The truth.
It bared so much.
Joyous things. Beautiful things.
But sometimes—many times—too many things.
Dark corners. Buried secrets. Exposures that altered lives.
Princess Jayd Cimarron was trying to weigh which side of the truth had done just that to her world. As she stood on the veranda outside her big brother’s royal receiving room, looking over the Mediterranean waves below, she might as well have been looking into a bottomless abyss—called the rest of her life. She did not jump there yet, but was preparing to. It was likely a given, based on the revelation that had blown her world apart in the last twenty-four hours.
But the dread was weirdly comforting. An affirmation of sorts, matching so many of the feelings that had lurked in her belly for as long as she could remember. The constant thunder clouds in her psyche despite the bright sunshine defining most days on the island of Arcadia, this one included.
The knowledge—the uncanny certainty—that this day would come.
That she would be standing on this very balcony, watching as a pair of men strolled in and faced Evrest with vindictive glee.
Trystan Carris was the polished protégé of Fortin Santelle, down to his slicked hair, dark suit, and mafia-movie stance. Oh yes, despite the balmy temperature of this June day, both men looked ready for a scene in some violent spy thriller. But they matched only up to the neck. Where Fortin’s face was set in pure business neutrality, Trystan wore a smirk empowered by the familiarity of knowing his king since their grade school days.
Times that were long gone.
Evrest was now His Majesty King Evrest of Arcadia, determined to guide his kingdom into a modernized era—and Trystan Carris was a member of the movement determined to stop him. Never mind that the Pura, their island’s version of a radical fundamentalist sect, had suffered more setbacks than successes during their tumultuous history. Apparently, literally naming themselves the Latin word for pure was their self-written invitation to take the dirtiest advantages whenever luck and opportunity collided in their favor.
Collisions like this one.
Fate had definitely delivered all the luck on a giant platter. The aligning stars that resulted in the “reliably sourced information” the men presented to Evrest just twenty-four hours ago. Their upper hand was so significant that they had room for benevolence, granting their king the night for reviewing copies of their incriminating documents before delivering their demands for keeping quiet about them.
Thankfully, Evrest had not been prideful about seizing the offer. He closeted himself in that office, reading the documents well past midnight.
Jayd had not let the hours go wasted either. If today’s meeting went down as she anticipated—as she feared—she would have to pull the proverbial trigger on her own response plan.
From the moment Carris stepped forward, her trigger finger began to itch.
A small comfort came as Requiemme emerged from a side door, joining her on the veranda, confirming she was not alone in the instinct. Despite the golden glory of the afternoon, her lady’s maid shivered before muttering, “Why is it little surprise that the monsters are right on time?”
Jayd looped an elbow with her friend but did not reply. Emme’s accusation was comforting but not necessarily true. Santelle and Carris were not monsters. They were just men. Arcadian men. Which meant they were also proud, stubborn, determined, and dogged—to the point of turning into fanatics.
Which also meant that they had not given up on digging deep for one specific truth. The fact she had always sensed. Perhaps had always known. And was now validated by the Pura’s physical evidence.
She was not the true Princess of Arcadia Island.
And not even her brother, a monarch who’d been named after a mountain, could move this one.
She knew that already too. Worse, she sensed the same comprehension had sunk into Ev. She saw it in her brother’s bloodshot eyes and furrowed forehead. She followed it in the tense finger he rubbed along his bottom lip. And yes, she felt it in every awful clench of her chest.
Her brother, who topped every internet search for sexiest royals, was currently a train wreck. He’d been ruling the island for almost four years now, but he was a brand-new husband and father. Those were extra loads in and of themselves without having to deal with this new challenge from the Pura bastards.
“Highness!” Requiemme’s scandalized gasp confirmed how she had let the profanity slip out. But mustering a shred of remorse for it was impossible.
“What?” Jayd retorted. “You would prefer I state the truth? That they are filthy kimfuks? Is that better?”
“Highness.”
“Let me have the fun, Emme.” She freed a long sigh. “It may be my last for a while.”
“Bah.” The woman flung her glare toward the glistening aqua waters just below the terrace. “These two will not have a leg to stand on after His Majesty is done with them and these silly allegations, especially right now. The world is in love with your brother, his queen, and their fine, beautiful new prince.”
More aches up and down her throat, as a heavy swallow made its way down. “All the world’s adoration cannot help my brother fight the truth.”
“Bah,” the woman spat again. “You cannot honestly believe that—”
Jayd cut her off with a raised hand. She lowered it into a tense fist at her middle while watching Santelle and Carris move in, taking up imposing stances before Evrest’s regal oak desk. That was when she noticed the subtle differences in their style between yesterday and today. Their pristine suits and shiny boots were enhanced by small touches. Their ties were more costly. Their lapels were embellished with Arcadian flag pins. Their formidable features seemed…smoother. Were they wearing makeup?
