Unfaded Glory Page 26

  “No more kings, no princes. Right?” he asked her.

  She’d thought before that he might be the only man who’d give up a crown just because it was the right thing to do. “Right. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  “We shouldn’t—”

  “Baka and Kon are both loyal to me. They helped me escape the palace in the first place. They’re more than capable and happy to sit on Abele and Grisha until Interpol arrives. Come.” She pulled his hand. “This is important.”

  She took him to her father’s office. It was in the process of being packed up, but his desk was still as he’d left it. Probably because of the painting of him hanging on the back wall. It seemed as if he were watching all who entered the room and would know if you were up to something he didn’t like.

  He had a stern demeanor, but beneath that, he was kind and fair. He was a good leader.

  His bookshelves were largely untouched. The Art of War by Sun Tzu, A Summary View of the Rights of British America by Thomas Jefferson, Beyond Good and Evil by Frederick Nietzsche, Plato’s Theory of Knowledge... And she’d read them all. Or he’d read them to her.

  This was the place where she’d felt closest to her father. Surrounded by his books, the scent of good cigars and fine whiskey.

  Her nose prickled and her eyes burned as tears welled. She wished her father were there in person to meet him instead of just sharing with Byron the remnants of his life.

  “Grisha told me that Abele killed my father. I don’t want to believe him, but I do.”

  Byron looked around the room slowly, taking it all in. “Then you should tell that to the agents.”

  “That’s the problem. My father was an educated man. A teacher, a philosopher. An idealist. I don’t think he’d want me to. Abele will already be punished for those other things he’s done.”

  “Damara, I think you should do what you can best live with. They say that justice is for the victims, but it’s a lot like funerals. They’re grief rituals for the living. But I think that you would rather honor him and his wishes than see Abele punished any more than he already is. You wouldn’t let me kill him, after all.”

  “My father would have liked you, Byron.”

  “Do you really think so?” He flashed her a cocky grin. “I know if I were him, I wouldn’t approve of me.”

  “I know it’s going to sound silly, but that’s kind of why I brought you here. I wanted him to meet you.” She rushed on. “It’s weird, but it feels like part of him is still here in this room and these things, I know they’re just things. But they were his things—he touched them and loved them.”

  Byron nodded. “It’s not silly.”

  “Oh, Byron.” She leaned against him. “I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

  “And I don’t want you to. I want to spend our lives together. You’re my wife, and I want to be your husband. I’m just not sure how to do that.”

  “Do you mean it?” Hope surged in her chest. Was this possible? Did she get to be a fairy-tale princess after all?

  “I won’t lie. I’m afraid. Terrified.”

  She cupped his face. “Of what?”

  “Of failing you. Of hurting you.”

  “Your team, Byron...”

  “And damn it, I’m selfish. I’m afraid I’m doing this because I want you so badly that the only thing worse than failing you is living without you. If I was a good man, I’d tell you that it was over and I’d go home and drown in the bottom of a bottle while I tried to forget you. But I’m not. I’m selfish and I can’t give you up.”

  “Then I’m selfish, too, because I don’t want to do any of this without you. I could do it. Thanks to you, I know I can do anything. But I don’t want to. I want you with me. I’m asking you to give up your country, your home, to come here and stay with me while I fix what my brother has broken.”

  “Anywhere with you is paradise, Damara. But there’s something I have to do first.”

  She nodded. “You need to go to Texas.” Damara knew he needed that closure.

  “I need to tell Belinda I’m sorry. I need to see her and know she’s okay. And maybe leave that last piece of him with her.”

  “I want to go with you. You faced Abele with me. I want to be with you to do this.”

  He pulled her close, and she just marveled at the feel of his arms around her. She’d thought this wasn’t possible.

  “Highness, the agents are here,” a guard interrupted them.

  “Are you okay if I check in with Renner?” he asked.

  Damara realized that she was okay. She could do this. “Yes. See if you can get him started on that paperwork for the retirement he promised you.” She smiled and headed toward the throne room.

  Damara held her head high as she walked. She was proud of herself. Proud of Byron. And even if things were hard because they’d have to be separated for a while, it wouldn’t be forever.

  Byron’s job was part of who he was. She’d been so worried about being something besides a princess, she hadn’t realized that it wasn’t just a mask she pulled on and off. Her duty was to serve her people. And it was more than a duty—it was a calling.

  She faced the agents with a practiced calm she’d perfected.

  “They don’t have the right,” Abele choked out. “We’re a sovereign nation. There’s no Interpol office on Castallegna. They can’t—”

  She turned away from the men.

  “They can. I’ve authorized their presence, their authority. And Castallegna will soon be joining their ranks. I’ve decided the offices here will concentrate on human trafficking and war crimes.”

  Abele didn’t say anything else.

  “Please go on, gentlemen.” Damara turned her attention back to the men in front of her.

