The Secret King
Auteur·e
C.J. Miller
Lectures
15,9K
Chapitres
11
Chapter 1
Casimir felt the pulse of power in the ballroom of the Acacian castle. Three influential leaders, each with their axes to grind, were setting problems aside tonight in a public display of unity that hadn’t been witnessed in the past twenty years. The king of Acacia was turning sixty and the night was meant for frivolity.
Too bad one of the kings would die tonight by Casimir’s hand. He hated to ruin the party for the king of Acacia, but attacking the king of Rizari away from his palace made the logistics much simpler.
With the president of Icarus’s help, Casimir had smuggled his weapons into the room. He was ready. He had mentally run the plan dozens of times. He had trained. He would do what needed to be done, shed his fake identity for good and he would disappear, taking asylum in Icarus.
Casimir was careful not to touch the gun at his side, a habit he’d formed in the military to ensure it was in place. The knife in its sheath at his hip brushed against his pants. He did nothing to call attention to himself. In addition to the three leaders, the room was filled with security—each of the king’s guards and the president’s servicemen, all armed to the teeth.
Danae, the eldest princess of Acacia had her guards close as well. She was the heir to the throne, and watching her, Casimir understood why she was being courted by the king of Rizari. Princess Danae looked like a woman who liked to have fun, but who couldn’t organize her closet, much less a country. Her brunette curls bounced as she laughed and threw her head back in delight.
The younger princess of Acacia, Serena, was standing alone on the perimeter of the party. Unlike her sister’s vibrant, fanciful energy, Serena had a quiet, serious beauty about her. Her blond hair hung around her shoulders and she looked almost ethereal in a light blue gown. She sipped her glass of wine and watched the party with little change in her expression. No one spoke to her. She had to be bored. Casimir had been studying King Warrington’s social circles, and he found her behavior curious, very different from what he had experienced in Rizari. To blend in to the royal social circle, extraversion was critical.
Why was the princess so removed? He knew little about the king and princesses of Acacia. They didn’t factor into his plan, except that he was using their castle to exact his revenge. He would send an anonymous note of apology once he’d returned to Icarus and was safe in his new life, revenge complete. Perhaps then his soul would be quiet and peaceful.
“She is beautiful, no?” Demetrius DeSante said. The president of Icarus, and his good friend, spoke softly. Though DeSante and Casimir were careful not to give away how close they were, especially in regard to this conspiracy, DeSante had been making the rounds through the ballroom, talking to everyone with a title or a fortune. Casimir was pretending to have the latter.
Though DeSante had been accused of many bad things, he was a good leader and one of his best qualities was his charisma. He could talk anyone into doing what he wanted. It was another way he was dangerous.
The lights flickered and then went out.
“Is this your plan? You’re doing this now?” DeSante’s voice in his ear.
The blackout was not part of his plan. Casimir was nowhere near King Warrington of Rizari. Casimir could only see by candlelight in the darkened room. Acacia was plagued by energy distribution problems. “Not my plan. Rolling blackouts—”
The sentence died in his mouth. At the sound of gunfire, Casimir dove for the floor, instinctively dragging President DeSante with him. The ceramic tile was cold against his hands, but his body broke out into a sweat and adrenaline charged through him. Gunfire had that effect on him. He had already been keyed up, waiting for his chance to kill Warrington and now, he was all systems go and on full alert.
The music died. More gunfire and the room was filled with screaming and shouting. Glass was breaking and objects hit the floor. A woman’s heel pierced his hand. Damn stiletto shoes. Shaking off the pain, Casimir belly crawled toward the darkness, away from the windows. If an active gunman was peppering the area with shots, he was safer in the darkest corner of the room. Once there, he would take stock of his position and kill whomever had decided to ruin his revenge.
Casimir assessed the area. Though his eyesight was compromised, his hearing was sharp and his nose searching. As if his senses had been attuned to violence, he peered through the candlelit glow of the room. The king of Acacia was slumped on the floor, the older princess next to him. In the dimness, it was impossible to know if the king was dead or injured. The sound of gunfire was elsewhere in the castle. Seeing no one guarding the king, Casimir filled in the blanks. Security had fled in the direction of the shooting, leaving the bodies of the king and princess alone. Were they already dead?
Dread consumed him when Princess Serena’s face came into view. She was moving toward her father and sister. Was she trying to get herself killed? Wasn’t she aware she should run away from bullets, not toward them?
