The Royal Elite: Mattias

by Bourdon, Danielle

  “What the hell is going on?” Mattias said in a low voice once he stood at Ahsan's side.

  “Walk with me and I'll tell you.” Ahsan strode out of the hall but didn't take the stairs. Instead, he angled toward one of the terraces. Exiting through an open set of double doors, Ahsan came to a halt beneath an overhang that provided a dry place to talk. The skies were still dark, rain lashing the earth.

  “What was that all about?” Mattias asked after a quick glance along the terrace to make sure they were alone. The gray day left few shadows for anyone to hide in.

  “While I was conversing with someone else in the great hall, I overheard that man I had you follow ask about Miss Astbury. It was just the way he phrased his interest, not just to one guest, but a few. Trying to find out whether she'd been attending the gala at night, where her room was. It struck me as odd, out of place. Not like other conversations, you know? So I decided I was going to have a little chat with him myself when out of the blue, that bastard Cleary all but knocks me down. He got in my face, made a real spectacle.” Ahsan tucked the knuckles of one hand into another, rubbing the redness from contact with Cleary's face.

  “That's a pretty blatant course of action. Do you think Cleary waylaid you on purpose?” Mattias asked.

  “It sure seemed that way. I was enroute to that stranger when it happened. Almost as if Cleary drew me off to allow that other man time to make an exit. Something just isn't right about the whole thing, though I don't have any other hard evidence than my own suspicions.” Ahsan dropped his hands and pushed his fists into the pocket of his jacket.

  Mattias drew a line with the pad of his thumb across his lower lip in thought. “As long as I've known you, your instincts have always been right on. I say we keep an eye on the stranger, and maybe Cleary, too, until we have more answers. It certainly won't hurt anything. Leander should have another report soon.”

  “That's what I was thinking. If we're on the wrong track, then at least she was protected.” A gust of wind buffeted Ahsan's jacket, flapping the ends around his thighs. Rain misted in past the stone balcony rail, wetting the terrace along the edge.

  Mattias regarded the affects of the storm with a critical eye. “We shouldn't let our guard down elsewhere, either. If we are tracking the wrong people, then the real threat may find an opening while we're distracted. I have one of my guards watching the hallway, and if the man leaves his room, we'll know about it.”

  “I can add one of my men to the mix, so we're covered from different angles.” Ahsan centered his attention on Mattias. “And if it is Cleary? If he's the one out for her blood? What do we do then?”

  “What we always do. Find a way to make him stop. He's got pressure points just like everyone else. We find the most prominent three and lean on them hard enough to secure a promise to lay off Astbury.” Mattias wasn't a fan of using blackmail as a method or a tool. It tended to be the better option of many because no one had to die. Cold blooded killing was always the last option; the second they stooped to that level, they became no better than the men planning the hit to begin with. It wasn't always a cut and dried scenario, however, and people had died in the course of saving another, innocent life.

  A life like Alannah's.

  “It might work against Mumford Cleary. The hit man? That's another matter. Unless we can convince Cleary to call him off, we'll have to deal with it in whatever necessary way we have to,” Ahsan said, matter of fact.

  “Exactly. In the meantime, we need to shadow Alannah to every event, dinner and private gathering she attends. Chayton can watch her at night.”

  “I can't tell if it's a good idea to encourage her to go to that party later, or if it's safer for her to stay alone in her room.” Ahsan ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth in thought.

  “I don't know either. Most of the guests will be at one of those private parties or the gala itself, distracted by whatever events Morano has planned. Being out in the crowd should be a safe alternative for her, but we can't rely on that.” Mattias slid his hands into his pockets and followed Ahsan's gaze out over the balcony railing. The landscape was soggy from so much rain.

  “Can't you find a way back into her good graces?” Ahsan asked.

  “I'm not willing to try right now.” Mattias couldn't bring himself to grovel for attention or forgiveness despite the circumstances. He wanted to see Alannah safe, to see her live, and there were other ways to make that happen than another confrontation of their own.