  “Is that true?” the blond agent asked her.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “They’ve been trying to finalize plans for a long time. Since right before your father died.”

  She nodded. “I know. Castallegna is about to go through some serious changes. My father wanted to transition away from a monarchy to a democracy. But we have a commitment to upholding the law, regardless of the power structure.”

  “Would you like to make a statement?”

  “Not at this time. Grisha Kulokav and my brother are both wanted for crimes in other countries? Castallegna will cede to their charges.”

  “That’s very generous.”

  “Not so much. I really just want them out of my home.” Damara laughed. “We can’t reform with anchors and old hurts hanging around our necks—and if anything, my brother is still an open wound for a lot of the people here. Especially me.”

  “What about Vladimir? He’s wanted, as well.”

  “By the United States, too,” Byron said from the door. “I have some intel that he’s trying to leave the island via plane. One of our agents slashed the tires on the plane, but that’s only going to stop them so long. If he gets in the air, we may not get another chance at him. He has unlimited resources.”

  “If Castallegna handed over its king, we’ll let you keep the older Russian,” the other agent said, as if they were playing a game of Go Fish rather than dealing with international crime bosses.

  Damara headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Byron asked her.

  “With you of course.” She eyed him. “If you tell me to stay here, it’s not going to go well for you.”

  “She’s power mad,” Byron teased.

  “Princesses can be that,” the agent answered.

  “Yes, yes I can.” Damara grinned. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go take out the trash.”

  * * *

  DAMARA HAD BLOOMED rather than wilted when faced with her demons. Not that Byron had e
xpected she’d do otherwise, but he knew she’d doubted herself.

  He hadn’t been kidding. He really did want her to stay safely ensconced where nothing could hurt her, but he decided if she couldn’t ask him to give up his job, he couldn’t do any less than support her in this.

  Even if that meant chasing down an evil bastard like Vladimir Kulokav.

  Byron didn’t enjoy being this enlightened. It’d be much more comforting if he could just be a knuckle-dragging caveman and lock her up at home—preferably in the bedroom.

  He sighed.

  Byron was trying desperately not to look for trouble where there was none, but he had a bad feeling. A gnawing in his gut that something awful was going to happen. He hoped it was just that part of himself that still thought he didn’t deserve Damara.

  They sped toward the airfield and saw the mechanic was in the process of changing the tire with a gun to his head.

  When he got out of the car, he recognized the mechanic as being part of Renner’s crew.

  Never shall I fail my comrades.

  Byron knew what he had to do.

  And so did Damara.

  “You can talk to him—”

  “He has nothing to lose and everything to gain by killing that man. Do you recognize him? He met us on the tarmac in D.C.”

  “Then let me help.”

  “You are helping. I couldn’t make you stay at the palace and I wouldn’t, but I need you to stay in the car. My head won’t be in the game if I’m worried about you.” When she would’ve spoken again, he said, “I have to let you do your job, so you have to let me do mine, right? Trust me. It’ll be okay.”

  It was the first time he’d lied to her.

  He couldn’t swear it was going to be okay. There was a very real possibility that he’d die.

  Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession... Yet, there was a part of him that did believe it would be okay. He believed that he’d kept her safe this long; he could finish this job. His team, this team, would all go home.

  “I love you, Damara.” He wanted her to hear it, just in case.

  “You better tell me that again when you get back.”

  “As many times as you want.” He turned to the driver. “Keep the princess safe.”

  “Always,” he answered.

  Byron walked out toward the tarmac as there was nowhere for him to hide. No way to sneak up on him. His only chance was to go head-to-head with this guy.

  “Stop where you are, Hawkins. Or I’ll kill your snitch,” Vladimir Kulokav said in perfect, unaccented English.

  “You’re going to kill him anyway.” He put on a mask of indifference; it might be what saved the man’s life.

  “That’s true.” He nodded. “The Bratva doesn’t tolerate snitches or bitches amongst its ranks.”

  “They tolerated your brother fine.”

  The 9 mm was trained on his chest. “Say that again.”

  Byron gambled that the man’s grief for his brother would temporarily outweigh his need for revenge. At least long enough to give them a window in which to operate. He smiled. “I only had to shoot him once this time. Bigger gun.”

  While Vladimir was frozen at the mention of his brother, Byron drew his gun from his waist and fired in a single smooth motion. He dropped Vladimir before he could get off a round.

  * * *

  A MILLION THINGS RUSHED through Damara’s mind as she watched the scene unfold before her and the other man crumpled. It hurt her heart to see anyone lose their life, but she knew Vladimir wouldn’t have had the same qualms.

  As he fell, the tarmac burst into action and suddenly there were Italian helicopters landing and Damara could see several Italian navy ships anchored in the bay.

  She couldn’t help but think that everything really would be okay.

  Damara burst from the car and flung herself into his arms, holding him so tightly that she’d never let go.

  “I thought I told you to stay in the car,” he said softly, his own embrace no less fierce.

