He stops, his mouth twisting. I don’t rush him; some stories take more time to tell than others. He heaves a sigh.
“Aurelia fits in with that period of my life. I was young and stupid. She was pretty and untouchable. I thought I was in love with her, but…” He pauses again, running a hand over his mouth. “Maybe not. Maybe I was just obsessed with the idea of Aurelia.”
“And Aurelia was in London?” I say, fitting the pieces of his story together in my mind.
“Yes. She was the first girl that Derrik had in mind to be the princess of Montenegro, apparently.”
“Sorry, wait. You said she died?”
“Yes. At Derrik’s hands. That’s why Derrik and I are enemies. Of course, now I have the terrible things he has done to you to be angry at him for…”
Sucking in a breath, I quickly try to avoid the topic of Derrik. “What about after London? Where did you go?”
He exhales. “I worked my way up to oversee the London branch of the Cypriot. Then my brother—”
“Damen?” I ask quickly, for clarification.
He shakes his head. “No. Arsen.”
“The one you... ummm…”
His laugh is low and mirthless. “Killed? Yes. Or at least, I thought I did.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You didn’t kill Arsen?”
“No. Which is a mixed bag for me. On one hand, I no longer have his death on my conscience. On the other, I dislike the thought of having a bastard like Arsen mad at me. I feel like… like I have to look over my shoulder now.” He runs his hand over his mouth again. “All because I cannot control my temper or hold my liquor.”
I squint, trying to imagine what made Dryas so angry. “So, what happened? You just got mad at him?”
He hesitates. “I am going to tell you, but I am not proud of it. Arsen found a girl and moved to New Orleans with her. He was supposed to be running the New Orleans branch of the Cypriot, but instead, I thought he was fucking things up because of the girl.”
I purse my lips. “Didn’t you have other things to worry about?”
He just shrugs. “Who knows what I was thinking. I was blackout drunk.”
“Weren’t you running London at the time, though?”
He pulls a face. “Yes. After I thought I killed Arsen, I stepped down and let one of my lieutenants take the reins. Then I stumbled to France and this whole… thing started. I came up with the idea to kidnap you… and you know the rest.”
Nodding, I put my head on his chest. “I do. Thanks for telling me your story, though.”
He shifts, one of his arms coming around my shoulders. He hugs me tightly for a minute. I let him, closing my eyes.
It is a rare moment in my world that is tender and revealing, but this moment is just that. I luxuriate in it, knowing that we are probably just in the eye of the storm.
Tomorrow, I have to worry about what’s ahead.
For now though, I just let myself sink into his arms.
11
Rue
I wake up with this crazy idea already in my head. We need to go to Montenegro and find out what really happened to the Rebel King. I don’t say anything to Dryas as I slip from the bed. Still, as I dress, my eyes are on him.
He’s so still and silent that I almost lean over and check his pulse. As I pull my shirt over my head, he stirs a little, shifting onto his back.
What would Dryas say if I told him my crazy idea? He would probably have some brooding, angry reaction to it. Better not to even bring it up, I think.
I slip out of the bedroom, practically barreling into Damen. He arches an eyebrow, reminding me of Dryas in those early days. He makes me feel small without even really trying.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, flushing. “I’m just heading to the kitchen to start the coffee.”
He shrugs off my apology. “Same.”
He brushes by me, leaving me to follow him into the kitchen. He looks down with a sigh, looking pointedly at the coffee maker. It’s obvious that he expects me to make it for him, which sets my teeth on edge for some reason. Still, I set about brewing the coffee, grateful that at least I can turn my back on him.
“Are you going to talk to Derrik today?”
I freeze at Damen’s words. Turning my head to look at him, I frown. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
I go back to making the coffee, unsettled. Apparently, Damen isn’t done with the topic though, because as I hand him a mug, he gives me an eerie smile.
“I think you should go talk to him now, while my brother sleeps. You will get more out of him alone than you will with Dryas breathing down your neck. I can stand outside the door if you would like.”
Then he takes the mug of coffee and sips it calmly.
“What if Dryas has questions for him?”
Damen smirks over his mug. “We have been here two days already. What makes you think my brother has not interrogated Derrik already?”
My eyes widen at that. Has Dryas already questioned Father Derrik? If so, why didn’t he say anything about it to me? My mouth turns down, but I hide my frown behind my coffee cup.
“Why do you care?” I try to keep my tone light, but it sounds accusatory.
Damen sighs and sets down his mug. His movements echo Dryas’s, and it is really starting to creep me out. “I am here to help my brother. If Dryas wants answers from Derrik and cannot get them, it occurs to me that perhaps you can get them instead.”
I screw up my face, trying to decide. On one hand, what he’s saying makes perfect sense. On the other hand, I don’t feel like doing anything without Dryas is the best idea. I glance in the direction of the bedroom, indecisive.
Damen sips his coffee and then slides off the stool. “Come. Derrik is awake right now. You should talk to him before I administer his pain medicine.”
My eyebrows jump up again. “Father Derrik is badly hurt?”
I don’t quite know how to feel about that. Damen just shrugs.