Forgetting his own safety, Casimir rose to his feet and sprinted toward her. Princess Serena was pulling her father behind a table. For protection? Her face was grief-stricken and her eyes met his. They screamed for help, pleaded with someone to come to her aid.
Women in need were a soft spot for him. He could have used the darkness to search for King Warrington and kill him. But the probability of finding him unguarded was slim. More pressing was the beautiful woman who needed his help.
* * *
Serena shouldn’t have come to the capital tonight. She had decided at the last minute to forgo her usual excuses and instead had driven to the castle for her father’s birthday.
Serena’s face felt sticky and her feet slid on the floor. She had to drag her father and sister to safety. Someone was shooting into the ballroom. No answers came to mind as to why.
She couldn’t find her father’s security. She had commanded her cousin and personal secretary Iliana to hide in the coat closet. But Serena couldn’t leave her father and sister exposed. She had no medical training, but she could be with them until help arrived.
Pulling her father’s weight was nearly impossible. Why was the floor so slippery? Her shoes slid out from under her again. Her dress tangled around her ankles as she fought to stand. A shadow blotted out the little light shining in her direction. Help had arrived! She lifted her head to welcome whomever had come to assist her.
Instead, she came face to face with the muzzle of a gun.
Before she could scream, not that screaming would have made a difference in the current environment, a hot and wet liquid hit her face. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, the lights were on again. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the scene.
The man who’d been holding a gun at her was slumped in the arms of a stranger. A very dashing stranger, with reddish-brown hair, hazel eyes, a mustache and goatee, pronounced cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose. Serena was sure she had never met this man before and yet he seemed so familiar.
He threw the body to the side. She winced at the sound it made hitting the porcelain tile. The man slid his knife into a sheath beneath his black suit coat. A knife-wielding stranger had saved her life.
He extended his arms to her. On the heels of a violent attack, she should be more wary of him, but her instincts told her he wouldn’t harm her. He had saved her life. If he wanted her dead, he could have allowed the gunman to kill her.
She took his hand. Her feet slid beneath her. Blood. It was blood she’d been slipping in. In stark contrast to the gruesome scene, the stranger was watching her with the kindest eyes she had ever known. She turned her head to look at her father and sister, to see what help they needed.
The man put his hand on her cheek. “Do not look, Princess. This is not what you should remember.” He took a white handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped her face. Blood smeared the material.
He began to escort her away. Suddenly, her father’s guards flew in her direction, ripping her from the man’s arms and slamming him against the wall.
“Release the princess!” More shouting and commands.
Serena held out her hands toward the stranger this time. “Please stop. Stop! I command you to stop! This man saved my life.” Now the guards appeared again? In the chaos, they had left her and her family unprotected. Hysteria threatened to consume her. She stared at the stranger. If she looked away from him, she would look back at her father and her sister.
“Come, Princess, you need to be taken to the safe room.”
The stranger looked over his shoulder at her. Her guards released him and he turned toward her, bowing slightly. “You will call on me again if I am needed.”
He fled the ballroom, toward the sound of sirens. He was gone before she realized she didn’t know his name.
* * *
President DeSante pulled Casimir away from the crowd. Everyone was being questioned by the police. In the circle of DeSante’s guards, they could speak freely.
“Was this your plan?” DeSante asked.
“I already told you it was not.” Casimir threw off his fury and focused. Someone had beaten him to the punch, but the assassins had killed the wrong king, at least in his thinking. “I had nothing to do with this.” His plan had been to kill King Warrington of Rizari only. His revenge did not include a massacre.
“This was chaos. This was reckless.” DeSante’s fingers bit into Casimir’s arm and his eyes were blazing with intensity. “This was not the revenge you had planned, but this is an opportunity. Don’t squander it.”
An opportunity?
DeSante spoke quietly. “Think like a king. Who is next to inherit the throne in Acacia?”
“The princess. Princess Serena.” It had been difficult to walk away from her. But he couldn’t stay. He had no reason to remain with her and if he did, too many questions would be asked.
“That’s right. The princess, the woman whose life you saved.”
Casimir mustered control of his anger over his lost chance. He focused on what his old friend was saying. They were not blood relatives, but they were brothers on the battlefield and DeSante owed Casimir a debt. A debt that would not be paid until Casimir’d had his revenge.
