Wren watched as Aunt Miriam and Uncle Ryland sobbed all over Sybelle. They were Sybelle's sister and brother-in-law. Wren wasn't close to them. They came for holidays at the palace, and she liked them well enough, but they were a bit too touchy-feely for her. Like now. Aunt Miriam's hands wrapped around Sybelle's arm and hand in an imitation of an octopus.
It was then she noticed another familiar face. In line, he proceeded closer to her and her stepmother. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. Now was the time to escape. His eyes had found her, and he smiled.
Wren looked to her left and spotted another guard at the end of the pew. Swallowing, she knew she had to get out of here. There was no way she could face him today of all days.
She smiled politely at the couple in front of her, whom she couldn't place, thanked them for their condolences, and excused herself. Hurrying to the end of the pew, she leaned forward and said, “I need to use the facilities please.”
He escorted her out of the filling sanctuary and into a side hallway. Following it to the back of the building, Wren came to the lady’s room and entered. Even though she knew he would be posted outside the door until her return, Wren locked the door and leaned against the sink.
Prickles of heat ran up her arms and tingled in her face.
“I can do this,” Wren whispered. “I can get through this. It's not that bad. It will be over before I know it. Pretend he isn’t here.”
Time must have passed faster than she thought because Wren heard a knock a few minutes later in the middle of her pep talk. Freezing, she waited to see if they would stay, say something, or go.
“Princess? It's time for the minister to begin. May I escort you to your seat?” the guard's voice carried through the heavy wood door.
“Yes, in a minute!” Wren straightened, pushed her shoulders back as far as they would go, and looked herself square in the eye.
“You can do this,” she told her reflection. “Stop being a baby.”
With those words, she turned and unlocked the door.
“Thank you,” Wren told the guard.
He nodded and walked her back down the hallway. Peeking at him, Wren noticed his red-rimmed eyes. He must have been crying. Wren wondered if it was because of her father's death or for some other reason.
She wasn't under any illusions that everyone in the country loved her family. They were royal. They ruled by right of heredity, but theirs was a constitutional monarchy. They didn't have absolute power. Her father had been happy about it too. King Cynfor Snow hated when he had to tell others what to do.
That had all changed when he’d married Sybelle. She’d changed him. She told him what to do, and he listened. He stopped caring about what his daughter wanted then.
Wren shook her head and sighed. It was no use thinking on old news. She was stuck with the battle-ax now.
The murderer. It's always the wife.
Wren wanted others to see that fact as well. However, having everyone reject her suspicions about her stepmother made her feel as though she were thirteen once again. It gave her the same nauseous feeling as when her father had told her about Sybelle.
He hadn't asked her opinion. Just boldly stated, “We're getting married.”
For a thirteen-year-old, the heartbreak of losing a mother and having her father marry a new woman did something inside of Wren. She couldn’t put it into words. She just knew she had never felt the same from that moment on.
Shaking her head, Wren realized she had spaced out for the majority of the service. The minister was wrapping up with a few words from the men who had worked with and knew her father best.
Now the minister bowed his head to pray, and Wren had no idea what had happened. She didn't recall walking back to the pew and sitting beside her stepmother. She hadn't heard a word of the service. Obviously, she was too caught up in memories.
Deep breath in, out.
Wren continued to concentrate on her breathing as the prayer was finished. She stood with the others. The guards accompanied the queen and Wren out in front of everyone. They reached the foyer and continued out the front doors.
Reporters hounded the exit of Serenity, but the guards and police were able to get the queen and Wren into the limo with limited interference.
Once settled in the back, Wren turned to look out the window.
“Well, I'm glad that's over with,” Queen Sybelle sighed.
“I'm sure,” Wren couldn't help but retort.
“Wren, that's enough. I’m not in the mood.”
“Murderers usually aren't,” Wren mumbled.
“Stop it!” Queen Sybelle leaned toward Wren. “I am NOT a murderer. I don't want to hear you accuse me again. You don't know how hard this is for me. I'm trying to be sympathetic to how you must feel with everything that has happened. Please extend me the same courtesy.”
Wren looking out the window and ignored her.
“If I can believe the evidence against you doesn't make you a murderer, then please at least reserve your own judgment of me. And don't say anything during lunch about your suspicions. If you want to condemn me, do it in your mind and in secret. Not in public unless it's proven true. Not even then. Royals don't point fingers.”
Chastised, Wren shut her mouth, crossed her arms, and sat back against the seat. Sybelle had a point, but Wren didn't want to admit it. Instead, she needed to come up with a way to prove her own innocence.
Police motorcycles greeted them as they exited the funeral home and were on their way to the Resthaven Cemetery, the royal cemetery. In thirty minutes, they arrived and walked along a dirt path until they came to the king's family plot. It took up a large section of land in the back of the cemetery away from the road. The plots were grouped by the royal family's connections and scattered across several miles of land facing west.
The burial service was short compared to the funeral service. Although she didn't remember most of it, Wren felt the time fly as they took the casket from the hearse, read a few words over her father, and began rolling the casket into the stone building. One of many buildings, which housed every coffin of her father's ancestors, since their kingdom became its own sovereign country.
