you think she's...fled?"

"She better fucking not have." With that, Killian pulled out his phone. He had a few calls to make.