“I killed one of the assassins.” Casimir had slit the throat of the man who had planned to kill the princess at point-blank range. The assassin had gotten what was coming to him and Casimir felt no regret for his actions.
“That you did. I promised you revenge and asylum from the fallout of that revenge, but this is more than I could have given you. Use her.”
Use her for what? DeSante was a chess master, seeing many moves ahead in the game and in life. For Casimir, his anger often drove him harder than reason. He shook off his anger and took a cleansing breath. “You said she is to inherit the throne. Are the king and Princess Danae dead?” From what he had seen, it didn’t look as if they had much chance of survival, but doctors could sometimes perform miracles.
DeSante inclined his head toward the ambulances. “An official announcement has not been made, but I would assume that yes, they are dead.”
The ground had been covered in blood. The assassins had worked quickly.
True peace in the Mediterranean between Icarus, Acacia and Rizari had never been achieved. After tonight, Casimir guessed it would be impossible. Accusations would be made and blame would be spread around enough for everyone to be hit with some.
But perhaps DeSante was right and this was an opportunity for Casimir to achieve a goal he had never believed possible. As a royal, Princess Serena would be part of King Warrington’s social circle. After all, he had been planning to marry Serena’s sister. Casimir could use contact with Serena to keep the king close while Casimir planned his next move. If he was lucky and played his cards right, instead of killing King Warrington outright as he had intended tonight, perhaps he could clear his mother’s name. Casimir could make a play for the crown and the throne of Rizari. The crown that rightfully belonged to him.
King Warrington would pay for what he had done to Casimir and his mother, but not with his life. Instead he would lose everything that mattered to him.
* * *
“Do you think that President DeSante is responsible for the bloodshed?” Iliana asked. She set a cup of coffee next to Serena’s easel.
Serena didn’t look away from her canvas. She had been painting since midday. Painting and thinking. Her long-term therapist, Dr. Shaw, had helped, but she’d had only a couple weeks to process what had happened the night her father, sister and fifteen others had been killed in a massacre the media had dubbed the Birthday Bloodbath.
Serena found the name distasteful, but she found everything about the situation distasteful and almost too painful to bear. “He denies it. The investigation hasn’t uncovered who hired the assassins to murder my father.”
According to the one killer who had been apprehended by the police, the deaths of her sister and the others had been collateral damage. As if they hadn’t considered that firing bullets into a crowd in the dark would result in deaths. Serena wasn’t surprised to learn the ME had found amphetamines in the assassins’ bloodstreams. Their behavior had been aggressive and erratic.
Serena had never planned to be queen, and yet she would be Acacia’s queen in a few weeks’ time. She hadn’t had a boyfriend, and yet negotiations were in progress for her to marry the king of Rizari. Samuel Warrington had been courting Danae, and now, as if the two sisters were interchangeable, he planned to pursue Serena.
Serena had asked for a fortnight to grieve away from the public eye in the seclusion of her beach house, knowing that being granted that amount of time was a boon. Her personal feelings didn’t matter. Her country needed a strong alliance with King Warrington and Rizari, the closest country to the east, to keep the dictator of Icarus on their western shores from attacking during a time of weakness. Acacia’s Assembly would keep the country running while she grieved, but the country needed their princess.
King Warrington would provide military protection in exchange for uniting their countries and placing his own advisers in positions of influence in Acacia’s Assembly. He had agreed to respect her country’s culture and traditions and give Serena a certain amount of independence. It was the best and only offer she’d had. Her advisers were discreetly inquiring about other arrangements, but Icarus, through that detestable Demetrius DeSante, was rattling its saber, letting it be known that the death of the king of Acacia had presented them with an opportunity to strike. Rizari and Icarus had long been enemies and Acacia, being geographically in between them, was subjected to the fallout of that long-standing feud.
Serena’s solitary time was up and she would need to paste on a brave face and pretend as if she could be a competent and strong queen. Danae had been the perfect princess and would have been the perfect queen, the perfect bride and the perfect wife. Serena would be none of those things. Her formal training was untried and she hadn’t been blessed with the grace and elegance her sister had had.
Serena had much to do, much to plan, yet she was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about the stranger who had saved her life. No one could give her his name. Witnesses who had seen him save her life provided varying accounts of the incident. He had been described as brown-haired and blond, tall and short, overweight and slender.
