by C. J. Miller
King Warrington would provide military protection in exchange for uniting their countries and placing his own advisers in positions of influence in Acacia’s Assembly. He had agreed to respect her country’s culture and traditions and give Serena a certain amount of independence. It was the best and only offer she’d had. Her advisers were discreetly inquiring about other arrangements, but Icarus, through that detestable Demetrius DeSante, was rattling its saber, letting it be known that the death of the king of Acacia had presented them with an opportunity to strike. Rizari and Icarus had long been enemies and Acacia, being geographically in between them, was subjected to the fallout of that long-standing feud.
Serena’s solitary time was up and she would need to paste on a brave face and pretend as if she could be a competent and strong queen. Danae had been the perfect princess and would have been the perfect queen, the perfect bride and the perfect wife. Serena would be none of those things. Her formal training was untried and she hadn’t been blessed with the grace and elegance her sister had had.
Serena had much to do, much to plan, yet she was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about the stranger who had saved her life. No one could give her his name. Witnesses who had seen him save her life provided varying accounts of the incident. He had been described as brown-haired and blond, tall and short, overweight and slender.
Someone recalled seeing him speaking to President DeSante, but when questioned, that loathsome man had claimed to know nothing about Serena’s protector. Serena knew how to tell when DeSante was lying: his mouth was moving.
Serena wouldn’t give up looking for the man with the kind eyes. Though her country didn’t have the resources to launch a national manhunt, especially for a man who was a hero, Serena had a few private investigators searching for him. The birthday guest list was being reviewed to see if someone could discover his identity. Whoever brought her information would be handsomely rewarded.
Serena wondered about the man with the gentle, compassionate eyes. Could he have been from Icarus? From Rizari? That would explain why no one seemed to know him. He had been granted entrance to her father’s birthday, meaning he was either invited or had attended as someone’s guest.
Her emotions were volatile, grief amplifying every feeling, and Serena tried not to become frustrated with her inability to find him.
Serena heard tires spinning on gravel. Looking out her second-story window, she saw her uncle Santino driving to her beach house, his off-road vehicle kicking up dirt. Her guards stopped him for a moment and then waved him through. After parking in front of her house, he climbed out of his car, limping as he walked. Though he had a cane, he hated using it, believing it made him appear weak. Uncle Santino had a scar that intersected his right eye and as a child, Serena had called him a pirate. The scar was a result of a tragic boating accident that had killed his wife soon after they were married.
Serena set down her paintbrush. She met her uncle on the wraparound porch, holding up her hands. “I would hug you, but I need to wash up first.”
“Painting again?” he asked.
“Yes.” Art calmed her and the past two weeks had given her many reasons to need serenity.
Iliana poked her head out on to the porch, her long red hair swinging around her shoulder. “Why don’t I prepare tea for everyone?” Iliana was her cousin on her mother’s side and officially Serena’s personal secretary. But their relationship went far deeper than boss and subordinate.
Serena and her uncle had met several times since the massacre. Sometimes they spoke about her father and sister, sometimes about the kingdom and sometimes about nothing of importance.
Santino sat at the kitchen table. With the curtain open, Serena counted four guards at the back of her house. With her being a potential target for yet unknown reasons, her security team wasn’t taking chances.
“When are you meeting with King Samuel?” her uncle asked.
King Samuel had been her sister’s boyfriend and according to Danae, he had been smitten with her. How could Serena put her heart into a relationship that should have been her sister’s? It felt twisted. “He wants to meet tomorrow evening for a dinner party.”
It was her understanding that others would be in attendance, which should make it less awkward in some ways, more stressful in others. Serena would need to behave and speak in a certain manner. Her every action would be scrutinized and criticized. The media would pick apart her clothing, hairstyle and how she accessorized. Serena dreaded it and promised herself she wouldn’t read their articles, which would undoubtedly accent her every inadequacy and include a snarky review of her love life or lack thereof.
“You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?” her uncle asked.
“Not really.” Thoughts of her sister and father kept her awake and on particularly bad nights, she lay in her bed and waited for morning to come.
Nightmares about the night her family had died, nightmares about the mother she hadn’t had in years and nightmares about her future haunted the little sleep she did have.
“Still thinking about the man who saved your life?” her uncle asked.
Sometimes. Often. “Now and then.” Why was she so obsessed with someone she had met once, for no more than a few minutes? If he wanted to be found, he would be.
What if there was a compelling reason he wanted to remain anonymous to her? He might fear the media response. He might not enjoy the idea of his rescue story being printed in the papers. It was another reason she had to keep her search quiet.
“Let it go, Serena. You don’t know what you saw. You’ll go crazy if you let this consume you,” her uncle said.
He had urged her to forget everything she could about that night. Serena wasn’t in any hurry to relive it, although occasionally brief flashes from that night interrupted her thoughts. “I know someone saved me.”
“And then disappeared. He could have been working with the assassins.”
“Yet he chose to kill one of them to save me?” It didn’t make sense. Unless her instincts were totally skewed, her protector wasn’t involved in the plot to kill her father.
