by Sara Arden
“Grisha is willing to overlook your mistake. The stupid bastard actually likes that you tried to kill him. He’s even willing to take you now, even though you’ve spent your worth on that dirty American.”
The blooming confidence shriveled and burned like a flower too long in the sun. “Obviously, he must think I have some worth if he still wants to marry me.”
That’s all she was to him. A path to different alliances, wealth and power. He no longer saw her as human, if he ever had.
She couldn’t help but remember those times spent together as children and how he’d been her best friend growing up, her constant companion. He’d protected her, coddled her and loved her. Now he was someone else entirely.
“No, sister. You lost that chance. He doesn’t want to marry you, but he’ll keep you as his whore. His mistress. I’ve given you to him. By Castallegnian law, you are married. But it will be like Khan in the days of old. He will take you and do with you as he pleases.”
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you since this started,” she dared.
“Oh, and what is that?” He seemed amused.
“If you think women are worthless, that I am worthless aside from my womb, why did you bother to teach me to read, to think? Why did you give me books filled with Aristotle and Plato?”
He was silent.
“Maybe you disapprove of who I am, what I’ve done, but you had a hand in molding me, Abele.” She hoped to remind him of their shared memories, their shared joys. She hoped somehow it would wake him up to what he was doing. It would remind him that he loved her and she loved him.
“And I will unmake you.”
His words stabbed her. “Why do you hate me so much?” She was afraid of the answer, but she needed it all the same.
“I don’t hate you, but you will learn your place. Just as I have learned mine. Our mother was a whore who spread for any man who’d take her. I won’t let you do that to our line. You are no longer the crown princess of Castallegna.”
He was insane. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I am not our father’s son!” he spat. “But nevertheless, I am king. And you, sister, have made yourself a criminal by defying me. I’m demanding your immediate return to stand trial.”
Terror knifed through her. She knew he was evil, she knew he’d done horrible things, but part of her had always thought she’d be able to make him see reason. If he got her back to Castallegna, it wouldn’t be a trial. It would be a thematic production where the tragic princess dies in the end.
“Come home and face your punishment. If I have to come retrieve you, I can promise you it will be much more terrible than you can imagine. Your ranger might be tough, but there’s only one of him and I have all of the Bratva at my disposal. I hope your keepers listening on the line heard that. Because they’re on my list, too.”
The line clicked, and Abele was gone.
Damara stood frozen and sick with grief.
“I’ll have your marriage license messengered to the house. All you have to do is sign it, and I’ll rush the paperwork through for your citizenship. We can’t rightfully keep you from him unless you’re a citizen. We’ll spin it that you abdicated your crown to be with Byron.”
Her fingers were curled so tightly around the phone, she’d lost feeling in the tips. “No, we won’t. I’ll sign the papers. I’ll marry him. I’ll even abdicate my crown, but I’m not doing it for anyone but the people of Castallegna. I’m doing it for democracy, and that’s not a spin. It’s important that my people know I haven’t abandoned them. Making up a pretty romance was a great idea as long as it worked, but push came to shove. So I’m shoving back.”
“Princess, I really think—”
“Didn’t you hear? I’m not a princess anymore. I’ve agreed to everything you’ve wanted, and I understand that in some cases, you know more than I do about such things. I’m content to be guided by your experience. But not in this.”
“You’re risking support,” Renner pleaded.
“Then I’m risking it.”
“Then all of this will be for nothing,” Renner said in an attempt to manipulate her.
“If her people are stuck with that bastard, then it will be for nothing. She’s made up her mind,” Byron said in her defense.
“Fine. Get back to the house. Sonja will meet you there.”
She clicked the phone off and stuffed it back in her pocket, still numb.
“Let me serve you now, Princess.”
“Like I told Renner, didn’t you hear? I’m not a princess anymore.”
“Yes, you are. Being royal is just like family. It’s not always blood that makes it so. Or what any piece of paper says. Your brother is a festering boil on the ass of humanity. Nothing he says should affect you.”
“After everything, he’s still my brother.” Damara wished she could turn it off. She wished she could forget that fact, but she couldn’t. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t do that, either.
“That’s the only reason he’s breathing now—trust me on that,” Byron said softly and pulled her close.
Damara did believe him. She knew the man who held her was a deadly weapon, but beneath all of that, she knew he was a person with dreams and fears just like anyone else. She wanted to dissolve in his arms. She wanted him to be a white knight and save her, but she knew what he’d do to save her. Byron Hawkins was a good man, but he was no white knight. Real men weren’t.
“Promise me you won’t kill him.”
“I can’t make that promise, Damara. I won’t lie to you.”
A chill skittered down her back. “Even knowing I couldn’t forgive you?”