Someone recalled seeing him speaking to President DeSante, but when questioned, that loathsome man had claimed to know nothing about Serena’s protector. Serena knew how to tell when DeSante was lying: his mouth was moving.
Serena wouldn’t give up looking for the man with the kind eyes. Though her country didn’t have the resources to launch a national manhunt, especially for a man who was a hero, Serena had a few private investigators searching for him. The birthday guest list was being reviewed to see if someone could discover his identity. Whoever brought her information would be handsomely rewarded.
Serena wondered about the man with the gentle, compassionate eyes. Could he have been from Icarus? From Rizari? That would explain why no one seemed to know him. He had been granted entrance to her father’s birthday, meaning he was either invited or had attended as someone’s guest.
Her emotions were volatile, grief amplifying every feeling, and Serena tried not to become frustrated with her inability to find him.
Serena heard tires spinning on gravel. Looking out her second-story window, she saw her uncle Santino driving to her beach house, his off-road vehicle kicking up dirt. Her guards stopped him for a moment and then waved him through. After parking in front of her house, he climbed out of his car, limping as he walked. Though he had a cane, he hated using it, believing it made him appear weak. Uncle Santino had a scar that intersected his right eye and as a child, Serena had called him a pirate. The scar was a result of a tragic boating accident that had killed his wife soon after they were married.
Serena set down her paintbrush. She met her uncle on the wraparound porch, holding up her hands. “I would hug you, but I need to wash up first.”
“Painting again?” he asked.
“Yes.” Art calmed her and the past two weeks had given her many reasons to need serenity.
Iliana poked her head out on to the porch, her long red hair swinging around her shoulder. “Why don’t I prepare tea for everyone?” Iliana was her cousin on her mother’s side and officially Serena’s personal secretary. But their relationship went far deeper than boss and subordinate.
Serena and her uncle had met several times since the massacre. Sometimes they spoke about her father and sister, sometimes about the kingdom and sometimes about nothing of importance.
Santino sat at the kitchen table. With the curtain open, Serena counted four guards at the back of her house. With her being a potential target for yet unknown reasons, her security team wasn’t taking chances.
“When are you meeting with King Samuel?” her uncle asked.
King Samuel had been her sister’s boyfriend and according to Danae, he had been smitten with her. How could Serena put her heart into a relationship that should have been her sister’s? It felt twisted. “He wants to meet tomorrow evening for a dinner party.”
It was her understanding that others would be in attendance, which should make it less awkward in some ways, more stressful in others. Serena would need to behave and speak in a certain manner. Her every action would be scrutinized and criticized. The media would pick apart her clothing, hairstyle and how she accessorized. Serena dreaded it and promised herself she wouldn’t read their articles, which would undoubtedly accent her every inadequacy and include a snarky review of her love life or lack thereof.
“You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?” her uncle asked.
“Not really.” Thoughts of her sister and father kept her awake and on particularly bad nights, she lay in her bed and waited for morning to come.
Nightmares about the night her family had died, nightmares about the mother she hadn’t had in years and nightmares about her future haunted the little sleep she did have.
“Still thinking about the man who saved your life?” her uncle asked.
Sometimes. Often. “Now and then.” Why was she so obsessed with someone she had met once, for no more than a few minutes? If he wanted to be found, he would be.
What if there was a compelling reason he wanted to remain anonymous to her? He might fear the media response. He might not enjoy the idea of his rescue story being printed in the papers. It was another reason she had to keep her search quiet.
“Let it go, Serena. You don’t know what you saw. You’ll go crazy if you let this consume you,” her uncle said.
He had urged her to forget everything she could about that night. Serena wasn’t in any hurry to relive it, although occasionally brief flashes from that night interrupted her thoughts. “I know someone saved me.”
“And then disappeared. He could have been working with the assassins.”
“Yet he chose to kill one of them to save me?” It didn’t make sense. Unless her instincts were totally skewed, her protector wasn’t involved in the plot to kill her father.
“Please let this go, Serena. You will only be hurt again. I can’t stand to see you in more pain. You have enough grief to manage without adding to it. This fixation with him is unhealthy.”
Maybe she was thinking about her protector because it was easier and far more pleasant to think about him than to think about her father’s and sister’s deaths or how much she missed them. Though she had not lived in the castle and had been happy to have some independence, knowing she could reach out at any time was a comfort. Now, she felt alone.
