The Royal Nanny Page 2

  Volkov! -Push!

  Tua ps΄ee! -You can do it!

  Kothrey-Daddy. Used in an informal setting, often a slang word used by those in the middle or lower class in the Malvidencian province, in the upper class it is used usually only between parents, as children use Kothrar.

  Saghirr bruthrar: Little Brother. Not often used as an affectionate term. Used more in a reprimanding tone.

  Moq Bocc Lees: Get Well Soon.

  Jeilas: Cousin

  L’uei ypo foyiqakic dillu. K'ant dhuqris almuphadaal fi alealamn: You have the sexiest pussy. You are now my favorite taste in the world.

  Solqiz fylqypt: Crazy bastard. Used affectionately.

  Waldakan Language

  While similar to the Malvidencian language, Waldakanian also employs words which are often confused with Arabic, Hebrew, or Swahili, though it is extremely different from the Middle Eastern and African vocabularies. Waldakanian is a beautiful blend of the three languages, showing the peoples’ propensity for acceptance, inclusion, and diversity.

  Kotíbābā: Father

  Kutíbābā: Mother

  gracya íbn el shārmoutas: Waldakan curse. Mother fucker.

  drotibābā: Daughter

  tarabęĵdor: the composer and performer of Waldakan music that held within it the history of their people, and messages for their country.

  Jaddthrï: Grandfather

  Jaddathrā: Grandmother

  Fielaank: What?

  Jeilas: Cousin-when used in a familial sense. Companion-when used among comrades, battle buddies, or fellow warriors.

  Jeictas: Lover. Partner. Someone with whom you have an attraction, but not a committed relationship with.

  Zxio Tem: Curse word. Used in times of intimacy. Meaning: Fuck Me! Not to be confused with Zxiole Tem, which is also “Fuck me” but used not in times of intimacy, to imply action, but to imply distress. Zxiole Tempra means “Fuck you”.

  'anaha la aljuld qubalat dyky walkurat: No skin off my cock or balls

  Lovmeda: A succulent treat, using fruit grown in Waldakan, purple in color, that is drenched and soaked in caramel, until it infuses every bite.

  Raja’alla: One of the Waldakan gods. Worshipped by the people. The most powerful. Ruler of all the Waldakan gods who welcomes her most faithful into the Great Rest.

  Quote

  When you follow in the path of your father, you learn to walk like him.

  -Ashanti Proverb

  Prologue

  City of Galney, Waldakan (what is now Gröntälje in the country of Malvidence)

  Royal City, seat of King Zwoonbŭtŭ

  One Hundred Years Ago

  K ing Zwoonbŭtŭ Zameer, known to all as King ZwooZa, a name given to him by his younger brother, watched as the pale men from ten different nations stepped into his throne room, seeking an audience with him. He showed no emotion on his face, merely studying each one individually. He was well aware of their motivations behind coming to Waldakan and asking for an appointment with the king. He would indulge them for a moment before he sent them away in disappointment.

  He pointed at the palest among them as they each bowed to him.

  “You, speak,” he commanded. Though the people of Waldakan were some of the smartest, most educated, and advanced people in the world, they tended to not speak in the cultured, articulate language in front of those outside of their nation. It played into the unfair, and racist expectations of the other countries when it came to them.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the man said. He cleared his throat and gestured to the other men who stood with him. “We have come to Waldakan in hopes that we may come to some sort of agreement with you.”

  King ZwooZa shrugged his shoulders. “Why?”

  Another man spoke up, “You have many resources that could help others around the world—”

  King ZwooZa slashed his hand through the air. When the man stopped speaking, he pointed at him. While the man’s skin was still paler than his own, it was more tanned than the first man to speak. As King ZwooZa stared at him, unease rose in him. While he sensed no malice in any of the men before him, the one who’d spoken out of turn, had an appearance of greed in his eyes. It caused the hairs on the back of the king’s neck to rise. He wanted to shove his hand beneath his long, dark brown dreads and rub a hand along the skin but refrained.

