by Adora Crooks
“Now boarding Zone 4,” the loudspeaker announces, voice bored. “Zone 4 for Flight 106.”
A tingle runs up my spine. Zone 4. That’s me. I pluck out my boarding pass and stare at it. “What’re we going to do, Oscar?” I sigh.
“I’m telling you, we put it right on the bloody belt!” I glance up to see a man in a suit yelling at an attendant. She folds her arms over her yellow-and-orange neon vest as he jabs a finger at her. “How incompetent does the airport staff have to be to lose a bloody suitcase?”
His hair is slicked back, his three-piece suit barely ruffled, and his Rolex gleams from his wrist. The attendant is doing her best to soothe him, but his face only gets redder by the second. A little girl—maybe five or six, wearing a spring dress dotted with daisies—tugs on his blazer and wails.
“Daddy!” she howls. “Misses Kitty! They lost Misses Kitty!”
“Debbie, sit!” the businessman snaps at his daughter as though she were a dog.
Debbie throws herself into the seat beside me, as dramatic as a 1920s starlet. She wails into the seat, her blonde pigtails bobbing with every heaved sob.
People are starting to shoot the family glares. Sure, maybe she is a spoiled little girl, but… shouldn’t every little girl get to be spoiled? I can’t help it. I hate to see kids cry. I pick up Oscar and push him toward her, as though his otter feet are walking over the divider separating our seats.
“Hello, little girl!” I say, curling my tongue on the roof of my mouth to give Oscar a pitchy voice. “Why are you so sad?”
Debbie climbs into her seat, sits down, and scowls at me as she wipes her nose on her sleeve. “I’m six. I’m not a baby.”
Well. Called out by a six-year-old. I can cross that item off my bucket list. I abandon my plan and drop the cutesy voice. The little girl sniffles beside me, so I try a more honest approach. “You lost your friend, huh?”
Her bottom lip wobbles. “My best friend.”
“You know, Oscar has been my best friend for years,” I tell her, turning the stuffed otter around in my hands. “We’ve been on lots of adventures together, all over the world. He’s protected me no matter where I go.”
“Misses Kitty keeps me safe.”
“Do you think Oscar could protect you? Just until Misses Kitty comes back?”
The little girl stares at Oscar, and then she reaches out to take him. I hand the stuffed toy over. She hugs him tightly to her chest.
I can’t help but smile at that. “Stay brave, sweetie,” I tell her.
“Debbie!” her father snaps. “Come!”
The little girl scampers after her father, clutching her newfound friend. I smile as I watch them go.
“Last call!” the loudspeaker squawks.
Time to take my own advice. I have to make a choice. I look down at the bold black lettering on my boarding pass. Stay brave, Rory.
42
Ben
The golden Angel of Justice gleams brightly from her post. Spotlights illuminate her from underneath and cast sharp, crooked shadows on the stone memorial. Beyond her, the Buckingham Palace gates loom like prison bars.
It’s chilly tonight, and I suck the end of my fag. The smoke warms my lungs, at least. I tug the sleeve of my coat and check the time.
My watch blinks up at me. 18:13. In two minutes exactly, the guards will change shifts. I’ll have approximately thirty seconds to make it in unnoticed.
I lean across the railing and scan the area. It’s mostly empty, minus a drunken couple staggering across the bridge. The man’s footsteps stomp clumsily above me, and the woman laughs shrilly.
I touch the gun at my hip. It’s loaded and ready. I don’t want to use it, but sometimes you don’t have a choice in the matter. I’d rather not show up empty-handed.
I check my watch again. 18:14. Okay. Time to move. I flick my lit smoke into the river.
Fuck you, Thames.
Just as I’m pivoting to head in, I hear a squawk. “Ben!”
I jerk around and grab my pistol in the same motion. It’s halfway out of the holster when I come nose-to-nose with Rory.
Well. Nose-to-chest. The girl is at least a foot shorter than me. Amazing how something so small could be so much trouble.
