A Royal Apocalypse (Lady Slayalot Book 1)

by Louisa Lo

  Once again, Chelsea tried to push through the noise—ducking and evasive maneuvering—and get to the basics of things.

  Just imagine he’s an Obsessed, coming at you with a coat tree he would love to hang his Barbie on…

  Chelsea stabbed the stick into the groin area of her opponent with speed, precision, and zero hesitation. There was the sound of a crack, a scream from her opponent, then a collective array of “ooos” and “ows” from every observing male in response.

  Her opponent went down holding his privates, with tears in his eyes.

  There was no cheering this time, just an eerie silence after the echo of the last sympathy moan faded.

  A medic rushed in to check on her opponent, as did the trainer. The medic breathed. “The cup was broke right into two halves!”

  How could she have broken the guy’s groin protector? Those things were supposed to be super strong, right? “Err, could it be defective?”

  The trainer didn’t get to answer her, because at the announcement of the broken cup, the crowd erupted in cheers, this time much louder than the last.

  Chelsea was dumbstruck. One of theirs was hurt. What were they so happy about?

  The trainer was grinning ear to ear. “In the training exercise of pugil sticks, a strike to the groin with the butt of the weapon is allowed. Hell, we train them to do it. You use any method you can to disarm and disable your enemy.”

  Chelsea wished she could share the crowd’s enthusiasm. Just what kind of message was she sending out? That she could come in and hurt people she was supposed to protect because it was a good lesson? She didn’t get the military culture, and she’d had no idea that her first step of acceptance with them would have to come at the expense of someone else’s intense pain. It never truly registered with her that picking up that pugil stick would lead to this, but in hindsight she should’ve known—she was too caught up in the weapon’s siren call to care. And now all she felt was horror.

  She searched Day’s face. Did he think this was all a mistake? His closed expression might as well have been a mask made of granite.

  Chapter Seventeen

  No-Poo

  For the next week Chelsea kept up with her broadcasts, went through her beauty and fashion regimen like a robot, and avoided speaking to Day. She didn’t need to hear him confirming her suspicion—that he thought she was either a tyrant, or a joke that no amount of attempted bonding could cure.

  Well, Day matched her avoidance tactic to a tee. She could’ve blamed the whole thing on what happened with the cracked cup incident, but it had begun earlier than that. Gone was the respect he seemed to have held for her back at the convenience store, and she had no idea what had brought about the change.

  And after a while, she was too pissed off at him to want to know.

  “I want to go to Warehouse 212,” she told Nik and Sonny one day during another lull. That was how it worked these days. She told the two where she wanted to go, and they told the driver and Day. Today Emma was with her mother, so it was just Chelsea, her guards, and her driver.

  “Why do you want to go to the warehouse?” Nik asked after they all had climbed onto the cargo bed.

  “I’m picking up a few things there,” Chelsea replied.

  “The stuff on the list you talked to Colonel Martin about? It’s here?”

  “Yeah.” She had told the colonel what she wanted, then he had instructed the guys in the field to keep an eye out for them and bring the things back with them whenever possible. With so many soldiers out there picking up new recruits and securing important strategic infrastructures—such as power lines and cell phone towers—somebody was bound to come across the items she had requested.

  “Must be cool getting stuff on order like that,” Nik commented.

  “Must be cool being out in the field again,” Sonny retorted.

  “What list?” Day asked.

  They all looked at him, startled by his questions after he had been so quiet all this time.

  What list? Well, if you hadn’t stayed as far away from me as possible while still doing your job, you would’ve heard me discussing the whole thing with the colonel.

  “Why don’t you go down and see for yourself, sir?” Nik suggested as the truck stopped at the entrance of the warehouse, her eyes twinkling. It was as close to open defiance as she would go, since she was perfectly aware of the tension between her superior and Chelsea.

  It had taken the driver less than five minutes to drive them there. The truth was, other than men in uniforms everywhere, the base was very similar to a small industrial town, with warehouses on the outskirts, and large commercial buildings in the middle. Chelsea couldn’t help but wonder how much the government spent on building something of this scale, all for the sake of just in case, but she wasn’t about to argue—it sure came in handy now.

  Chelsea got off the truck, and after a brief hesitation, Day followed. They went into the building’s lobby, a small area with a line of chairs on one side, and a walled-in office on the other, with a two-panel window in between.

  A clerk opened the window. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi,” Chelsea said. “I understand that Colonel Martin has already spoken to you about some packages being ready for pick up?”

  Understanding flared in the clerk’s eyes, and he nodded. “That’s right. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” Chelsea replied, perfectly aware that although the clerk had clearly recognized her, he had never formally addressed her. Despite her perceived success on the training field, people were hardly ready to call her Your Majesty, let alone Chief. At least not the ones who didn’t need things from her and didn’t have to play nice. It was as if addressing her new position would somehow make their new reality more…real.

  “Don’t thank me,” The clerk muttered as he disappeared into the back of his office. “Waste of resources, I tell ya.”