“By the Creator,” she rasped, concluding that they were—and why. They were expecting Evrest to be making some kind of public announcement. The recognition would have panicked her at once except that her brother looked more ready for a shower and a three-day nap. He wore black slacks and a wrinkled button-front shirt, with one shoulder dotted in baby drool. His shoulder-length waves were contained at his nape beneath a scrunchie printed with baby tigers.
“Bon sonar, gentlemen,” Evrest greeted, taking command of the conversation at once. That was also Jayd’s cue to return inside.
She stepped into the space just over her brother’s left shoulder, with Requiemme taking position behind her. As Santelle and Carris dipped quick bows to Ev, she yearned to smack their smug faces. Her nerves were soothed somewhat by Emme’s squeeze at her elbow. How the woman could convey calm and chastisement in the same move was truly a mystery to Jayd, though right now, it was bested by a more dominant dilemma.
How—and why—had the secret of her true lineage been kept such a tight secret for twenty-four years? Kept from all the Arcadian people? From her brothers? From her?
That question, along with a thousand others, had taken over the real estate in her mind since last night—though she had not dared utter any of them aloud. Truth be known, she did not have the courage. An admission that led swiftly to shame. She was Jayd Dawne Cimarron, damn it. She had always held her own against three daunting brothers with guts and grit and tenacity, but now she had to accept that it might have all been for nothing. That she was not actually “the sass of the Cimarrons.” That she was the princess of nothing at all.
The sister of no one at all.
The realization that cut the deepest.
Emotional blood that Requiemme, thank the Creator, saw right away. Her fierce whisper in Jayd’s ear proved as much. “Until His Majesty says otherwise, you are still our beloved princess.”
In that moment, those words were more vital than air.
But oxygen fell off her priority list as the younger man moved out of his bow and took a confident stride forward. As he inclined his head toward Evrest again, the afternoon light mixed with the amber glow from the room’s chandelier, snaking through the oils in his hair product. There was a moment Jayd would never get back. From that instance, the man would always be Belly-Crawler Carris in her mind—down to the unctuous undertone of his voice as he addressed her brother.
“Your Majesty Evrest. Thank you for welcoming us back to the palais.”
“You gave him a choice about it?” Jayd’s sneer earned her a cocked brow from the viper before he addressed Ev again.
“We trust you have reviewed the materials we presented yesterday?”
“I have.” Evrest finished by nodding toward Jayd. “Which is, of course, why I asked my sister to join us for this follow-up.”
Carris wasted no time before ticking an eyebrow again as well as shifting his slithery weight.
Jayd straightened too, stiffening as if her cotton shift dress was a regal evening gown. Two could play the let’s-pretend-we’re-in-the-throne-room act. But the thing was, she had logged more hours at it than the snake. They could strip her of her birthright but not her experience.
“As you know, Majesty, I am one of the princess’s greatest admirers…” Down came both the man’s brows, as he flicked another discomfited glance Jayd’s way. “But with all due respect, are you quite certain—I mean, at this particular point—to involve her so fully?”
“Wise?” Jayd’s incensement overrode her decorum before she could think. “To involve me? With all due respect, Mr. Carris, does this entire situation not involve me?”
Her quickest ally was also the most unexpected. Though a chuckle played at his lips, Fortin Santelle sauntered up and said, “My favor of agreement with Her Highness.” He dipped a serene nod at Trystan’s scowl. “This verdict directly affects Jayd, after all.”
“Verdict?” And of course, she still could not seem to find the mute button on her affronted snips. Her nickname had been well-earned. She really was a sass, but only on her best days. On her worst—and this was going down as one of them—she was the shrew of the Cimarrons instead. “I was not aware this was a trial, gentlemen. If that is the case, what is the accusation? Do I get to mount a defense, or have you already erected the gallows?”
“Pardondais, Princess.” Santelle dipped a stiff bow. “A regrettable but accidental choice in vocabulary.”
“Bullshit. Of the highest order.” Luckily, she kept it to a low grumble this time.
It did not stop Ev from driving a fast elbow into her thigh while rising to his feet.
“In any case, gentlemen, we have arrived at the nucleus of your point,” he said. “The facts you have managed to kindly unearth and bring to my attention.”
Kindly?
Jayd kept the riposte completely silent this time. Aloud, she filled in, “Yes. The facts. About my lineage, correct? Oh, come now, brother,” she chided in response to Ev’s surprised gawk. “Do you think I have not suspected until now? Not heard the scandalized whispers in the palais halls as I pass? Not noticed the slurs about our maimanne, uttered too loudly to be misspoken? So now you all do not have to be so coy, do you?”
“We mean no disrespect, Princess.” Santelle’s interjection was harder to pick apart this time around. His tone was earnest, but his gaze was shifty. “Our only goal here is the truth.”
