by B. B. Hamel
“Stop with that,” I said. “Trip today, please.”
“Okay, Trip. You wanted an update?”
“Please.”
“Our team has gone through the records, and so far we aren’t finding anything out of the ordinary. We’re looking for anyone who checked in or out during the two hours before and after the assassination attempt, and so far everyone is coming up clear.”
“Bad news,” I grumbled.
“Except for one thing,” Max said. “There was one minister who came and went multiple times during that period: Nicolai Corvin.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Corvin? He’s not important.”
“No, he isn’t. But we’re doing some investigating anyway, just in case.”
“Very well. Any known connections to the democrats?”
“None that we know of. They wouldn’t be easy to find at any rate. These men aren’t stupid.”
“No, they aren’t,” I said, shaking my head. “Good work.”
“Thank you, Trip. Is that all?”
“One more thing. How is Bryce?”
“She seems well, honestly.”
“Where is she?”
“In her room at the moment. I was going to bring her some lunch soon.”
“I’ll bring it to her.”
“Are you sure? There are meetings you may need to attend.”
“She was nearly killed because of me, Max. I can’t neglect her now.”
“Very well. They can be postponed.”
“Good. Let’s head back.”
He nodded and we headed over to the cart. I let Max sit up front, since he was quickly becoming an old man. I sat in the back, in the least comfortable seat, but that was no big deal. I could handle discomfort.
It was failure that I couldn’t handle. I couldn’t fail my people, and I couldn’t fail Bryce.
21
Bryce
The country estate was about what I imagined, but even more beautiful.
There was a single main house with a small grouping of other buildings and a few barns and stables for horses. There was a wall around the whole estate, and the place was absolutely crawling with security. They were spread out along the lawn one every fifty yards or so, and they were constantly patrolling.
The helicopters kept me up. I was exhausted as I leaned back in my chair, looking out the window.
I hadn’t left my room yet. Trip had been whisked away with his security detail, and I’d been stuck getting dragged along in a different car. I wished I could talk to him, but I guessed he had really important things to do.
Which was unsurprising, considering there was a rebellion going on and we’d almost gotten killed.
As I tried to get some sleep when we finally got to the estate, I just kept seeing that man. I had been naked and so vulnerable, right after one of the best moments of my life. Trip had saved me, moving fast to get me out of the way, almost without any regard for his own wellbeing.
Everything after happened so fast. I’d left my parents behind, but now I was beginning to regret that. They should be with me, or at least I should be with them.
I barely knew this place. I barely knew Trip. And yet suddenly I was getting dragged around, thrust into the middle of some war I couldn’t understand in a country where I didn’t even speak the language.
I was so far out of my depths that it wasn’t even funny. I could hardly breathe. I felt like I was stuck under the ocean, doggy paddling toward the surface.
But I wasn’t in the ocean. I was sitting in a large, lovely old room in a comfortable chair looking out at a gorgeous view.
The memory of Trip’s body flitted back through my mind. I could still feel his hands against my skin, his lips against my neck, the way he handled me and took me. The way he made my body feel.
That was the good part. That was the part I wanted. In that moment, I had called him my king, and I’d absolutely meant it. He could have taken me any time, any place.
Until that man showed up and destroyed whatever good feelings I’d had. He attacked us when we were at our most vulnerable, and I couldn’t stop thinking about his disgusting face every time I imagined what it felt like to be with Trip.
He’d completely ruined that. He’d taken that moment and destroyed it. I hated him for trying to kill us, but I could never forgive him for destroying that intimacy.
I understood people did things like that. He was probably incredibly misguided and thought killing Trip would save the country. I might have been sympathetic if all I knew about the situation was that a bunch of democratic people wanted to overthrow a dictator.
But Trip wasn’t a tyrant, and these democrats were a bunch of violent assholes. That guy just had no clue which side of history he was on.
And ultimately, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t my country. But Trip could mean something to me, although now things felt broken.
There was a knock at my door as I sat there stewing in my own misery.
“Come in,” I called out, assuming it would be Maximillian again.
Trip stepped inside. “Bryce,” he said.
I looked up. He grinned at me and nodded to the tray in his hands. “Hungry?”
I frowned. “Not really, no.”
“Max said you haven’t eaten.”
“Does the king usually do room service?”
“Only when he’s hungry, too.”
“You haven’t eaten either?”
“I’m not exactly hungry for food,” he said, grinning.
I sighed. Trip looked incredible as always. He had on his formal suit, which was tailored perfectly to his muscular body. The stubble growing on his chin and cheeks made him look gorgeous.
“Okay, fine,” I said.
“Get in bed and undress.”
“I meant okay to the food.”
“Oh,” he said, smirking. “Damn.” He walked over and put the tray down on the table. It had bread, meats, cheeses, and a little bowl of soup.