  Maybe the clerk was pro-independence.

  Maybe he was just annoyed that she was putting him to work.

  Or maybe she really had to stop all this fruitless wondering.

  The clerk came back with a banker’s box. “Wait here. I’ll go get the other one from the second floor.”

  “Thank you.”

  Silence descended after the clerk left.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s in the box?” Day asked Chelsea as he took the box and put it on top of a chair, then they each took a seat beside it.

  Despite her annoyance with him, she couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice as she opened the box and showed him half a dozen sandwich bags and a box of baking soda. “I’m trying to do a bunch of no-poo kits.”

  “Wait, what kits?”

  “No-poo kits.”

  Seeing the look of utter confusion on his face, she took pity on him. “No-poo is the alternative to shampoo. Apple cider vinegar instead of baking soda would’ve been nicer, but beggars can’t be choosers. I remembered Emma saying the shampoo here smells like hospitals. It probably has some pretty harsh ingredients in it. The no-poo is far gentler on your scalp and could prevent flakes. Maybe right after coming back from the field they would want to clean with the more powerful stuff, but the no-poo is good for regular use when they’re at the base, and right before a mission.”

  Then she reached into the box and took out half a roll of cloth, the type that could be seen in bargain bins of fabric stores. This one was a plush material in hot pink. Chelsea stroked the soft fabric. “This would be good for at least a dozen soldiers, if I conserve and cut the cloth right.”

  Day had that lost look on his face again. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going to be making boot covers,” Chelsea said, warming to the topic. “I first got the idea when Benner recruited the lady who helped tailor-make my clothes. I could borrow her sewing machine and make boot covers for the soldiers. Hot pink is this season’s hottest color.”

  Day shook his head disbelievingly. “Hot pink?”

  “Yeah.�
��

  “You’re making hot pink covers for soldiers to wear over their standard issue boots.”

  “That’s right.”

  Day got up and started laughing uncontrollably.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Chelsea said defensively, getting up as well. “What’s so funny? You’ve been acting weird ever since we got to this base.”

  Day stopped laughing abruptly, and looked at her with the most serious expression she’d ever seen him wear. “And why do you think I do that?”

  Chelsea swallowed and straightened. “I think it’s because you think I’m a complete fake.”

  “Honey, that’s not even the beginning of it.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Let’s just say that there are better things in life I would rather do than help you get a new toy.”

  “The hot pink look is not a toy—”

  Suddenly he grabbed her arm and dragged her in front of the two-panel window that separated them from the clerk’s office, effectively cutting her off. One of the panels had a memo taped on it from the inside, making it more of a mirror with the way the light was shining in from the front door.

  “Hey!” Chelsea protested and Day released her. She rubbed where he had grabbed her, and focused on being annoyed rather than slightly turned on by his touch. There had to be some kind of rule against manhandling a queen’s person, right?

  “What do you see?” he demanded, pointing at the almost-mirror.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “What do you see?” He repeated. “Look at yourself and answer me.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes and obliged. In the glass was the image of a girl who was carefully put together—just because she hit a lull didn’t mean she was careless when it came to her public appearance. She had concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes, which came from countless sleepless nights, and cream cheek highlighter on top of cream blush to give the illusion of glowing, dewy skin. Her freshly painted nails were cut short, almost too short, in order to get rid of the chips and cracks she had suffered during the Obsessed attack.

  “I look okay.” Chelsea tried to sound confident. How dare he? There was nothing wrong with the way she looked. She did the best she could with the limited supplies she could get her hands on.

  “You look more than okay. You look like a doll.” It was obvious from Day’s tone that he was far from impressed. “A beautiful, useless doll. The same way they’d showcased you in those damned magazines. Sure, you got a mean crack at that guy’s cup. But where the hell is the woman who refused to leave the civilians behind at the grocery store? The one who forced me to defy my direct orders so two hundred random strangers could be saved? Where is that woman who would put the interests of a little girl above her own? Where’s that spirited brat who drove me crazy and made me want to kis—”

  He cut himself off abruptly. Might as well, because Chelsea was too pissed off to listen to another one of his words.

  “Well, I’m still the same person,” she snapped.

  “Yeah, the hot pink boot covers are really selling it. You’re forcing men and women to pick up useless items in the field at the risk of endangering their lives. For what? To have nicer hair and this season’s hottest look? They’re not out there to make a fashion statement.”

  How dare he assume the worst of her without even asking about the logic behind her actions?

  “They might not care about fashion statements,” Chelsea ground out her words. “But they’re fighting against monsters who do. The Obsessed could probably track the smelly shampoo from a kilometer away. The no-poo will ensure the surprise element, and the pink covers are going to make the Obsessed zoom in on the soldiers’ feet, and not look at the big guns in their hands.”