“So you can take it public to every man, woman, and child in Arcadia,” Evrest supplied.
“Not necessarily,” Carris cut in.
Jayd spurted out a laugh. “Well, of course not. Because the necessary thing here is…what, I ask? What serves the people…or the Pura?”
“And what would you have them know, then?” Santelle rebutted. “That the princess they have adored for twenty-four years is a sham? A pretender without a drop of actual Cimarron blood in her veins? That she is the product of an affair Queen Xaria was having while King Ardent was fighting with his men on the Mediterranean? That while he was helping to thwart a secret invasion from Muammar Gaddafi’s forces, Xaria was consorting with a commoner? That we have collected physical evidence, including your maimanne’s recorded confession, to confirm all of it?”
“A recording the queen was not aware of,” Evrest countered. “Secured by a woman she considered a trusted friend.” As he snarled the last three words, he rose to his full height. Jayd could not remember her eldest brother ever looking so terrifying but terror-filled in the same moment. “She was confessing the contents of her deepest heart to that friend, who kept the recording because she knew it would fetch a high price one day—a bribe the Pura were apparently willing to pay. For what it is worth to any of you, that woman’s betrayal has sent my mother to her sick bed.”
“She will see no one,” Jayd all but accused. She will not even see me. The daughter who needs her the most right now. The girl who needs so many answers.
“Perhaps she should have considered the consequences when spreading her legs for someone other than—”
Santelle’s own croak was his interruption, as Evrest charged over his desk and into the man’s personal space.
Jayd hissed in satisfaction as her brother wrapped his huge fist around the bonsun’s neatly knotted necktie.
“Shut. Up.” Ev’s order was low and lethal, making the air itself shudder. “I refuse to suffer the muck from your sewer of a mouth, Fortin Santelle.”
For a second, Santelle looked like he’d be smart about heeding that order. But only for that second. Soon enough, he sputtered, “Every word I speak is—”
“The truth?” Evrest twisted his hold tighter. “You dare use that as your justification, when everyone in this palais knows you were one of the cockroaches who helped my father sneak into half of the brothels in the Eve District?” He loomed in closer, narrowing his glower. “Or is that why you have such solid knowledge of how a woman opens her thighs?”
Santelle’s face became a cosmetic vegetable salad. Tomato red. Beetroot magenta. Eggplant purple. His seething mouth was a contrasting line of furious white. “How dare you, sir!”
“I am not your sir,” Evrest seethed. “I am your king, and you will address me as such.”
“Ev!” But Jayd did not move to stop her brother. In truth, a diced vegetable salad sounded delicious.
“Perhaps we should all take a deep breath and a step back.” Despite the placation, Carris moved up and brushed the air with his palms. “We are not here to start a war, Your Majesty.”
“Just a one-sided trial,” Jayd countered.
“No.” The man spiked a frown her way. “We are here in a spirit of…let us call it partnership. To work together on the challenge before us all.”
“Said the viper to the hawk?” Evrest bit out.
“Say the loyal subjects to their king.”
“Bullshit, the sequel.” Again, Jayd submerged it well below her breath—which did not stop Ev from firmly squeezing her shoulder as he spun and stomped back to his chair.
Her cheeks flared from shame. She was not helping anything with her running commentary, even at the sneaky volume level.
Ev proved as much with his visible tension. His shoulders strained at the confines of his shirt. He lowered back into his chair with the jerking doom of a felled tree.
“This matter is simpler than you think, Majesty.” Trystan Carris’s tone was still disturbingly diplomatic. “You have but to render a few defined decisions.”
“Which are?” Ev prompted.
The Pura bastard spreading his hands like a self-appointed messiah. “Well, now that all the facts are on the table…”
“You mean the bribery materials?” Jayd gritted.
“We all have a few choices,” Carris went on as if she had merely sneezed. “After all, the information we have obtained would be vastly interesting for the Arcadian people…”
“Then why are you not just doing it?” Another effort to tamp her temper was wretchedly unsuccessful. “What are you waiting for? Does it feel that good to stand there with your balls in your hand, or are you going to actually put the things to use and follow through here?”
“Highness!” Emme gasped.
“What?” Jayd darted a desperate look from her maid to her brother. “Is that not what is going on here? Majesty?” At least her formality got Ev to jog his head up. “These two are leveraging the hearts and minds of our kingdom. The people who have been through more than enough in the last two years!”
“Ah. An outstanding assertion, Princess.” Santelle was just as deferential as before, though the slick smirk he hooked on the end was already a red flag. But since Jayd knew not why, she had to let the man go on. “They have been through so much,” he asserted. “Scandals that have changed cherished traditions and then respected laws. Rogue terrorist groups inside this very palais, and then blowing up the Grand Sancti Bridge—”
Evrest grunted. “Rogues you know nothing about, of course.”
