At least that gives us a slight edge, he thought. A number of neutral or opposition MPs had chosen to send proxies. They’d effectively given up their vote. But will it be enough to impeach the king?
His heart started to race. They were committed now, committed in a way they hadn’t been a month ago. If they tried and failed to impeach Hadrian, their positions would be weakened beyond repair. Peter had no doubt that the family council would remove him as soon as possible. They’d have no choice, not if they wanted to mend fences with the monarch. A king who survived an attempt to impeach him would, perversely, be in a far stronger position, if only because his enemies would be in disarray. And if the affair turned violent . . .
He studied the MPs as they took their seats, their faces grim. There had been no official announcement of what was about to happen, but he was sure they knew what was coming. A number would vote to impeach, a number would vote against impeachment . . . How many of them would vote in his favor? He and the others had called in every favor they could to stack the odds against the king, but it was hard to be sure. The MPs were all too aware that the king was popular, outside the chamber. Their rivals wouldn’t hesitate to accuse them of treason if that was required to unseat the sitting MPs and take their place. The bastards might even get away with it.
Particularly if we lose, Peter reflected. He glanced towards the king’s empty chair. By custom, the king had not been invited to the session. His prime minister, currently taking his seat, would speak for him. An MP who loses the king’s favor so openly will be lucky if he isn’t recalled within the week.
The speaker stood, slowly. He looked pale. Peter wondered, wryly, what the poor man was thinking. The speaker was meant to be neutral, but surely he had thoughts and opinions of his own. Did he support the king? Or did he support the opposition? Or . . . was he terrified that he’d lose his post, either way? The losers would seek to extract some recompense for their defeat, particularly if they blamed the speaker. A cunning man in the speaker’s chair could slant the debate in a particular direction, if he was careful. But it would be hard for such a deed to remain unnoticed. Every word the speaker said was thoroughly scrutinized by every political analyst on the planet.
“A bill has been put before us,” the speaker said. His voice was hushed. Thankfully, the chamber was designed to project his words to the audience. “The bill . . .”
Arthur Hampshire stood. “On a point of order, Mr. Speaker!”
A low rumble ran through the chamber. Peter tensed, wondering what the prime minister thought he was doing. A point of order could delay matters for quite some time, particularly if made at the right time, but this one wouldn’t last for more than a few minutes. Had Hampshire blundered? Perhaps. Yet . . . he was too old a political hand to make such an overt mistake. What was he doing?
“I speak on behalf of the king,” Hampshire said. “And I claim the Royal Prerogative!”
Peter tensed. The Royal Prerogative? Was the king insistent on pushing them right to the brink? He did have considerable authority, but using it without Parliament’s approval was . . . not exactly illegal, merely frowned upon. Sure, the king’s representative did have the right to speak first, yet two centuries of precedent stood against it. And interrupting the bill being read . . .
“His Majesty’s investigators have discovered proof of treason,” Hampshire said. “Treason at the very heart of our government. Treason committed by men and women who wish to return to an era when Tyre was alone in the universe! We have solid proof that individuals within this room gave aid and comfort to the enemy, sacrificing millions of lives, in order to advance their agenda!”
Duke Rudbek elbowed Peter. “He’s trying to blame us, some of us, for his crimes.”
“Crimes we can’t prove,” Peter muttered back. A week of careful investigation had turned up nothing more than circumstantial evidence. It would be quite easy for the king’s defenders to point out that the people responsible could quite easily have been working for one of the senior aristocrats instead of the king. “He’s trying to derail the bill.”
Hampshire spoke over a growing rumble of unrest. “This bill—yes, we know what it is—is nothing more than an attempt to escape justice! The people behind it want to distract the king, to distract everyone, from the canker in their midst. This is not opposition! This is outright treason! And it will not stand!”
The rumble grew louder. MPs were on their feet, shouting backwards and forwards. Peter gritted his teeth, forcing himself to think. The king had outmaneuvered them, it seemed. By accusing his opponents of treason, presumably with just enough faked evidence to make the charges reasonably compelling, the king had made it much harder for his opponents to impeach him. And yet, the accusation wouldn’t last. Any halfway competent investigation would prove their innocence.
There isn’t going to be an investigation, he thought, feeling ice trickling down his spine. The king is gambling everything on one final throw of the dice.
“Send the signal,” he said urgently. “Tell our people to move in, now!”
Duke Rudbek nodded. “Done,” he said, tapping his datapad. “If we can secure the planetary defenses . . .”
“By order of His Majesty, under the provisions of Martial Law, everyone in this chamber is under arrest until a full investigation can be carried out,” Hampshire thundered. It was lucky his voice was amplified. No one would have heard a word otherwise. MPs were practically throwing things at each other. “You will sit down and wait quietly . . .”
Peter’s datapad bleeped loudly, warning him that a jamming field had just snapped into existence. All datalinks had been cut, even the secure
