by Bec McMaster
“Gideon! Gideon!” Alexandra slid to her knees beside him.
Blood poured from the wound in his shoulder. The breath wheezed out of him as he tried to move. A terrible, whistling sound that drove a chill through her veins like liquid lead.
Alexandra tore his coat open, ignoring the restraining hands that sought to pry her away. “Curse you, leave me be!”
“It’s not safe.” Malloryn. Appearing out of nowhere.
She looked into his cold, gray eyes. “Then make it safe. I will not leave him.”
Malloryn’s cool gaze flickered to Gideon, and then he gave a curt nod. “Obsidian, set up a perimeter. Gemma, send for a surgeon. Immediately.”
“Consider it done, Your Grace,” said Miss Townsend.
Alexandra barely heard the words. All she could sense was movement behind her as Malloryn took charge.
Blood welled over her cupped hands as Sir Gideon gasped for breath. His dark eyes met her own, begging her for something she couldn’t understand. He tried to grab her arm, but the movement was beyond him.
“No! Don’t move.” What was she going to do? She pressed her hands firmer, trying to hold his blood inside him from sheer pressure.
“Let me see,” Malloryn said, kneeling at her side.
“I can’t let go. I can’t.”
He caught her wrists, and their eyes met. “Trust me, Alexandra. Trust me. I need to see the wound.”
Slowly, she let him move her hands away. Blood welled in sluggish lumps. There was so much of it.
“He’s human,” she whispered.
A blue blood could survive a wound like this, but Sir Gideon had been vaccinated against the craving virus. They couldn’t even infect him now in order to save his life.
There was no emotion in Malloryn’s eyes.
Only the cold, sharp assessment she was afraid to take herself as he pressed his cravat to the bleeding. “His lung is pierced. He doesn’t have long.”
“Do something,” she begged. “Do something. Please.”
Malloryn glanced down. “I can’t infect him. My saliva may be able to heal some small components of this injury, but—”
All she heard was the “but.”
All the warmth in the world washed away from her. No. She had lost everything—the father she’d adored, the mother who’d died at her birth, her youth, her innocence, her privacy, even her own choices. Sir Gideon was the one secret little pleasure she’d ever cherished. Her rock in any storm. Never trying to take from her, but standing at her side, always, there to tell her she wasn’t alone when she faced difficult, terrible decisions.
She didn’t think she could continue to rule without him.
Not without losing all sense of hope.
“I can help him.” The tall, brooding man who always shadowed Miss Townsend pushed Malloryn out of the way. “The sac surrounding his lungs is filling with air and placing pressure on the lung itself. If we don’t relieve some of that pressure it will collapse his lung completely, and he won’t be able to breathe.” He eased the bloodied cravat out of the way. “The bullet’s still inside him, but it doesn’t appear to have hit anything vital in itself.”
Malloryn moved aside. “Will he survive, Obsidian?”
“Perhaps.”
Perhaps? “Just what sort of experience do you have, sir? Are you a surgeon?”
The man’s ghostly-pale eyes flickered to hers. Dhampir, Malloryn had told her once. An enemy who had defected to their side. And now Sir Gideon’s life lay in his hands.
“Usually I’m the one dealing such wounds,” he replied matter-of-factly. Tugging a small leather satchel from within his coat, he rolled it out, revealing an array of wicked-looking instruments. “But I wouldn’t have missed the heart if I’d taken that shot. Unless I meant to. Your Majesty, I think you should look away.”
Alexandra shook her head, but Malloryn was already bustling her away from Sir Gideon’s panting, wheezing body.
“Malloryn!” she gasped, trying to see over his shoulder.
“Here,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms and forcing her tear-stained face into his shoulder. “Don’t look,” he whispered, the palm of his hand cupping the base of her skull. “He will survive it, Alexandra. I swear he will. He won’t want to leave you. Just don’t look, and it will all be over soon.”