Santelle’s glower was brief before he pushed on. “After all of that, a medicane storm destroyed valuable land, beaches, and homes, which were already eroded after being overrun by film crews and—”
“Stop.” Jayd jerked away from Emme’s calm hold on her shoulder. “Just stop.” She stomped forward, coming level with Evrest. “Are you imbezaks honestly blaming the medicane damage on the select outsiders Evrest has allowed onto the island?”
“Select outsiders?” Santelle charged. “In the form of hundred-member film crews and Americans now betrothed to all three of our monarchs?”
And there was the bullet that silenced Jayd’s dispute. And her tongue. That happened when one was too busy gulping down bile. Our three monarchs. The man had already written her out of the Cimarron family succession.
Thank the Creator for Evrest and his growl. “Regardless of all your factual lapses, gentlemen, shall we return to the one reasonably verifiable truth of your narrative—as well as what you want for keeping it silent?”
“No.” Jayd rounded the desk and clutched a hand onto Evrest’s bicep. “No, damn it. There is nothing for you to discuss with these curs, brother. Let them go ahead and break their stupid story to the world. They only think they’re dealing with a doll here. I can take the backlash.”
Carris nodded with entirely too much deference. “Nobody is doubting that you can, Princess. But there are other layers to consider here.”
“Layers?” Jayd dropped her hand back to the area in front of her stomach. “What in saints’ name are you—”
“Can your brother’s credibility take that blow?” the sneaky prispoul insisted. “And not just His Majesty Evrest. What about Their Highnesses Samsyn and Shiraz? What will come of all the good work they are trying to do for your kingdom, especially right now? Samsyn is building and organizing our security personnel into an elite force. Shiraz is making smart alliances with contractors that will improve our infrastructure but not break our coffers. And this is all just the beginning—unless they are impeded by another kingdomwide crisis.”
She swallowed again. No bile slid down this time. Only pain, brimming up from the depths of her heart. It worsened when she dared a look at Evrest. He was grinding a finger across his bottom lip again. His forehead was like buckled concrete.
Damn it.
Ohhh, damn it, damn it, damn it.
The snake was right. And Evrest already knew it.
Nevertheless, Carris smiled wider before twisting his dagger deeper. “Your Majesty has insisted on adhering to the facts—and there is an unchangeable one right here before us. The Arcadian people have had a great deal of their world changed within the last five years. But so many new things at once…makes people unsteady. They seek what they can trust. They want to feel that when looking to their monarchy, as well. Monarchs who, like them, were born in this land. Who have a shared history here. Who cherish its treasures as deeply as they do.”
“And they do not believe we are that monarchy anymore?” Jayd did not try to hide the sorrow that seeped through her query.
If Carris was speaking but half the truth, it meant many Arcadians were not happy. That every development for which she and her brothers had worked—improved roads and harbors, national security teams, better plumbing and electricity, actual internet access—there were thousands of Arcadians who still craved an island with wooden wagons, primitive homes, and archaic laws.
“The Cimarrons are still adored,” Carris asserted. “And even grateful…”
“But?” Evrest inserted the man’s implied word.
“But everyone has been asked to readjust their lives—and their thinking—at supersonic speed. Many see that our new electronic wonders have come at a price to our landscape and resources. They view the American newcomers to the palais not as fresh young voices but as harlots who have bewitched their princes and usurped their daughters of rightfully deserved positions. Many even think Arcadia will become a US territory before long.”
Evrest’s nostrils flared. “Harlots?”
Jayd wanted to be mad too. Instead, she sputtered with half a laugh. “A US territory?” She tried to laugh again, but desperation was not a merciful master. “Do they think all three of my brothers to be dolts of that degree? That they would not have better judgment of their hearts? That they would not see through to a woman’s true character?”
“That would depend, hmmm?” Suddenly, the Belly-Crawler was inching back to true form—and Jayd felt like the skinny mouse in his hungry sights. “Because if we release the actual recordings, and your maimanne’s true character is made public…”
A pall of silence. Interrupted only by a slithering sound that Jayd swore was real. That she felt in every one of her vertebrae…
Until Evrest stomped back out from behind the desk.
He braced his stance wide. His shirt got tauter than before as he popped his shoulders back with noble pride. “My patience grows thin, damn it. State your compensation terms or get the hell out of my sight.”
Another extended silence. Jayd drew a blank on reading Carris. Not good. Because when a snake slithered beneath the rocks…
Within seconds, she understood the reason for those rocks. And exactly why Carris had been sent on this mission with Santelle at all. The younger man was indeed the snake, while Santelle swooped in as the crafty mongoose with the bitterer bite. All too experienced about it too. The man had, after all, sold his own daughter’s virginity to lift the family out of bankruptcy, a deficit caused by his bad business decisions and overreaching embezzlements. All those details clung to the forefront of Jayd’s mind as the elder courtier firmed his stance and pulled in an extended breath.
