by Dana Marton
“Rayne Williams. Madam has Prince Benedek’s permission to leave the palace,” the maid said.
One of the guards immediately called to confirm.
Less than a minute passed before she was allowed to pass through. A black stretch limousine waited for her outside. The chauffeur stood at the ready by the door with an umbrella. The storm had passed, but it was still raining.
“Thank you.”
“Madam.”
He had a mustache, too. It was a style in this country among the older men, she’d noticed. The young ones followed the Western tradition popularized by Hollywood. Blue jeans and T-shirts all the way.
Except that the dancers she’d passed were all pretty young. Although those mustaches were pretty respectable. Too respectable for men that young? Their leader was older, the one who’d turned his back. And as she recalled his face, something clicked.
Vilmos.
She hadn’t recognized him immediately through his disguise, but now that she thought about it, she was a hundred percent sure that Vilmos was that man.
Why wasn’t he dead?
She spun and left the wide-eyed chauffeur where he stood with the limo door open.
The palace guard, however, blocked her way.
They had to be kidding. “I just came out of there.” She pushed forward.
They deftly moved to block her way. “Nobody’s to enter without special permission,” the taller one informed her.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She actually stomped her feet. “Call Prince Benedek. Tell him that Rayne Williams wants to get back in.”
The guard raised a skeptical eyebrow.
She held up her end of the staring contest, even as the chauffeur dashed after her to hold the umbrella above her head. “It’s urgent.”
The man lifted the wall phone and called in. The doors were opened the next second.
She ran through, not caring about the water she dragged onto what was probably a priceless carpet, down the long corridor and up the stairs—she wasn’t about to wait until they arranged for a maid to escort her. The “folk dancers” were nowhere to be seen.
By the time she reached the main staircase, Benedek was running down, toward her.
“Rayne?”
The sight of him twisted something in her chest. He was a conscienceless bastard with a royal title, she reminded herself and would have reminded him as well, but she didn’t have time.
“The rebels are in the palace,” she said.
“ARE YOU SURE?” BENEDEK ASKED for the third time, and that was just during the emergency meeting. He’d asked it a few times before he’d called his brothers and the chief of palace security into his office.
“One hundred percent sure. I have a good memory. That’s how I remember scores and scores of music.” To her credit, Rayne didn’t seem intimidated under the focused attention of a roomful of princes.
He liked that. He didn’t like, however, some of the unnecessarily close attention two of his brothers, Lazlo and Istvan, were paying her.
“Exactly nine?” Arpad, the crown prince, asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“And we weren’t supposed to have any folk performances?” Arpad asked Miklos.
Miklos shook his head. “I double-checked.”
“The admittance logs?” Benedek looked around.
“Since we sealed the palace this morning, only a handful of people have been admitted. None of them folk dancers,” Miklos said.
“So they’d gotten in some other way,” Lazlo summarized, his gaze dancing over Rayne before he shot a questioning look at Benedek.
So what if he was standing closer to her than was absolutely necessary? “The catacombs,” Benedek snapped. “It’s all connected to the tunnels. That’s where we last saw Vilmos.”
“The guard at the entrance of the catacombs reported no movement,” Miklos reminded them.
“Can he be bought?”
Miklos shook his head. “He’s one of my men.” His voice was clipped and with reason. There had been some upheaval in his beloved Army the year before, some of the troops switching alliance to a turncoat general. Miklos had taken that betrayal hard.
“Then there’s another entrance,” Rayne spoke up.
“Impossible,” Benedek told her. “The building was thoroughly surveyed. I’ve been part of it and I can vouch for no other palace entry to the catacombs than the one we all know about.”
“A secret tunnel?” Janos asked. “Nobody knew about the walled-off tunnel in the opera’s basement either.”
Something to think about.
Miklos picked up his cell phone and pushed speed dial. “I want all of the lower levels checked for intruders immediately. Full surveillance. Double the guards down there.”
“Speaking of surveillance.” Benedek thought for a minute. “Why is there no record of a group of folk dancers entering the palace on any of the security cameras?”
“The lightning knocked out electricity in parts of the palace,” Arpad informed them.
The color in Rayne’s cheeks rose at the mention of the storm. Benedek couldn’t forget what they’d been doing during all that lightning and thunder either. He shifted on his feet as his body tightened. Rayne was studiously examining the blueprints.
“Thirty seconds passed before the generators kicked in. On the before footage, there are no folk dancers. On the after footage, they are standing around in the green salon.” Miklos tapped his finger on the desk.
Now they were getting somewhere.
“Maybe it wasn’t lightning that knocked out the power.” Benedek rifled through the blueprints in front of him and pulled out the one that illustrated the green salon. “So we need to check every spot from where the green salon can be reached within thirty seconds.”
He pored over every detail, thinking about every little thing he knew about that part of the palace. The solution seemed too obvious. “The wine cellars?”
Janos, Istvan and Miklos headed off immediately, the chief of palace security right behind them.
Benedek held him back. “Please arrange for an escort to take Miss Williams back to her room. She’s to stay there under heavy guard until further notice from me.”