  “Not you,” he grunted. Turning back to the other man, the one in whose eyes he could see nothing but purity, honesty, and fear. “You,” he stated with a flick of his wrist. “Why?”

  “As King Tiomson Smythe of Malvidence stated, the nation of Waldakan is flush with resources. With your assistance we could help much of the world, and many of our kingdoms.”

  King ZwooZa nodded and settled back in his chair. He shrugged again. “Why I care? I help my people. I give to nations when need. So. Why?”

  The man initially speaking inclined his head in agreement. “Yes, Your Majesty, your generosity is well known. However, it seems to only be directed to certain people…” he trailed off.

  King ZwooZa quirked an eyebrow. Aahh, now we have gotten to the root and real cause for your presence in my land. You are upset that the wealth and resources are not being added to your coffers, and instead go to nations where I am aware of the suffering of people of color.

  “So?” he asked.

  “Well it’s not fair!” King Smythe yelled.

  King ZwooZa did not respond, simply giving the other man a passing glance. He could see his soldiers tensing in preparation to defend their king. He did not give the order at that time, and moments later he regretted it.

  “Your Majesty, we believe that an alliance between your country and The United Kingdoms will only be positive, but if you do not cooperate, or join with us, that you may be lost without any alliances should you enter a war,” the man stated.

  King ZwooZa knew a threat when he heard one. Rising to his feet, he stepped down the seventeen steps to where the pale leaders watched him, fear filling their eyes. He didn’t stop until he loomed over the man who had yet to give his name.

  “Your name?” he asked.

  “King Foland Weshian of Sovrex,” King Weshian replied, straightening his shoulders.

  King ZwooZa nodded. “King Weshian, I not afraid of puny threats. My answer no.”

  King Weshian inclined his head before looking at King Smythe. A creeping feeling of doom and impending death wrapped around King ZwooZa, assaulting his nose. He turned to call for his soldiers, but before he could, King Smythe blew a whistle and the throne room was flooded with pale soldiers.

  King ZwooZa stepped back in fear, his soldiers were outnumbered, and were quickly dispatched. They were either slaughtered or unarmed. Turning back to King Weshian with wide eyes, King ZwooZa growled low in his throat.

  King Weshian’s face pulled into an ugly scowl and he shook his head.

  “I knew you were an animal.” He pulled out a gun from his inner suit jacket pocket. He pointed it directly at King ZwooZa’s head. “We will be taking this land from you and most of the surrounding area. You and your people will be relocated to a smaller country, where you will still be able to retain your title.” He chuckled evilly. “We will even allow you to take all of your belongings with you. But, this palace, the land, the buildings, and resources you have, now belong to us. You will be a king of hundreds of thousands of people—at least those who choose to go with you—but you will have no way to support them. Enjoy your new life, King ZwooZa.” He nodded and King ZwooZa found himself surrounded.

  He put up an admirable fight, but days later, he found himself guarded on a vehicle, one of many, that escorted him to the uninhabited land of what was now Waldakan. Most of his people joined him, however, his heart broke over the thousands who chose to stay. He had failed his kingdom, his nation, his people.

  “Fret not, my king,” his wife, Oonktu΄al stated softly. “Our people will not let this go unavenged. Our blood and our nation will demand restitution.” She took his hand
and placed it upon her rounded belly. This would be their first child. They had endured the soul-crushing heart break of what they thought was his wife’s barrenness, or his own inability to sire a babe upon her. After refusing his wife’s suggestion of using a surrogate, they’d traveled to England to meet with the expert doctor of fertility and obstetrics there. After a procedure and new medication, the Queen of Waldakan was a month away from birthing his heir.

  He pressed his hand against his wife’s large belly bump and leaned over to kiss her behind her ear. Keeping his face close to her neck, he pressed his lips to her ear.

  “Were you able to smuggle the royal gems?” he asked her.

  Oonktu΄al nodded and breathed out, “Yes.”

  He placed a tiny kiss on the curve of her neck. “And the necklace and ring?” he whispered.

  “They are with us, and will not be discovered,” she reassured him.