“Compensation,” he finally said, practically separating the syllables into words of their own. “Hmmph. Such a murky word, am I right?”
Evrest flared his nostrils. “You would favor bribe instead? That makes everything easier for me, Fortin.”
Santelle stiffened. “What if we would not prefer monetary offers at all?”
“And why was I afraid of just that?” Ev rumbled. Though Jayd darted a look at her brother’s profile, the precaution was unnecessary. She already knew his sardonicism was just a front. He was not joking about this—because clearly, neither was Santelle.
That was no help for her churning nerves.
Which raced faster, driven by a new—and awful—theory.
Which turned into the furious but desperate question on her lips. “So what are you after here, gentlemen?”
The demand she already flogged herself for vocalizing.
Because in so many ways, she knew it was the beginning of the end.
Hers.
Already, her eyes stung. She averted her gaze from Ev, refusing to let him see her stupid tears, but her stare swung to the worst place possible. The center of Trystan Carris’s quietly preening face. She fought back by hiking her chin and hardening her fear into fury. The cobra would never swallow her for breakfast. Or lunch or dinner.
The thick but brief silence was broken by Santelle’s calm but firm statement. “We have a few simple requests.”
Evrest grunted, and Jayd swore the sound had not changed from their childhood, when Samsyn paid her to eat his vegetables. Still, he muttered, “Go on.”
“Everyone knows that Orion Sheere has nearly both feet in the grave,” Santelle returned. “When the man finally passes to the Creator, you shall ask me to fill the extra seat.”
Ev spewed a dark laugh. “Despite the fact that you were ousted from the council in disgrace less than two years ago?”
“Folly for which I have publicly apologized,” the man countered. “Many times.”
“It completes Fortin’s redemption arc,” Carris offered with slick grace. “And if you present it as such, acknowledging that his wisdom and guidance have been missed on the council, you appear like the benevolent and forgiving monarch. Everyone wins.”
Ev twisted his lips again. Clearly, that line meant no more than its empty predecessors. Still, he bit out, “All right. But only after Sheere is gone and properly mourned.”
“Of course.”
Santelle’s posture eased.
Evrest’s did not.
Jayd barely tethered her wince. She loathed watching her brother struggle like this. He had made a deal with the devil and looked ready to throw up because of it—and it was because of her. All right, not directly. But he would not be in this position, filled with palpable agony, if not for her. And though they were not fully tied by blood anymore, Ev was still her beautiful, beloved big brother. Nothing would ever take that truth from her.
“What else?” Evrest prompted. Because everyone knew a bargain with a Beelzebub never stopped at one demand.
“If the high council votes to abolish a tradition-bound law, there will be a trial period for the people to adjust to said abolishment,” Santelle asserted. “After the year’s trial, the Arcadian people will vote whether the law will be permanently changed or reverted to its original.”
Evrest nodded. “Remarkably, that request makes sense. Done.”
Though Santelle murmured his thanks and loosened a little more, Jayd careened toward the opposite. Her belly clenched, her hands coiled into balls, and her mouth went dry. They still had not reached the end. She had streamed enough reality competition shows to know. The judges always saved their most destructive comments for the end.
“Wise choices, Your Majesty.”
Carris’s drawl confirmed her suspicion. The man was still too serene, too ready. The snake was still waiting, just under a giant fern.
“And your praise is premature, Carris.” Evrest eyed him with new intensity. “Because you are not finished yet, are you? Everyone wins, yes? Santelle is getting his council seat and his law reform. But what is the thing you want out of all this?”
By the time Ev finished the question, it was irrelevant.
Jayd already knew the answer. Every moment that went by, it stabbed deeper into her psyche. But not like the drive of a dagger.
Like the plunge of a snake bite.
And she knew.
The man did not want something out of this agreement. He wanted someone.
“Me.”
It tumbled out with more certainty than her next breath. She was that positive of its truth—yet oddly, that settled with its surety. Her belly roiled with horror, but her mind was centered with truth. It was the comfort she clung to while pivoting to face Carris again. His comportment was expected. Arrogant but sanguine. Unmoving but all-knowing. Everything she needed for affirmation of her assertion, though she forced herself to voice it anyway.
“It is me,” she repeated, raising her chin by another notch. “That is your ask, Mr. Carris. Yes?”
One edge of the snake’s mouth quirked. “You are an astute woman, Highness.”
“What. The. Hell?” Ev emphasized his snarls with a trio of brutal stomps, shaking every polished tile in the floor.