He paused on his way to the door and took in the wide-eyed, dismayed expression on her face, hating to let her out of his sight. Then he sprinted after Arpad, who as Crown Prince should have been staying out of all possible trouble instead of running off to find some secret catacomb entrance to the palace.
Chapter Ten
Benedek caught up with the others just as Miklos was handing out weapons from the armory. Miklos glanced toward another locked cabinet, then back to his brothers with a questioning look.
They were all grinning.
“Hurry,” Benedek said and held out his hand, grabbing the sword Miklos pulled from the other cabinet.
When the last brother received his sword, they saluted each other. When the swords were sheathed, Arpad put his hand in the middle. They all followed his example.
“Duty and honor, our lives for the people and the crown,” they swore the oath of the Brotherhood of the Crown as one. And then they were running to meet the enemy.
Arpad took the lead, but only for a second.
“Crown Prince to the back!” Miklos cut in front of him. “You need to be protected.”
Arpad glared. “It’s no fun to be Crown Prince.”
“Married man with a baby to the back.” Istvan elbowed in front of Miklos.
“I know the palace best.” Benedek jockeyed for position. He’d studied every inch of the building while he was completing his education as an architect. Unnamed emotions swirled inside him and pushed him forward. What he had with Rayne was complicated. Fighting the rebels was simpler.
Tension and regrets filled him, pushing him forward, making him anticipate the clash. He would let Rayne go. He would not second-guess that decision. He would make sure the palace was safe, that she was safe. He would not let
anything happen to her.
He might even try to talk to her one last time. But he had to let her go in the end.
They passed royal guards on the stairs.
“Give way,” Benedek ordered, and the men parted for the princes, then followed behind them.
Shots sounded. Benedek ran faster.
He spotted the rebels coming up on the last set of stairs, which meant that the royal guard who’d been sent to seal the wine cellar had been defeated. From the looks of things, the whole basement level had already been taken over.
Benedek drew his gun. Unfortunately, the royal guard who’d been content to follow until this, now rushed forward to protect the princes, spoiling his fun. Not for long. The rebels outnumbered the defending force, so he had his hands full soon enough.
The rebels were shooting wildly, hardly the trained force the royal guards were. Benedek looked for their leader. If he was eliminated, maybe the rest would pull back. He found the man and aimed, but a chunk of loose stucco fell and clonked Benedek on the shoulder, messing up his shot.
This part of the palace had been built in the eighteenth century. He was more concerned for the building than for the dull pain in his shoulder. Priceless frescoes covered the walls. A firefight here was a crime, a sacrilege. Not that the rebels cared.
First the damage to the opera house and now the fight at the palace, the symbol of the monarchy, the home of his ancestors going back centuries. He took out a tall lumberjack type who’d lunged at Arpad, then yelled over the din, “Gentlemen, watch the architectural features!”
Miklos let out a bark of laugher behind him.
Easy for him—he was an Army major, a warrior, not an architect.
RAYNE HADN’T BEEN IN HER ROOM two minutes before she heard shooting from outside the door. And bodies falling to the floor.
“Is everyone okay out there?”
No response came, except the sound of people running, boots slamming on the antique parquet of the hallway.
A minute passed before she decided to check out what was going on. Then another minute before she found a makeshift weapon, a cast-iron candle holder that was as long as her arm. She spent two minutes trying to get the door open, which, apparently, had been locked from the outside.
“Hey! Anybody out there?”
An acrid smell hit her nose, so faint that seconds passed before it set off the alarms in her brain. Smoke. And then she saw the faint wisps, too, as she looked down. Smoke seeped in under the door, through a narrow gap.
Her heart lurched as she pounded the door with all her strength. “I’m in here. Help!”
No response, not a sound from the hallway.
She was locked in and the palace was on fire.
Where was Benedek? If the palace was on fire, didn’t it mean that the rebels had taken over? Could be Benedek was injured or worse. Her heart beat faster.
She coughed, looked up to blink the tears the smoke brought to her eyes, and realized that she could barely see the angels on the ceiling. It would be only a matter of time before the smoke filled the room completely.
“There’s no reason to panic,” she tried to reassure herself, using the mantra she’d been taught by her second therapist.
Since the smoke was coming from the hall, it meant that the situation would be a lot worse out there. Even if she could somehow break the solid wood door down, she probably couldn’t pass that way. Likely, she’d be walking into fire. The only way out of the room was cut off. She was trapped.
“There’s no reason to panic.” She stepped back.
She didn’t want to burn. The news photos of her mother and Billy flashed into her mind, nearly paralyzing her. Flames and smoke. She’d had nightmares about that for years afterwards, dreaming of them trapped in their airplane seats while flames licked at them, screaming for her help. She never could help, not even in her dreams. Instead, she usually woke with a cry, soaked in sweat and guilt. There were variations on the dream. Sometimes she was in the flames with them.
She could feel the heat of the fire outside through the closed door. She glanced toward the bathroom. The tub? Or she could open the shower and stand under the water. But that still wouldn’t save her from smoke inhalation.
