The Royal Bodyguard

by Lindsay Emory

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. Of all the random, awful coincidences. “Christian and I literally ran into each other on the street,” I explained. “He was sick, it was raining.” I shrugged. “He needed a place to stay.”

  “But you said you had heard he had died.” Konnor’s eyes narrowed at me. “Wasn’t it slightly suspicious that you saw him, walking, talking…alive?”

  Now I reached for the coffee, suddenly needing the strength of caffeine to help me answer these questions. “Suspicious? No. Strange? Curious? Perhaps.” I took a sip and smiled weakly. “There have been fake news stories about me my entire life. Only a fraction of them have been corrected. There are probably still people in the world who believe that I was abducted by aliens after Stavros’s funeral. Or that I’m living in an ashram in Arizona.”

  “You thought Christian’s death was fake news?” The disbelief in Konnor’s voice was understandable, but so was my explanation.

  “Only when I saw that he was still breathing,” I said. “It’s entirely reasonable,” I added, a little defensively.

  “Reasonable. Similarly, that he showed up in the same small Italian village you were living in. On the same street.”

  His sarcastic suggestion hung in the air, lingering like a bad odor. “Are you suggesting something?” I asked.

  Konnor merely cocked his head and looked at me, letting silence be his answer. “You think I invited him over?” My voice rose. “You think this was planned? Why in the world would I meet my sister’s presumed dead fiancé in secret?”

  “You’ve been living in secret for four months.”

  The accusation came sharp and quick as an arrow. “What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded.

  “People living in secret are generally trying to hide someone.”

  He was 100 percent correct. But the someone I wanted to hide was not Christian Fraser-Campbell. So I said, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I pushed away from the table and stood up, feeling a little sad about my uneaten breakfast. I was going to regret not eating, but there was no way I sharing a meal with Hugh Konnor right now, not with his insane accusations.

  Konnor stood, too, his chair squeaking roughly over the rough wood floors. “I know that Christian Fraser-Campbell was involved in a conspiracy to destroy the Driedish monarchy. That to do so he committed murder and assault and kidnapping. That he is one of the most wanted men in Europe, but he’s stayed beyond our reach for six months. Until he was found strolling up to your doorstep.” Konnor’s lip curled. “Men like him aren’t this good unless they have powerful people helping them. And no one’s more powerful than a royal princess.”

  “I’m not a royal princess—”

  “Especially one who was so adept at keeping herself hidden for nearly as long.”

  I turned away to face the window, feeling uncomfortable with Konnor’s interrogation, under his intense gaze. “This all sounds pretty crazy,” I finally said, as I tried to process everything Konnor had described. Plots, murder, kidnapping? It was truly hard to imagine that the man who had slept the day away weak and wasted in my spare bedroom had anything to do with Konnor’s tales.

  My back was toward him, but I knew what I’d see if I turned around. Hugh Konnor had that perfect bodyguard face—serious, keen, aware. He took in everything around him. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t help but be attracted to him when I was a young, innocent teenager. He seemed so engrossed in every detail about me. As if he was memorizing my skin, my breath, my pulse. When he’d been my guard, he had anticipated my every move. Always in step, always right there.

  It had been too much for nineteen-year-old Caroline’s hormones to handle.

  But twenty-nine-year-old Caroline could control herself. She could control the situation. Control him.

  The thought made me shiver.

  But still. Maybe I was on to something. He said habits were hard to break, that he still saw me as a royal princess.

  Fine. I’d be his princess. Until I could escape him.

  I straightened my posture. Cast a disdainful look over my shoulder. Just the way princesses should. Why are you still here?

  Konnor’s face was exactly as I expected. He didn’t blink when I gave him princess attitude. He never had.

  “Tell me about your plan. Where were you going this morning?”

  My heart skipped. That was too familiar. Too intimate. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a secret plan,” I informed him haughtily, deigning to turn back to him. I eyed the bread on the table. If I picked up a slice, would it ruin my whole untouchable-princess demeanor?

  “Ah.” He gave a half-nod. “I see.”

  A proper princess would let that go because she wouldn’t care about what he saw or didn’t see. But me? I just couldn’t resist poking at sleeping bears.

  “What do you see?”

  “You don’t care anymore. About the House of Laurent. Your family,” he added pointedly.

  “I…” I stopped. What was the right answer? Should a princess care or not care?

  My sister Thea would know the answer to this. She always knew exactly the right amount of royal disdain to slather on. My sister Sophie would, as well. Either one of them could easily manipulate any man they wished. They’d probably inherited that gene from our mother.

  Me? I had only received Felice’s forthright pragmatism, none of her sexual wiles. That was why I ended up in apartments by myself and struggled with convincing mule-headed men to leave me alone.

  But I had to keep trying…something. My freedom was on the line, here. “Of course I care,” I said. “But my family, like my plans, my living arrangements, even my relationships, are none of your damn business.”

  Konnor took a slow, deliberate step toward me. “Six months ago, Christian Fraser-Campbell restrained me, drugged me, and left me for dead. I have been searching for him ever since.” Another measured step. “Believe me when I say that anything—any information that you have—is very much my fucking business.”