  “I think you're being stubborn. We do what we have to in this business. Even if you never see her again, at least you'll know you did what you could to save her.” Ahsan paused, then added, “Besides, I know you. If something happens, you'll berate yourself for the rest of your life for not setting aside whatever differences exist.”

  “That may be so,” Mattias said, meeting Ahsan's eyes. “But I can't stick to her like glue or invite myself into her bed.”

  Ahsan arched both brows. “I don't know why not. I would.”

  Rankled by his conversation with Ahsan, Mattias stalked the hallways enroute to his room. I don't know why not. I would. Ahsan's off hand quip was exactly the kind of remark Ahsan would make, and follow through with. Mattias didn't exist in the same world as Ahsan when it came to women, wasn't the playboy Ahsan had proven himself to be time and time again. That wasn't to say Ahsan wasn't picky and selective—he was. As much as Mattias. But the desert dweller typically had ten times the women flocking to his side as Mattias, giving him that many more women to choose from. No matter how attracted Mattias was to Alannah, he couldn't see ingratiating himself into her good graces, not after their prior conversation, even for the sake of her safety. His pride had been pricked, that much he could admit to himself, and nothing short of an apology by Alannah would soothe the sting of being ordered from her room.

  “I could be anyone, sneaking up on you from behind, and here you are, totally unaware,” Leander said.

  Yanked out of his ruminations, Mattias halted at the juncture of hallways and looked back at Leander. In truth, Leander was right. These kinds of distractions bode ill for his health if he couldn't even sense another man approaching on the sly.

  “You could be,” Mattias agreed. “It's a good thing you're not. What have you found out?”

  Leander, attired in a simple suit of black with the jacket missing, smoothed his hand along the buttons of a silver shirt while he studied Mattias with a critical eye. It seemed he might query Mattias about the distractions; instead, he answered the question. “The trail runs cold after I get a few layers deep. I can track the rumors back to this person, or that person, and then nothing. It's like whoever started the rumors to begin with knew someone might come looking, and took all necessary precautions. I can tell you one thing though. Each person insisted that the threat to her life is real.”

  “So you have no name, not even a hint of who might want Alannah dead? Or at least wounded?” The news sat ill with Mattias. As annoyed as he was, he didn't want any harm to befall her.

  “Nothing, Mattias. I'm limited here, too, by the damn power outage. I might get further, might, if I could expand my reach.” Leander's features tilted into an expression of, there's nothing more I can do here.

  “Did the name Cleary come up anywhere, even in random conversation?” Mattias asked.

  “Cleary? As in Mumford Cleary?” Leander frowned.

  “Yes.”

  “His name did not come up. Why?”

  Mattias explained in brief detail Ahsan's run in with the billionaire.

  “Huh.” Leander looked perplexed. “That is strange. I mean, it could just be coincidence, but you know how we all feel about that.”

  “Yes.” Mattias and the rest rarely liked to fall back on coincidence. “We're keeping an eye on him, and the man I followed, for now.”

  “That's a good idea. Do you want me to take over shadowing the man who might or might not be the hit man?”

  “Actually, I would like you to do somet
hing else for me. Head back to Latvala and check on things. Use your connections while you're there to see if you can't find something else out. You're the best one for this job, or I'd go myself.” And Mattias had a vested interest in keeping Alannah in his sights.

  “Consider it done. I'll leave immediately. The power here should be back on by the time I reach Latvala.” Leander clapped Mattias on the shoulder.

  “Let's hope.” Mattias spared a glance at the array of candles positioned at intervals along the hallway. He met Leander's eyes, then parted ways.

  He had a party to prepare for.

  Alannah spent the time between Mattias's sudden departure and the private party brooding and reading a research pamphlet on her beloved artifacts. With the power still out, she was relegated to watching the storm out the windows or studying by candlelight. This was her life, her love. Her greatest passion. She had no time for temperamental Princes who hopped into bed with a different woman every night. When she'd asked Mattias if he'd slept with another woman the night before last, it had simply been an educated guess. And Mattias's confirmation had stung harder than it should have.