Chapter Fourteen
Malloryn moved slowly around Sir Gideon’s bedchambers, picking up one of the man’s jackets—slung carelessly over a chair—before draping it over the queen’s shoulders.
She sat by the bed, holding one of Sir Gideon’s hands, her face pale and tearstained. Looking up in shock, she realized who the jacket belonged to, and then drew it close around her shoulders.
“You need to bathe and get out of that bloody dress,” he murmured. “I’ll send for some tea and supper for you to have in your rooms.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He bit off the words he was about to say, meeting his wife’s eyes. Adele nodded, kneeling by the queen’s side and taking her other hand.
“Your Majesty, you are wet to the skin and suffered a great shock today. You cannot watch over Sir Gideon if you take ill. And I am certain he would not wish you to put yourself at risk. I will sit with him while you bathe,” Adele promised. “I’ll make sure he’s not alone.”
The queen opened her mouth as if to argue, then glanced at Gideon’s face. “Please,” she whispered. “Please come and fetch me if his circumstances take a turn.”
“I will send one of the maids immediately,” Adele promised.
Malloryn bustled her into the arms of her ladies-in-waiting before pinching the bridge of his nose the second the door was closed behind her. “What a fucking catastrophe. I should never have let her go riding off alone with only two of her guards and Gemma.”
“You cannot control everything, and how were you to know someone had gotten to one of the guards?”
“I should have known,” he bit out. “I personally vetted them myself after Lord Balfour’s attack.” He scrubbed the back of his neck and paced the Aubusson rug. “If it wasn’t for Sir Gideon, she’d be dead. But no, I wanted her to have a nice rendezvous with the man.”
Adele sighed, wrapping her arms around him from behind. “You are not omnipotent, Auvry. You took every precaution you could have done with the knowledge you had. And both she and Sir Gideon are alive, and the physicians seem to think he will survive. Obsidian did most excellent work.”
“We were lucky.”
“Yes, we were lucky. And now you’re not going to be doing anyone any favors wearing a hole in that rug.” Adele turned him around, then straightened his coat. “The Duke of Malloryn does not wring his hands and bemoan the past. He does not wear his guilt like a cape. You made a mistake. Gemma made a mistake. The queen made a mistake. But there’s no point waffling on about it.”
“I am not wearing my guilt—”
“You’re being practically Byronic, my love.” Reaching up, she tweaked the front of his hair into a curl. “Careful now, or they’ll start whispering at court about the single stoic tear they saw sliding down your cheek.”
“I’m a blue blood. I cannot cry. I do not cry.”
“No? Nor do you lament the past. You have the guard in the dungeons,” she pointed out, “and you’ve not made a single comment about interrogating him.”
“That’s because Byrnes is doing so as we speak. He’s a trifle irate with him, after catching a glimpse of what the bastard did to Gemma.”
“And the prince?”
His face hardened. “Certainly knows more than he first claimed. Though Charlie was keeping an eye on him, and said he managed to slip into the city.”
“Then find him and encourage him to tell you all about it. Now go and find out who paid that guard to murder his queen. And don’t come back until you have found him.”
Malloryn glared down at her. “I hate being managed.”
Adele rolled her eyes and laughed. “Don’
t I know it.”
But he kissed her on the cheek and made his way to the door to do as he’d been told. Adele was right. He was hovering over Sir Gideon’s sickbed like a nursemaid. “Send for me if his condition changes. I shall see you tonight for dinner.”
Byrnes looked disconsolate by the time Malloryn reached the dungeon.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“See for yourself.” Byrnes swung the door open.
Inside the cell, a man hung from the ceiling, his face purple. Malloryn swept the room with a glance, then gestured for Byrnes to shut the door. “What the hell happened? You allowed him a length of rope?”
“Do I look like some sort of amateur, Your Grace?”
Malloryn surveyed him again. “No.” Generally speaking, when it came to information-gathering, he would have preferred to use Gemma—who had an absolute knack for stealing secrets from a man without having to even touch him—but Byrnes was no slouch. And he didn’t make mistakes like this. “What happened?”
