Into His Command

by Angel Payne

  Not unlike the silence descending over this room—until Grahm broke it with his resigned step forward. Though the man looked like he’d rather have his wound bled by leeches, he kept his shoulders back and his head erect while declaring, “There were four invaders total, Your Highness. We swiftly terminated two of them. The remaining two were able to rappel over the balcony rails, into the waters below.”

  Syn’s eyes narrowed. “Where you caught them?”

  “Where they had a boat already waiting, highness.”

  Agonizing silence, part two—sliced apart this time by Evrest. “The coastal patrols were already on duty, brother. They were joined by more boats within minutes. The dogs could not have hit open sea without it appearing on the scanners. There are more patrols out now, on land and sea, hunting for the bonsuns.” He walked back over and pulled Cam against his chest. “In the meantime, Jagger felt it best to get Camellia and me out of the area.”

  “Jagger was correct.” The words were right but Syn’s tone…wasn’t. It was sparse and soft—an utterance of surrender, not a statement of command. Shit. What was wrong? I read him enough to know something was, though couldn’t unravel the rest. “You will both be safe here,” he finally added. “We shall arrange for supplies to be brought up, by vendors who can be trusted.”

  “Supplies?” Cam’s head jerked up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “We shall apprehend those insects inside twenty-four hours,” Evrest added. “As soon as they’re secure in Censhyr, Camellia and I are returning to the Palais.” His jaw jutted at a defined angle, that stiffness common to all the Cimarrons. But dammit if Syn’s stubble didn’t lock into the same obstinate outline. When he walked over and faced Evrest directly, I joined Cam in gasping. They could nearly be taken as twins, especially when they both were tense as bulls about to charge the ring.

  “It will not be that easy, brother.”

  Evrest grunted. “Stop being a fishwife, Syn. Camellia and I will not be bullied into the bushes by this.”

  Cam pulled up straighter. “What my man said.”

  Grahm circled around. “My pardon, your majesties,”—he nodded toward Cam, including her in the salutation on purpose—“but Samsyn is right. Catching those two bastards will only be cutting the head off the cockroach. The organism will live on until we yank out its guts then burn them to cinders.”

  Grimace. “Thanks for the visual,” I mumbled.

  “An accurate one.” Samsyn’s eyes glittered, indicating his speeding thoughts. “If this is the Pura’s work—and we do not even know that yet—then we know they are organized now. Dangerously so.”

  “And if it is not them?” Jag pressed.

  “Then we have an even bigger problem.”

  “An enemy we do not know at all.”

  Samsyn let his silence serve up his confirmation.

  “Damn.” Camellia dragged in a breath.

  “Either way,” Samsyn continued, “they are emboldened now. The two we killed will be hailed as martyrs.” He dipped his tightened gaze at Cam. “And avenging their deaths, a priority.”

  “Wh-what?” She didn’t bother breathing after that—until bursting with a scoffing laugh. “Oh God, Syn. Ev’s right. You’re such a DQ!”

  Syn threw her a curious glower.

  “Drama queen,” I supplied for him—though followed up by twining a hand into hers. “Though this time, sweetie, the DQ is right.”

  She huffed at me. Evrest let out a similar sound—with resignation. “Sevette.” He stroked a hand over her glossy chocolate waves. “Samsyn is right. They have radicalized this. Perhaps even turned it religious, borrowing quotes from the ancient island scrolls for justification.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Ancient scrolls? What the hell?”

  “Seconding that.” I raised my hand—not missing the nervous glances between the men around us. As motherlodes of controversy went, we’d gone for the gold. Religion and politics; one fell swoop. Well, no turning back now. “What the hell?” I added for good measure.

  After five seconds of unnerving silence, Samsyn growled, “Mystical mumbo-jumbo from another time and place.” His gaze turned scornful, blazed Evrest’s way. “And not relevant to this time, let alone this conversation.”

  “The relevant thing,” Jagger cut in, “is that those bonsuns will not give up until their mission is achieved.”

  Evrest’s reply evoked a wolf’s low growl. “Until Camellia or I are dead.”

