“Leave us,” Jorg said firmly to the people working in the room.
A few of the officers exchanged looks, and Chief Namjoo stepped out of his office wearing a frown.
“It’s not our policy to allow non-employees in security headquarters. Our equipment—”
“Will not be touched.” Jorg lifted his chin. “I will speak with this traitor to the Kingdom and nothing more. Is he still employed here? I told the sultan to have him removed as Nalini’s bodyguard.”
“Told the sultan?” Namjoo mouthed, then gave an incredulous who-does-this-asshole-think-he-is look to Samar.
Jorg’s fists clenched, and he also looked at Samar, clearly expecting more preferential treatment than he was receiving. Jorg didn’t seem to realize that he wasn’t in the Kingdom and had no power over anyone here, other than whatever power the sultan diplomatically granted him.
“Let’s clear the room,” Samar told Namjoo and waved for the workers to leave. “We’ll wait in the corridor to continue your tour, Your Highness.”
“Good,” Jorg said stiffly. “Do.”
Tristan kept his hands clasped behind his back while he waited to see what this was about. He understood that Jorg was irritated that he’d traveled unchaperoned in a shuttle with Nalini, but to draw attention to him and call him a traitor was to put his father’s mission at stake. Admittedly, Tristan had already revealed his true purpose here to Nalini, but Jorg couldn’t know that.
Unless Dom had Nalini’s suite bugged. Was that possible?
Tristan panicked at the idea that some camera might have caught her visiting his room last night and fondling his hair. Not that they’d truly done anything—certainly not what he’d later dreamed of them doing—but it might have hinted at greater intimacy than there had been.
“Your Highness?” Tristan asked carefully when they were alone.
He wouldn’t volunteer anything and incriminate himself.
“My father,” Jorg said without preamble, “sent you here to spy on the princess, report to Agent Dom, and ensure that Nalini would be properly indoctrinated to the idea of marrying me.”
Indoctrinated? That wasn’t what Jager had said.
“All the king told me was to keep her from running away from the marriage if she had that notion,” Tristan said.
Jorg grunted. “As if that would happen. These people stand to gain far too much from this alliance to risk throwing it away with histrionics. But instead of a woman ready to swear her obedience and fidelity to me, I find this.”
He’d flicked on the tablet without Tristan noticing, and he raised the display to show camera footage of Tristan kissing Nalini on that windswept barge on Oceanus. Dread filled his heart. That one impulsive moment… He hadn’t considered that someone there might record it or that it would make its way back here. Nor had he realized how passionate and hungry their kiss had appeared from the outside. He’d grabbed her ass—he didn’t even remember that—and she’d flattened her chest against him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and dug her fingers into his hair as their tongues explored each other’s mouths…
Jorg snapped the display off and jerked the tablet to his side. “Explain yourself.”
Tristan swallowed. How could he?
He’d thought Nalini had initiated that kiss, but on the video, it looked like they’d both come together at once in mutual agreement. Mutual passion.
“It was…” What? A mistake? Tristan had loved every second of that kiss. “We went through a lot to get there. It was an impulsive action. An unwise one.” One that he would make again if he had the chance. “It hasn’t happened again since. I knew—”
“Oh, I’m sure. You took a six-day private shuttle back to the palace so you could read peacefully together. I know what a big reader you are.” Jorg’s face was flushed, his eyes burning with anger.
For the first time, anger flared in Tristan, as well. He resented the implication that Jorg knew about his reading difficulty and that he would throw that in his face here.
“You were offered a ride on a more luxurious ship where a princess could be properly waited on by attendants, and you both rejected it,” Jorg said. “Instead, you stayed with her until the last minute. Don’t tell me you two weren’t fucking like rabbits the whole damn time. When you knew she was to be betrothed to me, that I was here waiting for her arrival.” Jorg stepped forward, his chest inches from ramming into Tristan’s chest, his fists so tight his knuckles showed white against his skin. “My father gave you a chance to prove yourself by helping her learn how to be loyal to me, and you stabbed me in the back.”