  Putting him from her mind, she concentrated on her work until early evening, when the stormy skies turned from pewter to black. It was raining again, the distant clap of thunder growing closer. She glanced at her watch, hyper-aware that the party she was supposed to attend with Mattias should start within the hour.

  Would he go anyway? What might he look like in costume, with a mask covering half his face?

  Handsome, that's what. Alannah scoffed at herself and set her reading material down. Raking her hands through her hair, she thought about finding an indoor gym to get some exercise. She was positive their host had one somewhere on the premises. Two hours with free weights should clear her mind.

  She eyed her watch again. Exhaled. Stared at the ceiling. With every passing minute she grew more fidgety. Finally, she got up and headed to the shower. Rinsing away imaginary grime, she scrubbed her skin, washed her hair, and shaved her legs. When she was done, she toweled herself dry and began a routine of facial cleansing followed by the application of dramatic make up around her eyes and on her mouth. Without the use of a blow dryer or hot rollers, she got creative and let her hair dry twisted into lengths secured by bobby pins. The end result would be hapahzard waves brushed to a high shine, left to cascade around her shoulders and face. For now she hit the closet, pulling a long, sleek gown from her wardrobe. Fish scale type sequins glittered along the entire garment, transforming what would have been a stylish black dress into a head-turning concoction that showed more skin than she was typically comfortable with. Tiny spaghetti straps curved over the top of her shoulders while the front dipped daringly low, as did the back. Squirming into the gown, she struggled with the side zipper then stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

  Suddenly, she laughed.

  The twists of her hair made her resemble the mythical Medusa, at odds with the elegance of the dress. After another half hour, she removed the pins and released the now spiraled strands. Flipping her head over, she brushed her hair upside down, then tossed it all back when she straightened. The tawny mane, full and shiny, framed her face with a riot of loose curls.

  Adding a dab of expensive perfume to the hollows of her throat and wrists, she set the small bottle aside and fished a box from her closet. Square and black, it contained several masks that her father had insisted she bring. Against her better judgment, she decided she would be attending the private party after all.

  Choosing a half mask of matching black with black feathers along the sides, she slid it over her face, leaving just her eyes, mouth and chin on display. At the last second, she drew on elbow length gloves. Black, like the dress, without the delicate sequins.

  Sliding her feet into four inch heels, she checked her reflection once more. Alannah hardly recognized herself. The sophisticated woman in the mirror appeared worldly, statuesque. This was the woman her father tried to portray in his ads. When he cajoled her into photo sessions, he always got the photographer to capture her at certain angles, with specific expressions, so that she seemed far more confident and capable than she came off in person. Always annoyed at the misperception her father perpetrated, Alannah discovered she wanted to do something similar tonight.

  Gone would be the awkward, downward staring woman who fidgeted with her champagne glass. She would walk with her chin up and make eye contact with everyone without turning it into an internal snark session.

  She could do this.

  Exiting the bathroom, she collected her room key and prepared to depart.

  In the hallway, Barrett stood at attention when he saw her, doing a classic double take.

  “Close your mouth, Barrett,” she said as she walked by. Already the desire to duck her chin and stare at the floor was overwhelming. But she resisted, heading down the dimly lit hallway with Barrett in tow.

  She refused to examine the reasons why she'd decided to attend the party. Oh, down deep, she knew. It was just better to concentrate on what she might or might not see, who might or might not be wearing clothes, and whether or not she would snub the Prince if he came sniffing around.

  Being a man who paid close attention to detail, Mattias had little trouble discerning the identity of people behind their mask. Sometimes it was the shape of their jaw, the length of their throat, or the set of the shoulders that gave the identity away. Other times, it was a combination of things: hair color, height, bearing. Most of the women in attendance this evening strutted regally around, holding champagne or wine, flirting with only their eyes. The men played an aloof game of hard-to-get, standing in small groups, sometimes in twos, turning their heads to watch this or that woman walk by.