“Was the man not clear, brother?” Jayd swept around, hoping she did not appear as jittery as she felt. Thank all the stars in heaven she had been raised to hide every emotion behind a graceful shell. “But of course he was. You heard him. I am astute, Ev—likely because I can spot a snake even if he’s hiding in satin. That is what you meant, Mr. Carris, yes? That I can discern when a reptile wants to slither his way into the highest echelons of the palais? And is especially eager about it when offered such a fat branch to do so? Truly, a snake would be foolish to settle for slogging in the swamp at that point, right?”
The man continued to work his jaw around words that wouldn’t come. Under other circumstances, this would have been her chance for a savoring smirk—but these were not those times, nor that opportunity. As Carris kept indulging his wounded—and surprisingly sincere—scowl, Evrest’s outrage became a battering ram on the air.
“Let me be clear about this, you bonsuns. We are here to discuss the safeguarding of my sister’s honor, not the sacrifice of it. Especially not to a dickless Pura puppet!”
“Oh, dear Creator.” Jayd barely prevented herself from dropping her face into her palm. The urge was just as strong to use it across Ev’s face.
“Your brother is right, Highness.” All too quickly, Carris was back to his slick statesmanship—not exactly a soother for her nerves. “Clarity is a fine idea right now. So might I remind His Majesty that should the truth about his sister’s lineage be revealed, he shall be praying for anyone, dick or not, to accept her troth.”
If Evrest’s energy was beating at the atmosphere before, it decimated everything now. Everyone, Jayd included, stepped backward from its force as her brother swept toward the door and then yanked open the portal.
As the heavy wood slab pounded back against the wall, Evrest commanded, “Get out.”
Santelle was brave—or foolish—enough to scoot forward, hands outstretched. “Majesty. Come, now. If we all simply take a breath and—”
“Get. Out.”
“King Evrest!”
“Stand. Down.” Carris’s dictate, coming halfway through the man’s shout, unnerved Jayd three times as much. “I mean it, Santelle.” With hands clasped behind his back, he stepped into the open doorway. “Clearly, His Majesty needs some time to contemplate the nuances of our offer.”
“Nuances?” Evrest spat a bitter laugh.
“But of course. We are only asking for one council seat. And the marriage contract will only have a twenty-year fidelity clause.”
“For both sides? Wait. No.” Ev raised a stiff hand. “Do not insult me with an answer.”
Carris drew up his posture in a new bid for mobster charisma. “Your Majesty. It would be my utmost honor to—”
Evrest’s new bark gashed the air. “Honor? Spare me, Carris. All of it. To evoke honor, you have to know what the stuff is.”
Santelle leaned forward. “Your Majesty—”
“Silence. You are treading on ice as thin as your character, you traitorous, scum-sucking—”
“Enough.” She scared herself, uttering the order with authority that came close to Carris’s. “Leave them be, Evrest.” She clutched him by both elbows, needing it for her composure as much as his. “We will all take the night and think this over.”
“Ah, yes.” Santelle exhaled with fervor. “Take the night. Outstanding advice for everyone.”
Jayd shot the man a derogatory glance. Of course it is, you treasonous oaf. Because that is all I will need to fully resolve this issue.
“Once again, Her Highness proves to be as wise as she is beautiful.”
Jayd responded to Carris’s insertion with more than a glance. The snake received the full force of her glower. “Flattery lends men time they cannot afford.” She lifted her head, calmly meeting the prispoul’s darkened glare. “Bon sonar, Mr. Carris. We shall summon you back tomorrow.”
She forgave herself for the fib before the Pura scum were even gone from the palais. She had to. Not a second could be wasted now. The resolve seared the forefront of her mind as she rushed into her suite located nearly at the opposite end of the building from Ev’s office and the other governmental operations suites.
Most days, Jayd bemoaned the distance, but it was an extra blessing right now. Providence dished out another favor in the form of a surprise squall over the sea. As the small storm rolled closer, the waves below her balcony became a kaleidoscope of colors. Another seamless coincidence, since her nervous system was a similar cacophony of feelings.
She had thought herself ready for this. Had spent the better part of last night in its preparation. Reviewing the details. Smoothing at every possible wrinkle. But now that it came time to really squeeze the trigger, could she?
You have no choice here, Jayd.
“There is no other way.”
She repeated it a few times after that, hoping the desperate whispers would become a motivational mantra while hurrying into her closet and peeling off her sundress. But the words got no easier to say as reality barged in. Off came her bra, replaced by a chest cincher that held back her cleavage by at least a few inches. Over that, she donned a plain shirt and a basic suede vest along with rugged trousers that had likely never been washed.
“Oh, by all the sweet stars.” The blurt was Requiemme’s, issued as her maid entered and beheld her in the new ensemble. “Ohhh, Jayd Dawne,” she moaned. “You are…well and truly serious about this scheme?”
“Schemes are for bonsuns like Carris and Santelle.” She directly eyed the woman via one of the space’s full-length mirrors. “This is a plan intended to blast their dirt into dust.”