“It had nothing to do with you.” Tristan knew he should back away, that he should drop to one knee, bow his head, and beg for forgiveness—this man was the son of the king he’d sworn to obey, the second most powerful man in all of the Kingdom. To do anything but grovel now was career suicide, if not true suicide. But he couldn’t make himself back down. “I like her.”
“I bet you do. She’s got an ass and tits that any man would want to grab while fucking her brai—”
Tristan didn’t make a conscious decision to throw the punch. But it happened. His fist slammed into Jorg’s nose with a satisfying crunch.
But it wasn’t satisfying enough. He sprang after Jorg, grabbing his shirt to keep him from falling, and punched him again. Jorg roared and returned the attack, launching a punch of his own. He had also been trained as a knight, but he’d never trained like Tristan had, never been so driven or had to work so hard to prove himself.
Tristan blocked his every attack and evaded an attempt to grab him and hurl him to the floor. He hammered more punches into Jorg’s face and gut, backing him up until he could jam the bastard against the wall, wrap his fists in his lapels, and thrust him up until his shoes dangled above the deck.
“If you don’t treat her like a noble lady,” Tristan growled, “I will find you and kill you, even if I have to upload my consciousness into an android body in order to do it because you’ve had me shot.”
“Let go of me, you common shit.” Jorg’s words came out mangled—he could barely breathe.
Tristan knew this was the stupidest thing he could have done, but he couldn’t make himself loosen his grip, couldn’t let Jorg insult Nalini or act like she wasn’t worth as much as he was. Hell, she was worth a lot more than Jorg, as far as Tristan was concerned.
Jorg grabbed Tristan’s wrists, trying to force his hands away from his neck. Tristan didn’t budge. Jorg tried to drive his knee into Tristan’s groin. Tristan shifted his leg and blocked the attack.
“You’re the same apeshit asshole your murderer of a father is,” Jorg snarled. “You were never going to become a knight. Never.”
“Promise me you’ll treat her well.”
“Screw you. And screw her. Which I will. Hard and long until she cries. She’s mine now, you worthless shit. Mine.”
Tristan tightened his grip, aware of Jorg’s face turning from red to purple and wondering what would happen if Jorg passed out in his hands. Wondering what would happen if he never let the prince breathe again. Would he be doing the universe a favor if he ensured Jorg couldn’t succeed Jager? He knew he’d be doing Nalini a favor if he ensured this spoiled asswipe didn’t live to touch her. Tristan would be shot, but that was going to happen anyway now, wasn’t it?
But could he truly murder a man? A knight would slay an enemy in battle, but he wouldn’t murder a man for throwing insults and threats.
A throat cleared in the doorway.
Shit.
Tristan dropped Jorg and jumped back, certain the prince’s bodyguards were storming in. He didn’t know if he meant to defend himself or sprint past them to escape, but he landed in a fighting stance with his fists up.
Samar stood in the doorway, and he raised his open hands. How long had he been there? Had he heard anything or only walked in to see what must have looked like Tristan trying to kill a prince of the Star Kingdom?
Jorg’s legs wouldn’t
support him, and he fell to his knees, grabbing his throat. But he managed to lift his head and yell, “Guards!” in a raspy voice. “Kill that man!”
Tristan sprinted for the door, knowing he was a dead man if he let himself be trapped. He was a dead man anyway, as soon as they caught up with him, but his instincts urged him to flee, and his legs obeyed.
Samar stepped aside as Tristan raced into the corridor. The bodyguards leaped toward the door, trying to block him, but Tristan threw flurries of desperate punches and elbow jabs. Somehow, he found an opening and escaped. He sprinted down the corridor and lunged for the first bend.
A deadly energy bolt from a DEW-Tek pistol skimmed past, stirring his hair as it just missed blowing up his skull. It slammed into a wall as he ran around the bend. Tristan ran around another corner and another, not sure where he was going, just knowing he couldn’t stay.
But he also didn’t know where to go. If he left the station, he would be leaving Nalini in danger. Damn it, what was he supposed to do?