  This particular private gathering—a mini-gala within the larger gala—took place in what probably used to be a library, now converted to something far more sensual for party purposes. Bookcases had been replaced by a layer of teak, gleaming and rich. The ceiling sported a square relief pattern of beams criss-crossing the entire length. Candles in iron holders sent flickering shadows over rich fabrics, expensive décor, and porcelain masks. Paintings on the walls depicted risque scenes of dancers, couples, lovers, ballrooms. All tastefully done yet bordering lewd with positions and poses. The power of suggestion made the artwork as compelling as the party itself. At one end of the converted space stood a two foot high dais, the rounded front providing a small stage of sorts. On either side, set into the walls, were doors giving access to an unseen back room where men and women waited to put on a show.

  Taking a sip from his glass, Mattias scanned the slinky dresses of the women, looking for something he thought Alannah might wear. She didn't seem the decadent type, so his gaze skipped over things that glittered and sparkled, landing instead on silks, satins and velvet. That was how he discovered Katrina. Standing next to a masked man in a tuxedo suit, the blonde—now a brunette—held her wine glass in exactly the same way Mattias had seen a dozen times. She always cupped her palm under the bottom, as if the vessel were precious. The stem fit between her middle and ring finger, always those two and never others. She could have dressed as anything or any one, and Mattias would have recognized her by that simple, telltale sign. Keen to remain unseen, lest she attempt to corral him for dancing or other things, Mattias moved his gaze on. She was not his prey this evening.

  With someone watching over the assassin's bedroom door and another keeping an eye on Alannah's suite, he felt their group had covered all the bases so far. Now it was up to him to make sure that if she did attend this party, nothing untoward happened. Lacking a cell phone to communicate directly with Chayton and Ahsan, Mattias had to rely on sharp perception to alert him to Alannah's presence.

  So far, he hadn't seen her. Maybe she would honor her word after all and stay behind the closed doors of her suite. It was undoubtedly safer there than in here, where any murderer might hide.

  It wasn't until he took another sip from his glass that Mat
tias found himself staring at the svelte shape of a woman in a black dress. It hugged her hips, dipped in at the waist, and left a swath of spine exposed to his view. The gown glittered like drops of moonlight on a rippling lake, mesmerizing in and of itself. His gaze ticked upward, landing on luxuriant waves of—tawny hair. Mattias likened the color to molten amber with lighter streaks probably put there by the sun rather than a bottle. He would have known who that head of hair belonged to without ever seeing Alannah's face. How many times had he thought about wrapping his fingers through the strands? Too many. What shocked him more than anything was the way this woman didn't shrink from the crowd or duck her chin to put her gaze on the floor. This Alannah faced the masses head on, although he noted her knuckles were white where she gripped a tumbler of something probably strong enough to take her breath away.

  Taking his drink with him, he skirted through the throng, avoiding Katrina. Ten steps from Alannah's back, a tall man in black cut in front of Alannah and silently offered his hand for a dance. A few couples milled in the center of the room, swaying back and forth to the sensual beat of music.

  Instinct kicked in. Mattias caught himself just as he surged toward the man and Alannah, ready to body block him or even take the stranger down. Tempering his vicious, gut reaction, he squeezed his glass with his fingers and clenched his teeth. This couldn't be the same man he followed from the Ahsan confrontation earlier. Mattias knew by the breadth of the stranger's shoulders, his unusual height and the subtle aggression of his posture. So it was another, an unknown, possibly a gentleman wanting nothing more than three minutes of Alannah's time.

  But it might be someone with more sinister intent.

  He watched as Alannah set down her drink and allowed the man to curve their steps toward the floor. She kept her chin up the whole time and appeared to make direct eye contact past the mask as the man set a languid pace for their dance.