by C. J. Miller
“Perhaps we should speak of this in private,” Iliana said.
Maria looked between them. “If you join us against Stella, then you will be one of us.”
Iliana’s body tensed at those words.
Maria seemed pleased with herself. She had found Iliana’s weakness, and she wasn’t above exploiting it. Demetrius would have stepped in if Iliana working with Maria hadn’t been beneficial to him.
Maria stood. “I will leave you to your afternoon. I will call you later to discuss this further.”
“Sure,” Iliana said, sounding worried. Maria slipped on her gloves and was escorted from the room by her guards and two of Demetrius’s servicemen.
Iliana turned to face him. “Tell me what you think about Maria’s request. You must have been listening and heard something that bothered you.”
Demetrius took her hands in his. “You should accept your inheritance and use that connection to Valencia as a springboard to become closer with your family.”
Iliana bit her bottom lip. “That means spending more time in Valencia.”
He wasn’t wild about that idea, but he kept his goal in mind. His brother’s freedom was more important than having his wife nearby at every moment. “I support that if it is your wish.”
“Will you visit me there? Will I visit you here?” she asked.
That she cared either way told him she wasn’t as finished with their marriage as he feared. “Both. Either.”
“Would you come with me to the reading of the will?” she asked.
“Yes.” He hid his enthusiasm. They had a long way to go before she was named marchioness of Agot. The squabbling between the king’s children and his wives was still making headlines in Valencia, and Demetrius expected the drama to escalate before it settled and a final court decision was made. The judicial system in Valencia was supposed to be impartial, but politics found its way into everything.
His primary concern was making certain that Iliana received her inheritance without being tossed into Valencia’s problems.
* * *
The flight to Valencia was short, but Iliana’s nerves had been on edge since she’d woken up. Facing her siblings again was nerve-racking, and she was worried about what would happen at the reading of her father’s will.
What would she say if she was named marchioness of Agot? Could she decline? Did she want to?
Demetrius seemed to believe that she could not abandon her responsibilities, even if they were unexpected and foreign to her.
Her husband had kept his word and had accompanied her to Valencia. As she watched him, she wondered if he knew how sexy he could be when he was working. He was wearing gray pants and a black sweater, a simple outfit, but when he talked on the phone with his earpiece, he used his hands in an expressive way. He almost looked like an actor. Even the syncopation of his voice was mesmerizing. People didn’t argue with Demetrius. He stated his demands as irrefutable and undeniable facts.
Iliana tamped back her disappointment over the night before. She had waited for Demetrius for two hours before giving up and going to bed alone. Things between them weren’t going well, a gradual downhill slide after their wedding night.
He had come to bed late, and she had been groggy. He had touched her gently, but even though she had worn her most feminine nightgown, giving him the green light, he hadn’t done anything else. His disinterest could be to her benefit. But when it came to Demetrius, she couldn’t stop wanting him even though she barely knew him.
Maybe if she were a political rival, he’d be more attentive. When she was the queen of Acacia’s secretary they had been rivals in a sense, and he had seemed interested then. Had his interest been genuine?
She and Demetrius entered the law offices where the reading of the king’s will was set to begin. A piano was playing somewhere softly; otherwise the building was as quiet as a library. Iliana approached the security desk in the lobby and introduced herself. “I’m here for the reading of the king of Valencia’s will,” she whispered, feeling as though using her regular voice would disrupt the tranquility of the space.
The security guard stood and shifted on his feet. “My deepest apologies, but the reading of the king’s will has been postponed.”
Shock tumbled through her, followed quickly by suspicion. “Postponed? Why?” Iliana was twenty minutes early, and she had heard nothing about changes to the schedule. If it had been put off to a later time, why hadn’t she been notified? She checked her phone to see if she had missed messages. Nothing.
The security guard seemed uneasy. “The king’s widow is too distraught to have the reading today.”
Iliana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was a maneuver by Stella, perhaps to shut out what family she could. “It’s the reading of a will. Everyone involved is distraught in some manner.” Even saying the words, she knew it hadn’t been the security guard’s call to postpone the reading.
She felt Demetrius behind her. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
She looked over her shoulder. He appeared stern and taciturn. “The reading of the will is being delayed because the king’s widow is distraught.”
The man at the security desk shrank away from Demetrius. The disapproval in his eyes was clear. If Iliana didn’t know Demetrius better, she may have had the same reaction.
Spiro, the king’s youngest son, shoved open the glass doors to the entrance of the building and stumbled into the lobby. He collected himself and ran his hand through his hair. When he saw Iliana, he moved in her direction. “Let’s get this farce over with.” He barked the comment into the air.
Was he drunk?
Theodore, Spiro’s older brother, was ten seconds behind him. Theodore looked at Spiro with disgust. “What’s the matter with you?” Then he waved his hand in front of his nose. “Really, Spiro? It’s not even noon and you’re a mess. You smell like cheap booze.”