  “Perhaps not even then.” Syn scowled deeper. “Perhaps they’re set on eradicating the entire Cimarron bloodline.”

  The words—and the possibility of their truth—hovered like ghouls in the air.

  Until once more, Grahm stood taller. Looked at his prince then his king in measured assessment. “What if…we give them that?”

  The brothers blinked with the same stunned rhythm. “What are you about?” Samsyn finally charged.

  Jagger, previously listening with knuckles to his chin, swept to his feet. “That is weirdly brilliant.”

  “What?” Samsyn yelled.

  Jag looped a finger at Evrest and Cam. “Nobody knows we’ve brought His Majesty and Her Ladyship here. What if they stay here…and we announce they were killed?”

  Veins stood out in Evrest’s neck. “Are you completely mad?”

  “Fucking lunatics may be more accurate.” Samsyn stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “Are either of you aware of the chaos to be unleashed by ‘murdering’ an Arcadian king?” He ensured the air quotes got jabbed around the verb. “The homicide of this Arcadian king? The vacuum of stability—”

  “Would be nominal,” Grahm calmly rebutted.

  “If his brother immediately took the throne.”

  Jagger delivered the gut-puncher with matching cool. My hands flew to my stomach, wondering if the pair really had gotten in a blow. Sure as hell felt like it. Camellia winced as if they’d gotten her too—but neither Samsyn nor Evrest moved. Their stillness bordered on eerie.

  Finally, Syn snarled, “You are out of your damn minds.” He side-eyed Evrest. “Some help, brother? Such as telling them the exact same thing?”

  Grahm’s shoulders snapped back. The same defensiveness threaded his tone. “You would ascend uncontested, Highness. Nobody would dare cause ‘chaos’.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You lead the country’s military.”

  “Which is why I should not run its government!”

  Jagger squared his shoulders. “And technically, you would not be. The ass on the throne has no vote in High Council matters.”

  “Which is technically a pile of horse dung,” Syn spat. “Do not play me for a fool, Jag. You live up here but you visit Sancti enough to know the influence of the king.” His lips twisted before he muttered, “Matters I know not a fucking sand grain about.” He wheeled toward the room’s large windows. It was still pitch dark outside. His face, reflected in the dark panes, gained a hundred new lines of stress.

  Mentally, I drove nails to my feet. It was the only way to stay rooted in place, instead of rushing to his side. Comfort that would only embarrass him. Assurance he didn’t want.

  “No,” he finally growled. “No. This is not the solution.”

  Cam, kicking at the floor, let out a rough sigh. “Sorry, guys, but I still agree with Syn. How does this address the issue? Get us any closer to the big kahunas writing the checks for the Pura? Or whoever these assholes are.”

  Her answer came from the least likely source in the room. The man who finally snapped his deep silence to speak. “Samsyn will get closer than me,” Evrest asserted.

  Syn jerked a glare over his shoulder. “Brother. You cannot possibly think—”

  “I do.” Hands at his sides, shoulders levelled, Evrest had his king-in-charge mode at full force. “It is a good idea, Syn.” He cocked a brow Grahm’s way. “Actually, as Jag best phrased it, brilliant.”

  Syn stabbed a finger toward the window. �
�Full moon. That must be it. Your stupid dog side is taking over, right?”

  Evrest chuckled. “If it means I get to sleep twenty hours tomorrow, why not?”

  “As long as I get to be your lazy bitch.” Camellia snuggled into his side.

  “Bet your sweet ass, my little sevette.”

  “Get your cock out of your brain and pay attention!” Samsyn charged.

  “My cock and my brain are in the right places, little brother. The only one not seeing this clearly is you.”

  “I am not qualified to be king!”

  “Of course you are.” Evrest gently let Cam go before pacing to his brother. “You have accompanied me, advised me, and protected me since the crown was placed on my head, Samsyn. You have seen every one of my triumphs, my mistakes, my good days, and my hell-in-a-handbasket days.” A smile spread on his lips, filled with quiet emotions I could only guess at. “And you have absorbed it all with the compassion and acumen I could only ever hope to have.”

