The queens consort a par.., p.1
The Queen's Consort: A Parallel Nazi Novel, page 1
A Parallel Nazi Novel
Ward Wagher
Copyright © 2025 Ward Wagher
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Deb, as always.
Books by Ward Wagher
The Saga of Scott Baughman
Hannah Sorpat’s Eye – A Novel of Alien Abduction
Without Beginning of Days
Witnesses in the Cloud
The Chronicles of Montora
The Mountains of Montora
The Margrave of Montora
The Snows of Montora
Christmas in Montora
The Diamonds of Montora
Harcourt's World
The Wealth of the Worlds
Stacking Centimes
The Parallel Nazi
1 - Accidental Nazi
2 - Improbable Nazi
3 - Impossible Nazi
4 - Inconsequential Nazi
5 - Resolute Nazi
6 - Threads of Despair
7 - This Throw of the Dice
8 – Things Never Known
9 – Yamamoto’s Gold
10 – These Fragile Regimes
The Munich Faction - 1 – Courier
The Munich Faction -2 – Enforcer
The Queen’s Consort
The Nazi Magician
Nazi Magician – Inventor
The Parallel-Multiverse
Rubracks, Nazis, the Death of the Universe and Everything
Gravity Rising
The Last Paladin
McNeel’s World
Another Pennsylvania
The Caledon Emergence
Dynastic Ambition
By Bob Anderson & Ward Wagher
The Final Hero
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again I thank Bob and Ric for following the creation of this book, and the feedback they generously offered.
PROLOGUE
July 12, 1940, 2 PM
Windsor Castle
County Berkshire,
Windsor, England, UK
Princess Margaret had rarely felt so ill. What she had thought was one of those annoying summer colds had developed into what the palace doctor thought was the flu. Now restricted to her bed and treated with aspirin and tea, she endured the fever and muscle aches. And she was furious at missing out on her activities to support the British war effort against Germany.
Born in 1922, Margaret had just turned 18 and considered herself a mature adult. She was often impatient with her older sister, Elizabeth, who treated her as a much younger child. Mixed with that was carefully concealed envy at the Crown Princess, who would eventually become queen. Margaret would spend her life in the shadow of Lilibet and resented that. But today, she lay in her bed and kept her eyes closed. Gawd, she thought, even my eyeballs hurt. Hearing something, she opened her eyes to see her father beside the bed.
Albert Frederick Arthur George Windsor reigned as George VI over the United Kingdom and the empire following the abdication of his older brother in 1936. George VI, known as Bertie to family and friends, had married Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon in 1920 and quickly produced their two children.
“I’m sorry you must stay home today, Precious Daughter; we will miss you.”
“Oh, Father, I am so sorry to ruin the day for you,” Margaret said. “I know you and Mama and Lilibet were counting on me to be with you.”
“We want you to rest and get well,” the king said. “We will plan another outing for the family.”
Albert watched as his daughter’s eyes slowly closed in slumber again and walked quietly from the room. During her long afternoon nap, the fever broke while events gathered the storm clouds over Windsor Castle and also over the realm. After awakening, she lay in bed and enjoyed the respite from the fever. She really felt much better.
Her bedroom was decorated similarly to the rest of the palace, except for the white curtains. They were embroidered with daisies and rippled gently as the summer breeze flowed through the open window. This was a lovely bedroom, she thought. But she preferred Balmoral Castle to Windsor and hoped they would soon travel to Scotland for a few weeks before the summer ended. Of course, the war forced changes to plans, often at a moment’s notice.
Windsor Castle was quiet – more so than usual. Margaret was alert enough to wonder about the whispering that sluiced the hallways outside of her bedroom.
With a quiet knock, Margaret’s grandmother, the Dowager Queen Mary, entered the room. Mary was a favorite of the King’s children, and they regarded her as another parent. And the princess was glad to see her.
“Are you feeling better, child,” the older lady asked.
“Yes, very much so, Grandmother. I had a long nap this afternoon, which seemed to do the trick. I hope I have this past me.”
“I hope you do, too,” Mary said as she walked over and sat on the side of the bed.
Margaret studied her grandmother’s face for a few moments. “Grandmother, what is wrong?”
“There was an accident, Child. After an air battle, a fighter aeroplane fell out of the sky. Your parents and your sister were killed where it crashed.”
Margaret felt as though her heart would stop beating. She saw the tears running down her grandmother’s face and immediately pulled her legs up and swung around to sit beside her. She put her arms around the old lady.
“Grandmother, I am so sorry. This is a terrible thing to happen. What will we do?”
“What will we do, Child? What our family has always done – our duty. Forgive an old woman’s tears. But this is a sad day.”
