She looks away, trying not to break down. My heart aches for her.
“Family can be a good thing,” I insist, drawing her chin back so she needs to look at me.
She huffs a laugh. “Says the man who thought he killed his brother.”
I duck my head for a moment. “Yes. I had forgotten about that. I think that some families argue with words and some fight with fists. Or in our case, a broken bottle. And you must remember, we were brothers for over thirty years prior to that fight.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can see that she is smiling. “You are saying that you’re not a normal family, so normal rules don’t apply to you?”
“Something like that, yes.” I shrug. “If we start a family, it will be different.”
She hugs me tightly, a few of her tears dripping against my chest. “That sounds nice. It sounds like… maybe you’re thinking long term.”
She hides against my torso, not fully ready to confront what she is saying just yet.
I look down at her, her face concealed by waves of her coppery hair as she presses into my chest. Whatever she is feeling just now, I want to make her feel every day that we are together. It is funny to think this, but if something like knowing that she is going to be in my life long term makes her happy…
Maybe a marriage proposal would be appropriate. After all, she is the first girl that I have ever said I love you to. And I do imagine us having a family…
Not now, of course. But soon.
Rue sniffs, looking up at me. “Dryas?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad you are in my life, even if you came into it in a way that was… unexpected.”
One corner of my mouth curls upward. “That is a very nice way to put it, don’t you think? I was an absolute asshole to you for a long time.”
She lifts a shoulder, shrugging. “Just because your arrival wasn’t predictable doesn’t mean that I’m not still glad that you are here with me now.”
I have to smile at that. “Fair enough.”
She’s quiet for a minute. I simply lie there and hold her, feeling all twisted up inside. Honestly, I cannot believe I am thinking of marriage.
If I was put into a room with a version of myself from just six months ago, without question the older version of me would win in a fistfight. Something has changed in me, softened the hard edges.
No. Not something.
She changed me. She gave me something to live for. She gave me something else, too.
Something to lose.
I cradle Rue in my arms, experiencing for the first time what it is like to feel anxiety for someone else. I feel anxious and afraid that something will happen to me, incapacitate me to the point that I cannot take care of her anymore.
God, is this the way that Arsen felt about his girl? Because if so, it feels like absolute shit.
Rue clears her throat, thankfully dragging me out of my morose thoughts.
“Can we go to visit Podgorica soon? I am worried about my sister.”
Arching a brow, I regard her. “Your wish is my command. As a matter of fact, I think that Damen has been planning something there. Apparently, there is going to be a wedding soon.”
She shakes her head. “I guess that Amabel is just going through with it all now. I… I don’t think she knows that he is her brother, though.” She makes a disgusted expression. “What if I tell her and the news doesn’t make a difference to her?”
Now it is my turn to shrug. “At least you will know that you tried to save her from a horrible situation.”
From her sigh, I do not think my words comfort her much. She pushes herself into a sitting position and her stomach audibly gurgles.
“Time for food?” she says, bashful.
“Always. You just lead the way.”
She jumps up, dashing toward the kitchen. I follow her, watching her naked ass sway as she goes.
19
Rue
I look across the crowd of people, which is no less than ten thousand strong. Dryas is right in front of me, standing close to the street that has been kept clear by a number of blank-faced Podgorican police. The crowd extends outward in a radius, from the steps of the Cathedral all the way out to the tall oblong buildings that flank the church.
Damen stands behind me, effectively putting me between him and Dryas. It’s nice, in a way. To be protected from interference by the two towering men, each armed with a scowl and, I assume, several firearms. And it’s a plus that I don’t have to worry about being crushed by the crowd.
No, Damen is taking care of that. I saw him drive his elbow into the nose of one particularly drunken reveler. Everyone else is wary of him now, which is fine by me.
On the other hand, I can’t see the road where my sister is supposed to appear on foot any minute now. It’s her baptism, which in Podgorica calls for her to appear extremely penitent. Then when she is baptized into the Catholic church, she will be ready to marry into the Montenegrin royal family.
Or so I’ve read, over the last few days that it took to become organized enough to get here. Standing on my tiptoes, I try to see over Dryas’s shoulder. No luck, though.
He’s wearing a black suit and I’m wearing a simple white dress. Though I balked at his suggestion, now that we are here, I’m glad. We just sort of blend in, except for Dryas and Damen being so tall. Well, that and the fact that I am pretty sure that I’m the only girl with bright red hair here.
“Hey,” I say, tugging on the back of Dryas’s suit jacket to get his attention. He turns his head, a flash of humor in his expression.
“What is it, little bird?”
My heart skips two beats at his use of my nickname. I grin at him. “Let me stand in front of you. Please?”
His smile vanishes.
“No.” His answer is instantaneous. “There are too many people here. I should have listened to Damen and when he said not to even bring you here.”
I frown up at him. “But—”
The crowd goes crazy just then, cheering and booing. I peek at the street from behind Dryas’s big shoulder, just barely seeing several police officers flanking…
Yep, that’s Ama all right. Her blonde hair is long and worn loose, her slight frame looking even gaunter than usual in a pure white dress. Her head is down, and she is barefoot, but I would know her anywhere.