Byrnes held up his gloved fingers, revealing a slip of paper between them. “Use the rope,” he read, “or your wife and son will make its acquaintance instead.” He tsked under his breath. “We are dealing with some coldly calculating killers, Your Grace. I don’t know how the letter got to him, but I found it in his pocket. Could have been any of the guards—”
“Search them.”
“Our dear Kincaid is already doing so. The rope is another matter.” Byrnes opened the door again and pointed to a small grate in the wall. “I believe it was slipped through the grate, though the opening into the air vents is so small that only a child would be able to move about within. Whoever it was, they’re long gone. I left him alone for half an hour to think about… the choices he needed to make, and when I returned he was hanging.”
Malloryn pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, my suspect is dead, our rejected prince is missing, and once again, we have no leads.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that, Your Surliness.” Byrnes clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Dead men don’t talk. But you’d be amazed what you can learn about them if you do a little sleuthing. It seems our Guardsman Wallach was a bit of a gambler. Pockets too deep for his circumstances, so to speak. I’ve sent Ingrid and Lark out to do a little enquiring, but from what his fellow guards have mentioned, it seems Wallach was in debt. One guard recalls hearing a handful of dubious-looking gentlemen threatening to remove fingers if he didn’t suddenly pay, and even offered to help him out. But three days ago, he was suddenly tossing coin in games again. Told my informant he no longer needed a loan.”
Finally. “Please tell me you have a lead that isn’t going to vanish on us.”
Byrnes’s smile widened. “We have a lead, and this time, I don’t think it’s going to vanish.”
“Your Grace.”
Malloryn paused as Charlie caught up to him. “The prince?”
“Gone.” Charlie’s face wore a scowl. “He made it to the airfields before I could catch him. I don’t know how much money he cast about him, but a Russian airship managed to depart despite the lack of paperwork.”
Malloryn stilled. He’d thought Ivan innocent of any involvement in the assassination attempts, but why flee?
Mind racing, he turned to Charlie. “Just the prince? Or was his entire party with him?”
“Just the prince, and his man, Danil. The rest of the Russians are still in their chambers, and Herbert and Clara mentioned that the Grand Duchess is in a rage. Apparently, he informed her that the queen was likely to propose, and she… uh… destroyed everything.”
“So she’s unaware of the outcome of their conversation.” Which meant Prince Ivan hadn’t visited her since the queen dismissed his suit. “Ivan knows more than he should, but the rest of the party are merely dupes.”
“As I surmised too, Your Grace.”
A blonde woman had told the prince about the scarab brooches. A voluptuous blonde. At the time, Malloryn had assumed the prince was merely a decoy, but now?
It could have been a lie meant to distract Malloryn and his Rogues.
“Fetch me the Grand Duchess,” he told Charlie. “Put her in the blue suite. I want to have a word with her.”
Charlie winced. “She’s a little scary, Your Grace.”
Malloryn smiled. “So am I.”
Though he doubted he’d have to threaten her. A woman scorned was more than likely to wish to strike at her ex-lover by any means possible.
He could almost feel the wheels turning.
He’d have a name by the end of the day. He knew it.
Sir Gideon’s fingers twitched in Alexandra’s hand.
She lifted her head from his bed sharply, her heart leaping into her throat. “Gideon?”
He stirred restlessly, his dark lashes flickering against his cheek, his tongue licking dry lips. His eyes began to slowly open.
By all the heavens! He was waking. “Don’t move!” she told him sharply, reaching for the glass of water someone had left on his nightstand. “Here. Drink.”
Tipping the glass to his lips, she nearly drowned him. Gideon sputtered, and Alexandra wore most of it as he started coughing and then couldn’t stop.
“Good lord,” he rasped, clapping a hand to his chest and looking down in surprise. “What happened? Why do I feel… like someone’s cut me from… chin to navel?”
