Page 129 of Scarred Crown

He must know it is, or he wouldn’t be pushing for a referendum instead of ramming it through the Advisory Council.

“At least in our family,” Brice says, sliding a glance in my direction.

We haven’t had a referendum since the Advisory Council opted to make the royal family the deciding vote in any split decisions. As far as I can remember from my royal history, that was a couple hundred years ago.

“The Advisory Council is split?” I ask.

“They are.” His gaze shifts between me and Brice.

“Why can’t you be the deciding vote?” I ask the logical question, but I suspect the answer is obvious.

“You’re sick.” Brice sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s why you’re stepping down early. Holy shit.” He rubs his cheeks. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Our father pales, but he remains ramrod straight in his chair. “I didn’t feel it was right for me to cast the deciding vote on legislation I might employ one day.”

Although I expected it, my heart still stutters to a stop. “What’s wrong with you?” I whisper.

He stares at us for a beat, and his jaw works as though he’s grinding his teeth.

“Dad?” Brice’s voice cracks.

“I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I am in the very early stages, but as I’m sure you’re both aware, there is no cure.” Our father swallows.

“How long have you known?” I bury my face in my hands and lean my elbows on my knees.

“I’ve gone to three experts over the course of the last year, and I got the final confirmation a few months ago.” His tone is weary.

“What stage are you in?” Brice asks. One of his patronages is Bellerive’s Alzheimer’s Society. Of course he’d think to ask that, and it only makes his exclusion from the news stranger. Of all of us, Brice would understand the most what this diagnosis means.

“Stage Two. Very mild cognitive decline. Stepping down now seemed like the right thing to do before it gets worse. I can’t be in charge of making major decisions. Finances, dates, word finding—I struggle.”

He’d still be a better decision maker than Alex. My gut is spasming, clenching and releasing as though it’s not sure if it wants to keep my breakfast or release it.

“Who else knows?” He knew before he sent Jules to Tanzania. Does she know? I click through all my memories where my father came up. If she knew, and she didn’t tell me…

“Your mother, Alexander, the Advisory Council, Secretary Jensen…”

My stomach heaves, but he might mean her mother. I hope he means her mother.

“Both of them,” he clarifies, gently.

I close my eyes and slouch deeper into the chair. Julia knew. She’s known all along. There are so many emotions racing through me, I don’t even know which one to latch on to. Anger, fear, betrayal, sorrow.

“You told the Advisory Council before you told us?” Brice’s tone is scathing.

Our father stands up and paces around to his desk, but he doesn’t sit down.

“I felt it was only fair to tell them since I refused to be the deciding vote. Telling you boys… I didn’t even tell Alexander. That was your mother.”

“But she didn’t tell us!” I shoot up from my chair. “If you’re having a referendum on a measure you wish to use, the public deserves to know what they’re voting on. What they’re giving their blessing to.”

“I’m hoping the people of Bellerive will vote for compassion.” He’s staring out the window, not looking at either of us.

“It’s not compassion,” I seethe. “It’s murder. New medical developments are happening all the time.” I whirl around to Brice. “Right?”

He looks as stunned as I feel, but there’s a grimness to the set of his mouth. “It’s a horrible disease, Nick.”

“Of course it’s horrible,” I say. “There are no good illnesses or diseases.” I give my father a hard stare. “I will not allow the people of Bellerive to vote in favor of this.”