by C. J. Miller
Demetrius was seated beside her, and he had refused to wear a bandage or sling, claiming he’d appear weak to his enemies. Demetrius needed to take better care of himself. He was sleeping less than five hours a night, and it was fitful sleep, at best. She didn’t know if it was worry or his pain keeping him awake.
He had increased his security, and Iliana took care to ensure he was being watched. She had previously left those matters to Demetrius, but she needed to take responsibility for their safety, too. She wanted him to view her as his equal and confidante. She couldn’t be his other half if she didn’t take an active role in decision making and their lives.
The barrister began reading the items that were part of the king’s personal estate. Those items belonging to the crown went to the heir to the throne, who had not been named. The laws of succession dictated that the crown should pass to Emmanuel, but in some cases, another person was named. The tension in the room was palpable. The king’s first wife, Kaliope, was bequeathed the land they had expected her to receive. After conferring in whispers, she and her lawyer seemed pleased with the outcome. The king’s second wife, Georgia, received a similar parcel of land. She glanced at Kaliope, perhaps feeling as if she had been cheated, but Kaliope wasn’t making eye contact.
“The king’s land and holdings in Santari are left to his loving wife, Stella Floros. The king’s land in Carfu is left to his loving wife, Stella Floros.”
Maria’s face turned ashen. The land in Carfu was to have been hers, along with the title of baroness.
“The king’s land in Kaphalonia is left to his loving wife, Stella Floros.”
Theodore’s expression switched from disinterested to furious. He spoke to his lawyers, and the conversation grew louder. The barrister continued reading. Every remaining item in the will was left to Stella. As if that weren’t enough, the king’s will stated there would be an election among the Assembly to determine his successor.
Stella’s frequent visits to titled royals made sense now. She had known the will stipulated those terms of succession, and she was preparing to win the vote. Had she been clued into the contents of the will because the king had given her a copy or because she had doctored it?
“She changed the will! I call fraud!” Spiro said, coming to his feet and pointing his finger at Stella.
Stella stood and smoothed her black designer skirt. “I’m sorry if you are disappointed, but we will honor the king’s wishes.”
The room erupted in outrage. Accusations were flung, and the lawyers had to intercede to protect Stella from Maria. The lawyers were arguing but in a more civilized manner, without swearing and shoving.
Only she and Demetrius were quiet. Iliana leaned close to her husband’s ear, not only for privacy but because there was no way he could hear her over the roar in the room.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I anticipated this.”
Iliana considered her options. “I’ll lodge a complaint and follow the procedures to have the king’s will reviewed.” She was comfortable with legalese and a lot was at stake. This experience, as taxing as it was, inspired her to want to take the bar again.
Demetrius nodded in approval. “We can request that another lab validate the will’s authenticity.”
“What about the other matter?” Alexei was still in prison. Iliana needed to be titled to release him. If the will held up in court, she had nothing to help Demetrius or Alexei.
“We won’t talk here. Let’s go. No progress will be made in this room.”
They left the room. Their security had been waiting outside the doors and immediately surrounded them. Exiting the building, they pushed through the crowd gathered outside. Questions were flung at them about the king’s will and who had inherited what. Demetrius ignored them, and Iliana followed his lead. They strode directly to their waiting car.
When they were inside with the door closed, Demetrius fell back against the seat as if exhausted. Worry consumed her. Why didn’t Demetrius listen to his doctors? Why didn’t he listen to her?
“You’re in pain, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m fine. I’ve been shot before,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and chest with his right hand.
True as that may be, he hadn’t taken enough time to rest. “You were shot twice and you aren’t wearing your sling or following your doctor’s orders. You’re putting too much pressure on your healing shoulder.”
He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “I can’t look weak.”
“Instead, you want to look stupid?”
He opened his eyes and let out a bark of laughter. “Only you can speak to me that way and get away with it.”
Their relationship was strained, but Iliana knew that Demetrius wouldn’t harm her. She longed for the days before she’d known she was the king’s heir, when they had a comfortable rapport. “Please, let’s go home where you can wear your sling and take some medication and rest.”
“No pain pills. Cloudy thoughts lead to bad decisions.”
Iliana wasn’t willing to let it go so easily. “Extrastrength acetaminophen won’t cloud your thinking.”
He grunted, but Iliana knew she had won.
Back home, Demetrius invited her into his office. After locating his sling with Abeiron’s help, she helped Demetrius put it on, careful not to jostle his shoulder. A couple of pills and a glass of water later, Demetrius was decidedly less grumpy.
“Open my safe?” he asked. He pointed to the one mounted to the wall.
He hadn’t asked her to do that before. “I don’t know the combination,” she said.
“Run your finger over the reader and stand in front of it.” Iliana did as he asked, and the safe popped open.