“Bloody hell, Rory,” I hiss. She has no idea how close she came to eating my lead. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t let you do this alone,” she explains frantically. “And I tried to call you, but you weren’t answering your phone, so—”
I lift my palm and lower it slowly to gesture her to be quiet. Inside voices. She swallows her words. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane?” I chastise quietly.
Those emerald-green eyes shimmer in the moonlight. She shakes her head. “I’ve been running ever since I left the states. I’m not running from this. If Roland’s in trouble, we’re going to help him. Together.”
Admittedly, my heart softens at her words. I do feel better now that she’s here, the pins and needles suddenly swept away by her whirlwind presence. I can’t tell her that, though. Instead, I press my lips together and demand, “Follow me. And be quiet.”
“Aye, aye,” she salutes. I turn and head down the walkway parallel to the river. She follows me like a puppy. “What are you going to do?” she asks. “Are we breaking in? How are we going to get through the entrance—aren’t there guards everywhere—?”
I cut her short and stop underneath the bridge. “We’re using a key.” I pluck my key card out of my pocket and swipe it on the hidden sensor. Sure enough, it hasn’t been deactivated yet. The light goes green and the door hisses open.
Rory’s mouth falls open with surprise. “Dumb luck.”
I motion her in. “I’m full of it. After you.”
43
Roland
The fireplace crackles and burns. I perch on the edge of a footstool and toss a pillow cover into the fire. Immediately, the fireplace bursts into a ball of orange and smoke. The fabric burns quickly, and just like that, the fire tames once more, coughing up a puff of gray in its wake.
I destroyed everything I could get my hands on. Now, my beast is spent. For the moment. And my rational brain has kicked in.
There has to be a way out of here. There has to.
No more temper tantrums. It’s time to get to work. With my hair tied back in a ribbon to keep it from singeing, I’ve spent the better part of the night playing with fire. Literally. If I set off the fire alarm, I’ve decided, someone will have to bust open the door and come get me.
Or I burn alive. There’s that.
It scares me how little that thought bothers me.
Without Rory and Ben, nothing else matters. Not the crown. Not this prison of a palace. Nothing.
I chuck off another pillow cover and watch it burn. Just then, a noise outside my door catches my attention. I hear footsteps and then… a familiar voice.
Could that be—? It sounds like Ben. His voice is a low mumble, and I can barely make it out, but it sounds like he’s asking someone for the time. My skin buzzes, and I leap to my feet.
I nearly call out for him. Help, I’m trapped in my own room and I can’t get out! Sounds like a bloody infomercial. The moment I open my mouth, however, I hear a brief struggle followed by a soft thud.
My heart hammers. The lock scratches, clinks, and then the door opens. Relief pours over me. My guard is unceremoniously slumped on the floor, unconscious, while Ben and Rory stand at the door.
I could kiss them.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I sigh.
Rory rushes to me, and I immediately take her in my arms. She smells like springtime and honeysuckle, and it makes my heart ache. I don’t want to let her go—not ever.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice shakes. “We’re here now.”
A thump distracts me, and I relax my grip and look up. Ben drags the bodyguard into my room and props the poor bloke up on
the love seat. He wipes his hands over his pants. “What happened here?” Ben asks, scanning the destruction that is my room.
I half shrug. “I’m redecorating.” I point to the limp guard in my love seat. “What happened to him?”
“Nasty fall,” Ben states. “He’ll wake up soon. We need to go.” Ben is all work. There will be time for long embraces later.
Urgency spikes through my bones, and I extract myself from Rory. “Not without my mum. Iris… she’s lost it. I think she’s after the crown.”
Ben nods, his expression lacking surprise, and I realize he already knows. Of course he does. And they came for me anyway, even knowing the danger that was involved. My heart trembles, and I want to weep with gratitude.
“Can she do that?” Rory asks. “Just…take the crown?”
“After my mum dies, she’s next in line,” I tell her.
“You two stay here,” Ben says. “I’ll go find Iris.”
“No,” Rory pipes up beside me. “We came here together. We’re finishing this together.”