Spiro threw his hands wide. “My father died. I’m entitled to a little Scotch to press through the day. It wasn’t cheap Scotch—that I can assure you.”
Theodore snorted with disdain. “My father is dead, too. I’m not drinking myself into a coma over it. Be a man and stop embarrassing yourself and this family. We’ve had enough tragedy and bad press to last a decade.”
Theodore pulled his brother to the far side of the lobby. They spoke to each other in hushed tones, their body language hostile.
A few minutes later, Emmanuel, the king’s oldest son, arrived with his mother, Kaliope. When Georgia, Spiro and Theodore’s mother, arrived, the king’s two former wives stared at each other with contempt.
When the security guard delivered the news that the reading of the will would be postponed, Emmanuel, Georgia and Kaliope started speaking at once. Spiro and Theodore joined them, adding their questions and accusations about who had caused the delay and why.
Iliana couldn’t track the conversation, but it was clear that no one in this group saw eye to eye. She felt like an outsider again, and it was a feeling she hated. Maria had implied the family would work as a team, one united front, but it didn’t seem that was the case now. Money made people greedy and apparently made them forget what was important.
Demetrius was quietly watching. His eyes were surveying the group, taking in the details, and he was likely assessing alliances and weaknesses. The security guard looked overwhelmed, and the noise level in the lobby was deafening.
Iliana felt the beginnings of a headache forming at her temples. She touched her head, wishing she and Demetrius had stayed in Icarus.
“Enough.” Though Demetrius didn’t speak louder than normal, the lobby went silent. “This is not what any of us wished. You may have noticed that Stella and Maria are missing. Stella must be home nursing her grief.” He didn’t hide his sarcasm. “But where is Maria?”
Kaliope look
ed in her designer handbag and withdrew her phone. “My daughter was planning to attend today. I will call her and see what’s keeping her.” She took a few steps away to make the call.
The group stood in silence, listening to one side of Kaliope’s conversation.
A few minutes later, Maria’s mother dropped her phone to her side. “I have terrible news. I called Maria’s cell and a stranger answered. She was a nurse at Abele General. Maria is in the hospital. She’s been poisoned.”
Chapter 6
Iliana was pacing inside their bedroom suite at the hotel in Valencia. Demetrius found it distracting, and not because of the back-and-forth movement. He couldn’t take his eyes off his beautiful wife. She was wearing a pair of cotton pants that were loose around the legs and low on her hips and a strappy, tight tank top.
He watched her from his position, propped up in the bed. He liked the straps. He wanted to pull them over her shoulders and see where the night led. Work was constant, but Demetrius forced himself to close his computer early. Iliana may need to talk. She was worried about Maria. So far Maria’s condition was stable but critical. The doctors had not yet identified the specific poison used. But his mind wasn’t on Maria. Iliana had let her hair out of the tight bun, and it was wild and loose around her shoulders.
Demetrius wanted her and he wanted her now. He tried to check his reaction, tried to be sensitive about how she was feeling. “Iliana, it will be okay.”
She whirled to face him. “Stella will take everything. Everything. Including the lives of my siblings. Nicholas is dead, and who knows what will happen to Maria?”
Demetrius had the NSS gathering what information they could about Maria’s poisoning. They were canvassing the area around her house, looking for someone who may have seen a stranger in the neighborhood that morning or anything else unusual. “It’s premature to accuse Stella. Do you have proof she was involved?”
Iliana glared at him. “Proof? You want proof? It’s called logic.”
If Stella was responsible, she wasn’t acting alone. “I am working on the situation.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How? How are you working on it?”
Gathering intel. Surveillance. Information from the police force. “I have ways of obtaining evidence that others do not.”
“Spying. What about the will? What if Stella takes everything?”
“I thought it didn’t matter to you.”
It had started to matter to Iliana when Maria had sat across from her and asked for help. Nurturing others was in Iliana’s blood, and now that she was involved, she wanted to help her siblings.
She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “It matters.”
“Why?”
She threw up her hands. “You want me to care about it and now you’re questioning why I care?”
“I want to know how you think.” The insight might help his cause.
She inclined her head. “The king left his children what he thought they deserved or needed. If I am named marchioness of Agot, I can do good. I can donate the money or give the land to an animal shelter or an organic farm.”
He appreciated her originality. “You don’t want to keep anything for yourself?”
“Since I don’t know what I’ll inherit and I don’t know what’s involved with the title, how can I know that?”
“You may be surprised how much more good you could do with your title.”
“Who is the current marchioness?” she asked.
“No one. The title is held in reserve by the king until he decides to name someone to power.”
She frowned.
The lights flickered and then the room went dark, save for Demetrius’s computer screen.
Demetrius didn’t like the darkness and what it could mean. He took Iliana’s hand and led her to the in-room safe. “Stay with me.”
Demetrius handed her his phone, and Iliana aimed the light from the screen over the safe’s keypad. Demetrius opened the safe, removed his guns, checked that they were loaded and grabbed his shoulder holster from the dresser drawer. He put it on and slid both guns into it.