“How did you get my fingerprints and retina scan?” she asked.
“Fingerprints from a drinking glass. Retina scan from your last optometrist’s visit.”
She decided not to make a fuss about the invasion of privacy. He had given her access to his safe. It was a small step in the direction she wanted them to move.
She opened it, surprised how far it extended.
“There’s an orange folder inside. Please retrieve it.” She did as he asked.
He opened it and pointed to the documents. “Copies of the king’s will from the past ten years. The king had a bad habit of changing his will often. When he was upset with his children, he cut them out. Then he’d add them back around the holidays and their birthdays. A cyclical pattern for a man who was more sentimental than he’d have admitted. Until the past couple of years, after he fell sick, each of his children was written into his will, and what they were to inherit was similar in terms of land size and dollar amounts. What’s notable is that you are the only child to be named a marquis or marchioness.”
“Why do you think that is?” she asked. In previous versions of the will, her siblings were given titles and enough money and land to live out the rest of their lives in luxury. She could have been given the same. Why treat her, the daughter he didn’t know, differently?
“Perhaps he felt you could handle it.”
The king had thought she could handle a position she knew nothing about in a country that was unknown to her? “That’s impossible. He didn’t know me.”
From his position on his black leather couch, Demetrius watched her with those dark, expressive eyes. He had more information.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Your father kept tabs on you when he could. He wanted to be involved in your life, and he knew that he’d given up his chance and may have made an irreversible and unrecoverable mistake.”
Dark thoughts crossed her mind. “Did he send you to spy on me? Is that why you inserted yourself into my life?”
“He didn’t send me to spy. I mentioned in passing that I had a meet
ing with the queen of Acacia and her personal secretary. After that, the king asked me a lot of question about you and Serena, pretending he was interested in the politics of the region.”
“Did you tell him how you felt about me?”
“Yes. Before I married you.”
“Did he approve?” She wasn’t sure why that would have mattered. She didn’t think her father, the man who had raised her, would think much of her marrying Demetrius. Her father hadn’t liked the men she dated. In his mind, no one was good enough for her.
“I think he did. He knew he didn’t have a lot of input after he had given you up for adoption. I’m a man of means and power, who is capable of protecting you.”
Iliana sat on Demetrius’s desk chair. It was his space and it looked like him; it smelled like him. She wondered what it would be like to be him. Closed off, secretive and always plotting. Could he ever relax? Did he know the meaning of the word? Even when he slept, he was restless and spoke. His phone rang at all hours of the night. But he wasn’t all hardness and political maneuvering. Demetrius was thoughtful and smart and sweet when he wanted to be. “My father, my real father, wouldn’t have cared about your money or power.”
Demetrius leaned against his desk. “Tell me what he would have cared about.”
“Happiness. That you made me laugh. That you made me feel wanted and special. That he could trust you not to break my heart.”
“Is that your way of telling me that I would have been a disappointment to him?”
She hadn’t been trying to start another argument with him. “I just meant that there’s more to being a husband than power. It takes a strong man to be tender and kind and loving.”
“You don’t think I’m a kind man?”
She had seen kindness and other times only coldness. “You can be anything you want. I’ve seen you be warm and generous and considerate. When you were in the hospital, people kept telling me how you had changed their lives for the better. They kept telling me what a good man you were and how they were praying for you. I was happy someone else got to see the softer side of you.”
Demetrius seemed embarrassed by the praise. “That is nice to hear.”
“I thought you would wake up and be a changed man.” After a near-death experience, didn’t people reevaluate their lives and want to be warmer and more affectionate?
“Did you expect me to lie in bed for weeks and thank the Lord for a second chance? For me, this wasn’t a second chance. It was a tenth chance. I’ve been to war. I’ve been injured, and I’ve had nights where I wasn’t sure I would wake in the morning.”
“I don’t expect you to spend your days sleeping and praying in bed, but you haven’t said you’re happy to be alive.”
He appeared incredulous. “Where do you come up with this stuff? I am happy to have survived. Alexei is counting on me.”
What about her? Did she factor in? “Have you thought about me?” About how she had felt when he was injured or about how she might feel if he died?
“I think of you all the time, Iliana, but you have to be more grounded. It’s as if you have this idea about marriage, that it’s rainbows and flowers and sunshine.”
More grounded? He could stand to be a little more romantic. “Marriage is supposed to be happy. Especially for newlyweds.”
“The beginning is the hardest part,” he said.
“I married you because I wanted this to work.”
“You’re the one who pulled the ejector seat and wants out.”
That wasn’t fair. He had trapped her, and she had been trying to find a way to breathe. She wanted to stay in a marriage because it worked, not because she’d been trapped. “It would be easier to be married to you if it was a choice.”
“It was your choice.”
