The Bodyguard's Prince (The Royal Wedding Book 1)

by Caroline Lee

  “Gimme your gun and you two go wait outside with Sammy.”

  Bruiser spoke for the first time, the same rumble Alek remembered from the night of the kidnapping. “You’re kicking us out?”

  Rastorov waved his hand towards the door. “Go on, get out of here! Mr. Prince Alek and I got some business to discuss, and I can’t have you two hearing all the particulars.”

  The two goons exchanged glances, and Alek wondered if they knew what Rastorov was about to ask. Judging from the concerned expression on Baldy’s face and the confused one on Bruiser’s face, they didn’t.

  Still, Rastorov’s control over them was impressive. Bruiser was already moving towards the door when Baldy shrugged and handed his gun to his boss. Rastorov seemed perfectly at ease holding it, and nodded his men towards the door once more. “Go on, get going. Tell Sammy to watch the lot for anything suspicious, and I’ll be out as soon as I get the prince’s word he’ll give me what I want.”

  Alek shared a glance with Toni, and saw that she was equally doubtful. Before he could stop her, she’d flowed in front of him, yet again trying to put herself between him and danger. Alek grabbed her arm, but needn’t have bothered.

  Without having even turned fully around, Rastorov lifted the gun and pointed it at Toni’s head. “Get back, please.” His tone was anything but polite. “See, my boys didn’t know who you were when they grabbed you, ex-Lieutenant Dryden, but your disappearance with the prince is all over the palace.”

  He waggled the gun a bit, and Toni moved her hands away from her body as if to show she was unarmed. Alek swallowed his snort; unarmed or not wouldn’t matter to Toni—she was the weapon. Belatedly, he thought to wonder about Rastorov’s contact at the palace; how was he getting his up-to-date information?

  “You see, honey, the queen was smart enough to put out the story that her son was taking a much-needed vacation with his girlfriend—that’s you.” Rastorov’s cigar bobbed as he chewed on it. “So most of the palace is all excited for the two of you, but she’s pretty damn frantic.”

  At the mention of his mother, Alek’s heart clenched. How did Rastorov know all this? Alek had managed to go the last few days without thinking about the worry his disappearance must be causing her, but now that Rastorov mentioned her, Alek was desperate to get out of here and back to her.

  His voice harsh with anger and his hand still on Toni’s arm to stop her from doing anything stupid, Alek repeated his earlier question. “What do you want?”

  “Sit down, Highness.” Rastorov waved the gun a little.

  “What?”

  The man jerked his chin towards the small table in the kitchen area, their dishes still piled on it. “Sit down, and I’ll sit down, and explain.”

  Exchanging a look with Toni, Alek mentally shrugged, and moved towards one of the two chairs. Seeing him take the lead, Toni glared—of course she wouldn’t be a fan of letting her guard down—and followed, without putting her back to Rastorov.

  The gangster sunk down to the sofa with a little grunt of exertion. The gun never wavered…and it was still pointed at Toni. That, more than anything else, made Alek’s gut roil. He sat ramrod straight and ready to pounce, as did Toni.

  “So, Prince Alek…” Rastorov began. “Your mother is getting remarried, huh?”

  “What?” Alek blurted, then winced at his tone. For someone skilled at diplomatic negotiations, he’d certainly allowed his surprise to show. Still, whatever he’d been expecting, hearing it had to do with his mother’s marriage to William was not it. “I mean, what does that have to do with me?”

  “Oh, everything,” the other man chuckled. “You’re not just crown prince, but your people adore you and your brothers. She might be the queen, but your people are definitely influenced by their pride of you, too.”

  Alek glanced at Toni, and was surprised to see her nodding. Had that been what she’d been trying to explain to him that night of the ball?

  He cleared his throat, disconcerted to hear compliments—at least what he thought were supposed to be compliments—coming from the man pointing a gun at them. “What is your point?” he asked, struggling to maintain some sense of aloofness.

  “My point, Highness, is that your support of your mother’s remarriage will mean the people of Aegiria support the marriage, which means it’s basically a done deal. But if you were to publicly state your opposition, Viktoria wouldn’t have the support to go through with it, and the stupid idea would be quietly forgotten.”