  The making of those items was her way to atone for the unfortunate pugil stick incident—even if in the soldiers’ minds she had fought fairly—and to offer her support to the military in the only way she knew how. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  A muscle on Day’s neck jumped. If she had caught him off guard, he wasn’t letting on.

  Well, too bad. He had said his piece, now he would listen to hers.

  “You asked me where that woman went who’d put a little girl’s interests before her own. I’m still that same woman, but I have more than one person to think about now. And I am putting their interests before mine,” Chelsea hissed, “Why do you think I’m doing those embarrassing broadcasts every day? You think I like putting myself out there like that?”

  “Broadcasts are easy. Actions are harder.”

  “What, you want me to pick up a scepter and start directing the army?”

  “You can get involved more. Stop being a willing puppet and be a real leader.”

  A puppet. He had just called her a willing puppet.

  Deep down, she’d always known she wasn’t the real power player. She was given free reign on a million minor decisions—what dress to wear, what shoes to pick, what shampoo kits she could put together, etc.—but she was never consulted on the truly important, impactful matters.

  But as General Roland had rightfully pointed out to her at the end of her first broadcast, she didn’t exactly know the right words to say, nor did she have the right experience.

  “Be a real leader. Are you kidding me? Who’s to say I want that kind of responsibility? With my lack of skills, I’m going to get us all killed if I go and do the real Commander-in-Chief job. This is better for everyone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s the God’s honest truth.

  “You’re just parroting General Roland.”

  “What’s wrong with you? I thought you military guys were all about following your superiors.”

  “You are my superior. The ultimate one.”

  “Well, I’m not. I am, but I’m not, and that’s that.”

  “So you’re just going to be the pretty figurehead? Cut a few ribbons and make stuff for the bake sales?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, the days of ribbon-cutting and bake sales are gone.”

  “I know that. But do you?” he retorted.

  “Well, Mister I’m-Standing-On-a-High-Pedestal, how about answering this question for me—what did you screw up on?” Sick and tired of Day’s unnerving words, Chelsea jumped onto the offense.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve noticed the looks and heard the whispers when people see you. Some of it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re babysitting me.” Questions that she had been dying to ask for quite some time now spilled out of her mouth. “You’re Special Forces, right? What makes you so notorious that soldiers from the other branches seem to know your reputation on sight? And just what the heck is Newbridge?”

  She had eyes. She saw how people treated Day when they were out and about. Heck, it might even be what was contributing to the subtle hostility between Day and Colonel Martin.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Day spat.

  “And neither do you when it comes to me.”

  “You sure about that?”

  With those words, he walked back to the truck, leaving her confused and angry.

  Worst of all, wondering if his question was valid.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Open Discussion

  It had taken her the better half of the next week to stop being angry.

  Plus a few more days after that to really think about his questioning her role in this new reality.

  As for the part he had almost said—at least she thought he’d almost said—that he had wanted to kiss her? She hadn’t thought about it. Not even once.

  Not even an itsy bitsy bit.

  In the end, it had taken another shipment pick up for them to talk again.

  “I’ll go down with you,” Day offered once the truck had stopped in front of Warehouse 212 and Chelsea made her way down. Nik raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  After a brief
chat with the same clerk as last time, Chelsea and Day stood in front of the row of chairs while the clerk went to fetch her package. A single box this time. Neither Day nor Chelsea wanted to sit down—they weren’t ready to be too friendly with each other again quite yet.

  “So what are you getting this time?” Day asked.

  A safe opening.

  “More stuff like the second box from last time. Apparently the guys in the field happened across a factory outlet.”

  Alright, she was throwing him a bone there. A big one. And he bit into it.

  “What was in that second box?” he asked.

  You mean the one you sent Sonny in to help lift for me after you stormed off?

  “Lipsticks,” she replied.

  “Lipsticks?” he leaned closer to her.

  “I got lucky last time and got Dior Rouge. For all I know, this time it’ll be CoverGirl.” She swallowed, a little unsteady after taking his scent into her lungs. It consisted of the smell of clean soap, rich cinnamon, and a hint of gunpowder. It reminded her of their connection back at the grocery store, and how she’d missed it. And how, despite being annoyed at him, she still missed him. “It’s got a good weight to it. If you see an Obsessed, just throw it in the other direction, and run like hell while they chase after it.”

  He laughed softly. “A tool of distraction the brass would never think of. What an idea.”

  Chelsea stiffened. “Hey, if you’re just going to laugh about my ideas again—”

  “I’m not.” Day seemed to have come to a decision about something. “You’re a natural strategist, aren’t you?”

  “No.” Chelsea shrugged. “I just know fashion better than many other people, that’s all.”

  “No, you know how to use what resources and expertise you have at your disposal. That makes you a true strategist, however unlikely it might seem.” He blew out a long breath. “Listen, I owe you an apology. For underestimating you, and making assumptions. You don’t deserve that. It won’t happen again.

  Chelsea hadn’t expected his words—or his sincere tone. A weight lifted from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized until now how much his opinion of her mattered.