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  “You don’t have to be afraid to die. And if you cost me this partnership with Kulokav, you will.”

  “You should worry about yourself, brother,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “You could be in a sniper’s sights as we speak.”

  He laughed again. “I suppose I could be. But I’m not. If you wanted me dead, you would’ve sent your ranger after me. If you thought he could do it.”

  Her brother didn’t know her at all. That was both comforting and heartbreaking at once. “I grieve for you, Abele. I do. I grieve the loss of my brother, because you’re not him.”

  “This is your last chance, Damara.”

  She ended the call, numb.

  “Was that him?” Sonja asked.

  Damara nodded. “He didn’t say anything new.”

  “I’ll tell Renner. I doubt we’ll get any more information off the line, but we can try.”

  Damara pulled on her princess costume—the expression, the hair, the makeup—and she went back to face the camera feeling as helpless as she ever had.

  * * *

  BYRON READIED HIMSELF for the satellite interview that would air on all the major news networks. He still didn’t want to put on the ranger uniform, but it was all about the image.

  He still didn’t think he deserved it.

  But he kept thinking back to his nightmare, and it was strange that he found a sort of ease in it.

  Someday, he’d find the courage to write those letters to each of the families of the men he’d lost. He’d always wanted to, not just to say that he was sorry because he knew that was never enough.

  He wanted to tell Foxworth’s wife that he couldn’t wait to come home to her and their children. He wanted to tell Barnes’s daughter that her father was a hero. That he knew what lay in store for him, but he faced it without fear because he wouldn’t abandon his fellow rangers. He wanted to tell them all that they deserved so much better than what they got, and maybe one day, if he could ever forgive himself, he might ask them for the same. To forgive him for what he’d taken from them.

  To forgive him for living when those they loved didn’t.

  Byron didn’t know if he’d ever be able to say those things out loud, but he’d finally been able to acknowledge them. They’d always been there, waiting in the shadows and the dark to tear at him with claws and teeth.

  But he ripped at himself deeper than they ever could.

  The constant loop of screams in his head was still there, but they weren’t as loud and insistent.

  He checked himself in the mirror, and he saw a ranger staring back at him. He wanted to recite the creed, for Barnes, for Foxworth, for himself. For them all. Only, he still wasn’t ready. He still hadn’t earned it.

  Sonja checked them over and decided that Damara needed a bit more lip gloss before she was camera ready. Then they took their positions in the sunroom—the new couple relaxing at home.

  A large monitor had been set up for them to be able to visually engage their interviewer. Byron didn’t like that they were accepting calls for questions, but he wasn’t the PR person. He had no idea how this would help their cause, but he knew someone was going to say something awful. That was just the nature of people, especially if they could be anonymous. “Ready to go?” Sonja asked.

  Damara nodded, and the screen buzzed to life. The reporter on the other side of the screen gave her intro.

  “I’m Melanie Moon, and tonight, we have a live satellite interview with the princess and the ranger. Thank you so much for being with us, Princess Damara and Lt. Hawkins. So let’s get right to it. Everyone wants to know more about you both and your amazing story. Mobsters, royalty and intrigue. It sounds like some kind of novel. How did it all happen?”

  Damara recounted the same story she’d told at the press junket, how they’d been interacting for months before she made her escape. She sounded completely believable. Who knew she’d be such a good liar? He’d been taught the body language and the microexpressions to look for when people were being dishonest, and Damara had none of them. For that moment, she must’ve found a way to make herself believe everything she was saying.

  “You’ve definitely got some critics. What do you have to say to them?” Melanie asked.

  Damara flashed what he’d come to call her princess smile. It wasn’t fake, but it wasn’t exactly real, either. “I don’t have anything to say to them. There’s always someone who wants to judge you. I’ve done what I thought was best with the resources I had. And that’s all any of us can do.”

  “So true, Princess. So true.” Melanie nodded. “Lt. Hawkins, do you have a response?”

  Byron fell back into the same character he’d adopted at the press junket. “She’s the diplomat with the pretty words. I’m just a soldier, and my words probably aren’t appropriate for live television.” He flashed his best bad-boy grin. It was all he had in his arsenal and probably the most believable anyway.

  Melanie laughed. “Okay, I have another one for you. How do you feel about the threats that the king of Castallegna has made against your life?”

  Byron hadn’t known that they’d released the call to the news outlets, but it made sense.

  “Let me play it for the audience.”

  He tightened his fingers around hers to offer his support. Hearing this once today had been enough to last her a lifetime. Now she had to hear it again on live TV with everyone watching her pain. Her brother’s betrayal. It was an open wound, and they were inviting everyone to tear it wider.

  After it finished, Byron said, “I put my life on the line for my country every day. It’s the least I can do for my wife.”

  Melanie’s expression told him that was exactly the right answer. “Wow, it looks like you’ve lit up the phone lines, Lt. Hawkins. Why don’t we take a call? Hello, caller. You’re on with Melanie Moon and the princess and the ranger. What’s your question?”