* * *
Nalini adjusted the sash on an elegant sapphire-blue dress that she hadn’t worn in more than seven years, not since the last time she’d gone to one of her father’s balls. She was relieved it still fit. Her obsession with her work and a tendency to forget to eat were the only things that saved her hips from a love affair with Chef Zivai’s famous plantain chips and chocolate-dipped lava cupcakes—those were so good that he wrapped them up and shipped them around the system.
“Come, come, Nalini,” her sister Khepri said, waving a hairbrush. “You look lovely. I’m so excited for you. We never thought you’d get married.”
Nalini stepped out of her dressing room and into the arms of her fussing sister. Esrin, Fadime, and four of her other sisters were getting ready for the ball themselves, primping and preening for whatever eligible bachelors might show up. Khepri had married two years earlier to Prince Thomas of Starfield Habitat, and they lived here in the palace, so she didn’t need to spend so many hours preparing for the event herself.
“Thank you,” Nalini murmured, though excited wasn’t the adjective that described how she felt about Jorg.
Even if he’d been an appealing gentleman, she doubted it would have kept her from thinking about Tristan. Tristan, who was worried about her safety and was even now researching the guest list for any suspicious parties.
Nalini sat and let Khepri run the brush through her hair.
“He’s handsome too,” Khepri said. “You’re so lucky.”
“Who? Jorg?”
“Of course Jorg.” Khepri laughed. “Who else would I mean?”
Tristan’s face appeared in Nalini’s mind.
“I’m a little envious. Thomas is a decent sort and pleasant to me, so I can’t complain, but he doesn’t seem to care about that bald spot or his rotund midsection. There are so many simple medical treatments to treat one’s hair follicles or adjust one’s metabolism. I admit I’m one of those who fantasizes about a fit man with muscles. What do you think Jorg looks like with his shirt off?”
Nothing like Tristan…
“I don’t know. He didn’t strip down at the coffee cart.”
“You should have asked him to. You know, study the wares before making the purchase.” Khepri chuckled.
Nalini was relieved when the door chime rang.
“Come in,” she called, then stepped away from her sister’s ministrations and leaned out the bedroom door. Maybe it was Tristan. Though if he came back, it would likely be with news of a threat.
Samar walked into her suite, and Nalini slumped against the doorjamb in disappointment.
It was in that moment that she realized how much she truly wanted to be with Tristan—she’d thought of him four times in as many minutes—and how little she wanted anything to do with Jorg or his pretentious Kingdom. A pit of certainty dropped into her stomach, the knowledge that if she married Jorg, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
Would her father let her out of this? Could she look at herself in the mirror every day if he didn’t… and she walked away anyway?
She leaned her head against the doorjamb and closed her eyes.
“I’ve never seen anyone look so dreadful at my approach,” Samar said. “I usually light up rooms. It’s my effervescent smile, I’ve been told.”
Nalini sighed and looked at him. He wasn’t smiling now, and she couldn’t manage one for him.
“Did you also come to brush my hair?” she asked.
“No, I have something more serious to discuss with you.”
“A princess’s hair is extremely serious.” Khepri stepped up behind Nalini looking like she meant to swat Samar with the hairbrush. “You can’t attract men if your hair is flat.”
“I don’t think hair volume matters that much when it’s an arranged marriage.” Samar wriggled his fingers toward Khepri but focused on Nalini. “We need to talk. Before the ball.”
Nalini stepped back and waved him into the bedroom. “Come in. Khepri, thanks for the help. I’ll see you tonight.”
Khepri appeared dubious, or maybe that was suspicious, but she let herself be waved out.
Nalini barely noticed her departure. Samar was never serious, so if he said in a serious tone that they needed to talk, they needed to talk. He was carrying a tablet, and he lifted it as soon as Khepri was gone.
“I was debating whether to show this to you, because I know Father wouldn’t want me to do anything to jeopardize this marriage and alliance, but you’re my only sibling who talks to me. I’d hate to see you with someone who’s going to be an ass to you. Or worse.”
Nalini stared at the tablet. “What happened?”
