Page 4 of Protecting his Secrets

“How much blood do you go through each week?” Kendal asked as they entered the blood department.

“Well, we need around five thousand donations each day to keep up with demand over the entire NHS.”

“Wow, that’s…a lot,” Kendal said. “I’m assuming you get what you need.”

The administrator waved his hand back and forward. “Most of the time, yes. We’re always asking for more donors to come forward because every day there are reasons current donors can’t donate. It could be because someone got pregnant or their iron levels were too low. They could have a cold or the flu. They might’ve had a recent tattoo or a dental procedure. There are many reasons someone might not donate, which is why we ask for new donors as often as possible.”

“I never thought of that.”

Malachi studied the room. It seemed like any other hospital room, except there were several beds towards the back of the room and lots of chairs at the front. Hot and cold drinks and biscuits sat on a table to the side, where people sat to wait before they could leave. Malachi hadn’t donated blood before, but with everything the administrator said, maybe he should start.

The conversation continued, and Malachi made a few notes, wincing with every stab at the royal family he knew he was going to make. It broke his heart every time he saw their expressions tighten with his words, and it was one reason he created an alter-ego.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Kendal asked, glancing at him and the second reporter, Stan Willows.

“Do you donate blood?” Malachi asked.

Kendal smiled at him. “Not currently. My iron levels have been too low, and I’ve been working to get them higher so I can start. But I know Kean does, and Andrew does occasionally.”

“Why does the king not donate regularly?” Malachi asked.

There it was. The slight tightening of Kendal’s eyes, and it broke another piece of Malachi’s soul. “With his age and health in mind, his physicians believed it was better to reduce the number of donations he did each year.”

“Is the king ill?” he asked, cutting the other reporter off again.

Kendal laughed, the gentle sound reaching his ears like soft music. “Not in the slightest.” They glanced at his companion. “Stan, do you have any questions?”

As Stan spoke, Malachi wrote down some thoughts about how his report was going to go. A tingling shot down his spine and bumps raced across his forearms, the hairs lifting and lowering as the shiver made itself known. He glanced around and met Nick’s gaze. His brown eyes narrowed at him, and Malachi froze, not wanting to startle the bodyguard into chasing him away.Because that’s what it felt like. He was the prey, and Nick was the predator.

“Shall we move on?”

The question drew everyone’s attention, and the administrator waved towards the door. Everyone followed suit, and Malachi dropped to the back of the group, not wanting to get more attention than he already had. He’d already decided what the report would focus on—the king’s health—but he also had an idea for the corresponding report he would write. He would have to wait to see what the backlash was on his report and, undoubtedly, the one Adelaide Thompson would submit, but he believed he could counteract most of the damage they would cause.

Adelaide was a fox in a chicken house, and she made everyone else look like child’s play, even Malachi, so whenever she wrote something about the royal family, his alter-ego counteracted it with a separate report, taking each of her points and giving alternative points of view. She hated Kai Ruffers with a passion, and every time she mentioned him, Malachi stood a little straighter. Because Kai Ruffers was the only way he could live with himself.

“You’re not making any friends being like this, you know?”

Malachi didn’t need to glance to the side; he already knew who it was. “I’m not here to make friends,” he said, staring ahead.

“You might get more chances if you were.”

He feigned ignorance, pouting his lips. “I get enough content without needing chances.” Playing the role got harder every day.

“Well, I suppose if you can fall asleep at night with everything you write, you must be used to sleeping in dog shit.” With that, Nick dropped back again, and Malachi swallowed against the words and tears that wanted to escape. No one understood. But that wasn’t their fault.

After spending an hour touring certain areas of the hospital, they were led back to the exit. Kendal held out their hand and shook Stan’s hand before offering it to Malachi—a move that shocked him.

“Thank you for being here. I hope you can help to bring some light to the need for more blood donors with your articles. It really is a worthy and essential cause,” Kendal said.

Malachi understood the undercurrents of their words, but he would only be able to help with one column, and not the one the royal family knew about. Instead, he asked one more question.

“Do you have any plans for Prince Consort Kean’s birthday?”

Kendal chuckled. “We’re spending time with our families. That’s a celebration right there.”

Malachi couldn’t help but commend Kendal’s way with words, and how they diverted the attention when they needed to. It was taught to most royals, Malachi knew that, but Kendal seemed to have taken it to a whole other level.

“It truly is,” Malachi agreed. “Thank you for the opportunity today.”

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