  “You’re married?”

  Byron grinned at the camera. “As of yesterday morning. In fact, I have a little something I forgot to give her.” He pulled out the ring and slid it on her finger.

  The tears in her eyes might have been real as she held up her hand for the audience to see.

  “Was that your question, caller?” Melanie asked.

  “I was going to ask if he had any single friends that were like him.”

  He didn’t have any friends, single or not. But he knew to play up to the audience. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”

  Melanie seemed irritated at the question. It was obvious she was hoping for something a bit more hard-hitting and worthy of journalism, rather than the dating habits of the American girl. “Next caller.”

  “This is a pretty fairy tale you’ve got for yourself, Lt. Hawkins.”

  He recognized the voice. It was heavily accented. Russian. He signaled to Sonja, and she started tapping madly on the screen of her phone.

  “Yes, it is. I’m very grateful,” he answered neutrally.

  “What about your team, Lt. Hawkins?”

  Oh, Christ. His first instinct was to declare the interview over, but he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep Damara safe. They could run a trace on the call from the news studio and figure out where Kulokav was.

  Byron didn’t say anything else. He pursed his lips. He had to remember that the world could see him. Everyone could see him. They’d be able to see his pain and his guilt.

  He’d just been thinking about how he wished he could tell their families...

  “Your team in Uganda, Hawkins.”

  Fuck, how had they found out about that? It was classified. Top secret. No one had access to that information. His brain churned around the logic, the mission, but his guts ached and revolted, demanded that he give the emotion, the attention, it deserved.

  “What abou
t them?” he asked, his face stony and hard as he fought the tidal wave washing over him.

  “I just thought you’d have something to say about it since you’re here and they’re not. How’d that happen?”

  Damara bristled. “Sometimes those in a position of leadership and power have to make hard decisions. Choices that lead to other people’s pain, but they’re for the greater good. Or they’re the only thing you can do—”

  “I live with that guilt every day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could change what happened.”

  “Princess, so you admit that sometimes a leader has to make hurtful choices?”

  Byron knew where this was going, and he also knew that even if he wanted Melanie to cut the call, she wouldn’t. This was too juicy. He knew he had to turn it back around on himself.

  He knew he had to face his demons there where everyone could see.

  “You asked me a question. Do me the courtesy of allowing me to answer.”

  “By all means, Lt. Hawkins,” Melanie said.

  He took a deep breath. The memory barged to the forefront of his mind, stark and awful. The screams, the fire—and the absolute knowledge that it was his fault. “We were in pursuit of a guerilla faction. It was a trap. My men died. The official inquiry exonerated me, but I feel their loss and I regret what happened every day.” He was as succinct as he could be.

  “What were you doing in Uganda?” Melanie asked.

  “That’s classified.” Damn them. Damn them all.

  “And you’ve lit up the switchboard again, Lt. Hawkins.”

  Damara’s fingers threaded more tightly with his and she tugged lightly to get him to look at her.

  When he did, she spoke a wealth of things with her expression. It was written as plainly as words in a book that if he wanted to stop, if he wanted to end this, he could.

  No, he could do this.

  Or so he thought. Then Melanie spoke again.

  “We have Belinda Foxworth on the line.”

  He couldn’t hide his reaction to hearing her name. He imagined his face must have looked much like an animated clay figure as it was formed and destroyed and reformed by all the emotions that riddled him like so many bullets.

  Byron was frozen to the spot. He wanted to run. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to do something besides sit there and silently bear the weight of what he’d done. But there was nothing else for him to do. He was caught in a trap of his own making.

  “Lt.—Byron? Can you hear me?” Her voice was gentle and sounded just like Foxworth had described it to him. Like the chiming of small bells.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. God, this was the culmination of everything he’d hoped for and everything he couldn’t face. But he owed it to her to bear whatever she wanted to fling at him. If she wanted to rage at him on national television—he owed her that and so much more.

  “I don’t blame you. His children don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  That was the last thing he’d expected from her. That kindness, those words, they drained the life out of him, sapped the strength from his bones. If Damara hadn’t been there holding his hand and rooting him in the real, he would’ve crumpled like paper.

  He found he had no words. Not just that he didn’t know what to say, but that he couldn’t speak them even if he did. His throat was so tight, his tongue thick and useless.

  “I want to invite you and the princess to come visit me at the ranch. It would mean the world if you’d come. Austin spoke of you often and well.”

  “Thank you, Belinda.” He managed not to choke on his answer.

  Melanie was quiet for a moment, and then she began speaking. “An emotional time now for Lt. Byron Hawkins as—”

  “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” He left the interview. He had to get away from the cameras, away from that raw pain and the horrible feeling that was forgiveness.

  He’d thought he wanted it, but he didn’t. Byron couldn’t punish himself enough for what he’d done, so he needed her to do it for him.