  Alek blinked, figuring he’d blurted “What?” enough times to not do so again, but he was only able to stop himself by biting his tongue. What the hell did Mother’s remarriage mean to Rastorov?

  The other man continued. “So here’s the deal. Today’s Monday, which means your mother’s announcement to the Council is in two days. All you have to do to be let out of here is to agree to some simple terms.” He paused, as if inviting Alek to ask the obvious question. When he didn’t, Rastorov shrugged and continued. “You go to your mother and tell her you won’t support her remarriage, and will publicly state that if she announces her intentions to the Council. That’s a hell of a threat, you have to admit, and she would know she wouldn’t have a chance of convincing public opinion to support her. Your people follow your lead.”

  Toni whispered something under her breath—it sounded like a curse. But Alek was too busy staring open-mouthed at Rastorov. The man was right; if Alek publicly opposed the marriage, and got the people angry enough about it, Mother probably wouldn’t go through with it. Love was all well and good, but she’d asked for his support last week for a reason; she would never go against something her people wanted. And his support or opposition could sway public opinion one way or the other.

  He needed clarification. “Let me get this straight. If I’m willing to agree to publicly oppose my mother’s remarriage to Dr. Hayes—or at least convince her of that before Wednesday, so she’ll cancel the announcement to the Council—you’ll let us go? Back to the palace?”

  When Rastorov nodded, smirking, Alek’s breath burst out of him in a snort of incredulous laughter. “What could it possibly matter to you if Mother remarries?”

  The gun shifted slightly, until Alek thought he might be able to see down the barrel.

  “That’s not your business, Your Highness. All that matters is you’ve got a pretty easy choice to make. Sure, you’ve probably been enjoying yourself with this hot little bodyguard to guard your body—” the way he smirked left absolutely no question as to what he meant, “—but we know you’re itching to get back and set your family’s minds at ease. And,” that cigar bobbed once more, “we know what your true feelings are. You’re against this remarriage, because the groom is the worst choice of a consort Viktoria could possibly find. All we’re asking you to do is make your opposition official. Swear you’ll tell your mother you won’t support her in this, and we’ll accept your word and send you home.” Rastorov shrugged. “We’re basically doing you a favor here, Highness. A nice vacation with ex-Lieutenant Dryden here and all the comforts of home, and now all you have to do to repay us is do what you planned to do already.”

  Silence reigned after Rastorov’s long speech, and Alek swore he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. Slowly, he dropped his gaze to the half-empty mug of cold tea—left over from breakfast—sitting on the table in front of him. It was so simple, but represented so much; the last few days he’d not only cooked, he’d washed his own dishes. It’d been years since Mother had made them learn to clean their own dishes and make their own beds. One of the many life lessons she’d insisted her sons learn, even though they would grow up wealthy and entitled.

  She’d taught them so much, including to stand up for what was Right.

  When she’d sprung the plan for her second marriage on Alek, he’d been livid, knowing she was going against her own teachings, and refusing to see what she wanted as being Wrong. There were so many reasons Queen Viktoria’s remarriage to Dr. William Hayes
was Wrong, and top of that list was the fact he was a clumsy, inarticulate and bumbling choice for a consort.

  In fact, there was only one reason that this marriage could be Right: Viktoria loved the dork.

  Alek had dismissed that reason outright as being irrelevant, but lately… He lifted his gaze to meet Toni’s. Her blue eyes were staring at him, her face carefully blank, not giving away any of her true feelings. She was just…waiting. Waiting for him to decide? Or waiting for him to come to a conclusion she already knew?

  When she’d tried to convince him that love was not only real, but vital to a marriage, he’d dismissed her arguments the same way he’d dismissed Mother’s. But the last few days with her—hell, the last few months—had taught him the truth. Just a moment ago, with her in his arms, he’d confessed he didn’t want to marry Marcia after all, because she wasn’t the right choice. She wasn’t the right choice for his country, and she wasn’t the right choice for him.