“If Renner tells me to kill him, I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do. We always have a choice.” She knew she should break away from the embrace, but he was still her lifeline. She couldn’t let go. She’d lost everything else.
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. “All right, Damara. I’ll defy everyone for you—my country, my boss, myself. On one condition. If he hurts you, you release me from my promise.”
“You could say what he’s doing right now is hurting me.”
“I could, but I’m not dancing around anything here. If he makes an attempt on your life, kidnaps you or otherwise lays hands on you, I will put an end to him, promise or no. Release or no. Period.”
“I guess I’ll have to be content with that.” She cupped his cheek. “Thank you for even that concession.”
“Always the diplomat, aren’t you?” There was no malice in his words, so she wasn’t sure what he meant.
“I don’t—” She shook her head.
“You didn’t get exactly what you wanted, but you thanked me anyway. You soothed over whatever doubts I had and cleared away the debris that might have turned into an argument.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Why would we argue? You’ve stated your position. I’ve stated mine. And we came to a compromise that neither of us is happy with, but we can both live with. What’s there to fight over? This is the way of the world.”
He laughed with honest mirth. “You always surprise me, Damara. For how innocent you are, at times you’re very worldly wise.” He shook his head. “I didn’t expect you.”
“Well, that was obvious when you told me that you thought the Jewel was a stone.”
“No, I didn’t expect that, either. But sometimes what we don’t expect—it’s better.”
She didn’t dare let herself feel any of the things that flowered sweet and warm inside of her. They were all better left in the dark. If they never saw the sun, if she never acknowledged them, it wouldn’t hurt so much when she had to shove them back down and hide them away from both Byron and herself.
“Sorry to cu
t this short, but we should get back to the house.”
She nodded.
The walk back wasn’t nearly as lovely. It was filled with a heavy silence. Marrying him hadn’t been real. She’d thought that somehow everything would come together and it would all work out.
Part of her had wanted to believe in the spin they had crafted for the rest of the world, that he’d fallen hard for her while saving her. But that was just her being a naive girl who didn’t know any better. She’d wrapped him up in the pretty colors of her fantasies and damn if he hadn’t tried his best to live up to them.
Her hands shook, and she shivered.
Sonja pulled up to the house as they approached, her thin face pinched and grim.
Once inside, Byron said, “That was fast.”
Sonja spread the papers out before them, and Damara froze.
She picked up the pen and looked at the document that would bind her and Byron together. Her hands were still shaking.
For all her talk, she didn’t know if she could do this to him, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted. Her eyes were drawn to his face. She was both curious and afraid as to what she’d see there. Damara knew if she saw dread or misery, she wouldn’t be able to sign.
She’d have to find another way.
He grabbed the pen out of her hand and scrawled his signature in black ink; then he handed it back to her.
She signed, intensely aware that with every swoop and curl of her signature she was changing her life irrevocably. No matter what happened now, she would be Byron Hawkins’s wife. Even if it only lasted a day, a month, a year or five years. She would have joined her life to his.
And he to hers.
If Abele was removed from power, he’d be a crown prince of Castallegna. He could be king.
She paused and looked at him again.
He wouldn’t be a bad king. He was a good man. But was he good enough to relinquish that kind of power?
He was. She knew it in the marrow of her bones.
She finished signing.
“I now pronounce you princess and ranger. Many happy returns,” Sonja said, her voice as grim as her expression. “I hate to drop a bomb and run, but we still have to make your marriage an event for the world to see, and I need to reschedule that satellite interview.” Sonja took pictures of the papers with her cell phone before stuffing them back in her briefcase. “I’ll be working from the carriage house office.” She nodded her head toward the back of the grounds where the security detail was lodged.
It was official. She was married.
To the man of her dreams who didn’t want her.
“I’m sorry,” she said when Sonja and the rest of the crew had left. “I know what you’re sacrificing.”
“And I know what you’re sacrificing. We agreed to this. Actually, you bullied me into this,” he teased.
“It’s not funny.” She felt her lips thin.
Byron tilted her chin up to make her look at him. “I’m not giving anything up to do this, Damara.”
“But you said—” She remembered how he’d said he didn’t want her. She wished she could forget. Even after everything, that still played on a constant loop in her head.
“I say a lot of stupid shit. You’ll learn that soon enough.” He laughed, but it was awkward and uncomfortable. “First of all, this is my job. It’s what I do. Your safety, your people, they’re my mission. Serving you—” he smirked, and she blushed “—is how I can best serve my country.” Then he was serious again. “It’s an honor to do so.”
She wanted to cry. She was so stupid. Of course she was a mission. She couldn’t ever let herself forget that. But there were moments that she did. Like now, when he offered her succor and protection against the world.