  He should have known that Belinda wouldn’t blame him, not after the way had Foxworth talked about her. She was a light; she was a jewel. She was...everything he’d thought about Damara.

  Her hands were suddenly on his shoulders, and he turned around to face her.

  “Let’s go to Texas. Let’s go right now.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” He couldn’t go to Texas. Not now, not ever.

  “Probably. I had Sonja get Belinda’s information. I’ve got her address, and I told her we’re coming.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.” Damara nodded. “You owe her and yourself that much.”

  “In case you forgot, there’s a threat against your life.”

  “No, I didn’t forget. But I’d like to. If we take one day to go to Texas and see her, it’s not going to hurt anything.”

  “I just can’t face her,” he confessed.

  “She’s not angry with you—she doesn’t blame you.”

  “Not, but I do, and she should.” Oh, she should. If she’d been there, if she knew what he’d done...

  “That’s the great thing about emotions. You don’t get to choose how other people feel,” Damara reminded him gently.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we could?”

  “No, I don’t think so. There’s a reason we feel the things we do. Lessons we can’t learn otherwise. Even the things that hurt.”

  “Damara, I can protect you. I can kill for you. I can die for you. But don’t ask me to do this.”

  “I’m not asking for me. It’s for you.” She reached up and cupped his cheek.

  “Then let me do it in my own time. Right now is about protecting you.”

  “And I wish it wasn’t.”

  “But it is and wishing it wasn’t isn’t going to change anything. For either of us.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS SUDDENLY all too much for Damara.

  The situation was so far beyond her control that it made her wonder if she’d ever had a shot at making a difference, both with Castallegna and Byron.

  Damara was furious.

  Furious at the news outlet, furious at Sonja. And most of all, she was furious at her brother for making Byron a target. She hadn’t realized what he’d been through and the weight he carried around with him. She didn’t want to be the one who dug into his soft places with sharp things. She didn’t want anyone to hurt him.

  From what it seemed like since they’d come back to Glory, Byron had no one. Renner used him for what he could. He had no friends. All the time working for the DOD, he’d never made any real human connection with anyone.

  To Damara’s way of thinking, she was all he had.

  Did she think she was going to swoop in and save him by dragging him to Texas to face the pain he carried with him? She couldn’t do that for him. And even if she could, it wasn’t her place.

  “I’ve got to get out of here for a while.”

  “Damara—”

  “Look, I just can’t be here... and this... It’s fine. I need some space. Some quiet.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “I need it away from you, too.”

  “Tough luck, Princess. We don’t have to talk, but if you think you’re leaving here by yourself, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “I just want to feel normal.”

  “Let’s go feed the ducks.”

  “We need to talk about arrangements,” Sonja interrupted them.

  “I just can’t right now. I really don’t care what you do. It doesn’t matter. Whatever works best for the spin, right?” Damara replied.

  “You don’t want to at least pick out your
dress?” Sonja took her hand.

  Damara shook her head. “No. Choose whatever you think is best.”

  She couldn’t think about planning a wedding to a man she wasn’t going to stay married to. The deal had been sealed when she’d signed the license. This was just pouring perfume on a goat, as her father liked to say.

  “Why don’t you give us a little while? We’ll be back in a few hours, and Damara can approve everything then.”

  Sonja looked back and forth between them and nodded slowly. “You can take my rental.” She handed her keys to Byron.

  As soon as she stepped outside, she tried to use her breathing exercises to calm and center herself, but everything was still too close, too tight.

  Too much.

  He was the one who’d just been through an emotional ordeal, and she was the one who couldn’t keep it together. Damara was embarrassed and ashamed, but that did little to help her.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I get it,” he said once they were driving past the outskirts of the main downtown area toward a small park entrance. “I’m surprised you haven’t been more upset before now. This is a lot for anyone to handle.”

  “Not you.”

  “It’s my job to handle it,” he reassured her.

  “Mine, too.”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “You expect too much from yourself. You say that you’re just an ordinary woman, but you’re not. You are every inch a princess.”

  “And I’m still in my tower.”

  “I’d say you’re a long way from your tower.” He eyed her. “But you don’t have to do anything right now but come feed these fat little bastards.” He pointed at the ducks.

  There was a vending machine with little pellets just to feed the chubby white birds.

  “The palace swans bite. Do these bite?” Damara asked, cupping the food in one hand.

  “If they do, they’ll get drop-kicked like a football.”

  “Byron!”

  “When I was a little kid, my babysitter used to bring me here so I’d have something to do while she made out with her boyfriend. She’d give me crackers to crumple up and throw on the water. The ducks decided they didn’t need me to get the bag.” A duck nipped at his fingers lightly, begging for more, and there was no drop-kicking. He indulged the animal and gave it some more. “I guess it was kind of funny to watch, all those ducks quacking at me, flapping their wings and nipping at me to get the bag, all the while I was screeching like I was dying.” He shook his head. “I had nightmares about ducks for years.”