  King ZwooZa pulled away slightly and smiled gently down at her. “You are amazing my queen.” The royal gems would give him the ability to provide resources for their people, whereas the black spinel gemstone necklace and ring had been in his family for centuries. It would be passed down to their eldest child, as it was passed down to him.

  Clutching his queen’s hand, King Zwoonbŭtŭ Zameer made a vow that his family would return to their country one day. No matter what must be done, or how long it took.

  The Rebellion of the people of Waldakan was just beginning.

  Five Years Ago

  Fourteen-year-old Leyah Zameer was sleeping in her bed when the loud sound of gunfire and bombs woke her. Sitting up with a gasp, she looked around the home she shared with her parents. It was the largest on Waldakan, as it should be since the royal family resided within. She heard cries and screams coming from downstairs, and with no thought as to her attire, she sprang from the sheets and rushed out into the hallway. What she saw made her stomach clench with fear, and a chill creep up her spine. Her parents were beaten and bloodied, kneeling in front of a group of masked men, the bodies of many of their trusted servants surrounded them.

  Leyah covered her mouth to hold back her scream as tears rushed unbidden to her eyes. Her father had instilled in her the need for her to be strong in the face of any type of adversity.

  You will be queen of Waldakan, and you will bring our people prosperity and happiness. But this power you have within you, the power to create, to change the atmosphere and lives of those around you, also comes with much danger. You will have to be much stronger than any one person should need to be. You will have to face those who would rather see you die than succeed. You will have to hold your head high as others try to tear you down. You will have to walk, and move as if you are superhuman, unable to feel pain, incapable of fear or uncertainty, unable to die. This is your duty as the future queen of Waldakan.

  As Leyah stood watching her proud father and graceful mother kneeling before those who were not even worthy of shining their shoes, a surge of rage filled her. She needed to do something. She would not stand at the top of the stairs and watched as the King and Queen of Waldakan were humiliated or even killed.

  She dropped her hands from her face and squared her shoulders. Lifting her head regally, she took a step but was immediately jerked back, her mouth covered. She kicked, clawed, and struggled against the arms that held her captive. Calling upon the training she had received from Lord Danorian, the head of their military, she planted her feet and reached up for the neck of her attacker, prepared to toss him over her shoulder.

  “Princess, it is I,” Danorian’s voice sounded in her ear. Leyah immediately stopped fighting and allowed the broad-shouldered man to tug her by the hand into an empty room. As soon as he let her go, she whirled around and glared at him.

  “Why did you stop me? I must go and rescue kotíbābā and kutíbābā before the gracya íbn el shārmoutas hurt them!”

  “Princess!” Danorian gasped. “You must not use such vile language.” He shook his head. “Besides we are outnumbered until help arrives. You will be killed.”

  Leyah shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. “I care not. Without my parents I am alone.”

  Danorian shook her slightly. “You are not alone, Princess Leyah. You have an entire kingdom of people who need you to survive for them.” He sighed. “Yes, your parents may die this night, but they will protect you, as will I, with their lives. Do not allow their deaths to be in vain.”

  Leyah sniffed as it felt as if her heart shattered and crumbled to ashes within her chest. She pressed a hand against her bosom and inhaled deeply. Danorian was right.

  Your strength will lead and empower our people, your weaknesses will crush them. Do not allow the latter to ever surpass the former. Her father’s words resounded in her head, sounding as if he were standing in the room with her right then. She closed her eyes and exhaled. The power within her, that wavered in the face of her parents’ demise blazed bright and unbreakable.

  She nodded. “We will remain hidden, but vigilant until the rest of the soldiers arrive. At that point, you and I will join in the fight for our King and Queen, and for the people of Waldakan.”

  Danorian nodded and bowed before her. She crept to the door of the darkened room they whispered in, on bare feet. She turned her ear to the crack in the slightly ajar doorway in order to hear better. What she heard next sent a fireball of undiluted rage through her limbs.

  “Where is the Princess? We want to share her virginity with each other before we kill her alongside her dead parents,” an accented and cultured voice yelled from below.

