Chapter 2

2

Thala

Whoever thought a movie should be over two hours long deserved to be guillotined. I squirmed in my seat. I need to pee . Quite an un-princess-like thought, but that was the truth of it. Underneath all these royal trappings, we were as human as the next person with the same bodily functions.

I'd seen a few people get up. I probably should have skipped that afternoon coffee, but the tour planned by the studio was boring and I needed stilts for my eyelids to stay awake. As for War Maiden , it held my interest mostly. The clash between the Spartans and a group of Amazonians was thrilling. And when the abducted Amazonians overpowered their captors and took control of the ship, that was when the movie slowed down.

My silenced phone flashed. It was our brother, Petros. How I envied him right now. He was the one making a difference for our country, not this cultural goodwill where it was more fiction than fact.

I got up from my seat, crossed over to where Ramsay was sitting, and made my way to the center aisle, thankful for the theater's sectioning that I didn't have to walk all the way to the end to leave.

I made no excuse for my height and I rarely hunched. But shows were the one exception I did so out of courtesy. The aroma of popcorn reached my nose. Before the show started, there was a full-service staff bringing the guests their drinks and food from the concession stand. I made a note to pick up popcorn. One of Ramsay's guards followed me. I didn't know his name, nor did I bother to find out because I was annoyed with the security. It was an insult. I should be in charge of it, not the recipient of protection.

I took care of business in the restroom and returned my brother's call. What was happening in New York was more interesting than the rest of the movie.

"Hey," Petros answered on the first ring. "Enjoying War Maiden ?" There was laughter in his voice.

"Screw you, brother."

He laughed harder. "Is that the way to talk to your prime minister?"

"I hate being put on display," I grumbled. "Listen. I don't want Ramsay to send out a search party, so I only have a few minutes. Did you talk to them?"

"They asked for an audience, but I don't want to sound too eager."

"Good. Besides, I'm still working on Amadea."

"She's against it."

I sighed.

"Now if only you were queen…"

"I don't want to be queen. I was trained to protect the country."

"But we're not at war and yet our dear sister hired outsiders for her own security."

It was a thorn in my side. Amadea didn't trust me to be her shield. A twinge of guilt squeezed my heart. Was she right not to trust me? I didn't want to be queen, and though we didn't see eye to eye on her agenda, the last thing I wanted was to hurt her.

The hair on my neck went static. It was an instinct I trusted. "Listen. I need to get back to the theater."

When my brother didn't respond, I repeated, "Petros?"

I checked my phone. There was no signal. My brother hadn't hung up on me. My stilettos clacked on the tiles before getting muffled on carpet when I reached the screening hall. Where was my guard? Figures . He probably didn't want to miss the movie. The theater was vibrating with the sound of hooves and battle cries. Hela's hell. It was probably the war between the Scythians and the Amazonians. I hated to sneak back into my seat and obscure the view at this point of the movie, so I leaned against the arched entrance, partially hidden by heavy curtains. My nose twitched at the smell of musky velvet.

Screaming ensued and a bellow that sounded like Ramsay.

I straightened, alarm seizing my muscles, but my mind bogged down with confusion on whether it was still the movie or something else. But when there was a lull on screen, the shrieks and shouting escalated.

"The queen has been shot!"

Queen.

Shot.

I surged forward along with a mass of people who wanted to see what was going on, but there was also a wave of them who wanted to leave. The lights came on. It was mayhem.

I shoved people aside. But people shoved at me too. One particular gentleman with dark John Lennon glasses and pale skin bumped into me so hard, I'd probably have a bruise. And when people stepped on my toes, I gritted my teeth.

"Coming through!" Courteousness be damned. The organ in my chest pounded halfway into a heart attack. All I could think of was Amadea. My queen. My sister. I'd forget about this stupid contract if she would only be okay. I'd let her win all our arguments.

The first person who confronted me was Ramsay.

"Stay right there," he shouted. "Keep her away from the queen."

People fell away, but two bodyguards in tuxes stood in front of me.

Rage mainlined my veins at the accusatory subtext. "You think I'm behind this?" My eyes fell on Amadea. She struggled to a sitting position. No blood. "Are you all right?"

Ramsay surged to her side and tenderly brushed her face. I would find his actions reassuring, except I seemed to be the suspect.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." She was wheezing.

There was a singed hole in her gown near her shoulder blade.

