by Maya Banks
He looked positively rakish, and she had difficulty forming a coherent thought in his presence, much less a sentence.
Anxiety turned her stomach to mush as she contemplated bringing up the moment just before they leaped over the waterfall. She wasn’t even sure she should dwell on it because everything else seemed to fade away in its shadow, and she was so close to achieving justice. So close she could taste it.
He stared wordlessly at her, his eyes probing her. They were troubled almost, their dark orbs reflecting…sadness? She shifted under his scrutiny and struggled to pose the question uppermost on her mind.
“Merrick,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Before, when we were about to jump over the waterfall…”
She broke off, her courage faltering. Why was he saying nothing?
“What I mean to ask, that is, did you—”
She nearly screamed in frustration when she was cut off by Father Ling’s return.
“Your Highness, it is time.” He hurried over to her, his robe billowing out behind him.
Merrick stood up and offered her his hand. She rested her fingers atop his wrist and rose gracefully. “I’d like Lord Merrick to accompany me to the palace.”
She looked to Merrick for confirmation, but he stared straight ahead.
“As you wish. The carriage awaits you inside the gate.” Father Ling’s voice lowered, and he inclined his head toward her. “Montagne has returned to the palace. I’ve arranged an escort for you. Normally we would ring the bells to signal your success, but in this case, I think secrecy is of the utmost importance.”
“Is there an armed contingent to see to the princess’s protection?” Merrick interjected.
“The Royal Guard stands ready to escort Her Highness to the palace.”
“But are they loyal to the princess?” he persisted, his arm wrapping protectively around her shoulders.
Father Ling gazed sharply at him. “The Royal Guard is comprised of the nation’s most honorable men. They stand ready to die for their future queen. You may be assured no one will touch the princess.”
“And where were these intensely loyal men when her parents were murdered?” Merrick asked pointedly.
Father Ling stared serenely at Merrick, his eyes registering approval and respect. “Your devotion to Her Highness is very admirable, my lord. I can see you have only her best interests at heart.”
“I merely want to make sure she is safe.”
“And she will be,” the monk said sagely. “I know you find it difficult to trust beyond your own instincts, but the Royal Guard will not allow the princess to come to harm. They will defend her to their own deaths.”
Merrick nodded, evidently satisfied by the monk’s assurances. Once again, he offered his arm to her, and she tucked her hand over the crisp material of his coat. His other hand closed over hers and squeezed.
“Are you ready?” he murmured close to her ear.
She nodded and they walked after Father Ling into the small courtyard in front of the monastery. As they stepped out into the deepening twilight, she smiled as she saw the royal carriage waiting. How many times had she ridden in this same carriage with her parents?
Two men sat in the driver’s seat, high above the ground, their plumed hats waving in the breeze. Soldiers on horseback formed a double line in front of and behind the carriage, and one was posted at each of the four corners.
Merrick handed her into the carriage then climbed in beside her. Father Ling leaned in and looked at Isabella. “Be on your guard, Your Highness. Much is not as it seems.”
As they lurched forward, the awful knot in her stomach grew. His cryptic words gave her a sense of foreboding. She twisted her hands nervously in front of her and peered anxiously out the window.
They moved more swiftly than she remembered traveling before, but then there was a threat of attack. The soldiers rode with swords drawn, constantly assessing the landscape around them.
She sat back in her seat, forcing herself to relax.
“It’s almost over,” Merrick said.
“Yes,” she replied. She turned to look at him, seizing their last opportunity to be alone before arriving at the palace. “Merrick, what you said before we jumped… Did you mean it?”
He looked away as if reluctant to discuss the matter.
“You don’t have to answer,” she said in a rush. In a lot of ways, it would be easier if he didn’t confirm his earlier declaration.
When he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes were a swirl of conflicting emotions. Uncertainty, vulnerability. As if his entire soul was laid out before her.
For the first time, she realized that this was a man, who despite his best attempts, felt deeply about all things in his life. His devotion to his country, while a bandage for wounds inflicted by his father, ran strong. And now, if she was to believe the evidence before her, he felt just as deeply about her.
A knot grew in her stomach. She wouldn’t purposely hurt this man for anything in the world, but some hurts were inevitable. As they had both come to realize.
He continued to stare at her, every ounce of feeling burning in his eyes. “I meant it,” he said finally.
Had he waged a private war with himself over whether to make such an admission?
Unable to bear his scrutiny any longer, she turned away before she lost every ounce of resolve she possessed.
After Jacques was captured, she promised herself. When her parents were avenged, she would address this matter between them.
The carriage halted, and she blinked rapidly then looked eagerly out the window. The door opened, and Merrick stepped out. He held his hand back to her, and she slowly descended the steps.
She was home.
The palace stood before her, nestled in the bosom of Soleil Mountain. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she would not allow them to come. Not yet.
Drawing herself up, she ordered in a clear loud voice, “Bring Montagne to me!”
