THOUGH ON THE EDGE OF the Pacific in the beginning of summer, Gemma’s skin was covered in goose bumps. She couldn’t stop shaking from the wind on her face as the fishing boat sliced through the choppy waves at top speed, in dead aim for the shoreline.

The island was considerably bigger now, only two hundred yards away stretching across the sea over ten miles. The hills rose like shadowy monsters several thousand feet high, blocking out the stars. Once landed, there would be no turning back. No escape. Talino wouldn’t stick around to draw attention to their presence. It was either take back the palace or die. No other outcomes.

As the boat drew closer to land, dim lights emerged across the hills like old fireflies on their last legs. The palace was lit up on the other side of a peninsula, but everything else was dark, save for the few fires and smoke plumes rising from the treetops. Reyna would’ve cried if she saw her home reduced to this destruction.

Lil’ Pete was loaded and safe in Gemma’s hands, another pistol in her back waistband. Stefano had given her a thigh holster for a third, along with a Kevlar vest. The thigh holster was comfortable, but the vest was bulky and restrictive. It would take several practice draws to get used to wearing it, but she’d rather that than a bullet in the chest.

He’d given a vest to everyone making land, including André. His prince. The thought of him as royalty still couldn’t coalesce in her mind. He crouched between her and Stefano, keeping his head down for the final stretch, the intense look in his eyes magnified by the sight of his home in smoke.

Just before the boat reached the tire bumpers on the dock, André grabbed her hand and dragged it to his forehead, making the sign of the cross. He finished with a kiss on her knuckles. Nights like this, she’d take all the help offered, including faith.

The boat jerked and Stefano jumped over the side, automatic rifle at the ready. His boots thumped against the wood planks of the rickety dock. The three followed and raced down the pier. On the white beach lay two fishing boats on their sides, with single engines hanging off the backs. But the shoreline was empty. Everything was silent except for the sound of the surf hugging the beach, muting their running feet on the boards. When the dock ended, Gemma’s boots sank into the white sand. She tripped, but caught herself and pushed forward. Closer to the lush tree line, a dozen things scattered away from their feet. Gemma gasped and aimed her shotgun at one.

Lizards. Large, dark green iguanas the size of cats skittered into the underbrush.

Stefano had already made it to the bushes. The large banana shaped leaves hid the grown man with ease. Damn, he moves fast.

André and Rico were ahead of her scanning for mercenaries on their dash to the safe greenery.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Everyone ducked. She forced her feet faster through the swallowing sand.

Pop! Pop!

Gunfire. Though it was hard to tell from where, the sand didn’t spray up around her, so she kept moving. When safe under the trees, adrenaline raced through her limbs along with a new stream of sweat on her brow. André gripped her elbow, eyes wide checking her for blood or bullet holes.

“I’m fine.” She watched the back end of Vapor de Mar chug away from the shore. The large wake was a white beacon in the black water.

“That was a lot easier than I expected,” Stefano whispered.

“Easier?” Rico asked, peering over a palm leaf looking for more assailants.

“Those shots are a mile off, on the other side of this rise. Nowhere near us.”

“Then what were they shooting at?” André’s face was grim.

Stefano’s teeth grinded together and he checked his watch. “Everyone stay close on my six. It’s a half mile to the cottage, so keep your eyes open.”

Traversing through bushes was slower than Gemma expected. The sand on the bottom of her boots made her slip on the foliage. Every few minutes, Stefano would look back, making sure no one trailed too far behind. For the most part his stare was glued to the vegetation in front, his automatic rifle up at all times.

The deeper inland they went, the thicker and higher the trees grew between the shadows. The heady tropical floral scent invaded her senses. A headache pounded at her temples from focusing on the shifting landscape, so she kept her eyes on the ground.

A small creek cut through their path that was easy to step over, but Stefano stopped and crouched behind a tree. They all ducked down. The bodyguard pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and pointed at something through the trees. Switched off and on, twice. Then waited. Then he did it again, two flashes.

Through the trees, another light flashed back at them twice. Stefano gave an audible sigh and slipped the flashlight in his pocket. He ducked under the large palm leaf, quickening his pace over the creek up a small embankment. The foliage parted to a stone cottage with a brown tile roof. A rain barrel sat at the corner of the one story building with an iguana sitting on the lid, as if on a throne basking in the night air. The drapes on the oval windows were drawn and a sliver of light peeked through one of them.

The front door opened a few inches. Stefano lowered his weapon, ducking into the house. The relief on his face as Gemma entered behind him matched Rico and André’s.