“I second that,” I agree.
Ben seems to recognize that there’s no use fighting two stubborn people, so he checks his pistol at his side. “Stay behind me.”
44
Rory
We leave the bodyguard tied to a chair in Roland’s room. I put a glass of water next to him. You know. Just in case he wakes up and needs hydration.
Ben leads us out of the bedroom and down the hallway. We walk quietly, against the wall, and stop frequently every time Ben signals us by lifting a palm. Every time he stops us, we pause only a couple of minutes for the guards to turn away before Ben ushers us down another hall.
It seems like forever until we hit the sitting room. Roland darts to the fireplace. He removes a globe from the mantel and hits a button engraved in the wood behind it. The wooden paneling beside the fireplace clicks and swings ajar.
“A shortcut,” Roland explains. “This goes straight to my mum’s room.”
One by one, we slip through the narrow passageway. This secret tunnel becomes shorter the farther you move through it, and we have to crouch by time we reach the end. It stops at a grate.
“Everything will be fine, dearest sister.” The voice sounds jarringly close through the grate… and then a pair of long legs step in front of us, only a couple of feet away. I find myself holding my breath to keep quiet until the legs walk past.
“It’s Iris,” Roland whispers. We’re all crammed together, and his rapid, panicked breaths hit my ear hotly. “She’s with my mother.”
I hear the clicking sound of spoon on porcelain. “Drink some more tea, ducky. You know that solves everything.”
“Thank you, Iris.” The queen’s voice sounds strangely soft and strained, and it makes me shiver.
Roland flips the latch and pushes out of the tunnel. Ben and I climb out after him and stand behind him.
“Mum—put the tea down,” Roland orders.
“Roland?” His mother blinks blearily. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed in a long white nightgown. With her hair down, long blonde tresses curling like waves, she looks meek and doe-like. Beautiful still, but… well. Normal. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Ah. Roland.” Iris’s red lips twist in a grimace. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Drop the weapon, bodyguard.” A woman in a dark suit seems to emerge from the wallpaper behind us and points a pistol at Ben’s head.
My heart falls through the floor. So much for the element of surprise. Ben looks like he’s swallowed an apple core. He scowls and hands his weapon off to her.
“Sara Ryan, is it?” Ben says.
“Handsome and clever.” She smiles cruelly. “I like that.”
“You two know each other?” I venture.
“She was at the club,” Ben grunts.
It dawns on me. “You’re the boob flasher,” I pipe up.
A low laugh escapes her throat. “I see my tits precede me.”
“I’m completely lost,” Roland snaps, his hands in the air. “Why are we talking about her breasts?” He snarls at Iris, “You’re trying to poison my mum and steal the crown.”
“Goodness, Roland!” The queen tosses up her hand. “You’re always so bloody dramatic. No one’s trying to poison anyone.”
Iris’s lips purse together like a rosebud. “No, Selena, he’s right,” she says coldly. “I’ve been trying to kill you for years.”
Her words are so startling that my whole brain feels fuzzy, like I’ve been hit over the head with a brick. Everyone’s eyes are locked on Princess Iris. Slowly, I reach into my jacket and my trembling fingertips graze my phone.
45
Ben
The cold muzzle of her pistol presses against my temple. My heart is banging against my rib cage. Yet the air seems sucked out of the room at Iris’s confession.
Iris laughs. It cuts the tension with all the grace of a rusty machete. “Oh, why so sour?” She cackles. “Come, now. You had to know this was coming. Your meddling kids clearly have it all figured out.”
“Poison?” The queen stares into her teacup and then throws it at her sister. The remaining tea slops against the wall, and the cup shatters into a million pieces. “You conniving, jealous brat!”
Selena lifts a hand to slap her sister, but Iris suddenly grabs the queen by the throat. I lurch forward, and so does Roland, but the gun twists at my head as a reminder. “Down, boys,” the agent hisses.
“Don’t spend all your energy at once, dear sister,” Iris coos. “It’ll only make the toxin work faster.”