  Leyah trembled as she heard their plans for her. Never will any man take from me what I have not freely offered, she vowed. Before she could say anything to Danorian, the sound of two gunshots echoed through the air, and Leyah sank to her knees as she realized that her parents had more than likely been killed as she hid upstairs.

  “Princess!” Danorian rushed to her side, the older man gathered her into his arms. Leyah sobbed silently, her body shuddering. For long moments the two sat in silence, sharing in their grief.

  As the sound of gunfire and fighting suddenly split the air, Leyah mourned that their soldiers had not arrived moments earlier. Her sadness morphed into a hunger for revenge, and pulling away from Danorian, she rose and held out a hand towards him, so that he could give her a weapon.

  They both turned back to the door, and Leyah yanked it open. Before stepping out, she looked at Danorian over her shoulder. The older man had dark skin, his hair a mass of tight, black curls, his dark brown eyes filled with anger and grief, his mouth set with determination.

  “Danorian, do we know where those intruders came from?” she asked.

  Danorian nodded. “They wore the uniform of the Kingdom of Malvidence.”

  With a nod, Leyah clutched the gun in her hand, resolve thundering through her. “Then we must prepare ourselves to take the throne of Malvidence, and to kill the royal family there as they intended to do to us. It’s time to bring death to Malvidence.”

  The Royal Nanny

  Chapter One

  Present

  P rince Alastair Smythe sat in his office, ruminating on the changes that had occurred within the past few days. His eldest brother, Algerone and his wife Valerie had just gone through a rather surprising delivery in the comfort of their private bathroom, giving birth to two beautiful baby girls. It had been a pretty big surprise to the two of them, as well as the rest of the family, as no one had known Valerie was even pregnant with twins. Not even the royal doctor who’d come by to check on the progress of the princess’s pregnancy and then the health of the new royal newborns.

  Alastair shook his head. He was still adjusting to the fact that his brother’s wife and children were finally in Malvidence with the rest of their family, after Algerone had kept his marriage a secret for 14 years. Alastair would never tell his brother, but there was a part of him that was still chafing at the idea that his brother would keep his family away from the rest of them.
While he understood his brother’s explanation and even his reasoning in his mind, Alastair was having a difficult reconciling Algerone’s logic with his own emotions on the matter. He sighed. It made no matter, all had been resolved and having emotions never served anyone well.

  Well. That wasn’t entirely true. All was not resolved. Alastair’s lip curled in disgust and he narrowed his eyes in contemplation as he recalled the outlandish declaration Taylor Weshian had alluded to when it came to his older brother, Augustus. While Alastair was sure—almost certain—that his brother had dipped his wick into the blonde’s melted wax center, he didn’t for an instant believe that Augustus went into battle without his gear. He made a mental note to investigate Lady Taylor’s claim of carrying royal seed.

  He frowned as he lifted his teacup to his lips and took a sip of the now tepid tea. No, all was not resolved, though his family had been acting as if it were. There was still the matter of the person who’d taken a shot at his brother, sister-in-law, and his nephew. While they’d received a small measure of information, they were unable to interview the gunman more than a few hours. After giving the young man a break, the guards had returned to find him dead in his cell from a cyanide pill.

  Alastair clenched his fists. He detested loose ends. He liked order, structure, rules and discipline. Control. It was why he was a Dom, and why he worked as his father’s assistant, keeping the schedule of the King of Malvidence in order and the man himself moving and arriving in a timely manner. Speaking of his father, where was he? He’d asked Alastair to make time for him in his schedule that morning for a meeting and was now ten minutes late. Which was completely unlike him.

  He picked up the phone to call over to his father’s receptionist, only to put the phone back down when his father, King Callum Smythe, walked into his office, holding his youngest granddaughters in his arms. Alastair shook his head. While he thought his nieces and nephews were the smartest and most beautiful children in the world that he’d ever seen, he couldn’t say he understood the awe and wonder, the obsession that his parents and brothers Alfie, Andreas, and Algerone seemed inclined to display. They were all acting as if his seven nieces and nephews were the missing seven Wonders of the World.