But he did not belong to her and she wasn’t that to him—never could be that to him. He wouldn’t let her.
“That’s not supposed to make you unhappy, Damara.”
“Supposed to?” She shook her head. “This isn’t anything that we haven’t been over.”
“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need.”
“No, you’re exactly what I need.” She only wished he could believe it— No, even if he believed it, he didn’t want to be what she needed. He was still too busy punishing himself for his crimes. “All that matters is Castallegna.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BYRON HADN’T PLANNED for Damara, not in any way, shape or form. She was chaos and light.
Most people thought of chaos as something bad, especially for someone like him who had regimentally planned his life around structure and protocol. He operated within these confines to make sure the only people he could hurt had it coming.
He didn’t grieve that—it was just how things had to be. But Damara had changed that. She gave him purpose, she gave him—
She gave him hope.
Hope for a future, hope that he could be more than what he thought he was.
It had damn near killed him to promise not to kill her brother outright. It offended Byron to the blackest part of the soul he wasn’t sure he had that the bastard drew breath in the same world as Damara. Or that his words could still wound her so deeply. After everything she’d done, how resolutely she fought, he was the chink in her armor.
And Byron wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
Protecting her was the best thing he’d ever done; the only thing he felt was honorable. Now she was his wife.
He knew he was at cross-purposes with himself. If he killed her brother, there’d be no reason for her to stay married to him. She’d be safe.
Byron knew eventually he’d lose her either way. He’d rather know she was safe and living some wonderful life than keep her clinging to him out of fear.
His mind had been made up.
Abele Petrakis had to die.
But he wouldn’t break his word because he wouldn’t have to. He fully expected that Abele would do something to hurt Damara, and then Byron would be free to do what he should have done on day one and kill him.
Of course, if he’d done it then, he never would’ve had this time with Damara. He couldn’t regret it.
Having come to that decision, a sense of peace filled him. This was what he was trained to do, and he would do it well. Damara would be safe.
He shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He’d decided to kill her brother and had married her. Now he had no idea what to say to her.
From the look on her face, she felt the same way— uncomfortable and awkward.
“Strange, isn’t it? We had no lack of conversation in the middle of the ocean running for our lives, but here in our house, after getting married, neither of us has anything to say.”
“I’m not sure what there is to say. You’re my husband now. It feels so strange to say.”
“Especially since I’m not a prince.” There was no rancor in his voice. They both knew she’d been groomed to marry another royal. Her whole life had been changed in the past few weeks.
Her expression was grave. “You will be, if Abele is removed from power. Actually, you’ll be a king.”
“Nah, I’ll just be Byron Hawkins. Former ranger and current bodyguard.”
She nodded slowly. “I think you’re the only man on the planet who would give it back.”
“It’s not mine.” He shrugged, uncomfortable with the light he saw in her eyes.
It made it uncomfortable because he wanted it to stay there. No one had ever looked at him like that before. It was as if he’d hung the moon and stars and there was nothing he couldn’t do.
It was such a pretty lie. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him believing it and confessing his sins to her. And then she’d see. She’d know...
All he could do for her now was make her safe.<
br />
“Don’t look at me like that,” he commanded. It felt too good, even knowing it was a lie, the way she seemed to raise him on some pedestal of virtue.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a good man.”
“You are!” She went to him, placed her hand on his cheek. “You’re a better man than you know.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not.”
“Why do you say that?”
He couldn’t tell her. He still couldn’t admit his failures. It would mean watching that light in her eyes dim. So, instead, he spoke of the things that didn’t scare him. “Because I remember what you said to me, that you didn’t want me to touch you without knowing all of my sins. But when you look at me that way, it makes me want to kiss you. And I know if I did, you’d wrap your arms around my neck and let me take you upstairs.”
Her eyes widened; her lips parted. “And maybe I was stupid to try to deny this pull between us. I’m going to get my heart broken anyway.”
That wasn’t what he expected her to say. He thought she’d be angry or indignant. Not this acceptance. This wasn’t what she wanted. He knew that.
Byron was trying to put distance between them without extinguishing that light—he couldn’t bear to give it up.
Yet, if he killed Abele, he knew he’d have to. She’d never forgive him. There were so many things he’d done that weren’t worthy of forgiveness, and many where there was no one left who could forgive him.
She walked toward him, that terrifying expression still on her face.
The doorbell rang, clanging through the house like a death knell.
But neither of them moved.
“Hawkins,” one of the security team yelled through the door. “You and the princess have company to welcome you to the neighborhood. And Bundt cakes.”
“So it begins,” he said ominously.
He opened the door, and it was just as he feared. Soon every surface was covered with casserole dishes, desserts and three-layer salads made out of things that should never be called salad. Or put in people’s mouths at the same time, for that matter.