The soldiers rushed forward into the palace gates, six remaining behind to escort her within. She shrugged away Merrick’s hand and strode forward.
She entered the Great Hall, her skirts swinging around her as her determined steps sounded on the highly polished floor. Members of court, high-ranking officials, lords and ladies alike gasped in astonishment when their eyes lighted on her.
She trailed up the red carpet to stand before the high table, her fists knotted at her sides. “Where is he?” she demanded, her voice echoing across the hall.
The Lord of the Order, a man appointed by her own father, stood from his seat, the gavel slipping from his hands. “Princess Isabella,” he gasped. “We thought you dead.”
“As you can see I am very much alive,” she replied. “Now tell me where is Montagne?”
Silence fell over the hall. Lord Helwedge cleared his throat nervously. “I do not know, Your Highness. He left not a few minutes ago. We were about to take a vote on whether to change the rule of succession so that a ruler could be crowned without producing the relics.”
Rage boiled over her. “Well, as you can see, I have returned to assume the throne and to carry out my father’s legacy. I have been into the caves, and I have recovered the relics. Tomorrow, according to the supreme laws of Leaudor, I shall be crowned your queen.”
A gasp went up from the room, and the excited buzz of chatter sounded in her ears.
“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” Lord Helwedge said shakily. He rubbed a hand over his forehead then sat heavily in his chair.
She whirled around to face the occupants of the room. “Listen well and heed my words. Anyone associating with or supporting Jacques Montagne will be branded a traitor and dealt with accordingly.”
She turned back to eye Lord Helwedge. “I fully expect you to apprise the rest of the court and the army as well that their leader is no longer Jacques Montagne.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” he said, rising once more and b
owing.
Simon watched from the back of the room. She was clearly in her element and born to rule. She allowed no one to interfere in her sworn objective. Not even him.
His heart lay heavy in his chest. Kirk’s betrayal weighed mightily on him. His love for Isabella consumed him. Thoughts of his brother tortured him.
Simon had killed Edward. He was responsible for his brother’s death. If he hadn’t been so consumed with proving his worth to his father, he would never have joined the agency. His unwillingness to be the invisible spare had led to the deaths of both Edward and his father.
His longing for a family had driven him, and he’d found solace in the camaraderie of the service. Kirk had been a brother to him, the sort of brother and relationship he had longed for within his own family.
He closed his eyes, recrimination beating a steady rhythm in his head. That same selfishness had nearly cost Isabella her life as well. He had been a fool to admit his love for her. The look in her eyes when he had said he meant it told him his admission was just one more burden she would have to bear in a time when she needed as few as possible.
Once he saw her safely on the throne on the morrow, he would slip quietly back to England and continue his work in solitude.
“Lord Merrick?” A soldier stood before him.
“Yes, what is it?” he asked looking around him.
“Her Highness wished me to escort you to your chambers so that you might rest. She would enjoy your company for breakfast in the morning.”
He slowly followed the soldier down the hall. Though ludicrous, his hope was to have spent one more night with her. But of course it wasn’t possible. They were in the palace, and she was hours from being crowned queen. Hours from saying goodbye.
* * *
“Your Highness, Montagne has been detained.”
Isabella spun around in her chamber to face the captain of the Royal Guard. “Where is he now?”
“He is being held under guard in his chambers. We await your direction.”
Her lip curled in disgust. “Remove him from his chamber at once. He doesn’t deserve such luxury. Place him in the prison cell as you would any other criminal. I will face him tomorrow when I am queen and fully able to mete out punishment according to the law.”
“As you wish, Your Highness,” he said with a bow. He turned and left the throne room, his steps echoing across the empty room.
She watched as he disappeared then turned back around, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. Her gaze wandered over the dimly lit room her father had spent so much time in, and where he and her mother died.
She closed her eyes as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. The memory of that day played over and over in her mind. In slow motion she saw her mother’s body slip lifelessly to the floor beside her father.
Her head snapped up as she heard herself scream, heard Davide cry out. The room spun crazily around her. She could see Jacques’ smile of satisfaction, see Stephane’s bloody hand as he held it out in triumph. Hear the guards as they closed in around her and Davide. Feel their evil touch.
She opened her eyes and looked over to where she had last seen her parents, afraid that she would see their blood still on the floor. But the marble gleamed under the shine of a fresh polish. It was as if they had never been there.
“I will avenge you,” she whispered, her words reverberating softly over the quiet room. “He will pay for what he has done. I will not let you down, Father.”
Her only answer was deafening silence. She walked slowly to the entrance where two guards attended her safety. She closed the door softly behind her. “Have someone seal this room,” she said to one of the soldiers. “It will no longer be used.”
She walked down the hall to her chambers, her spine stiffening, her shoulders squared. She had laid to rest her parents’ memory, and now that Jacques had been captured, she felt the horrible weight begin to dissipate. When she was queen, she would have a memorial service for her parents and brothers. One fitting to their station.