And then, if the Creator kept smiling upon her, into nothingness on the wind.
Requiemme sighed heavily, though her stance was still resolved. “So…I am to summon him, then?”
“If you would like.” Jayd actually smiled while turning and rocked back against a wall full of her formal gowns. It was nearly a relief to think about not being squeezed into one of them again. “But if I know him, that will not be nec—”
A defined pound, followed by a bunch of thuds, interrupted her. They came from her suite’s main room, into which she rushed behind Emme, to behold the prone form of the him they had just referenced.
But the next moment, Jagger Fox rolled to his feet with the same speed and grace as his animal namesake. He shook out his russet spikes and then slanted a grin their way. The expression was wholly wrong but right for the occasion, which came as no huge surprise. Unpredictability was Jagger’s norm—and right now, that was another welcome comfort for Jayd.
“Oddly, I might miss sneaking in here through your laundry chute, Ripley.”
The nickname, his unique privilege due to sharing her love for the character from the Alien movies, made her lips quirk up a little too. And then, as she helped yank the super-strength suction cups from his palms, even a bit higher. “Well, nothing is stopping you from making the climb just for fun.”
“Except that you will not be here to do that at the end.” Jagger tagged it with a blissful groan as Jayd dug her thumbs into the centers of his palms.
“If she is not here to do that.”
Requiemme’s rebuttal earned her Jagger’s scowl. “Way to support your princess there, angsty Emme.”
“Her, I support,” the maid snapped. “But the rest of this insane plot…”
“Plan,” Jayd injected.
“…which shall carry many more ramifications than simply sneaking out for a nectar binge at Asuman Cove, young lady!”
“Damn. I shall miss those too,” Jagger muttered.
Jayd jabbed him with a swift side-eye. “Before you start with the ‘young lady,’ just remember that I know where your balls are.”
Jagger obliged with a violent choke. “Yes, my princess. You certainly do.”
But that was enough of that subject. At least for now. There were times for revisiting the not-so-distant past, when the two of them had decided to heed the million rumors about their blatant “sexual” chemistry and take things to that equally apparent climax. Except that it was not so apparent—or climactic. But conclusive. Definitely that. Though she and Jagger shared no bodily fluids, they had exchanged something more significant. Secrets. Intimacies they had sworn to take to their graves—or anywhere else the Creator would take them.
That night, they had chuckled about that last part of their vow. Laughter that had come through tears—since they agreed that neither of them would be free from Arcadia for more than a few weeks at a time. Diplomatic trips were the “vacations” of her future, and military training trips were the excursions of his.
That was all about to change.
The realization socked her in the gut as Jagger crossed to her writing desk and propped his backside against it. With deft precision, he unsnapped the long side pockets in his black cargo pants. From the compartments, he pulled out thick sheafs of paper. He stacked them atop each other and then held them out as Jayd walked over.
She picked up on their freshly copied scent, making her newly aware of the huge risk she had already asked of her friend. After Ev had refused to let her read the incriminating dossier, “protecting” her in his own ridiculous way, her friend sneaked into her brother’s private office—yes, the room right next door to where they met with Santelle and Carris—and copied every single sheet for her.
Now, he was going to help her do more than read them.
So much more.
But she had to make sure he still knew that. Or if he wasn’t, to give him permission to get out of here while he could. While he could still hope that her brothers would let him keep one of his testicles. After this point, if they ever learned about his part in her plans, the poor guy would probably be singing soprano during his lifetime of palais latrine duty.
She lifted her head and bored her gaze right into Jagger’s caramel browns. “Are you very sure you want to do this, Lieutenant Fox?”
“Are you, Your Highness?”
Though he ended with his typical sarcastic lilt, his tone was mostly serious. She was grateful for both. More than that, she was glad that Jagger knew how much she needed both. “To be honest, I have no idea,” she confessed. “But there are no more easy choices here. If Evrest does not cave to Trystan’s ultimatum, the Pura will release all of this, no doubt adding a few sordid embellishments.”
“But marrying the kimfuk is also out of the question.”
“Regrettably, so is killing him,” she lobbed back, perversely comforted by Jag’s commiserating nod.
“And so we return to the hard part,” he concluded.
“Says the one who does not have to read this whole thing.” Jayd winced while simply thumbing through the pages in her grip.
“Says the one who skimmed enough of it while copying it for you,” Jag countered. “And a good thing, at that. I believe I saw what we are looking for around the two-thirds mark of the stack.”
She dug in a thumb to the approximate spot he suggested, while her friend circled around and sat himself at her desk. He lifted his shirt from the bottom, exposing chiseled abdominals for the three seconds it took to retrieve another item from a hidden pocket in the shirt’s lining. The smart pad bloomed to life as he tapped knowing fingers across the small touch pad.