  He didn’t love Marcia.

  And being with Toni showed him that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a marriage where his heart wasn’t engaged.

  Why? Because his heart was engaged when it came to Toni. He loved her, and it had taken a kidnapping and almost losing her to realize that.

  And if loving Toni was enough to throw over what he’d considered a perfect match with Marcia, how could he possibly fault his mother for following her heart to marry the man she loved? Even if Alek considered that man to be a terrible choice of a consort for a queen…maybe Mother saw more in Dr. Hayes than the rest of them did.

  Still holding Toni’s gaze, Alek said what he needed to say. “Sorry, Rastorov. No deal.”

  Her eyes softened in relief, and he swore he saw something else in them. Affection? Pleasure? Before he could examine her reaction further, Rastorov drew their attention by standing.

  “I’m real sorry to hear that, Your Highness.” The gun was pointed directly at Alek, and the cigar had quit bobbing up and down. “You’ve got one more chance. Agree to oppose your mother’s marriage, and we’ll consider ourselves even.”

  Slowly, Alek stood to match him, and was aware of Toni moving up beside him as well. “I won’t. I may not agree with my mother’s choices, but she has a right to happiness. If marrying Dr. Hayes will make her happy, then I will support her.” He lifted his chin, setting his jaw. “And while you’ve done a commendable job of threatening me with that gun, I don’t believe you will shoot me.” At least, he hoped not.

  Rastorov stared at him for longer than was comfortable, before finally shrugging. “You’re right. My orders were very clear: you’re not to be hurt. Her, however…”

  Alek’s heart dropped into his stomach when Rastorov turned the gun on Toni. He stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said hoarsely.

  Rastorov cocked the gun—or did whatever it was that made that menacingly little schnick—and for the first time in his life, Alek wasn’t sure how to respond. He was firm, decisive…and right now he was a pile of quivering jelly. The woman he loved had a gun pointed at her, and what was he doing? Nothing.

  “That’s right, sweetcheeks,” Rastorov growled, leering at Toni. “Get your fine little ass over here and take that shirt off. I want to see what I’m getting, thanks to your friend’s refusal.” With his free hand, he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and dropped it onto the floor, then pulled his shirt out of his pants and began to unbuckle his belt.

  Alek grew nauseated when he realized what the gangster was doing, and took a step towards the man. At this point, he was willing to lie, to tell Rastorov he’d publicly oppose Mother’s announcement, if it meant getting them both out of here. He would never consider offering his word only to break it—and interesting that Rastorov knew that about him—but Alek would do anything he could to save Toni from this man.

  But this time it was Toni who stopped him, her hand on his arm. When he turned, she was wearing the same expression she always wore when she was ready to protect him.

  Oh dear God, no.

  “Don’t worry, Your Highness,” she said in a monotone. “I’m your bodyguard, remember? It’s my duty to cooperate.”

  His heart sunk even further at her words, and Alek wanted to growl in frustration. There was no way he could stand here and let her be raped again, but what could he do with a loaded gun trained on her?

  And then she turned her head slightly, away from Rastorov, and winked. When she mouthed “Be ready,” Alek knew she wasn’t as complacent as she appeared, and debated nodding to let her know he understood. Still, it damn near killed him to watch her take those steps across the room, her hand already toying with the bottom of her shirt.

  Alek clenched his hands into fists, willing himself not to react until she gave him some sort of signal. He had to trust her to know what she was doing—even better than he did. It was hard, but she was the expert here.

  When she halted right outside of Rastorov’s reach, she bit her bottom lip and drew her brows in, like she was nervous or unsure of what to do next. It was an act—Alek had never seen her scared for own well-being, not even during the kidnapping—but it still made his gut clench to see that gun pointed right at her throat.

  Rastorov grunted in approval. “You changed your mind yet, Your Highness?” he asked, staring at Toni’s chest.

  Only knowing she had some sort of plan allowed Alek to voice a hoarse, “No. I’ll support my mother’s decision.”

  “Honestly, I was hoping you’d say that,” Rastorov said with a smirk. Then, to Toni: “Go ahead, honey. Take that shirt off.” His belt was already hanging loose, and now he unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down.