“I walked in toward the end of what was clearly a row—I’ll be curious to see how his royal pompousness covers up his bruises tonight—but I got the gist. I hit record right away.” He waved to his embedded chip and contact display, which included a camera, then tapped the tablet’s display to life. “I transferred the file here.”
He held it up to show her.
Tristan, more furious than she’d ever seen him, had Jorg pinned to a wall, his feet dangling above the floor. Blood streamed from one of Jorg’s nostrils as he snarled, “You’re the same apeshit asshole your murderer of a father is. You were never going to become a knight. Never.”
“Promise me you’ll treat her well.” Tristan’s hands weren’t around Jorg’s throat, but they were close, his powerful grip keeping the prince from escaping.
“Screw you. And screw her. Which I will. Hard and long until she cries. She’s mine now, you worthless shit. Mine.”
Nalini stared at the ugly anger on Jorg’s face and at the pure rage in Tristan’s eyes. For a moment, she believed Tristan had killed Jorg and that was what Samar had come to tell her about, but a throat cleared in the video—Samar’s—and Tristan jerked away from Jorg.
Only then did Nalini realize that Tristan hadn’t known Samar was there. Neither had Jorg. He’d said those things believing that Tristan was the only witness.
She winced when Jorg shouted for his men to kill Tristan, and she lifted a hand, longing to help him, as Tristan raced out of the room. Samar turned enough to record him evading four bodyguards—men trained to stop and kill deadly enemies. They couldn’t do either to Tristan. He was too fast, too well trained himself. He sprinted away, dodging around a corner an instant before an energy bolt would have slammed into the back of his head.
“Dear stars,” Nalini breathed. “Where is he now?”
“Tristan? I don’t know. The prince’s men took off after him. Jorg demanded that Sergeant Namjoo commit all of his forces to finding Tristan, then rushed off to clean his bloody nose. I reminded Namjoo that guests are still arriving for the ball and that our security forces should focus on that event rather than worrying about wayward bodyguards.”
“Wayward…” Nalini shook her head. Tristan had only been defending her honor—and her body. She shuddered to think of Jorg climbing into bed with her to act out
his cruel desires. “I need to find him.”
Samar raised his eyebrows. “You need to go to the ball and talk with—”
“I don’t want to talk with that man or ever see him again.” She flung a hand to indicate Jorg, even though the display had turned off. “I can’t do this. I can’t marry him, not even for Father’s alliance.”
“Well, you need to tell Father that. Before he makes the announcement. It’ll be that much harder to rescind afterward.”
Nalini had been on the verge of sprinting out of her suite to hunt for Tristan, to help him hide or figure out a way to evade the prince’s bodyguards, but she paused. Samar was right. She had to go to the ball, because that was where her father would be. She had to tell him that she wouldn’t marry Jorg. Before it was too late.
“You’re right. If we cancel the betrothal, then maybe Jorg will go away and forget about hunting down Tristan. Maybe he’ll go away this very night.”
“I’m noting your supreme concern for your bodyguard. What exactly happened while you two were off alone together?”
“He didn’t make fun of my shoes, and we talked about investment math.”
“Well, no wonder you’re in love.”
Nalini didn’t deny it as she ran for the door. She just hoped Tristan could take care of himself while she put a halt to this betrothal.
19
Tristan skulked in the shadows of a fire-extinguisher alcove near the smallest of the palace’s four ship bays. There were no fewer than twenty spacecraft resting on the landing pads inside. Plenty of ships he could sneak aboard and stow away on to escape the palace and Jorg’s bodyguards, who had been hunting him relentlessly for the last half hour.
But Tristan’s feet remained rooted in the alcove. He kept thinking about Nalini and that she would be in danger at the ball. At the least, someone was passing himself off as one of her colleagues. Who knew what else was afoot? What if someone didn’t stop at kidnapping her and decided that shooting her was the only way to keep the sultan from forming an alliance with the Kingdom? He wished he knew if Chief Namjoo had taken his warning seriously.
Knight Protector: a Star Kingdom novel Page 19