“There’s no reason to—” Who was she kidding? She had plenty of reasons to panic. And if Dr. Andrew was here with her, he’d panic right along with her.
She ran to the window. Maybe she could call for help outside.
But the window looked over a formal garden, evergreens sheared to form sophisticated shapes, a labyrinth with an amazing gazebo in the middle. At another time, she could have appreciated the beauty of it, but all she felt now was desperation that the garden was completely deserted.
“Help!” she tried anyway, yelling into the void. She could see people through other windows, running down hallways.
“Help!” She knew how to make her voice carry.
Unfortunately, it didn’t look like anyone heard her.
She looked down at the balcony below her, a twenty-foot drop. Because all the rooms of the palace had to have all these damned high ceilings.
Fire alarms began to go off.
About time. She couldn’t imagine what took so long.
Maybe help would come now. But what if it came too late?
She stared at the balcony beneath hers, contemplating a jump. She was a singer and, although she had danced on stage if a particular role called for it, she wasn’t athletic. She just wasn’t the leaping kind.
She stepped back into the room just as the sprinklers went off. Within seconds, she felt like a drowned rat, which didn’t improve her mood much. But then she considered that maybe the sprinklers were going in the hallway as well. Maybe they were enough to put out the fire.
She ran to the door. The smoke coming in did lessen. She took a few steps back and ran into the door, trying to bust it open. When that didn’t work, she tried it with a chair. Nothing budged, so she went back to banging and yelling. “I’m in here! Let me out! I’m in here!”
She was hoarse by the time the key finally turned in the lock and the door opened. Not by Benedek or a royal guard, to her great dismay.
“Where’s the prince?” Vilmos pointed a gun right at her heart as he asked.
“I have no idea. Not here.”
Vilmos grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her out into the hall where wallpaper was still burning in places, despite water raining down from above. The walls and carpets were black.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
THINGS HAD GONE TOO FAR. There were rebels in the royal palace. For the second time in a year, the monarchy was under attack, the Queen threatened in her own home—his mother who’d spent her entire life serving her people. And she was ill. Too ill to be put through this again.
Benedek held back nothing and neither did his brothers.
The original Brotherhood of the Crown had nothing on them. The six princes fought like a pack of lions, backed up by the royal guard, holding off a much larger force that was trying to make its way up from the basement.
Men had fallen on either side, but none of the princes were injured. Not yet. Although a bullet had ripped Janos’s jacket on his shoulder.
They were all insane. If they cared anything about protocol, none of them should be here. But they weren’t the ornamental kind of princes that the royal family brought out on public occasions. They each had their indomitable ancestors’ blood in them that didn’t mind running into a good fight now and then.
They’d even resurrected the Brotherhood of the Crown, two hundred years after the original had been created to fight for the country and the crown. Their mother knew nothing about this. No one outside the brothers did.
Benedek fought back a rebel and jumped to the side to reload when his gun was empty. Some ringing noise came from somewhere above, deep in the palace.
“What’s that?” he shouted to one of the royal guards who had an earpiece. Likely, he was in radio conta
ct with central command.
“Fire alarm,” Istvan said. He was standing higher up the stairs and could probably hear better.
There could not be a fire in the palace. Cold fury filled Benedek. “Where’s the fire?” he demanded from the guard.
The man asked over his radio, then said, “East wing. Third floor, Your Highness.”
Rayne.
The damage to the opera house and the palace angered him, but he could deal with that. The cold fear that filled him now had almost brought him down, however. He turned to break through the fighting crowd, but a rebel chose that moment to vault on top of him. And he hadn’t finished reloading his gun yet. That alarm had distracted him.
This was the exact moment when a sword came in handy. He pulled the length of tempered steel and saw fear flash in the man’s eyes. The bastard hadn’t seen anything yet.
Benedek finished his man and reloaded his gun at last. But before he could go to Rayne, another large group of rebels appeared out of nowhere, coming from behind the princes and their faithful guards.
They were surrounded.
RAYNE KICKED AND SCREAMED, BUT Vilmos was much stronger. And he had a gun, which really was the final word in the argument.
The one thing that gave her hope was that Vilmos had asked about Benedek. Which meant that the rebels didn’t have him yet.
How important that was surprised her. It seemed impossible that she of the impenetrable walls could come to care this much about a man in such a short time. But her concern for him went way beyond the concern she felt for the rest of the people in the palace. She cared on a deeper level, in a way that squeezed her chest. The thought that something might happen to him scared her more than the fire.
She so did not want to consider the implications. It would be beyond insane to let her guard down and fall in love with a man who had just discarded her. After one encounter of incredible passion. It had been incredible. She had to give him that. But probably not incredible enough to make up for all the heartache that was about to hit her.
A door slammed open in front of them. Hope leaped. And was immediately crushed. More rebels were coming up some servants’ staircase, ten of them. When they were all up, going about the dark business of completely invading the palace, Vilmos took her down the same staircase. Then down and down and down, passing by a number of exits.