  Alek shot a worried glance at Toni, praying she knew what she was doing. Because the man pointing a loaded gun at her was definitely ready to hurt her, one way or the other.

  She exhaled, as if preparing herself, then turned away slightly, lifting her shirt slowly. Rastorov’s eyes dropped to the smooth skin of her side and back revealed as the material edged up. Alek’s fists clenched tighter, seeing the man lick his lips.

  Whatever you’re doing, Toni, do it soon! he willed her. After having felt that skin, touched her, held her…he couldn’t even imagine letting another man do it. But he trusted her to know what she was doing.

  And that trust was well-spent. As she’d turned away from Rastorov, she’d coiled her energy, and sprung into one of those spinning-kick things she did so well in sparring. Her bare foot came up as she twisted, and slammed into the side of Rastorov’s hand, knocking the gun aside.

  But his finger must’ve already been tightening on the trigger, because right before it flew from his hand, the gun went off, and Toni’s head flew back, a bloom of red appearing around her head.

  Alek roared.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In slow motion, Alek watched Toni collapse against the sofa, blood already covering her face. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing, but her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Between one heartbeat and the next, Alek felt his heart ripped open, wondering if the woman he loved was dying, killed by this—this piece of trash who’d had the audacity to threaten them.

  Still roaring, Alek launched himself at Rastorov, his hands already curled into talons, ready to tear the gangster’s face right off. How dare he, how dare he, think he could hurt Toni with impunity? Alek was the crown prince of Aegiria, and he would make Rastorov pay.

  The other man had recovered from Toni’s blow, and stumbled back a few steps, holding onto his pants with one hand, looking to recover the dropped gun. Alek wasn’t going to give him that chance.

  Rastorov blocked the first two blows, both aimed for his head. Alek didn’t let that stop him, though; he’d trained with Toni, and knew how to duck, weave, kick and grapple. It hadn’t come to the latter yet, but he rained blows on the gangster as fast as he could, refusing to look at the sofa, look at where Toni lay.

  If he looked at her, if he saw— He couldn’t see.
He didn’t want proof. As long as he didn’t look at her, as long as he kept all of his attention on Rastorov, she would still be alive. Until he looked and saw otherwise.

  It was a good thing he’d kept his attention on his opponent, because Rastorov—while appearing to be two-hundred-plus pounds of flab poured into a suit—had obviously trained with someone. The man was blocking most of Alek’s blows, and even managing to throw a few of his own, while still holding up his pants.

  Well, Alek hadn’t trained with a mixed-martial artist for nothing. He focused on his feet for a while, keeping his hands up to block the other man’s attempts, and found that Rastorov wasn’t very good at blocking kicks. The other man’s knee made a satisfying pop right as he landed a blow to Alek’s nose hard enough to make something crunch. Both men stumbled back, Alek’s eyes streaming from the pain, already feeling blood pooling on his upper lip and in his beard.

  Still, he wasn’t going to give Rastorov the satisfaction of a break, not when the gangster was already shambling—one leg dragging behind him—towards the gun over by the door to the bedroom. How long had it been since he’d shot Toni? A minute? Less? Were those goons outside, ready to barge in? Alek knew he had to finish this, and fast.

  Without glancing at the sofa—he wasn’t ready to face the truth, not yet—he pushed aside the pain from the broken nose and hurled himself towards Rastorov once more. The man had bent over to pick up the gun, but fumbled with it as he straightened, trying to turn it the right way around with only one hand. Determined not to give him the chance, Alek launched a flying kick which landed on the man’s side and pushed him a few steps towards the kitchen. While Rastorov was distracted, Alek slammed one fist into the man’s nose.

  Rastorov’s head flew back, the same as Alek’s had a moment ago. This time, though, Alek wasn’t sidetracked; with the other man’s chin up that way, his throat was unprotected. Alek clenched his fist, popping the index finger up to create a sharper blow, just like Toni had shown him yesterday in this very room. Right before he’d invited himself into her shower and his world had changed for the better.