"She was wearing a vest," I said, part in relief and part in the fury that I was kept in the dark about the threat.

"You knew there was a threat?" I asked Ramsay.

"Now is not the time to talk about this," he shot back. "We will ride separately."

"You think I'm going to leave my sister with you? Where's the gunman? Secondary shooter?"

"I've got men on the lookout." Ramsay went toe-to-toe with me. "We're getting out of here. And I'm getting to the bottom of this."

The producer of the show pushed through our huddle, but Ramsay stopped him. "Stay right there."

"The cops are outside and they want to know what happened."

"What happened?" Ramsay snarled. "Is the lax security."

If there was a time to hang Ramsay out to dry, this was the perfect moment. But like all things that had to do with Venusstea, I knew when to keep my mouth shut.

"I beg your pardon," the producer sputtered.

"We're leaving," Ramsay told the producer, then looked at me. "We'll deal with this later, but right now, the queen's safety is my priority and that includes you in a separate vehicle."

"And you're okay with this?" I asked my sister.

She was still breathing hard. She was pale. My voice was shaking in relief that she was okay and I wanted to push this asshole aside to make certain myself. Hold her and touch her.

"Yes." She glanced up and looked me straight in the eye. "I don't want to be in a vehicle with you right now."

Her words were a physical blow not only to my pride but my heart.

But it was her statement as queen, not as my sister.

And I was used to following orders from my queen. My spine snapped straight and I looked at Ramsay. "I guess you'll communicate the destination."

He dipped his chin.

I chanced a glance at Amadea one more time before I spun around and followed two guards to the emergency evacuation route, which was the side alley of the theater. Who knew we would be actually using it. Our vehicles were already waiting outside. The queen's security detail surrounded her. Ramsay had his arms around Amadea and rushed her to the awaiting limo.

I walked straight ahead and ducked into the second-row passenger seat of an Expedition. I checked my phone to see that I had two missed calls from Petros, but when I returned his call, it went to voicemail. But the second I thumbed off, he called again.

"What the fuck happened?" Petros growled. "We got cut off and then Amadea got shot?"

"Yes," I said wearily. "Ramsay thinks I'm behind this because of the timing of when it happened."

"That's ridiculous. Well, it's a good thing you guys are coming back to New York."

"We are?"

"Yes, I just talked to Ramsay. Your flights are waiting."

I ended the call with my brother and scooted between the front seats where my driver and my assigned security were talking.

"I guess we're going to the airfield?"

"Yes, we got the order."

I'd reached my limit of just how far I was going to take Ramsay's shit. He didn't think to inform me directly. He was probably taking precautions, but I also knew when to be petty. "Just so you know, I outrank Ramsay, and when we get back to Venusstea, I'm going to make sure he knows it."

The two men said nothing. They just exchanged looks with each other.

My heart skittered, and I quelled the effects of adrenaline flooding my system at my emerging suspicions.

They'd been on our security detail a few times and Ramsay had screened their hiring. But what if Ramsay staged the assassination attempt exactly to get rid of me in the most expeditious way? Separate me from my sister. What if he'd planted evidence implicating me? He was keeping me away not only from my sister, but from him as well, so he could finish the plan to frame me.

I leaned against the seat. Should I jump out of the vehicle? Where would I go? Maybe I was overreacting. My fingers grew cold and numb and I flexed them to get the blood flowing.

Petros knew the order came from Ramsay. Once my brother and I reunited, we stood a better chance of finding out what was going on.

I tamped down my alarm when I saw signs for the airfield. I hated the small plane I flew in on, but the queen and spare never traveled together except for short trips like the drive to the theater.

"What about our luggage," I asked.

"It'll follow," the driver said.

"So we're just going to fly out of here and not figure out who did this?" Regardless if I was the target, running away wasn't my style.

Again, they said nothing. They didn't directly work for Venusstea. They wouldn't take orders from me, although I could make enough ruckus to force their response, but something wasn't adding up.

I sat back and looked around for a weapon. I called my sister, but it went to voicemail. Ramsay must be gatekeeping her calls. Come to think of it, her aides rode in a separate vehicle.

Were they suspects too?

The vehicle took the exit for the airfield. It was the same one we used flying into Los Angeles and it was owned by a business associate of Ramsay. Unlike our arrival, this time the emptiness and the privacy gave me an uneasy feeling.