Penitent, indeed. I can see her lips moving, perhaps praying. My first instinct is to roll my eyes at her display, but maybe I’ve just been under Dryas’s spell for too long.
She passes pretty quickly, seemingly unaffected by the reaction of the people pressed on either side of her. She disappears up the front steps of the cathedral.
The crowd disperses a bit. I take a deep breath, thinking that the baptism is probably a pretty long affair if people are wandering off for food and drinks. Damen clears his throat.
“We should get out of here. I do not like being in such a public space with so many people. If I have to draw my weapon here, it would be impossible to aim with any accuracy.”
Dryas grips my waist, already moving me away from the road. “Yes. We should go somewhere else like these other people are doing.”
He motions to the people who are turning and filtering out of the crowd, lessening its density in waves. Damen turns and starts moving people, scaring them with his sheer bulk.
I don’t protest moving, because the baptism ceremony could take a while. When I was baptized into Father Derrik’s church, the ceremony took half a day and left me stripped down and shivering. I make the conscious decision to push that memory aside as Damen and Dryas steer me out of the crowd.
Once we get out of the square that the cathedral sits in, I look around. Dryas squints, seeming indecisive.
“Where are we going?” asks Damen, checking his watch.
“I’m hungry,” I pipe up, looking around. There are a lot of small businesses here, shops and restaurants. My mouth waters, thinking of anything that I can eat. “Somewhere with food
would be great.”
Dryad nods, heading in the direction of a strip of shops. We end up eating at a Turkish kebab place because it has outdoor seating and pictures on the menu.
I scarf down two lamb kebobs and some hummus with a piece of pita, suddenly insatiable. It feels good to actually be hungry for once, after the last few days of being queasy every time I saw food.
It’s only when I clean my plate with a piece of pita that I notice the amused looks Dryas and Damen are giving me.
I blush, stuffing the pita in my mouth. I see them glance at each other as they finish their meals.
“What? I said I was hungry.” I make a face.
Dryas eats a piece of kebab, shaking his head. “Far be it for me to criticize. I am just glad you are eating. I was getting worried. You look… gaunt.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “Don’t worry about me.”
His forehead crinkles. “I will never not worry about you, Rue.”
I blush again as he leans over and puts his hand on my knee. Inside, I am singing. But I don’t know whether or not he is okay with me fawning all over him in front of his brother, so I just beam at him.
Sure enough, Damen makes a disgusted sound and rolls his eyes. “You two are too much. Take it easy for the sake of the rest of the world.”
Dryas is ready with a quick retort. “Is someone jealous?”
Damen narrows his eyes, waving a dismissive hand at Dryas. “You wish.”
Dryas goes still, his attention drawn away from his brother. “I think that guy is one of the guards that was with your sister, Rue.”
I turn around and look. I can see why that guard, in particular, is memorable; he’s at least as tall as Dryas and made of pure, hard muscle. There is something about his extremely short, dark hair and his heavy black brows over his small dark eyes that makes him look… Well, he looks like he might be a little dim. As he trudges down the sidewalk, people cross the street to get out of his way. Each of his hands looks like it is capable of violence, plain and simple.
I can definitely see why that guard would be in charge of her entourage.
Sure enough, not ten seconds later, another pair of uniformed guards appear, Ama sandwiched between them. They each have a firm grip on her upper arm. It looks like she is crying, which stops my heart in my chest.
What has Henrick done to her?
I stand up, unconsciously deciding to go to her.
“No, no.” As soon as I move, Dryas grabs my wrist. “What do you think? You will be able to just walk up to her?”
That gives me pause. Pouting a little, I screw up my face. “No, I guess not.”
Damen smirks. “You must use your brain, little girl.”
I send him a look. “Your feedback is not needed or wanted here right now.”
He gives me a shrug as if to say, so what? That makes me glare at him. Dryas interrupts us, uninterested in listening to us argue.
“We should follow them. If the big guy in front is always with her, I want to know. That way we can prepare an appropriate distraction.”
He throws a wad of cash down on the table, standing up. I grab his hand as he threads his way through the pedestrians on the street. Damen follows, keeping his eyes peeled in case anyone else is watching to see who is following the princess-to-be.
Dryas maintains a safe distance while we trail her, keeping at least a block between the entourage and us.
We snake through several turns, stopping short when we reach a set of impassable gates. Above us, a dark brick building towers. Ama and her guards move beyond the gates without a fuss, leaving us staring after her through the gate’s cool iron beams.
“I guess that would be the royal residence,” Damen says. My eyes follow Ama’s lithe figure as she is half-carried up a short flight of stairs, disappearing behind an impressive door.
“One would assume.” Dryas looks at me. “If we have to talk to Amabel, it would be good if we could get inside there somehow. It is secure, after all.”
My brows rise. “What reason would the prince have for letting us in?”
Damen looks thoughtful. “Who says that we have to tell the truth about who we are? Have you not ever heard of spycraft?”
I wrinkle my brow at his words.