“Please let this go, Serena. You will only be hurt again. I can’t stand to see you in more pain. You have enough grief to manage without adding to it. This fixation with him is unhealthy.”
Maybe she was thinking about her protector because it was easier and far more pleasant to think about him than to think about her father’s and sister’s deaths or how much she missed them. Though she had not lived in the castle and had been happy to have some independence, knowing she could reach out at any time was a comfort. Now, she felt alone.
Serena’s uncle wished to protect her. But he didn’t need to protect her from the man who’d saved her. Iliana returned to serve the tea and Serena changed the subject. No point in upsetting her uncle who was wrestling with his own grief over losing his older brother and his niece.
Her uncle left around nine that evening.
“You’re not giving up on finding the mystery man, are you?” Iliana asked.
“Not a chance,” Serena said.
“Why don’t you let me fly to Icarus and speak to DeSante? He knows something about everything and his spies are everywhere. Give me a few minutes alone with him and I can force the information out of him.” She lifted her knee mimicking hitting the dictator in the crotch.
Serena cracked a smile, rare for her these days. “I don’t think that’s advisable. He has big, scary guards and you’re topping out at five foot two.”
Iliana set her hands on her hips. “For you, I’d kick his butt. You know I could. I’m pretty mean when I’m angry.”
Serena loved that about her cousin. She was loyal and spunky and feared nothing. Her business phone rang and Iliana frowned and answered it, her tone professional and cool. “Princess Serena’s office. Iliana speaking. How may I help you?”
Iliana swore under her breath. “He’s a real piece of work. Hold on.” She pressed a button on her
phone.
Dread coiled inside Serena. “What now? What’s happened?” Was her uncle okay? He had only left a few moments earlier.
“The coast guard is on the phone. The Icarus navy is preventing ships from entering our waters.”
Icarus’s navy, one of the fastest, biggest military operations in the region, boasted hi-tech equipment and sailors who came from generations of sailors. They were experts on the water. “What did you say?” Serena asked.
Iliana repeated her statement, this time slower. Serena had heard her the first time, but she hadn’t fully processed the information. Was DeSante planning to attack? Serena had no military experience. How should she maneuver in this situation? Who should she call? Though she had the ear of the head of the Assembly and she was supposed to wield influence, she was green and DeSante knew it.
It was dark, but that wouldn’t matter to the experienced Icarus navy. Was DeSante hoping to catch her off guard, ill equipped and scared? The idea incensed her. She might be weak now, but she wouldn’t be for long.
“Has the coast guard made contact with DeSante? What does he want?” Serena asked.
“I don’t know, hold on.” After a few moments, she said, “They say they want your confirmation that it’s okay to let boats through.”
Her confirmation? That made no sense. Icarus wasn’t in charge of screening what boats entered and exited through their waters. Acacia and Icarus had no such arrangement. “What do they really want?”
Iliana repeated the question into the phone. “He wants to speak to you. He being DeSante, the warlord.”
DeSante wasn’t exactly a warlord, but he wasn’t a peaceable man either. He had come to be president of his country during a violent coup.
This was a warning, then, from Icarus. If she refused to speak to him, DeSante would place an embargo on Acacia.
The dictator of Icarus was playing a dangerous game, mostly dangerous to Acacia with its weaker navy and dependency on imports. If DeSante refused to allow boats into their ports, Acacians would starve. “Put Demetrius DeSante on the line.” She sounded stronger than she felt. She had been avoiding the dictator’s requests for an audience and instead had allowed Iliana to put him off and explain that she’d needed time to grieve. Apparently, that time was over.
Iliana handed Serena the phone.
“Good evening,” Serena said, keeping her voice cool and polite.
“Finally, I have the pleasure of speaking with you,” DeSante said.
She wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with DeSante. “Let the boats through.”
“I would be glad to. I am an ally who can secure your western waters from enemies.”
What a load of crap. Her enemies consisted of him and whomever had killed her family, although Serena still suspected they were one in the same. “Let them through.”
“As you command. I expect a meeting with you shortly or my navy may again feel the need to question boats coming close to your shores.”
“You’ll have your meeting,” she said. She hung up the phone with a quaking hand.
Iliana grabbed her arm. “You did good, Serena. It’s okay. You sounded strong and the right amount of pissed off and polite.”
It wasn’t okay. The sharks were circling because they smelled blood in the water.
* * *
“She’s looking for you,” DeSante said.
Casimir knew it. He needed to play it cool. If he came on too strong, Serena would be suspicious. Casimir needed to approach her in the right manner with his plan in place.
When he was ready, he would allow himself to be found. Or perhaps he would show up at her castle and catch her off guard. The biggest downside to his plan was living with his fake persona a little longer. Being a wealthy heir who liked to party didn’t suit him, but it had been his cover to infiltrate King Warrington’s social circles. Though he had never breached the inner circle, he’d gotten to know enough royals and hangers-on that he couldn’t change his identity now.