“Make sure you are looking in the written transcription of the taped conversation between your maimanne and her friend.” His deliberate sneer on the last word was yet another secret solace for Jayd. Clearly, some people were more loose about their interpretation of the word friend. Jagger was not one of them, demonstrated by the risks he had taken just to get up here tonight.
She would say exactly that to him right now if she were not so stressed about getting him out of here before palais security started their late-afternoon sweeps. Which, if she knew Evrest, would be especially vigilant in this part of the complex. For her own safety, of course.
Her safety.
By the Creator. The expression was a joke at this point.
Would she ever feel safe, here or anywhere, ever again?
To get that answer, she would have to take the most frightening chance of her life. Break out of every boundary that, until this night, were her life.
And there was Jagger Fox, grinning like he was simply helping her with an update patch for one of her Alien video games.
“Ermmm…Highness Jayd?” he finally prompted in a matching drawl.
“Uhhh…yes?” she blurted. “What?”
“You going to stand there in a trance about my abs all night long, or are we going to get this show on the road?”
He got a snicker out of Emme for his trouble with that one.
Jayd still struggled between giggling and scowling. Fortunately—or maybe not, depending on how a girl was supposed to perceive things when beholding the name of the man who was likely her father—she was neutral to both, allowing her to plunge down Jag’s proverbial road. “Here comes the show. And its name is Louis LaBarre.”
“On it,” Jagger confirmed, his fingers flying across the keypad.
Requiemme was no longer laughing. “Louis La who?”
“LaBarre.” Jayd was just as stoic about the repetition. She could not afford to be any other way. Not outwardly. Doing so would fan the flames on her inner chaos, and it was too damn soon for anything more than stinging nerves and a roiling stomach. Letting in the rest of the firestorm depended on what Jagger found. If he found anything.
By the Creator, she hoped he found something.
Otherwise, this mission of discovery would swiftly become, as Emme had labeled it already, a wild stab at insanity.
Maybe, in a few ways, it was.
But was staying here any less crazy? Hiding her head in the sand until the day she surrendered to Trystan Carris’s lifelong ownership?
There was always option three. The one where she allowed Carris and the Pura to erode Evrest’s credibility beyond repair.
Wrong. That was not an option.
So she commenced pacing laps around the suite as Jagger kept tapping, clicking, and staring at his pad.
More tapping.
Clicking.
Staring.
For minutes that felt like hours. Then longer.
Jayd kept pacing. Rubbing at her aching belly. Nibbling her thumbnails down to nubs. Contemplating which of her fingers to start on next.
Breathe, Jayd. Breathe.
And believe. Damn it, believe!
She had no other choice. She had no other path.
For a long moment, she paused her pacing. Was this what Louis LaBarre went through twenty-four years ago? Had he stood somewhere in this palais, looking at the whitecaps across the sea, wondering if he would ever see the beauty of Arcadia again? If he would ever see her again? Was that a wrenching decision for him?
Or…not?
Had he been relieved to keep his silence about all of it? About her? Had he even stayed until her birth? Had he given half a thought about her health, her happiness, what she looked like? Or had he been relieved about the cover-up? Perhaps even happy to step away from acknowledging her? From ever knowing her?
As the queries built up in her mind, the ache pushed harder at her heart—and a glaring certainty took over her soul.
No matter what those answers were, she had to seek them out. Had to find the one person on this planet who could fill in so many blank spaces for her. And—oh dear Creator, please—bring her new clarity along with them. A new direction. A solid purpose.
She needed to know, once and for all, who she really was. What she was really doing here. Or anywhere.
But not if Jagger found nothing.
A possibility she forced herself to consider with every new step she took, pacing again through the maddening minutes of her friend’s continuing search. If Jag really did come up short on the hunt for LaBarre, she would have to fall back on a desperate Plan B—aka, the needle-in-a-haystack maneuver. Finding her father would not be impossible. Just harder.
But life never gave anyone a promise for easy. Not even fake princesses. Perhaps, especially not them.
After another collection of long minutes passed, Jayd decided she could give Jagger just another thirty seconds. Then twenty. Then ten.
“Got him.”
Jag’s proclamation had to be the most blessed pair of words in the history of words. After giving herself permission to breathe again, Jayd managed to croak, “Wh-Where?”
Jag hitched a shoulder back, implying his invitation for her to step over and join him. Once she did, her eyes widened at the digital pin in the map on his pad. “France? Paris?”
Jagger leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “They call it the City of Light, yes? Maybe this is fate already giving you a sign.”
Jayd let out more air, turning the whoosh into a sigh. The exhalation was threaded with an energy she had not allowed herself to feel all day.
Hope.
“From your lips to the Creator’s ear, my friend,” she uttered at last.
No. Not uttered.
Prayed.