Selena gargles, and then her legs give out. She sits at the edge of the bed, and her eyes fill with tears. “Why?”
“Why?” Iris mocks, releasing her sister to pace in front of the bed. “You had everything! You had our parents’ love and attention. You had the crown. You had a handsome husband and a strong son. You took everything and left nothing for me.”
Queen Selena starts to nod off, her eyelids drooping. No, I plead quietly. Stay awake. Stay alert.
Iris cups her sister’s chin in her hand. “How long did you expect me to live quietly in your shadow? Who was left to love me?”
“I loved you,” Selena mumbles, her words slurring together.
Iris spits. “You pitied me. That’s not love.” She stands and her eyes blaze over the three of us. “So I’ll take everything you love. And then I’ll take the crown.”
“My father,” Roland speaks up, his voice a near-whisper. “That was you?”
Iris’s lips twist in a grimace. “You were all supposed to be on that plane… mechanical failure. It would have been perfect, and the crown would have fallen into my lap. But no… you had to make me wait. For ten years, this place was a goddamn fortress… until you.” She turns her vicious smile on Rory, and every muscle in my body goes stiff. “I should thank you, ducky. Without you, I would’ve never gotten the prince within my crosshairs.
“Of course, I didn’t expect you there, bodyguard.” She turns to me and clicks her tongue against her teeth. “The things you three get up to behind closed doors… naughty, naughty.”
“All this time and you chose now to act,” I say. “Why? You had access.”
“Pragmatic bodyguard wants details.” Iris clicks her tongue again. “Very well. Yes, I had access. I also had plenty of motive. Scotland Yard would have fingered me in a second. I thought about pinning it on one of the guards, trust me, but they’re all just bloody good-boys.”
“You’re insane,” Roland snaps. “You can’t possibly think you’ll get away with this.”
“Oh, but I have,” Iris sneers. She motions to us. “A sordid love triangle ends in bloodshed. The despondent, codependent queen takes her own life. The headlines write themselves, dearie. And now… about that bloodshed.”
Iris nods to the agent beside me. I feel the muzzle align with my brains.
Fuck. This is how I die. I taste metal. My eyes meet Roland’s blues. He lo
oks terrified. I search myself for peace in my last moments, but all I find is the same thought, over and over: Please, God, please. Take me and let Roland and Rory make it out of this…
“Wait!” Rory’s voice rings out, and I exhale. I’m glad, at least, her bell chime of a voice is the last thing that I get to hear. “Just… one thing. Before you blow our brains out.”
“What is it now?” Iris hisses.
“Smile for the camera.” Rory lifts her hand out of her jacket to reveal her iPhone, the camera lens aimed straight at Iris. “Livestreaming,” Rory explains. “It’s a bitch. Ten million people just witnessed your confession.”
Iris’s jaw goes slack. “No…” she whispers. “It can’t be…”
Just then, the double doors fly open. Chief of Security Tanner and a crew of guards line up behind him.
“It’s over, Princess,” Tanner growls, his gun trained on Iris. “Step away from the queen of England.”
The agent beside me does the smart thing—she drops her weapon, puts her hands behind her head, and gets to her knees. She knows when the jig is up. The princess doesn’t give in so quickly. Her eyes look bloodshot and frenzied when she says, “God bless the queen.” With that, she grabs the broken shard from the teacup and lunges toward Queen Selena.
Two shots from Tanner’s gun are all it takes to subdue her. The once-proud woman slumps to the floor, limp. Her white-blonde hair turns crimson red.
“Mum!” Roland’s voice snaps me back to attention. He darts forward and lifts his mother, who has fallen back on the bed. “Mum… oh God. Stay with me.”
Rory and I rush to his side. The queen’s eyes flutter open, but just barely. She sees her son, smiles, and her fingers reach out to touch his face. “I only wanted to protect you,” she whispers. She seems loopy, the drugs making her sluggish. “I only wanted to keep you safe… and she was… in the palace… the whole time. Silly me.”