The house was bigger than it appeared from outside. How else could it hold nine people in this little family room? Nine big people, in military gear with weapons all over them, sitting in shadowy corners perusing maps and listening to radios. It could have been an army outpost if Gemma hadn’t noticed the teak sofas and coffee table facing a quaint stone fireplace.

Every man in the room stood and bowed, hands over their hearts. “Su Majestad,” they murmured in unison. Stefano did the same, leaving Rico and Gemma to stare dumfounded.

André nodded, but the grimace on his face was hard to read. The air around him changed, the way he stood filling the space and his chin held a smidge higher. A strand of his dark hair fell onto his forehead as he holstered his weapon.

“Tienes mí mas profundo gracias por su servicio a mi padre y el Reino.”

Gemma watched the man change in front of her from the Miguel she fell in love with to the king of a country. A man comfortable with controlling a crowd of subjects, or at least outwardly appeared so. She worked the translation in her mind as best she could: You have my deepest thanks for your service to my father and the realm.

Every gaze moved to her. Studied her as if they’d never seen a woman in Kevlar before.

Stefano continued in Spanish, but he was too fast to translate. André touched his shoulder.

“Please use English, so Gemma and Rico will understand. While fluent in Spanish, our dialect is different than they’re used to.”

“My apologies,” Stefano bowed his head. “I introduced you both to everyone, explained you saved our lives when attacked by Bendetto’s assassins.” Stefano gestured to the two men by the window. “Felipe and Carlos are two Royal Guardsmen who were in Las Vegas with us. I asked them to sneak back onto Solana to coordinate forces with the military, and they’ve been feeding me intel.”

The other seven soldiers scattered throughout the room were considerably younger than Stefano, although just as muscular and hard. Except the commander, who appeared around fifty with gray hair and a moustache as thick as the foliage outside. Colonel Flores led the remaining Army forces in the rebellion against Bendetto and worked closely with the Royal Guardsmen, or what was left of them.

“Where is Javier?” Stefano directed at the first bodyguard, Carlos, the concern on his brow palpable.

“No word from him in two days,” Carlos replied, emotionless. “Last we heard, he was scoping out the Royal Square staging area for an incendiary mission, to take out their transportation.”

The pounding escalated in Gemma’s head. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Most of the soldiers kept their eyes on Stefano, but occasionally glanced in her direction. Though they were on the same side, she didn’t feel comfortable setting Lil’ Pete down anywhere. There wasn’t a space with all of the gear and radio equipment spread around the room.

André touched her hand and drew close to her ear. “Are you all right?”

“Headache. Not used to all this salty, humid air.”

“There’s some water in the kitchen.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle. Lifting her hand, he poured two pills into her palm. “Aspirin.”

He raised her knuckles to his lips for a kiss. His warm breath graced her skin, calming her pulse. André brushed back a stray hair from her forehead with a caress of his thumb.

The Royal Guardsman speaking to Stefano stopped for a second, and Gemma caught his stare.

She moved into the kitchen, away from scrutinizing eyes and helped herself to a glass of water. The room was tiny, with a rusting faucet and a small icebox on the counter. No fridge, microwave, or oven, but a hot plate sat on the narrow counter, shoved behind a stack of ceramic bowls. Most of the cabinets were empty and the single window over the sink was covered with cardboard. Whoever lived here before was long gone, though unclear whether by choice or force. The thought made her stomach rumble. She downed the pills. The water tasted different, sweeter and softer than on the ranch.

Focusing on the voices in the other room, she closed her eyes and worked on translating. They’d switched back to Spanish, an indicator they weren’t comfortable being overheard. If she was going to be any use to these guys, she had to speak their lingo.

André spoke with the colonel about news in the palace. Still no word of his sister. But they were harder to hear on the other side of the room. The two Guardsmen with Stefano were closer.

“A woman, Stefano?”

“She and Rico saved Prince André, myself included. That, and she’s a better shot than me. We need as much help as we can get.”

The confidence from Stefano brought a small smile from her lips. But the doubt from the other men tugged at her anger. She’d risked her life by coming along; the least these guys could do is trust Stefano’s word.

“Her blonde hair will stick out, even at night. It’s best she doesn’t come along.”

“We have a better chance if she does.”

“Are she and the King…”

“That’s not your concern,” Stefano snapped back. “The prince and I trust her. That’s all you need to know. Address him as His Highness, per his request.”

Gemma filled the glass with water again and downed it. Fuming as she was, she couldn’t blame these guys for their skepticism. In their position, she’d do the same. She wasn’t military, Solanian, or even the same skin tone. But she was a Texan. With a thirst for vengeance just as deep as theirs. She was the best shot they could ask for, blonde hair and all.