  If he’d moved any closer, maybe I would have panicked. After all, here was this powerful, intense man crowding me. But right then, I didn’t feel frightened. Possibly because, knowingly or unknowingly, Konnor had shown me what I needed to do to manipulate him.

  “I’ll tell you what I know on one condition,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “That you’ll leave me alone afterward.”

  He lifted his head and studied me for a moment. “Yes. After you tell me every detail, I will leave you alone.”

  Like I said, I didn’t inherit my mother’s devious ways, or else I would have seen Konnor’s words for what they were.

  Manipulation.

  Chapter Ten

  I told him almost everything. All of the pertinent information, at least. I left out the parts about Clémence Diederich, Cordelia Lancaster, and what Christian may or may not have known about me. Hugh Konnor wasn’t my bodyguard anymore; he didn’t need to know my deepest darkest secrets. Not until I could learn what Christian’s true intentions were. After my explanation, I sat back down at the table. My breakfast was cold, but I would not be so proud as to go without eating. Starving princesses aren’t very attractive.

  But if I had expected that Konnor would brush his hands, say “Thank you very much,” and get in his car and drive off (and I had, in fact, hoped for exactly such a turn of events), then I was disappointed.

  Instead, he started pacing. “He was sick? What were his symptoms?” Konnor asked about Christian.

  “I told you. He was sweaty and pale.”

  “He could have faked that.”

  “And a fever? How does one fake a fever?”

  That earned me a look like I was an idiot. “There are drugs that speed up the heart rate, make a person sweat.”
/>   “That seems excessive. Why would he pretend to have an illness? He could have approached me and simply talked to me.”

  Konnor dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “He wouldn’t know what you knew. He needed subterfuge.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But why?”

  That made Konnor’s feet stop moving. “Why? He needed something from you, perhaps. Or perhaps to kidnap you.”

  “Really?” I rolled my eyes as I tried to ignore the fact that Konnor was dangerously close to the truth, perhaps. That Christian wanted something from me. “No one else has been able to find me—not the tabloids, not the secret service. But you’re claiming that Christian Fraser-Campbell has the intelligence capability to show up at my house, the venality to try to topple the Driedish monarchy, the skills to hide himself for six months, and—”

  He cut me off. “And the backing to support his acts, yes.”

  “I’m not buying it,” I said, to Konnor’s scowling face. “I liked him well enough for my sister’s husband, but he’s really only an impoverished minor noble. And British, at that. To attach all this drama to it is excessive.” It was too complicated, so far beyond all the reasonable explanations for Christian’s disappearance that I had imagined back in Varenna.

  “Next you’ll be telling me he’s a zombie or something,” I scoffed.

  Konnor mumbled something like, “Tell that to your sister.”

  I wanted to snap back and order him to stop bringing up my sister, but I probably needed to be more diplomatic. More tactical. So I picked up our breakfast plates and carried them to the kitchen sink.

  After I rinsed the plates, I moved back to the table, where Konnor seemed to be deep in thought. Nice and quiet, perfect for a calm, reasonable suggestion from me.

  “Now that I’ve told you everything, it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain,” I said lightly.

  “What is that?” Konnor frowned at me.

  “You said that after I told you about my contact with Christian, you’d leave me alone.”

  “Sure,” he said easily. “I’ll drive you to the train station.” He checked his watch. “Should be a train to Milan that would be good for you.”

  I nodded and tried to keep hidden any hint of disappointment. Milan? Train station? I really needed to get on the train to Rome. And I had hoped that Konnor would be the one leaving. But it was just as well. I would just come up with a new plan on the fly. Or maybe I would simply travel to Milan, turn around and catch a train to Rome next. Doubling back. That was something they did in spy movies, right?

  Konnor got up from the table and, with quick, efficient moves, cleared the kitchen. I left a note for the groundskeeper, thanking him for his attentive assistance. Next time I spoke with my mother, I’d be sure to let her know how well her staff had performed.

  Because he still had my keys and because my bag was still in my car, Konnor got into the driver’s seat and took the wheel. Again, I would have preferred to drive myself, but I bit my tongue and put my seat belt on in the front passenger seat. Princesses get chauffeured, I reminded myself. And I was getting what I wanted this way. A one-way ticket, far, far away from demanding, over-attentive security professionals.

  In less than a half hour we were in the nearest city with a train station, Santa Chiara. Konnor had been following a map on his phone which directed us through the narrow streets and to the station.

  But as soon as he pulled into the car park, I saw them. I reached over and clutched his upper arm. “You bastard,” I hissed.

  The Driedish police stood out the way that tall, burly blond men in ill-fitting navy suits would in an Italian train station. They were practically klieg lights of Northern European DNA.

  “You promised!” I accused Konnor as my fists rolled up into balls. I had never struck anyone but, God help me, I wanted to pummel Hugh Konnor for double-crossing me. I wanted to make his stone face flinch for once.

  And damn him, he stayed his impassive self. “I promised I would leave you alone after you told me everything.”

  “I did!” I insisted. “I told you everything.”

  “Did you?” He cocked his head, reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.