“Someone may recognize me and tell her who I am,” Casimir said.
“As long as they give her the cover story and do not reveal who you actually are, you can handle it,” DeSante said.
Casimir could handle anything. He would leak the story that he had been the man who’d saved the princess’s life. It might keep him interesting to the royalty of Acacia and Rizari. Staying close gave him leverage to manipulate the situation to his benefit. “I’m not worried.” Yet. Living a lie every day was almost as hard as harboring the rage he felt toward Samuel Warrington.
“Call me after you make your move,” DeSante said.
“Will do.”
Casimir hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. Few people trusted the president of Icarus, but Casimir did without question. Not only did DeSante owe him, DeSante had a vested interest in Casimir taking control of Rizari. Having allies in the region and preventing Rizari from interfering with Icarus had long been DeSante’s goal. With Casimir assuming the throne, DeSante would have the freedom to do as he wished.
Casimir entered his mother’s house. His weekly meetings with her were difficult to press through, and grew worse with each visit. Casimir hated the stink of booze and cigarettes. “Hey, Mom.”
His mother, Anna, rarely greeted him. She was sitting in the dark in her living room, like she often did. She had the television on, but seemed to be staring blankly at it. Casimir muted it. His mother hadn’t always been this way. Every year, she grew noticeably more withdrawn, tired and depressed. Now, he couldn’t convince her to sit outside on a nice day. She was a recluse and if he didn’t do something, she would die in this dark, dank house.
“He’s still alive,” his mother said. She was looking haggard, having lost weight, and her skin appeared sallow.
Samuel Warrington was still alive. Casimir hadn’t killed him. He had told his mother he would take care of it, but he had failed. The knowledge burned him. But he wouldn’t give up on his new plan. “There were other assassins in the room. They killed the Acacian king and his daughter Danae.”
His mother lit another cigarette. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
Casimir hid his frustration. His mother’s sole focus was revenge. “I couldn’t get to Warrington in the confusion.”
His mother said nothing and her silence reeked of censure. Her history with the king and his family was a bitter one.
One year into her marriage to King Constantine Warrington, he had falsely accused her of having an affair with his brother, Charles, and had exiled her. Anna had blamed Charles’s jealous wife, Katarina, for manufacturing stories about her. She had fled to Icarus with a new identity. Fearing for her life and the life of her unborn child, she hadn’t told the king that she had been pregnant with his baby. She had lived in Icarus and raised her son with her eyes on one goal: for Casimir to return to Rizari in glory and take his crown when he was of age.
But when Constantine and his brother were killed ten years ago, Casimir knew presenting himself as the rightful heir would earn him a knife in his back as well. He needed to be more careful, more crafty. Martyrdom wasn’t the goal. Making things right for his family and Rizari was.
Casimir’s existence and true parentage was a secret from everyone in the world, except his mother and DeSante, whom Casimir had allowed into his confidence when he was fifteen.
When his father had died, so had his mother’s chance of revealing to her ex-husband his true heir. With false accusations about her participation in his and his brother’s murders and her conviction without a trial, her life had spiraled further into darkness. Anna had sworn to Casimir all his life that she still loved his father. His death had robbed her of the family reunion she had not-so-secretly wished for. Anna had believed that Constantine would see that she had been loyal and that Katarina would be revealed as a liar.
That hadn’t happened.
When Anna had heard rumors that Constantine and Charles had been killed by Charles’s son, Samuel, i
n an effort to usurp the throne, she had made Casimir swear he would avenge his father’s death by killing the king who had stolen his life.
Chapter 2
Iliana recognized the country calling code for Icarus and felt a jolt of adrenaline. She had arrived at the castle early that morning to start work and she was eager for a tussle with DeSante’s goons.
They thought they could push Serena around because she was young and had been distant from her father for some years. There had been no bad blood between Serena and her father, but Serena preferred the quiet of her beach house and the private pursuit of her interests. She hadn’t been idle. She had painted a number of amazing landscapes and was making a name for herself—at least, under her alias—in the international art community. Iliana had brokered deals for her in the United States, Canada, Italy and France as well as throughout the Mediterranean. Iliana’s law degree had some use after all, which was a mild salve on her ego, considering she’d failed the bar exam three times.
“Princess Serena’s office. How may I help you?”
“Iliana.”
One word and Iliana knew instantly she was speaking with Demetrius DeSante, Serena’s enemy and the biggest bully in the Mediterranean. He thought he could push around smaller countries like Acacia. Maybe he had the stronger navy and maybe his economy was larger, but he wouldn’t push Serena around and he wouldn’t push Iliana around either.
“This is she. Who is calling, please?” Pretending she was unaware would knock his ego down a peg.
He had the gall to laugh. Pompous jerk. “This is President DeSante. Iliana, I enjoy our talks so much. But please, call me Demetrius.”
They had spoken twice before. Iliana had been openly hostile both times and she didn’t regret it. “President? Is that your official title? I mostly hear you referred to as a dictator.”