“We need to move on,” Dryas interrupts, tugging at my wrist. “There are guards patrolling the perimeter of the gates.”
I allow myself to be led off, back toward the hotel where we are staying. Glancing back, I bite my lip and make a silent promise to my sister.
Don’t worry, Ama. I will get to you, one way or another.
20
Rue
I stand in the royal residence’s foyer, trying desperately not to fuss with my frilly maid’s apron. When I found out that Dryas had bribed our way onto the staff, I didn’t realize that Prince Henrick insisted that all the women dress as stereotypical French maids. But Dryas just shoved my uniform into my hands.
“You are the one that wants to talk to Amabel,” he pointed out.
So, I dressed up in the little black outfit, complete with a white headband and a frilly apron. In contrast, Dryas looks almost regal in his European-style tails. If it were a different time, in a safer place, I would be kissing him somewhere discreet right now.
Instead, we are standing on the patterned tile of the foyer, receiving instruction from the head butler as to how we are supposed to be preparing the house for the upcoming wedding.
The head butler paces, frowning gloomily at all of us as if he already knows how badly we are going to mess this up. He shakes his finger at us as he lectures.
“Everything must be perfect. Everyone must work together seamlessly,” the butler instructs in English, narrowing his gaze on each of the maids and butlers.
I bite my lip and edge closer to Dryas, whispering out of the side of my mouth. “Why is he speaking English?”
He brows furrows. He waits a few seconds, then whispers back. “I asked whether we were going to be able to understand what is going on. Most of the staff speaks English because apparently, the prince demands it.”
The head butler narrows his eyes on Dryas. “I hear you whispering. Stop talking! There are too many people here that actually care whether or not they keep their jobs.”
I raise my eyebrows. It’s true that there are more than thirty staff assembled here, a tiny army of unseen helpers. Whether they care about their jobs is questionable at best. Not that I blame any of them; the wages are astonishingly low for this type of work.
I duck my head, trying my best to look repentant. The head butler moans on, talking about what duties each type of room is to receive.
My mind wanders. All I keep thinking is that if it weren’t for Dryas, I could’ve been looking at a lifetime of being served by these people. I don’t feel like I missed out on anything, but the fact keeps popping up in my head.
“Pair off!” the head butler says, clapping his hands. “Quickly now. Find someone dressed as you are.”
A pretty dark-haired maid turns to me, looking me up and down. “You want to partner with me, yes?”
I nod my head, trying not to look at Dryas. “Sure. I’m Rue, by the way.”
Sticking out my hand, I wait. Something in her jaw tics, but she takes my hand after a second. “Ivana. Please to meet you.”
Taking a deep breath, I cast my gaze around at the other maids. “It’s my hope to clean the upstairs bedrooms.”
Ivana rolls her eyes. “No one wants to work there. I promise that we’ll find better work in the parlors. Straighten cushions, vacuum floors.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Everyone knows that if you work the parlors, you only have a few hours of work to do.”
The head butler clears his throat. “Who will volunteer to go dress the mistress while her chambermaid is indisposed?”
I understand my partner’s desire to slack off, but they don’t address my goals. So, I take some initiative of my own.
“We will!” I say, grabbing the ha
nd of my unwilling partner in crime and raising it high. “We look forward to it.”
The glare Ivana gives me is priceless. She rips her hand from mine, giving it a shake. She puts on a saccharine smile when the head butler looks down his nose at us.
“Fine. Go,” he says, shooing us. “Let us see… who wants to volunteer to do the same for the master?”
Not wanting to wait around, I grab Ivana’s hand and pull her through the foyer toward the front staircase. She looks at me, disgusted.
“Are you crazy? We can’t go up this staircase,” she hisses, tugging at my grip. “Come, crazy woman. You volunteer us for a bad job, you do most of the bad work when we get up to there.”
She darts through a discreet doorway built into the walnut paneling, closing the door behind us. Blinking into the sudden dimness, I realize that we are in part of the servants’ hallway. Letting her pull me down the passageway, I try not to sneeze at the dust.
The servants apparently don’t give much thought to cleaning their own area. Not that I am judging, seeing as how I don’t have a house of my own to keep clean.
The ceilings here are low, especially when we reach the bottom of the back stairwell. The steps here are steep, which I am not used to. Ivana climbs the steps with the springiness of a goat, leaping several steps ahead of me. I try to keep up as best as I can, though by the fourth flight of stairs I am winded.
Ivana looks at me haughtily. “You will have to do better, new girl.”
Then she opens a door hidden along the wall. We step out into a bright white hallway, across from a set of double doors.
I hear a low moan coming from inside. Ivana smirks and points at the doors.
“Your princess awaits in the bedchamber. I did not volunteer for this, so I will start in the sitting room.” With that, Ivana turns and vanishes down the hall, leaving me on my own.
Steeling myself, I knock on the door.
My sister answers in a shriek. “Get in here already! I’ve been waiting forever!”
Taking a deep breath, I let myself in the bedchamber. The room is almost pitch black; it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and see the colossal four poster bed on one side of the room. The other side has been set up as a little library and reading area.
Protect: Protect Book 4 Page 11