“Then I must be about my business,” Margaret said. “Please help me select something to wear.”
“Of course, Child.”
“And my hair is just a mess. I cannot go before my people looking like this.”
“I believe we might do something about that.”
Margaret thought it interesting that her grandmother maintained her sense of humor despite the day's tragedy. She quickly dressed and accompanied her grandmother from the room. There were people to meet and an accession to plan. She would do her weeping in private later.
CHAPTER ONE
January 2, 1946, 4 PM
Buckingham Palace,
London, England, UK
George Villiers, the Lord Chamberlain, strode across the courtyard to the gates of Buckingham Palace in pouring rain, which the Britons called a bit of dirty weather. One of the palace guards accompanied him and held the umbrella. Despite the precipitation, a crowd of several hundred British subjects awaited the news. A dozen or so of those waiting in the rain were news reporters and, therefore, paid to stand there. The others mainly were Londoners and a sprinkling of countryside folks.
Villiers halted and unfolded a sheet of heavy paper, which the onlookers could hear crackling in the sudden silence. He held it before him.
“I have much pleasure in informing you that Her Royal Majesty, the Queen, was safely delivered of a son at 3:45 PM on 2 January,” he bellowed with a surprisingly strong voice. “The Queen and the infant Prince are both well. And now we can all escape this bloody rain and go home.”
The people laughed, clapped, and cheered and then began to disperse. It was not only damp but cold and blustery. No one was inclined to remain after the announcement. It was what they had been waiting to hear. The reporters rushed back to their newsrooms to get the headlines ginned up so they could make the evening papers.
The news would rapidly spread around the commonwealth and the rest of the world. People would see it in the newspapers and hear it on the BBC World News Service. And most were excited about it.
§ § §
January 2, 1946, 4:30 PM
Clarence House
The Mall
London, England, UK
Another hour passed before the phalanx of doctors and nurses parted enough to allow Colin Marty-Windsor to attend his wife. Margaret’s wan face reflected her exhaustion, but her sparkling eyes showed her joy at the arrival of her son.
“I will congratulate you on the birth of our son,” Colin said, “since you di
“Oh, hush, Colin,” the queen replied. “The English monarchs have a history of disposing of unsatisfactory consorts.”
“I stand warned, Ma’am,” he said. “But you delivered a male heir, so any concerns are moot.”
“Just keep thinking that. I want you to remain unsuspecting. Now, any reaction to the announcement?”
“No, Dearest. George made the announcement an hour ago. The Beeb got it out over the radio, and I expect to see it in the evening editions. Tomorrow should be interesting. There were many happy faces, however.”
“And we must consult the family before we announce our son's name.”
Colin sat down suddenly in the chair next to the queen’s bed.
“Are you alright, Darling?” she asked.
“It just hit me suddenly,” Colin explained, “I am a father. I have never been that before.”
“And I think you will be a wonderful father.”
“This is something we planned for months, but when the moment arrived, I discovered I wasn’t ready.”
A cloud swept over her face. “And I wish Father were here to see this. And my sister, Lilibet…”
She tried to continue but could not. He leaned over to touch her arm. “This is not the day to let the ghosts crowd us, my Love.”
“Oh, I know, Colin. It’s just that so many things are different than I expected growing up. I miss them dreadfully. And I’m sorry for raining upon your day.”
“It’s raining outside. But you are my sunshine here, Love.”
Margaret visibly shook herself. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. We need to get on with business. I must talk with the family so you and I can devise a name for our son before the christening.”
“I am sad you did not like the names I suggested,” Colin said.
“And you, Sir, are not very funny. We will not name our son Jack!”
He shrugged. “I honestly don’t care as long as you and the baby are well.”
“I am well and truly exhausted,” she said.
“Then you must rest, Margaret. I will see you tomorrow, and we can begin to chart our son's path.”
“You are a dear, Colin. Thank you for being you.”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “And I am constantly thankful for you.”
Colin returned to the royal apartments and changed into casual clothes. His minders insisted that wearing a charcoal pin-striped suit with a red carnation in the lapel was appropriate for the occasion. It struck him as odd to dress up for a walk through the palace halls to the infirmary, where he would be seen only by the royal servants and his wife.
The valet, Charles Carney, appeared as Colin removed his suit. He carefully mounted the clothing on the hangers and placed them in the closet.
“Are you going to wear that tonight, Sir?” Carney asked. The stocky, brown-haired man folded his arms across his chest in disapproval.
“I would say that is self-evident, Charles. Why?”
“It is so… down-market, Sir.”