“He will be fine.” He turns toward the front door, taking his coffee mug along. I set my own mug aside and trail after him, chewing on my bottom lip.
Slipping my shoes on at the door, I cross my arms and head outside, following Damen. I blink as I step out into the steamy jungle-like heat outside. He leads me around the corner of the house, so white amidst all that green.
To my surprise, there is a little white guest cottage to the side of the house. I couldn’t see it from the window of my bedroom, but Damen must have been able to view from his. When I try to glance inside, I see that both windows have cardboard tape on them from the inside.
Damen quickly unlocks the house, gesturing to me to stay put. I wait, straining to hear while he steps inside. He pokes his head back out.
“Come on,” he says, jerking his head inside. “Quickly, if you would.”
I hustle myself in the thick wooden door, blinking at the darkness inside. As my eyes adjust, I can see Father Derrik sitting on a mattress on the bare wood floor. There is nothing else in the room that I can see aside from a few blankets that Father Derrik has kicked off the mattress.
I look at Father Derrik, trying to ascertain where he is wounded. He has a lot of gauze wrapped around his left shoulder, but that’s all I can see. When he moves, I realize that he is chained to a plate on the floor.
A small part of me relishes that fact. I hope he enjoys what he does to other people so easily.
Father Derrik looks up at me, his face twisting into a snarl. “What is she doing here?”
“Easy,” Damen warns. “She has questions. You answer her questions, maybe I will give you some morphine this time instead of aspirin.”
Father Derrik growls, but Damen only gives him a bored look. “I will be waiting outside if you need anything.”
Then Damen disappears, closing the door behind him. As the door swings shut, I gulp. There is a lump in my throat suddenly, and it has something to do with being alone in here with Father Derrik.
Father Derrik looks at me
spitefully. “Get on with it, you little bitch. The sooner you are gone, the sooner I get some more sleep.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I pace to the other side of the room. There is nothing about Father Derrik’s comment that makes me want to ask him any questions, but that is, of course, the reason that I am here in the first place.
Now I just have to figure out what my questions are, exactly. I wish I’d had more time to prepare myself, to write my questions down, but it is what it is. I clear my throat, walking back to the doorway.
When I finally speak, my voice is so hesitant that it makes me cringe. “Why do you think I am the Rebel King’s heir, exactly?”
Father Derrik’s brows lift. “You know about him, then.”
“I know some of the story. I’m looking to fill in the gaps.”
He scratches his patchy facial hair. “I got a tip that the elder daughter of Declan Stuart was running wild around London. When I saw you, it was immediately clear that you had Stuart’s eyes and his hair.”
I give him a skeptical look. “And that was enough for you?”
“Enough to keep you around, yes. Later, I found photos of you and your mother with Stuart. That cinched my hunch.”
“Photos?” I scrunch up my face.
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, formal portraits. There is even one with your sister when she was only a few weeks old. You and your sister are both wearing dresses bearing your father’s crest. I consider that incontrovertible proof that your father wanted to claim you before his untimely death.”
Sucking in a breath, I start to pace again. “I see. And who do you think carried out Stuart’s execution?”
He is quiet for a minute, looking around. I stop and stare at him.
“I hope you don’t think that answering my questions is optional,” I warn. “I will call Damen in here to help persuade you if that’s what it takes. I don’t think you will like his style, though.”
Father Derrik gives me a wan look. “There is no need for that. The answer is clear enough.” He pauses to draw in a dramatic breath. “Your half-brother and the man who claimed him as his son did it.”
My eyes go wide. It takes me a second to digest what he just said.
“I’m sorry… my half-brother?” I choke out, startled.
A little smirk flares on his face. “The very one. He’s also known as the Crown Prince of Montenegro.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “Wait, you don’t mean—”
“Prince Henrick? The one and only.”
He sits back and crosses his arms, giving me this smile that makes me want to punch him in the mouth. He’s enjoying this way too much.
“Wait, wait… are you saying… I am related to Prince Henrick?” I am horrified at the very idea. “We were almost married. He’s… he’s engaged to my sister!”
“Well, assuming that you were, in fact, Stuart’s daughter—”
I cut him off. “Wait. How is Henrick related to Stuart? Isn’t the crown prince supposed to be the king’s son?”
He just smirks and shrugs. “A lot of things are supposed to be one way, when in fact they are another entirely. The fact is that Stuart liked pretty women. He did not care at all if they were married, as long as they were willing. And most of th ladies were willing.”
He smirks, pausing for a second. “Stuart fancied the Queen of Montenegro, who had been unable to bear King Lukas a child. There were whispers of her infidelity, especially when Stuart came to court… Nine months later, Henrick was born. If you put two and two together, the timing was perfect.”
My brow descends over my eyes. “Did Henrick know that we are related by blood?”
That earns me another eye roll. “Of course. Again, that’s assuming—”
I groan. “Stop talking. My patience with you is wearing thin.”
Father Derrik looks a little sulky at that, but I don’t care. Shaking my head, I start pacing the room again, thinking.
“So, the king and the prince killed Stuart… Why, to keep him quiet about Henrick’s origins?” I puzzle out, mostly to myself.