She paused outside the chamber she had reserved for Merrick, wanting desperately to go within. She placed a hand on the door then slowly let it slide down the wood surface. Her heart heavy, she turned away and hurried down to her own quarters.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After a sleepless night, Isabella’s anticipation had completely encompassed her. Today she would be crowned queen and fulfill her promise to her father.
She had spent the better part of the night analyzing her feelings for the Englishman. He consumed her thoughts, her dreams. But dreams were reserved for the lucky. Those not bound by destiny.
Not even briefly would she consider the possibility of them having any sort of future together. To do so would only bring about the worst kind of heartache. They both had a duty to their countries before all else.
And the man she married must, according to Leaudorian law, be a Leaudorian citizen. Any man not born of her country would have to renounce his loyalty to the country of his birth and swear allegiance to Leaudor.
Such an easy obstacle in theory. But she knew well Merrick’s devotion to the English crown. His sense of duty ran deep. Add to that he had an English title and an obligation to his dead father to continue the line. The chances of him being willing to relinquish all of that, even for her, seemed nonexistent. Nor would she accept it.
She rose from her bed, shoving all thoughts of Merrick aside. Too much was at stake this day to allow her personal desires to interfere.
She was immediately besieged by a bevy of maids as she exited her bedchamber and walked into her sitting room. A flurry of activity erupted as they washed her, dressed her and did up her hair. As she sat before the vanity while they pinned the last of her curls, she ran her hands over the smooth silk of her dress.
“What time is the coronation?” she asked the lady who had temporarily been posted as her secretary.
“In three hours, Your Highness.”
Three hours. Plenty of time for her to breakfast with Merrick before the ceremony.
She turned to her secretary. “Arrange for my breakfast to be taken here in my private sitting room. Send word to Lord Merrick that I should like his presence.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Isabella dismissed her maids and waited impatiently for Merrick to arrive. Several minutes later, three members of the kitchen staff arrived with trays of food. She watched as they finished arranging the food then sat down, waiting for Merrick’s appearance.
Her head snapped up when the door opened, but her hopes were dashed when she saw her secretary reappear.
“I was unable to locate Lord Merrick, Your Highness. He was not in his chamber.”
She laughed nervously. “Perhaps he is breakfasting in the dining hall. Or maybe taking a walk about the gardens. Send one of the guards to search for him.”
She waited until the secretary left then slumped into an armchair. Where was he? She tried to calm her jittery nerves. There was no reason to assume the worst. But it stuck in her mind, refusing to be silent. Had he departed for England? Did he regret his words? Did he truly mean them?
Her fingers massaged her temples as the aching in her head increased. How could she rejoice in her success if Merrick wasn’t here to share it with her?
She leapt out of the chair when a knock sounded at the door. When she opened it, she saw the two guards posted outside cross their swords over the entry in a protective manner. A messenger stood before her, and he extended a missive to her.
“This just came for you, Your Highness.”
Attempting to mask her disappointment, she smiled and took the message from him. She retreated into her room and closed the door behind her.
She broke the wax seal and unrolled the letter, her eyes narrowing at the manner of address.
Interloper
You dare to intrude where you do not belong.
If you value the Englishman’s life yo
u will
forego the coronation and come at once to
the Marble Cliffs. Come alone or the Englishman
will die.
It was unsigned. She stared in shock at the words, not fully comprehending them. Someone—who?—had Merrick.
“To me!” she cried out to her guards.
The door flew open and the two guards rushed in, their swords drawn.
“Find out if Montagne still resides in his cell,” she ordered. “I want the entire grounds searched for Lord Merrick. Report back to me at once with your findings.”
When the guards left, she summoned the maid who had helped her undress the previous evening. She directed her to find her a pair of breeches and a suitable shirt.
Not wasting precious time waiting on the maid to return, she quickly tore the dress and trappings from her body and waited in just her chemise for the clothing she had requested.
Fear ate at her very soul. If she lost Merrick, she could not go on living. She had lost too much, and he was all she had left. The only person who cared whether she lived or died.
She closed her eyes against the horrible images of his death. Death came too readily to mind, she could see it so clearly after witnessing the horror of her parents’ murders.
Who had done this? Was it a trick to remove her from the palace? If so, where was Merrick?
Another knock sounded at her door.
“Come!” she snapped.
“Your Highness, Montagne is secure in the cell, but there is no sign of Lord Merrick. Shall I dispatch a contingent to find him?”
“No,” she said sharply, waving her hand dismissively. “You may go now.”
On the heels of the guard, her maid returned with the clothing. Her eyes widened when she took in Isabella’s scantily clad body, but she wisely kept silent.
“Leave me,” she said brusquely.
The maid bowed and backed out of the room.
She pulled the breeches and shirt on in seconds then thrust her feet into a pair of boots. Rushing to the vanity, she yanked the jeweled pins from her hair. She twisted the strands into a thick braid and quickly tied the end.