“I am not going out tonight,” Colin replied. “I plan to remain in the apartments; this is my most comfortable outfit.”
“Of course, Sir,” the valet sniffed. “There is nothing on your schedule tonight.”
Carney padded from the room and Colin watched as waves of disapproval boiled off of the man. He snorted to himself. The valet was very good at his job but also overbearing. Carney was a bit subdued today. Previous disagreements over Colin's dressing choices had escalated to shouting matches.
Colin shook his head. He had extensive experience dealing with difficult people, so Carney did not bother him much. The queen could be much more difficult, but working through their disagreements was relatively easy because he loved her.
The sitting room was comfortable. After several months of debate and argument, Colin and Margaret had arrived at a décor both found comfortable. The room needed painting, but they had yet to agree on a color. He settled into a Queen Anne’s wingback chair facing the coal fire and stretched his legs out. He sighed deeply as he relaxed.
The butler entered his field of vision with a tray. Dippins set a cup and saucer on the occasional table beside his chair and poured tea. The brew steamed as it filled the cup, and Colin smiled.
“Oh, thank you, Marcel. I’ve been wanting this all afternoon.”
“Of course, Sir. I have not had the opportunity to speak with you about your dinner plans.”
“Just a sandwich tonight, Marcel. The queen is exhausted from eighteen hours of labor, and I am worn out from pacing the floor during that time. A light supper will be fine, and then I will go to bed.”
“Of course, Sir. When would you desire to eat?”
“Whenever it’s ready,” Colin replied. “I think we can keep things informal tonight.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The butler nodded, the equivalent of a bow, and silently sailed out of the room. Colin smiled as he turned back to face the fire. The tea was at the perfect temperature and very good. Brewing a good cuppa was an art form, and timing things so that it arrived at his elbow at the right time always impressed him. He had become used to having the royal servants waiting for him to supply his every wish and wondered if that was good.
Dippins’ appearance was not characteristic of the Royal Household servants. While most were anonymous-looking, the butler was tall, gangly, dark-haired, and had a hooknose. Colin thought he resembled a pirate more than anything else. But he was dedicated to the family and had given exemplary service for over twenty years.
Many of the rooms at Buckingham Palace were drafty, but the royal apartments here at Clarence House were comfortably warm. Colin finished the tea and felt himself slipping into somnolence while watching the mesmerizing flames. He almost jumped as Marcel moved into view.
“Dinner is served, Your Royal Highness.”
Colin struggled to his feet. “Thank you, Marcel. I almost slipped off there.”
“I’m sure you will appreciate a good night’s sleep, Sir.”
“Oh, I hope so.”
The staff had set a place for Colin in the small dining room. Small meant that the room could accommodate thirty people. A single table accommodating a dozen graced the room, and Colin seated himself at the first chair along one side, the head of the table reserved for the Queen even when she was absent. As he was the only diner, he found the room somewhat empty. He smirked as he remembered the table where he ate his meals with Clarice. It would seat four in a pinch.
Before him was a roast beef sandwich, fried potatoes, and a pint of ale. He carefully sliced the sandwich in half and began eating. After taking two bites of the potatoes, he slid the rest to the side of the plate. And the half sandwich was adequate.
“Would you like dessert, Sir?” Marcel asked.
“Thank you, no. My weight seems to be creeping up, so this is an opportunity to control things.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Following a satisfactory meal, Colin returned to his chair before the fire. It was a chilly, rainy evening, and the dampness infiltrated the palace walls. He poured a measure of brandy into a snifter and set it on the small table next to his chair. The room's quiet was interrupted only by the crackle and hiss of the coal fire. He would have preferred a wood fire, but the coal was warmer.
The Prince Consort pondered his life thus far. An employee of the Prime Minister’s office, he had been pressed into service to help with the queen’s administrative load and quickly earned her confidence. Formally becoming Margaret’s private secretary, she quickly earned his loyalty and he hers. Working closely with the queen and managing her workload, the mutual respect developed into a friendship.
After losing her parents and sister, Margaret's loneliness led to her deepening friendship with Colin and his wife, Clarice. And Clarice had been thrilled to interact with the queen. And she was honored to accompany Colin when he traveled for the queen. But the abduction of Colin and Clarice in Kabul turned the excitement of service into something far darker.
While Colin and the diplomats had been rescued by a Judaean special forces team, Clarice had been murdered literally at the last moment during the rescue. His grief at the loss of his wife was compounded by Margaret’s horror at placing her good friends at such risk.
Over time Colin and Margaret grew closer as each worked through the loss. The friendship eventually blossomed into love and the two were married in June of 1945. Margaret became pregnant almost immediately and now they had a son.