Father Derrik just raises his brows. “You were expecting something more complex, I see. But the reasons a person is murdered at a young age are often mundane.”
I release a big breath. “It just seems like a lot of effort to keep something so small a secret.”
He looks at me drolly. “So small as the succession of the whole family line? My dear, wars have been started over less.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, gritting my teeth. My hands clench into fists and my eyes narrow into slits.
Father Derrik just smirks and shrugs. If I were a different person, this would be the moment when I would do serious harm to him. But because I am soft and weak, I just mutter under my breath and turn away from him.
It takes me a minute to regain full control of myself. My mind is stuffed full of thoughts, thoughts about my creepy half-brother and the fact that I was a member of a church that was going to marry us before God. In what world is that okay?
When I finally master my emotions enough to talk again, I round on Father Derrik.
“Who would you name as being the driving force of the assassination of my father?”
Without a moment of hesitation, Father Derrik answers. “King Lukas.”
“And the wedding between us? Was that also King Lukas?”
He smiles in a way that makes me feel dirty just looking at him. “No. Prince Henrick was behind that.”
I look at Father Derrik with disdain. “I see.”
His smile widens into a grin. “Do you, little girl?”
Shaking my head, I turn toward the door. “I think we are done here.”
“Good. It’s time for my morphine,” he shoots back.
Pausing as I open the door, I smile lightly. “I think that can wait another hour, don’t you? I’ll be sure to say so to Damen on my way out.”
That gets his feathers ruffled. “You can’t—”
I close the door on him with a loud bang. Damen is right outside, inspecting his nails. He looks up at me, a little smile playing about his lips.
“Do not worry. I am going to go in now, but I will only give him aspirin. I do not even have any morphine.”
Flustered by the whole morning, I push by Damen without a word, heading back to the house.
12
Rue
I’m in the kitchen sipping a fresh cup of coffee when Dryas finally gets up. He usually sleeps just a handful of hours each night, so seeing him yawn and stretch as he enters the room is vaguely amusing.
He’s a little gruff as I hand him a mug of coffee. He looks at me over the mug as he takes the first sip.
“You were up early. Well, earlier than me anyway.”
I raise my brows. “It’s almost ten thirty.”
He looks confused. “It is? God, when is the last time I even looked at a clock? I guess I need to put my watch back on.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I kind of like vacation Dryas. He’s…” I pause. Emotionally available? An amazing fuck? But no, I swallow those two things. “More laid back, I guess.”
He chuckles a little, his eyes crinkling. I swear, when he does that, it’s hard to keep my panties on my body. What is wrong with me?
“Yes, but I think the vacation version of me is a little too laid back.” He comes over to me, hugging me loosely. I breathe in his clean masculine scent and appreciate the heat from his body. Tipping my head up with his free hand, he kisses me gently. “What do you think?”
Staring up at him, into those chartreuse eyes, I realize at that moment that I am in love with Dryas. Sickeningly, deafeningly, definitely in love with him.
My mouth opens to tell him, but he just nips at my bottom lip and then releases me. I’m left openmouthed, feeling staggered by the weight of my realization.
Dryas moves to open the refrigerator, not even registering what to me feels like maybe the end of the world. He just peers in the refrigerator.
> “Are you hungry?” he asks. “We have some fresh fruit… and some Greek yogurt.”
Wordlessly, I head around the island and sit down. Dryas stands up straight, his brows knitting. “Does that sound good?”
There is such a lump of emotion in my throat that I can’t even speak past, so I slowly nod. He sets his mug down and pulls things out of the refrigerator.
I love him.
I really love him.
Feeling like a little girl, I stew in my saccharine-sweet feelings for Dryas. It’s stupid to even be thinking of being in love where he is concerned, but my heart doesn’t care. It swells ten sizes in my chest as he puts a bowl of yogurt and berries in front of me.
That’s all it takes for me to fall in love, I guess. Someone that is nice to me for a week, makes me orgasm regularly and serves me yogurt. I want to roll my eyes at myself, but I just set my coffee mug aside and pick up the spoon Dryas gave me.
I manage to get a spoonful of yogurt into my mouth when he makes an announcement that has me almost doing a spit-take.
“I am thinking that we need to go to Montenegro in order to find out more about your past,” he says calmly.
I react poorly, putting my hand in front of my lips to keep myself from spitting the yogurt out. Wide-eyed, I look at him, trying to swallow. “What?”
One corner of his mouth kicks up into a smile. “I was thinking about what we should do next, where we should go. We have nothing on our agenda once I take care of Derrik…”
I wince, knowing that take care of probably means something terrible. I know better than to ask, though.
He pauses, gesturing with a spoonful of yogurt. “Then it occurred to me that if we do not know for sure what happened, there is only one way to be sure. It is rumored that the Rebel King had a hideout on the coast of Montenegro…”
I bite my lip, my heart beating fast. He is advocating for the very thing that I woke up this morning wishing for. If my heart were a sparrow, it would be singing a tune right now.
Protect: Protect Book 4 Page 7