  My handwriting. My questions, which I had scribbled down to ask Christian.

  I had no good way to explain that. Not without telling Konnor that I sometimes wrote newspaper stories on the side under a different name or two. And no one at the palace ever needed to hear about that.

  “You can’t do this.” I thought quickly. “I’m not an heir of the Queen’s anymore. I’m a private citizen, I can’t be whisked away without my consent.”

  “You’re still entitled to protection, especially when your life has been threatened. And it has.” He met my eyes then, and I could tell he believed what he was saying. He was absolutely convinced that Christian Fraser-Campbell was a danger to me.

  Why?

  “I won’t go with them. I’ll run away. And I’ll still be in danger.”

  “They’ll follow you.”

  I knew he was right. Once the rest of those palace security officers saw me, my privacy was over. Even if they didn’t manhandle me back to Drieden and Big Gran, they would not stop once they laid eyes on me. I couldn’t be that smart—or that lucky—again. Not without some time to come up with a plan—and time was one thing I had just run out of.

  So I only had one bargaining chip left.

  “Yes, you’re right. I didn’t tell you everything,” I said as quickly as possible, before he could wind around to the parking spot where that big black Mercedes van was, presumably, waiting for me.

  Konnor’s foot hit the brake. “What is it?”

  “Drive me out of here and I’ll tell you.”

  He nodded too quickly. Turned too readily. Did he think I was stupid?

  Well, yes, I probably was. But I was a very quick learner.

  I reached over and took his cell phone and hit the power button so he couldn’t send a location signal. His foot hit the gas pedal.

  I guessed he was a quick learner too.

  Konnor had gone to the kiosks and bought a ticket to every bus that was leaving in the next hour, and now he handed those tickets over to me. I still had his phone, and I knew that he hadn’t tried to contact anyone during our drive to Florence, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Now I was paranoid that there were other ways that Konnor had signaled them. Or maybe he’d put a GPS tracker on my car. My car! The idea made me indignant. He’d used my car and my gas to turn me in! If I saw any of those palace security staffers in the bus station, I was hopping on the first bus that was leaving. Then I would…well, I’d figure something out. It wasn’t the most foolproof plan, but it was my best shot at getting out of here.

  We were standing in a smelly, dark corner of the bus station. It was a new experience for me. I’m sure we looked shady to anyone who looked over at us. The big, hulking bearded guy handing slips of paper to the nervous woman in large Prada sunglasses and dyed hair. “I probably look like your cheap date hiding in the corner,” I muttered.

  Konnor looked irritated. “That’s not very flattering.”

  Strangely, I was touched. “Thank you.” Especially when I hadn’t had a chance to brush my teeth that morning.

  “I mean, I would never…do that.”

  My stomach went sour. “Oh, right,” I said between gritted, grinding teeth, feeling like a fool for the fifty thousandth time around Hugh Konnor. One of these days, I’d remember how unappealing he found me. Or… “that.”

  “Your…” He stopped himself from saying the “Highness” part. “Caroline,” he said instead, in a heavy, even way. “You said you had more information to give me.”

  Quickly, I glanced over his shoulder. I scanned for anyone who looked like a Driedish police officer. Then I glanced at the departures sign. A bus to
Rome was leaving in ten minutes. Perfect.

  “There was one thing that had changed about Christian since I’d last seen him. It might not mean anything. I mean, it’s not like I was the one seeing him naked.”

  Konnor blinked in rapid succession. “He was naked?”

  “He took a shower, in my apartment. I told you that. And when he came out, I noticed a tattoo on his right side, under his heart. One that he hadn’t had when he was with my sister.” I paused. “Unless he did. But I don’t think so. I would have noticed it.”

  Konnor’s jaw clicked. “You pulled this stunt to tell me he got a tattoo. That may or may not have been there ten months ago.”

  “It should be easy enough to check. There are photos of all of us when we went on holiday to Greece. And then my sister would also know, since she was engaged to him and all.”

  “What does this tattoo look like?” Konnor asked reluctantly.

  I pulled a pen out of my bag and grabbed his hand. It was wide, rough, and warm and, for a moment, I had the crazy impulse to thread my fingers through his. To confess all my sins, knowing they would be safe in those hands.

  But they wouldn’t. Konnor had shown me he was ready to turn me over to the wolves, sins and all.

  Still, I upheld my end of the bargain. In blue ink I drew the symbol on Konnor’s palm that Christian now displayed on his chest. A horizontal diamond with sunshine rays radiating from the bottom half.

  “That’s it?” Konnor’s voice was rough.

  I nodded. “It’s not a lot, but…” I raised my eyes to meet his. “I can’t let you take me back. Not yet.”

  And with that vow, I grabbed my bag and left Hugh Konnor in a darkened corner of the Florence bus station and ran toward my Plan B. Or maybe it was Plan C? Whatever it was, once again, I heeded the voice in my head.

  Go.

  Chapter Eleven

  The apartment on the Via Gionovia wasn’t as isolated as Mother’s Tuscan villa, nor was it as anonymous as my Varenna house, but hopefully it would serve, for a few nights at least.