  Everyone in the room held their breath. Except Samsyn, who was busy blustering. “But your British education—”

  “Yielded me nothing but a piece of paper in a frame—and things you already know, here,”—he tapped Syn’s forehead—“and here.” Then the center of his chest. “Fortunately for us, the rest of the world is blinded by that piece of paper on the wall too. If we get very, very lucky, they will continue judging you by your lack of one.”

  I heard every word Evrest uttered but didn’t match it to a meaning, until Samsyn reacted. The look on his face, so vulnerable and open, gave me a window of insight—to the person most people probably saw him as. The gun at his brother’s side. The brawn behind Evrest’s brains. Hell, even the muscly hunk to be swooned over.

  Not the charmer who’d matched wits with me over the years.

  Not the man with the eyes that glistened when his brain became a superhighway of thought.

  Not the guy perfectly capable of duping a bunch of Puras with his dumb stud act—while stealing their secrets out from underneath them.

  “Shit,” I blurted. Dashed my stare to Evrest. “Shit. That’s right.” Then to Camellia. “They’re right.”

  Syn glowered. “Fuck. Now you too?”

  I let myself walk over now, pushing against the force of his resentment. “Syn…listen. This really might be our best chance of catching those wing nuts.” As Evrest scooted back, making room for me, I scooped up Syn’s hands in my own. “You’re our best chance.”

  He said nothing for at least a minute. Silently scrutinized my face. I changed nothing about my expression, knowing I already had all of it bared to him. My belief. My hope. My love.

  He dropped his head. Poured his gaze over the mesh of our fingers. I stared at him with matching intensity—and the silence that hit when he stole my breath all over again. The first rays of dawn filtered through the pines outside, kissing the top of his dark head like a blessing from the sky itself.

  “All right,” he finally muttered. “All right. Creator help me…I will do it.”

  Whooshes of breath exploded from all the men. Camellia let loose a cute squee.

  After the initial celebration, Evrest sobered. Too damn fast. Samsyn rolled his eyes. “Dare I ask what the hell is the issue now?” he growled at the king.

  Evrest stared hard at the two of us. Parted his mouth to answer but clamped it shut with as much decision, teeth clacking. When Syn dropped my hands then wheeled on him, their chests slammed with an audible thud. Cam’s eye roll stopped me from breaking them up. Apparently, this was typical shit for the Cimarron boys.

  “Dammit, Evrest. Just be out with it.”

  “Remove your ugly face from mine first, soldask.”

  Samsyn stood down, snarling low. “Witless dog.”

  “PMS’ing putz.”

  “Damn douche bag.”

  Laughter barked the air. Mine. And, thank God, Cam’s. In the wake of our strange ice breakers, Evrest held up both hands—though the angle of his head spoke more to his ultimate surrender. “All right,” he muttered, “All right.” He folded his arms, borrowing a healthy dose of Syn’s nervousness from a minute ago. “To be clear about things, I am ecstatic about the possibility of staying up here with my sevette for a few weeks. But if you want to get this over faster—”

  “Yes,” Syn butted in. “Fuck, yes.”

  “Then I would recommend one essential aid to cut your ‘reign’ by weeks. An…element…guaranteed to bring the—how did you say it, Brooke?”

  “Wing nuts?” I offered.

  “The wing nuts. Yes. A great deal of them, at least…straight to the Palais receiving rooms, without even trying…”

  “Barbecue bonus,” I exclaimed. Waved off their perplexed frowns. “Forget it. Let’s just hear what the magic wand is.”

  I had to admit, even I was impatient from Evrest’s new pause. The man’s jaw firmed, making me wonder how horrible this “aid” had to be. Satin breeches? A powdered wig? Oh God…a haircut? No. Please, no. Not a haircut.

  “A wife.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‡

  NOW I WISHED he’d just meant a haircut.

  With every fiber of my quaking body.

  I battled the vibrations by pacing across one of the castle’s spacious guest rooms—because God forbid, I go back to Syn’s room now—while waiting for Jag to return from the fishing village down the hill with something better to wear than a dirty camisole and Syn’s shorts. For the time being, my attire consisted of more borrowed Samsyn-wear: a French blue dress shirt with all the tags still on it, hanging to just above my knees. Stylin’.