"Where's my sister?" I asked.

"They're using the Burbank airfield."

I called Petros.

Voicemail.

I texted him.

Can you call me? It's urgent.

The message showed delivered.

A feeling that my brother was involved sank to my toes. He and Amadea were always at odds, but an assassination didn't fit the mold. We were more than this. We might show a stoic front to the public, but we had affection and love for each other. Right?

As I stewed in my spiraling thoughts and doubts, the SUV pulled in front of a plane that already had the engine spun up.

The pilot stepped out of the plane.

It was not someone I recognized.

"I'm not getting on that plane," I stated. I slipped off my shoes and hung on to them.

"We have our orders to get you boarded and on your way."

"Do you think you can intimidate me? I am the Princess of Venusstea. The next in line to the throne."

Both men sighed, letting me know my haughty statements didn't mean a thing to them. I knew it meant nothing either if they meant me harm. I said that to get their guards down, make them think I was a stuck-up princess. I wanted them to think I was useless when the crisis was real.

Both men got out of the vehicle. The driver went to meet the pilot while my bodyguard opened my door. And he did it with a gun pointed at me.

"I'm afraid, Princess, orders are orders."

My gut churned and acid bubbled up my throat but I did as I was told, putting one foot on the ground and then the other.

"You're going to walk barefoot?" The man seemed amused.

"My feet are killing me."

He stepped back to give me a wide berth, but it wasn't wide enough.

For him.

I swung my long leg in an arc, knocking the gun from his hand.

The man roared in outrage. I front-kicked him in the groin.

The driver yelled, running back to help his partner. I spun around and threw my stiletto, and the heel embedded straight into an eye. He dropped to the ground, screaming. I grabbed the gun the bodyguard dropped and shot him in the leg before I raised it at the pilot.

"I'm just the pilot!"

"Where are you taking me?"

"New York."

I shot the ground an inch from where he was standing, walked over to where the driver rolling on the ground was crying in agony, and picked up the gun he had dropped. "The truth."

I moved away from them, keeping everyone in sight. I raised both guns. One aimed in the direction of the bodyguard who was still on the ground. Maybe I should have shot him in the head, but he might have answers. At this point, I was keeping an eye on three people.

The pilot looked at my gun, but his eyes narrowed briefly to my left and that was when I realized I made a mistake.

The click of a gun and a blast had me spinning around.

My bodyguard jerked, and his backup gun fell from his hand. But who shot him?

Small hills and embankments surrounded the airfield. But it was dark, and it was hard to discern anything past the shadows.

My heart pounded madly. There were other players. Whether they were friend or foe would be decided later. My life was in their hands. They would have shot me already if that was their intent. There was no place to duck. Running behind the SUV would expose me to the pilot, so I'd take my chances with whoever saved me from my bodyguard's bullet.

"You were saying?" I made things up as I went. "You think I don't have backup? I know someone is trying to kill the queen and blame it on me. So, where are you taking me?"

The pilot moved closer.

"Stay right where you are!" I shouted.

"You don't understand." Fear showed on his face. "There's an explosive device set to go off."

"What?" I rasped.

"You were supposed to be in there." He swallowed. "Your real pilot is dead. You were never supposed to leave this airfield."

"Who are you working for? Ramsay?"

His mouth clamped shut.

"It has to be Ramsay. I know it is."

I called to whoever saved me from my bodyguard's bullet. "You can come out now!"

"I have a gun on you," a voice returned. "I'm on your side. For now. Know I won't hesitate to shoot you if you turn on me."

"We have to get out of here," the pilot said.

"He said there's a bomb on the plane," I told the unseen newcomer.

"Of course there is." The gravelly voice sounded closer. "How long do we have?" For someone who was told there was a bomb, he sounded infuriatingly calm. As for me, I must be riding an adrenaline high.

"Ten minutes tops," the pilot said. "Listen, man, we're too close to it."

"The plan was to get rid of the princess." The driver on the ground sat up. Blood covered his face. "I need a hospital. Fuck."

"Any idea who would want you dead?" my still unseen rescuer asked.

"Ramsay."

"Your sister's bodyguard? You can lower the guns, Princess."