  “I told you not to get shot and you didn’t listen.”

  “Oh, God, Damara.” He buried his face in her hair. “What happens now?”

  “We keep doing what we’ve been doing, just together. I need to hold an emergency election. Do you think Renner will let you stay as my personal protection?”

  “Is that what I’ll be to you?”

  “You’ll be my husband. You’re the prince of Castallegna. If I’m the Jewel, you’re the Heart. Because you’re my heart.”

  “How easily you speak of these things.”

  “With the same ease with which you speak of death, I speak of life.” She pulled away from him. “Are you saying that you’ve changed your mind?”

  Her heart would shatter in a million pieces if he did.

  “No, Damara. I just... I’m a mercenary.”

  “You’re a ranger.”

  “And I can be neither as your husband. What will I do as a dethroned prince?”

  “Mostly whatever you like. Are you sure you’re not having second thoughts?”

  “About you? Never. About me? I just... Remember how I told you I break things?”

  She laughed. “You’re not going to break me. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

  “I’m still afraid that all this darkness inside me is going to hurt you.”

  “All it’s done is protect me, brought us to the here and now. I love everything about you, Hawkins. Not just the shiny things.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got more heart than common sense,” he teased her.

  “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

  “No, Princess, it’s not. You’re absolutely perfect.” He kissed the top of her head.

  The helicopters landed and men in black tactical suits swarmed the area, surrounding them.

  Byron was suddenly in his element, taking charge of the commandos and directing the flow of people.

  He was so much more than he believed himself to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  IT TOOK A DAY to organize the special election, and Damara waited until the news outlets that had so faithfully covered their love story arrived. She wanted all the world to see who and what Castallegna had become.

  This transition wasn’t meant to be some small, quiet affair. It was a rebirth, and it deserved all the accolades and celebration that came with that.

  Once again, she found herself facing the press with Byron Hawkins by her side and Sonja fielding questions.

  As much as she’d disliked the woman upon first meeting her, that had all changed. She was very good at what she did, and Damara liked to think she’d convinced her to use her powers for good—at least when she was working for Damara. Together, they could push and pull at the flow and feel of a room until they got exactly the reactions and the questions they wanted. That was no small feat.

  One of the first questions: “Italy wants to know what happens now.”

  She smiled. “Right now? We wait.” Her answer was met with some low-key laughter. “That’s most of governing, I think. Waiting. The ballots are being counted and tallied. Soon we’ll know who our new prime minister is going to be and we’ve replaced key positions on the Council.” Damara took a deep breath. “At this time, I’d also like to thank those who took such an active role in our struggles. Italy, the United States and the hardworking officers of Interpol.”

  “Are you on the ballot, Princess Damara?”

  “No. I’ll continue to serve my country and work for social change and equality, but prime minister is a job for someone who is not a Petrakis.”

  “We’ve heard some of the people on the street have been writing your name into the ballots.”

>   “When my father first told me of his dream to bring Castallegna to democracy, he said that having a royal in any government position would be no true democracy at all. I believe he’s right,” she answered.

  “What about the ranger?” was the next question.

  “Was it all just a sham to get the world to look at Castallegna?”

  “I won’t deny that I needed the world to see what was happening in my country. But as you can see, my husband is next to me. If it were a sham, I’d be addressing you alone.”

  “This is for Lt. Hawkins—Prince Byron. How does it feel to have a hollow crown?”

  Byron flashed an easy grin. “It was never my crown to start with. As a ranger, I fought for freedom. How could I do any less for my wife?”

  She melted and smiled. “He doesn’t need a crown to be a prince.”

  “I’m sure you both know the story of the princess and the marine. That ended poorly. What do you see for yourselves in the future?”

  Damara didn’t know how to answer that. Thus far, she’d fielded most of the questions and she wanted to know the answer to this one, as well. She knew he wanted to be with her, but what was that going to be like?

  “Happily ever after. That’s how this stuff works, right? I got the princess.” His mouth curled into that sexy grin.

  “All due respect, that’s not a real answer. It’s romantic, but it doesn’t address where you’ll live, or how long until you get out of the service...”

  The room was suddenly heavy with tension and expectation. Damara thought it was strange they’d been talking about the evolution of a government, a great day in history, and all they cared about was the love story.

  “I think that’s the best part about it, ma’am,” Byron supplied. “We don’t know how that’s going to work out, but believe me when I say it will.”

  And she did. Damara utterly believed that it would.

  Cameras started flashing fast and furious and she knew it was because of the way she was looking at her husband—as if he set the sun in the sky. For Damara, he did.

  He took her hand and kissed it, eyes meeting like the slow draw of mercury. Everything she felt for him flared and burned. The lust, the instant slam of need that ricocheted through her every time he touched her, the joy of knowing that he was hers and the love that was so deep it was part of her on a cellular level. She didn’t care who saw it.