  I didn’t bother cuffing the shirt’s sleeves. They gave my nervous fingers something to work with as I walked. Even so, I fought for the Zen clarification of each step. Worked to space them the same. Brought them down with the same pressure on the thick Turkish carpet.

  Once upon a time, I’d done this once, twice, sometimes three times a day, an hour for each stint. I’d hated Jag because of it, but calm and me hadn’t been the best of pals back then. I’d begged him to train me with all the aplomb of the bouncy dog from Up, with a matching attention span. Allowing me on a training mat with anyone would’ve been pre-registering me for a death certificate. I’d come a long way since then—but fortunately, never forgot the pacing.

  Step.

  Step.

  Step.

  Groan.

  Sink to the bed. Morose stare at the floor. Who the hell was I kidding? Back to the bouncy dog bit—only this time, it was worse. This wasn’t eager stress. This was stress stress.

  Worse.

  This was what-the-hell-have-I-just-agreed-to stress.

  I flopped back onto the duvet. Closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. No damn help—unless my aim was to relive the gory aftermath of Evrest’s proposal, second by agonizing second.

  Behind my eyelids, the scene burst to life once more. “Wife?” Syn had repeated, as if his brother suggested returning to Sancti wearing his sliced balls as earrings. Evrest’s conviction had been just as unnerving—no less so when he’d started laying out his logic. Returning to Sancti with a wife would instantly erase Syn’s playboy image, making the High Council and the populace take him more seriously. At the same time, he’d secure the sympathy card: just as he’d found “true love”, Evrest and Camellia had been “violently taken” from him. Back door channels would be abuzz with speculation about all the upheaval the new king had been through. What would his political position be, especially after his brother’s murder? After everything he’d been through, surely King Samsyn would desire returning to a simpler Arcadia…the security of the old ways…

  It had all made complete sense.

  Until Evrest’s suggestion about who should be his little brother’s new bride.

  I was saved from recalling Syn’s exact reaction to that, by a rhythmic knock at the bedroom door. In Vermont, such a cheery greeting meant a neighbor bearing brownies or a Girl Scout selling cookies. Right no
w, I could only connect the sound to one person.

  “Hey.” Sure enough, Camellia’s face appeared—followed by the rest of her. She carried a brown paper shopping bag. “Jag’s back from the village. I’m playing messenger girl. Didn’t know if you’d be sleeping or something.”

  “Sleeping?” Barking laugh. Why not take advantage of the chance? Little else validated it right now. “Sure. You try being told you’re about to get married, that you’ll be lying to a whole country about the reason why, and see how ‘sleepy’ you feel.”

  Cam parked the bags on the dark wood writing desk. Rushed to the bed and yanked me into a tight hug. “I know this is all crazy.”

  I laughed again. Not so enthusiastically. “Understatements-R-Us, anyone?”

  She tilted her head and smiled softly. “Cold feet?”

  “Ehhh. Lukewarm?” I spread a hand across the bed’s downy white comforter. “Look…my head gets it. The decision makes sense. Finding another woman to pull this off, even with an expedited security clearance check, would take at least a week.”

  “It makes sense from other angles, too.”

  “I was listening, dammit.” Apologetic glance, though I knew it wasn’t necessary. Cam understood. “And I get that part too. The public will believe this. Syn and I have had a semi-working relationship for a while. And this week, we’ve been through a lot more than that.” I prayed she didn’t probe into that one. When she didn’t, I promised karma payback for the favor and went on, “It’ll look like we were forced to confront some dormant feelings.”

  Meaningful beat. Then another. “Looks like that from the inside, too.”

  Shit. Karma had wasted no time on collecting that one.

  I lifted a lot more than a glance this time. The woman was ready, rebutting my stare like some mystical sage, my spirit animal, and fairy godmother rolled neatly together.

  “Shut up.” I grumbled as she giggled. A fresh attack of nerves set in, parching me for the hundredth time in five minutes. I reached for the water on the nightstand—with my left arm. “Shit!”