“What exactly are you doing?” she asked, sounding appalled.
He was protecting her, like he had promised to do. “Lights went out.”
“Probably a power surge,” she said.
They had rolling brownouts and blackouts in Acacia. This wasn’t normal in Valencia. Iliana handed him his phone. It vibrated with a message.
Two of his servicemen were investigating the cause of the power outage. The others stayed at their post outside the door. “Let’s move.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“If this is another assassination attempt, the assassin will have night-vision goggles. I do not. I am not planning to sit in our hotel room and wait for someone to kill us.” It was a defensible position, except they were penned in. He had only so many bullets and could only take on a certain number of attackers while ensuring Iliana’s safety.
Demetrius opened the front door. His servicemen were gone, a bad sign since their last message had communicated otherwise. Demetrius peered around the corner and looked into the hallway. It was dark and empty except for the emergency lights that lined the hallway and the shadows in between.
Keeping Iliana behind him, they walked to the stairwell. Demetrius looked inside through the narrow window on the door and listened. Silence. They entered, Demetrius listening for footsteps on the concrete.
They moved down the stairs. After the turn in the staircase, Demetrius’s battle instinct roared. His serviceman was slumped against the wall, bleeding from a bullet wound in his head. He tamped down his rage and anger, knowing emotions had no place in war. Demetrius checked his pulse. “He’s dead.”
Killing one of his men was suicide for the murderer. Demetrius would shoot to kill anyone who came at him or Iliana.
“What should we do?” Iliana asked.
Demetrius wouldn’t leave his man for long. He’d return for him when it was safe. “I’ll take you somewhere I know you can’t be harmed, and then I’ll come back for him.”
They heard footsteps on the stairs and Demetrius pointed up. He practically carried Iliana up the stairs and they entered the floor where their room was located. Two men were in the hallway, holding guns.
Pinned between two killers in the hallway and an indeterminate number of men in the stairwell, Demetrius went with the odds. He turned a hall table on its side. “Get down.” He pushed Iliana on her hands and knees behind it. “Keep your head covered.”
He moved down the hall, one gun in hand and unsnapped the other in case he needed it quickly. One of the intruders turned toward him and took aim. Demetrius got off the first shot. The noise had the other man swinging a gun in his direction, and a third man rushed from the room Demetrius had been sharing with his wife.
Demetrius shot them. One in the heart, one in the head. Repeat. They wouldn’t get past him to hurt Iliana. Their target could be him or her or both.
Demetrius checked that the hallway was clear and hurried back to Iliana. He didn’t know how many assailants there were. While he didn’t want her in the middle of gunfire, he didn’t want her alone, either.
He extended his hand to her. “There’s another stairwell. We’ll go that way.”
Keeping her tucked close to him, they rushed into the stairwell. Having her close felt good, and she wasn’t shrugging away from his touch. She stayed next to him, gripping his shirt. He wished she was wearing more than her thin tank top, but he couldn’t stop to worry about her attire.
After descending two flights, Demetrius opened the door to the hall. After a quick visual sweep, they entered. Some of the hotel guests were milling around in their pajamas and sweatshirts, robes and slippers.
The holster on his shoul
ders would make others uneasy, and Demetrius tried to blend in. They followed others to the lobby, where hotel employees were offering reassurances that the power issue was being handled and they’d called maintenance. They seemed to be unaware of the shooters on the top floor or how much danger they could be in.
Demetrius led Iliana to the kitchen. The assassins could be searching the crowd for them. Behind the kitchen was the service hallway. A white light flashed, illuminating the path to the exit. Jogging, Demetrius shoved open the metal door and they hurried outside. The night air hit him, and the smell of gunpowder in his nose dissipated.
“What do we do now? Where can we go?” Iliana asked. The back entrance was near the large and now-silent HVAC systems. It provided cover from the parking lot.
“We’ll stay away from the people trying to kill us.”
Iliana held out her hands. “Demetrius, just stop for a second.” She leaned against the brick hotel and ran a shaky hand through her hair. From nerves or the chill of the night, Demetrius wasn’t sure.
“You killed those men,” she said.
He had. They’d given him no choice. “You were supposed to be hiding behind the table.” He hadn’t wanted her to see him take another life. But with her own life at stake, it hadn’t been the right time for sorting his options. Moreover, he didn’t know where his servicemen were. He feared they were dead.
“Regardless of what I was supposed to be doing, I saw what you did.”
“They would have killed me if I had not killed them.”
“You didn’t hesitate. You looked so cold.”
He’d had his eyes on his targets. Whenever he used his gun, he was focused. He didn’t shoot men in error. Every pull of the trigger was deliberate and purposeful. “You couldn’t see my face.”
Her eyes were moist. “You looked back at me once. Your face was emotionless.”
If he had looked at her, it was to check for threats from behind. “I was protecting my wife. Crisis is not a time for emotion.”