Finally, I cocked my head to look at my rescuer. For the first time in a long time, a man in a tux impressed me. He was around six three. I could tell he had a powerful body beneath those formal clothes, and since he shot my bodyguard from a distance, he wasn't someone to be messed with. I could see his hair was red even in the dim lighting. His rifle was aimed unwaveringly on me.

"Who are you? Double oh seven?" I asked.

He shot me a grin. "Close enough." Then, just as quickly, he dropped his smile. "Lower your guns. Now."

"Can we please move away from the blast radius?" the pilot said.

"What's the matter, Mr. Pilot? Lose your marbles?" I lowered my arms and needles shot through my shoulders, telling me how tense I'd been.

"I need a hospital," the driver wailed. "You took out my eye."

Static made me jump. That was when I realized Tux Guy had an earpiece.

"Yes. We have a potential bomb. Three hostiles. One of them is dead, " he said.

A blackout Explorer rounded the hangar of the airfield.

"Friends of yours?" I asked.

"Yes."

When the SUV halted in front of us, a man and a woman emerged.

"Damn. Who shot that guy?" The man thumbed behind him at the bodyguard.

"I did," Tux Guy said. "He was going to shoot the princess."

The woman walked over to the driver with my bloodied shoe sitting beside him.

"No question what happened here." There was amusement in her voice. Her hair was twisted in a prim knot, emphasizing an exquisite face. She looked familiar.

"Where's the bomb?" she asked.

"On the plane," Tux Guy said.

"Can we diffuse it?" the woman asked.

"No time," the pilot cut in. "The app that has the timer is in my left pocket. It's in countdown mode."

The woman patted him down and extracted the device. "Nine minutes." She looked at Tux Guy and her partner. The male newcomer was tall with dark hair and looked like he guzzled protein shakes morning, noon, and night. His muscles bulged in his tight black tee. "You believe this is real?"

Tux Guy pointed his gun at the pilot. "Show me where it is."

"Are you fucking crazy, man? We've got nine minutes."

He grinned. "I love living on the edge. Now, we're wasting time, or I'd say you're bluffing."

The pilot had no choice but to go with Tux Guy, but made his misgivings known by calling us all idiots.

As the two disappeared into the plane, I turned to the new arrivals. "Someone's trying to frame me. Someone wants me dead. If there's really a bomb on that plane, I say let it go off."

"Let them think they succeeded?" the woman postulated.

"Yes, it'll be easier to find out who wants me dead. We'll even find out what their endgame is."

"That's assuming you're not behind the attack on the queen," her partner said.

I scowled at him. "I know how that looked. But what makes you think that's not the one that was staged?"

"We don't," the woman said. "But we have to look at you as a suspect, too."

Tux Guy returned with the pilot. "Cuff him."

"Well?" the other man asked.

"Looks legit. So that means we have seven minutes," Tux Guy said. "There's a fail-safe and I don't have enough time to disarm it. There's an option to stop it from the phone, but we don't know if it will alert someone with a secondary detonator."

"So let it blow," the man said. "We'll try to delay investigation into the blast."

"Are you guys cops?" I finally asked. They appeared to be cops even though the SUV was unmarked.

Instead of answering, the woman said, "Six minutes, people." She'd already cuffed the pilot and the driver and was hauling them off into their SUV.

"I want to question them."

Tux Guy laughed, but it was without humor. "You're in no position to make demands, Princess . As far as we're concerned, you're a part of a conspiracy to assassinate the queen."

"Then why do they want to kill me?"

"Many reasons. Maybe you're not the mastermind but a loose end."

"And you saved me just to ask me questions?"

"Sorry, Princess, you haven't earned the right to question me." Tux Guy made to grab my arm to lead me away.

I evaded him.

"Seriously?" He rolled his eyes. "You think you can get out of this?"

"Do you have a knife?"

"You're going to stab me with my knife? This I gotta see." He shot me an irritating grin that reminded me of the condescending looks of spectators who viewed me like a circus monkey. Still grinning, he reached for a knife from his ankle.

"Five minutes!" the woman yelled.

He handed me the knife, butt facing. I took it without hesitation, but gritted my teeth when I stabbed my left arm with it.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He got into my space.

I felt around for the device, lips compressing. Then yelled out, "Ahh!"

It fell to the ground. I picked it up. "I'm making sure no one can track me."

Shaking off the sting in my left bicep, I walked with purpose toward the plane and tossed it in.

Then I strode past Tux Guy. "Let's go."