Tears covering her cheeks, Wren wiped her nose with a tissue as they turned and headed back to the limo before the guests began to leave.
Six shots shattered the gloom and stillness of the cemetery.
“Edrych allan!”
“Look out!”
“GET DOWN! EWCH LAWR!” Guards shouted at Wren and Sybelle as they threw their bodies over the queen and princess.
“What?!” Sybelle screeched.
“Ouch!” Wren's knees hit the ground as she was covered by several guards.
“Shooter! Saethwr!”
“West! He's on the west end!”
“After him!”
Wren squinted past the captain’s shoulder and couldn’t make out where the shooter was. She assumed it was at the edge of a small wood to the right of her father’s burial plot. People fell to the ground around them as they took off running.
“Queen, Princess, stay down. Follow me!” Captain Ward dragged them to their feet and ten guards shuffled them to the limo.
“Get them out of here!” Captain Ward slammed the back door and tapped the top of the limo. Tires churned and took off down the dirt road. Shouts and gunshots were going off behind them still.
Wren climbed on her knees and looked out the back window. Through the tint, she could make out the guards getting into their vehicles and following. A few motorcycle police surrounded them while others chased down the shooter. Guests who had come to the cemetery were being hurried into their vehicles and speeding down the dirt road as well.
“We could have been killed!” Sybelle whispered. “WE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!”
Wren couldn't catch her breath. Her heart pounded against her chest and ribs so fast she couldn't count the beats. It hurt. She tried to slow her rapid breaths, but they only seemed to quicken. Black dots start
ed to form shapes at the side of her pupils.
She couldn't blackout!
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Wren put her head down between her legs as Sybelle continued to rant about them nearly being killed.
Someone had tried to kill them.
They could be dead right now.
How many shots were there? Five? Six?
Who would do it?
Her father's killer?
Could she have been wrong?
Wren's brain couldn't keep up with all of the questions her mind kept flinging at her.
“I think I'm going to faint,” she whispered.
Her stepmother didn't hear her, but Wren blacked out anyway.
10
The first assassin had been shot on sight. Killed by a guard before he had time to get the job done. The bullets had hit a few key people, but they hadn’t hit the needed target.
Stupid, stupid man!
Knowing how hard it is to find good help, she had hoped this man was ready to actually go the distance in his job and not get killed before making good on his promise.
I set up everything perfectly, and he had to ruin it! The voice in her head snarled each word. This new assassin had better live up to his reputation. She was putting hers on the line.
“Do you think you are up to the task I have given you?”
“Yes,” this new one told her. He wiped his glassy eyes more than once.
For a moment, she wondered if he was really up to taking on this job or if he'd fail as horrifically as the last man. She had no time for screw-ups and repeats.
Her gaze turned to her right-hand man. He gave a single nod. He’d procured this new assassin as well.
“Are you sure? You aren't going to fall asleep on the job?” she asked.
“No,” he whispered.
Yawning, he wiped his hands down his black jeans and slunk further into the shadows.
“I know my job. I can do it. When?”
After telling him the time and place, she pulled her black hood up and waited.
“At least I didn’t have to shoot him,” the man said, as he sidled up to her side.
The smell of leather and cigarettes filled her nostrils. She shrugged and continued to stare out into the dark. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she tilted her head to the side.
“I tried to finish the job for you. When the police started shooting, I got in a few potshots. I don’t know if I hit him or her. If I hadn’t been ready to run for my life, I would have stayed longer to find out.”
“The guards saved you the trouble of taking out our first assassin. I suppose we can be grateful to them for that. The main targets were safe, but one man was hit. We’ll see how it ends.”
“The games aren’t over yet,” he stated.
“Not by a long shot. Let’s hope your sleepy slayer is as good and accurate as he proclaims. I need every one of them dead.”
Stepping forward, she gazed at the next hired killer as he slouched against a door frame under the local inn.
“Have we made a mistake? What if he’s not up to the task?”
“I’ll make sure he is,” he said.
“Hopefully, he isn't too sleepy to get the job accomplished right.” She walked down the sidewalk and hoped, this time, her mission would be carried through.
“He won’t be,” his voice whispered behind her.
Disappearing into the shadows, she allowed a smile.
11
“The man was DOA at the hospital. There was no identification on him. We’re taking prints and running a background check,” Chief Constable Hector informed them a few hours later.
Wren nodded, swallowed, and held the ice pack closer to her forehead. Wincing at the bump she felt, Wren tried to get her hand to stop shaking. During the police escorted race home, she’d fainted and fallen to the car floor. Headfirst. One of the guards had scooped her up and carried her inside.
The spectacle was all over the news. Some lovely reporter had captured it firsthand.
Their reception had been held without them. The mourners understanding that the royal family couldn’t be involved in a banquet when they’d all just been shot at, but several still managed to show up at the feast and make a dent in the food.