“Traditional Starklandian lunch,” he said. “Local breads and cheeses, some smoked pig and cow, plus this special bean soup that we use as a dip, basically.”
I nodded, not feeling hungry. “Looks good.”
“Go ahead.”
Trip took a piece of bread, dunked it in the soup, and started eating. I wanted to be polite, so I did the same thing.
And I sure as hell was glad I did. It was delicious, rich and earthy, with some spices I couldn’t even begin to identify. The bread itself was incredible, crunchy on the outside and perfectly fluffy on the inside.
“Holy shit,” I said through a mouthful. “This is amazing.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning.
“I mean, thanks.”
“The chef here is impressive. He doesn’t get to cook for the king very often, so he goes all out when he does.”
“Tell him I was impressed.”
He laughed, taking a bite of some cheese. “Sure, though I doubt he’ll care much if some random American girl likes his cooking.”
“He should care,” I said. “I’m awesome.”
“Yes, you are.”
We ate for a minute or two in silence. The cheese was delicious, smooth and creamy and sharp all at once. The meat was good too, and clearly incredibly fresh.
“Most of this stuff is made right here on the grounds,” Trip said, reading my mind.
“It’s really good.”
He nodded, and then he looked serious for a second. “Look, I’m not here just to feed you.”
“I suspected that.”
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”
I looked away. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Okay,” he said softly. “We don’t have to.”
“What’s there to say?” I asked. “That guy was a prick. You did what you had to do.”
“I know that.”
“It was scary, okay? I keep thinking about it. I keep seeing his face.”
“That sort of t
hing won’t happen again,” Trip said. “I promise.”
I stared at him, and for some reason I believed him. Maybe it was the huge increase in security, or maybe it was the earnest and intense way he was staring at me, but I suddenly felt oddly safe.
“Okay,” I said.
“You trust me?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “but right now I believe that if you could stop something bad from happening, you would.”
“Good enough,” he said, “because that’s the truth.”
“Has there ever been an assassination in Starkland before?” I asked him.
“Hundreds of years ago,” he admitted. “Actually, historians think my family assassinated your family to take over the throne, but lots of people don’t agree with that.”
“Really?” I asked. “You jerk.”
“Hey, not my fault. I’m barely related to those pricks anymore.”
“You’ve got a little prick in you.”
“And you had a nice, thick prick in you,” he said, smirking.
I rolled my eyes. “Good one.”
“Thank you.”
“Just so we’re clear, that wasn’t a good joke. I’m not sure if you get sarcasm, since you’re the king.”
He laughed. “Why? Because I’m surrounded by yes men?”
I grinned at him. “Exactly. Everyone is obligated to laugh at your stupid jokes.”
“Untrue. Back in nineteen ten, my ancestors decreed that no person shall fake laugh at the king’s jokes.”
“What penalty?”
“Death, of course.”
I laughed, shaking my head. I suddenly felt starving and started to eat a bit more. He smiled at me and ate along with me.
For the first time since we left the castle, and since the man attacked, I felt okay. I didn’t feel perfect again, but just laughing like this and acting normally with Trip was making me come back to myself. He was just so clever and charming, and the confidence with which he did everything was so impressive and alluring.
I had the stupid urge to reach across the table and touch his face, but I resisted. I didn’t know where we stood. Maybe he’d gotten what he wanted and was finished with that. Maybe he was just protecting me because he felt obligated.
Whatever was happening, I felt better. We joked and laughed for a bit longer, until I realized, to my absolute horror, that I had eaten almost every single thing on the tray.
“Oh my god,” I said, leaning back. “I ate like a pig. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, laughing. “You’re not capable of doing anything like a pig. And you needed to eat.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have gone to town like that. It was your lunch, too.”
“I’m the king. I can eat more if I want.”
I laughed. “Good point. I’m just a commoner after all. I should eat when I can. Who knows when we’ll go hungry while you rich barons grow fat and happy.”
He grinned, looking out the window. “It might have worked like that once, but not anymore. If my people were hungry, I’d go hungry, too. Fortunately that’s not our problem.”
“Civil war is your problem,” I said softly.
“Yes. Civil fucking war.”
We were silent for a second, and that thought hung in the air between us. Finally, I spoke up.
“Trip, I want my parents to come join us here.”
He shook his head no. “We spoke about this. They’re safest back at the castle.”
“There’s a small army here. I can’t imagine they’d be safer anywhere else.”
“I’m sorry, Bryce, but it’s a security thing also.”
“You’ve had plenty of time to clear any security risks with them.”
“Maybe, but it’s not so simple. We’re not clearing anyone of suspicion yet.”
“Am I a suspect then?” I asked angrily, crossing my arms.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re the only person I fully trust.”
“Then trust me when I say that my father and Lucy aren’t a threat and that they should be here.”