Perhaps because someone almost had. She hadn’t been able to watch as Obsidian used a razor-sharp scalpel to slice into the sac of air that was crushing Gideon’s lungs.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Push me aside so you—”
She couldn’t say it.
Gideon collapsed back against the pillow as he gave a breathless laugh. “Because I would rather take a thousand bullets than see you catch… even one. I would die for you, Alexa. I would be your shield when you have none. Always. Forever. No matter what may come.”
Not “my queen,” but “Alexa.” Because she would always be a woman first in his eyes, and not a monarch.
The tears caught her by surprise.
Queens didn’t have the luxury of crying. But though she caught the sob between her teeth, she could feel a tear sliding down her cheek.
No other man had ever been as true to her.
And the realization speared through her: she would love him. Always. Forever. And if she couldn’t have him, then she would take no one else as husband.
Curse Malloryn. He would simply have to deal with her decision.
The queen’s tears cleared as she leaned over Sir Gideon’s bed and pressed her lips to his. “I will marry no other man than you,” she whispered.
“Alexa!”
“No,” she said firmly. “I love you. And with you by my side, we will be unstoppable. There is nothing I cannot handle with you in my life. And that is what a queen needs. A husband who is both stalwart and true. A husband who will not fear to tell her when she is wrong. A husband who will love her to the end of his days. A husband who is her very dearest friend.”
Gideon tried to sit up. “Is this a marriage proposal? Or my queen’s orders?”
“Both.” Then she swallowed. “Unless you do not wish to marry me.”
Gideon’s thumb stroked the back of her hand. “I did not dare dream of such a thing. Nothing has changed, Alexa. I am still… unworthy.”
“You were never unworthy,” she said fiercely. “And we have changed this entire damned country. Why can we not change this one thing?”
He shook his head. “Malloryn is going to have an apoplectic fit.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Is that a yes?”
Again, he squeezed her hand. Then swallowed. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. Though I fear I am being selfish.”
“Never.” A cry of relief escaped her, and she fell forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I need you by my side. And Malloryn is simply going to have to deal with the fact that he does not cont
rol everything.”
Gideon captured her hand. “Please tell me I can be there when you announce it.”
Alexa kissed his cheek. “I promise.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was Byrnes and Kincaid who brought the crucial piece of information to him. Malloryn looked up from his desk, noticing the grins on both their faces. “Yes?”
“Who are your best agents?” Byrnes asked.
“Your favorite agents?” Kincaid added.
He glanced between them, then set his pen down. His afternoon with the Grand Duchess had proven merely another false lead, so he was desperately in need of some evidence. “My favorite agents are the ones who have found whoever wants to kill the queen.”
Reaching inside his coat pocket, Byrnes produced a piece of paper with a flourish. “I have a receipt from the bank for a withdrawal for five thousand pounds, as paid to Guardsman Wallach.”
Kincaid slammed another piece of paper on the desk. “And I have the prototype schematics for a particular type of drone that is designed to be unleashed on a field of war. A gyrfalcon, if you will believe. One of the mechs who escaped the Ironmonger enclaves created a pair of them for a customer he recognized from a very popular caricature that did the rounds several years ago. She thought if she didn’t give him a name, then he’d never be able to trace her, but she didn’t count on her notoriety.”
“She?” He glanced at the receipt. And then the prototype schematics.
His eyebrows hit his hairline. And then he smiled.
Voluptuous blonde, indeed. Prince Ivan had been telling the truth.
“We’ve got her.”
Malloryn found the culprit in the portrait gallery, staring at one of Queen Alexandra’s forbears. Or perhaps, if he was being honest, she wasn’t perusing the king himself, but the golden, shining crown upon his head.
“It wouldn’t fit very well,” he called, resting on his cane.
Princess Imogen almost leapt out of her skin, clapping a bejeweled hand to her substantial chest. “Good grief. Malloryn. Don’t you have something to do rather than creeping around this bloody tower like a vulture?” Her lip curled. “Doesn’t my cousin have some shoes that need kissing?”