“To marry you, yes, but now you behave as if it’s my obligation.”
His phone rang. “Excuse me.”
He answered. She didn’t stand from his desk chair. He brought his free hand over his face. “I see.”
Something bad had happened. She could read it in his posture. The tension and stress weren’t good for him, especially now when he needed to heal. When he disconnected, he stood.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Stella has launched her campaign to become queen. She has appearances scheduled, and some of her wealthy allies have arranged fund-raising and campaign events for her.”
“She works fast,” Iliana said.
“She’s likely been preparing since before the king died.”
“If she becomes queen, we’ll never free Alexei.”
“That’s not an option, Iliana. We’ll counter her campaign and present our own candidate for king. I will use everything in my power to make sure that woman doesn’t destroy my plans.”
* * *
The king’s children initiated their political campaign with Emmanuel as their front-runner for king. Though their father had been well connected, they were not, and loyalty to the king did not automatically transfer to Emmanuel. This would be an uphill battle for them.
Iliana had not given her public support to anyone. Demetrius was still contemplating the best course of action.
Though she and Demetrius were being carefully neutral, the family was gathering at Kaliope’s home. The official reason was that Emmanuel planned to announce his intentions to be king and hoped that checkbooks would open up in his support. The unofficial reason was for the family to discuss how to handle Stella. She was proving herself to be a formidable adversary.
“My presence could make Emmanuel more enemies than supporters,” Demetrius said. He was wearing a black suit and wearing it well. Looking at him made Iliana’s heart skip a beat. She thought of the night they’d married, and a rush of emotion brought tears to her eyes. She had been so hopeful that night, believing they would be happy and together forever. Too much had changed, and she didn’t know how to get them back to that place.
“What did I say? What’s wrong?” He handed her a handkerchief from his inside breast pocket.
“I was thinking about the night we were married.”
His eyes lit with concern. “Were those sentimental tears or sad tears?”
“Neither. I was happy that night. You made me feel special. I thought we would have that every day.”
Demetrius rubbed his jaw. “Do you want to attend this party alone? I can wait for you outside.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re here now.” He was quick to pull away, and she couldn’t blame him. She felt the same. They had hurt each other, and they didn’t know how to make it right. Except in bed. They connected well there. But it seemed tension underscored every other interaction.
After being checked by security, they entered the house. Kaliope’s love of blues and grays was obvious. A double stairwell made of gray wood was the focal point of the grand foyer. The floor was covered in shiny silver tiles, complementing the misty-blue walls of the vaulted ceiling. Silver furniture and the abstract art in shades of gray and navy completed the look.
Party guests were spread across the main floor and waitstaff circulated with food and drinks on black trays. A string quartet played in the lobby, and the music floated into the rooms.
Demetrius mumbled under his breath.
“What’s wrong? I don’t understand French,” she said.
“That wasn’t French. It was Dutch. I see some individuals I know.”
It didn’t sound as if those individuals were friends or that he was looking forward to a happy reunion. “Are you on bad terms with them?”
He had an indecipherable look on his face. “Not bad terms. They’re men, and one woman, who I’ve worked with. They’re assassins.”
Fear jolted her. “What are they doing here?” Her family was being targeted by the Ghost. Would h
e have sent assassins into Kaliope’s home? Presumably any opportunity to strike would be exploited.
“Maybe they are working, but they could be here to support Emmanuel. Their work is heavily invested in politics.”
“Could you find out?” she asked.
Demetrius seemed unsure. “I will see if they are on the guest list under their real names. Then I’ll strike up a conversation.”
Iliana prayed they were not in Kaliope’s house to conduct business. Kaliope had hired extra security for the occasion, but the Ghost had proved to be smart and capable. Positioning a threat in plain sight could be his next tactic.
* * *
The assassins Demetrius knew were not attending the party under their real names or any of the aliases they’d used for jobs he’d been aware of. That didn’t bode well. Why were they here? Three assassins, two men and one particularly vicious woman, gathered in the same place. The murder-for-hire community was small. They would have some familiarity with each other, though they’d have no reason to interact socially.
Demetrius approached Rahl. He was a ruthless killer. Demetrius’s intel had revealed he was an American, former special operations, who had turned in his red, white and blue flag for a big fat green paycheck. The last Demetrius knew, he was living in South America. What brought him to Valencia?
Demetrius didn’t shake his hand. He stood beside him. “Rahl.”
“Demetrius.”
The two men didn’t look at each other directly. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think public functions were your gig.” Rahl lived off the grid.
“I had to come out. I have a stake in this mess.”
“What stake is that?”
Rahl shot him a sideways look. “I can’t talk about that.”
He could talk about it. He just wouldn’t. Demetrius needed to get the information another way. “You here for a job?”
“Relax. I’m not gunning for your wife. Or you.”