Sybelle had sent their regrets and encouraged those who had attended to continue the reception without the queen or princess present. The Prime Minister and most of the Royal Cabinet and Parliament members also declined attending.
“I hate to show this to you, but it’s a picture of the man in question. I need for you both to look at it. Please let me know if either of you has seen this man.”
Wren glanced at Sybelle, then back at the chief, and nodded. She felt as if her face had been hit by a trucker in a u-haul the size of Europe. Allowing Sybelle to look at the picture first, Wren noticed her stepmother’s hands shook as well.
She knew the queen was angry, maybe scared too. Her red face was one of the first things Wren had seen when she woke up. Wren wondered if Sybelle was disappointed that the assassin hadn’t shot her instead of just causing a nosedive into the car floor.
Speaking of nosediving, Wren ran a finger lightly over her nose and right cheekbone where they’d met carpet. Hissing, she dropped her finger from the rug burn and held the ice pack closer to her forehead.
Sybelle had taken the picture, looked, and shook her head. “I’ve never seen this man.” She handed the photograph to Wren and went back to twisting her hands. “Do you need more ice, Wren? I’ll call Davies.”
She was out of her chair and at the door before Wren could respond. Exchanging a glance with the chief, Wren’s eyes tried to convey the message, “See, she’s guilty of something.”
Looking at the picture, Wren couldn’t place the man or begin to imagine why he would have tried to kill them. He had dark hair and dark eyes that were open, unblinking, lifeless. His face held lines around the mouth and eyes. His forehead was wrinkled, even in death, he looked as if he was frowning out at them.
“Na, I don’t remember ever seeing him either.” Wren handed the photograph back to the Chief.
Sybelle came back over and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She folded her hands in her lap, smoothed out her skirt, and then refolded them. Her thumbs twitched back and forth. When Davies returned with the ice, handed it to Wren, and then exited again, Sybelle stared at the door.
The chief let the silence build as his eyes wandered from her to Sybelle and back again. “Queen Sybelle, do you have any idea who would want you and Princess Wren dead? This man’s actions weren’t random. He was waiting for you both to be at the grave site. He opened fire on both of you. Princess Wren, do you have any thoughts?”
“Nid wyf yn gwybod, I don’t know, Chief Hector. I don’t recognize this man, and I’m certain none of my father’s men would have anything to do with him.” Wren held eye contact with the chief before his eyes wandered back to the queen.
“I agree with Wren. I don’t know of anyone who would want to shoot either of us. It doesn’t make sense. If he is my husband’s killer, then I hope this is finally all at an end. I don’t want to wake up every morning wondering who will shoot at me next.” Sighing, Sybelle began squeezing her fingers together.
“Who stands to gain with the king dead, and you two next?” Sitting on the edge of a chair, he made eye contact and scribbled a note on his pad.
Sybelle shared a glance with Wren before answering, “I don’t know, Chief Hector. I am not aware of who would want to kill my husband or harm either of us. Since our country is a constitutional monarchy, no one really stands to gain from our deaths. Of course, there are always politics. Who disagreed with my husband or who wanted something accomplished that he didn’t want to be done. Anything is possible. However, if you are asking me to point fingers, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds. Wren stared at her stepmother, trying to figure out why she wouldn’t tell the chief about those who often disa
greed with father on numerous topics. Did she not want the killer found? Maybe because she was the killer?
Sitting back on her seat, Wren contemplated how truthful this statement could be. She suspected Sybelle, but more from anger than anything else, until now. Now, she really began to wonder what would happen if Sybelle was found guilty. What if she was correct, and her stepmother was out to kill her as well as her father?
Swallowing, eyes narrowing, Wren wondered if today was a stunt, and no one was supposed to die. Or, she was supposed to die, but the assassin messed it all up and almost got Sybelle too? No wonder she was acting edgy. The panic came from believing her plans were about to be found out! While Wren turned these new thoughts over in her mind, the chief continued to ask questions.
“Your refusal to help us, Queen Sybelle, will make my job so much harder. I hope you realize we need all the facts to figure out what motives are driving the murderer.”
“I understand. I’m not refusing to help. I’m just refusing to tell you who to suspect. I don’t want to falsely accuse someone.”
Wrth gwrs, of course, she’s refusing to help! She set this all up! How can you not see it?
“I can understand your feelings on the matter, Queen Sybelle. Again, I have to reiterate the facts. We need names. We need to know who stands to gain from your husband’s death, and their willingness to get rid of you and the Princess.”
“I don’t know, Chief. I’m afraid I have no answers for you.”
Wren’s eyes widened at the conversation ping-ponging back and forth between the two. “Sybelle, are you really unsure of who to blame and don’t want to unjustly accuse them, or do you know who it is and don’t want to say?” Wren accused.
Sybelle’s eyes widened, her mouth gaped, and she shook her head. “I don’t know who killed your father. If I did, I would tell immediately. I just don’t want to accuse anyone unless I have proof of their guilt.”
“Hmmpf,” Wren muttered.
Sybelle shook her head, “I don’t know, and don’t start accusing me, Eirwen!”
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