“I can’t do that,” he said again.
“Then take me back to the castle.”
He sighed. “I can’t do that either.”
“You’re the king,” I said, getting heated. “You can do whatever you want. Remember?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what good are you?”
“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” he said, his face cold and firm.
I hated the twist this conversation had taken, but I needed to stand up for this. I couldn’t let Trip just do whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted like everyone else did. I knew my father and Lucy should be at the country estate, not still in Stehen with the assassins. They needed to be safe and protected.
Trip stood up. “I’ll come back later,” he said.
“Don’t bother,” I answered, looking back out the window, “unless you change your mind.”
He started to say something, stopped himself, and then left the room.
I sat back, feeling stupid and frustrated. Why had I picked that fight with him after things were going so well? It just wasn’t necessary, but it had happened anyway. I hadn’t been able to stop myself even when I’d realized I was making a mistake.
I wanted my family with me, but I knew Trip had other responsibilities. He was giving me way more attention than I deserved already as it was. I shouldn’t make my problems so important when really they were minor compared to what he was dealing with.
I sighed, staring back out the window. What a vacation this had been so far.
22
Trip
General Hardcourt paced across the front of the room, a long pointing stick in his hand. He gestured at the map in front of him and I suppressed a yawn.
I checked my watch. It was early the next morning. I’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep the night before, since it was one emergency after the next as my advisors began to figure out what our response should be.
I knew what our response should be. We needed to destroy the rebels and restore order to the country for the sake of my people. Enough was enough.
“And so, Your Highness, if we place fifty tanks here and here, we can choke them off and they’ll starve before winter.”
The room looked at me. I nodded and pretended like I was listening. “Yes, very good. Go ahead.”
He nodded, pleased. It was always the same thing with the generals. They came up with some great strategy that would win the war, and then they were always wrong for some reason. Sometimes it was troop shortages, sometimes it was not enough equipment, and sometimes it was bad luck. But it was always something.
Starkland used to be a great warrior nation. We’d conquered neighbors and carved out a tiny empire in the midst of Europe. When all the great European countries were rising up and destroying each other, we persevered. We survived world wars and worse. Other monarchies toppled, but Starkland soldiered on, day after day, its people flourishing.
But we hadn’t been at war in a very long time. We didn’t have a large military and had never really needed or wanted one. We had no interest in getting involved in foreign affairs and had never needed to fight our own people before.
And so the war was dragging on. It wasn’t such a simple thing to destroy a group of your own people. My brother had tried and failed, and he was supposed to be some great Starkish savior.
Well, I wasn’t any better. I almost got my ass murdered in my own palace.
I glanced over at the window, and for a second, I thought I saw Bryce. I thought I saw her wearing a light green dress, the skirt blowing in the wind, her hair loose and free in the breeze. But no. It was nothing, just a figment of my imagination.
Damn my fucking pride. I couldn’t have just listened to her and brought her parents to the country estate? I knew it wasn’t that big of a deal. My ministers and advisors would all get over it. Sure, there might be some minor little media scandal, but who fucking car
ed about that? We were in a war, and someone had nearly killed me in my own bedroom. That was bad. Some shitty news story in a tabloid was nothing compared to that.
But I’d pushed back, and I’d pushed her too hard, all because I was an asshole who couldn’t listen. I was supposed to be a king. I was supposed to know what to do and what to say.
When it came to Bryce, I felt like I knew what to do and what to say, but somehow something came around to fuck it all up. First it was that slap, and then it was the assassin, and now it was my own foolish pride.
General Hardcourt finished his presentation, and some other minor general got up to speak. He went on and on about water movements in the western regions, and as much as I wanted to give a fuck, I just couldn’t.
The meeting dragged on, speaker after speaker, their presentations getting more and more obscure and useless. I gave my assent to almost all of their requests since they were of nearly no consequence at all.
Finally, we came to the break. I stood and the room followed. They bowed, said “Long live the King of Starkland,” and then I left. It was all ceremonial and symbolic, but the stuffy ministers needed their tradition to stay relevant.
Meanwhile, I had nearly no patience for any of it. I found myself walking through the halls without much thought at all about where I was going.
I used to wander these halls when I was a child. We’d summer in the estates when Father was too busy with work. Mother would bring Leo and me out to the country, probably just to give us something to do and to keep us from annoying our dad too much. I’d spent a lot of time in this house, a lot of formative time.
As I walked, I realized where I was gradually. I was one hall down from Bryce’s room.
I made up my mind in that instant. I went to her door and knocked.
“Yes?” she called out.
“It’s me,” I said.
There was a pause. “Come in.”
I opened the door. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a little walk with me,” I said.
She was sitting on the couch watching television, her legs up on the coffee table. She glanced down at herself and then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Give me a second.”