Serena’s uncle wished to protect her. But he didn’t need to protect her from the man who’d saved her. Iliana returned to serve the tea and Serena changed the subject. No point in upsetting her uncle who was wrestling with his own grief over losing his older brother and his niece.
Her uncle left around nine that evening.
“You’re not giving up on finding the mystery man, are you?” Iliana asked.
“Not a chance,” Serena said.
“Why don’t you let me fly to Icarus and speak to DeSante? He knows something about everything and his spies are everywhere. Give me a few minutes alone with him and I can force the information out of him.” She lifted her knee mimicking hitting the dictator in the crotch.
Serena cracked a smile, rare for her these days. “I don’t think that’s advisable. He has big, scary guards and you’re topping out at five foot two.”
Iliana set her hands on her hips. “For you, I’d kick his butt. You know I could. I’m pretty mean when I’m angry.”
Serena loved that about her cousin. She was loyal and spunky and feared nothing. Her business phone rang and Iliana frowned and answered it, her tone professional and cool. “Princess Serena’s office. Iliana speaking. How may I help you?”
Iliana swore under her breath. “He’s a real piece of work. Hold on.” She pressed a button on her phone.
Dread coiled inside Serena. “What now? What’s happened?” Was her uncle okay? He had only left a few moments earlier.
“The coast guard is on the phone. The Icarus navy is preventing ships from entering our waters.”
Icarus’s navy, one of the fastest, biggest military operations in the region, boasted hi-tech equipment and sailors who came from generations of sailors. They were experts on the water. “What did you say?” Serena asked.
Iliana repeated her statement, this time slower. Serena had heard her the first time, but she hadn’t fully processed the information. Was DeSante planning to attack? Serena had no military experience. How should she maneuver in this situation? Who should she call? Though she had the ear of the head of the Assembly and she was supposed to wield influence, she was green and DeSante knew it.
It was dark, but that wouldn’t matter to the experienced Icarus navy. Was DeSante hoping to catch her off guard, ill equipped and scared? The idea incensed her. She might be weak now, but she wouldn’t be for long.
“Has the coast guard made contact with DeSante? What does he want?” Serena asked.
“I don’t know, hold on.” After a few moments, she said, “They say they want your confirmation that it’s okay to let boats through.”
Her confirmation? That made no sense. Icarus wasn’t in charge of screening what boats entered and exited through their waters. Acacia and Icarus had no such arrangement. “What do they really want?”
Iliana repeated the question into the phone. “He wants to speak to you. He being DeSante, the warlord.”
DeSante wasn’t exactly a warlord, but he wasn’t a peaceable man either. He had come to be president of his country during a violent coup.
This was a warning, then, from Icarus. If she refused to speak to him, DeSante would place an embargo on Acacia.
The dictator of Icarus was playing a dangerous game, mostly dangerous to Acacia with its weaker navy and dependency on imports. If DeSante refused to allow boats into their ports, Acacians would starve. “Put Demetrius DeSante on the line.” She sounded stronger than she felt. She had been avoiding the dictator’s requests for an audience and instead had allowed Iliana to put him off and explain that she’d needed time to grieve. Apparently, that time was over.
Iliana handed Serena the phone.
“Good evening,” Serena said, keeping her voice cool and polite.
“Finally, I have the pleasure of speaking with you,” DeSante said.
She wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with DeSante. “Let the boats through.”
“I would be glad to. I am an ally who can secure your western waters from enemies.”
What a load of crap. Her enemies consisted of him and whomever had killed her family, although Serena still suspected they were one in the same. “Let them through.”
“As you command. I expect a meeting with you shortly or my navy may again feel the need to question boats coming close to your shores.”
“You’ll have your meeting,” she said. She hung up the phone with a quaking hand.
Iliana grabbed her arm. “You did good, Serena. It’s okay. You sounded strong and the right amount of pissed off and polite.”
It wasn’t okay. The sharks were circling because they smelled blood in the water.
* * *
“She’s looking for you,” DeSante said.
Casimir knew it. He needed to play it cool. If he came on too strong, Serena would be suspicious. Casimir needed to approach her in the right manner with his plan in place.
When he was ready, he would allow himself to be found. Or perhaps he would show up at her castle and catch her off guard. The biggest downside to his plan was living with his fake persona a little longer. Being a wealthy heir who liked to party didn’t suit him, but it had been his cover to infiltrate King Warrington’s social circles. Though he had never breached the inner circle, he’d gotten to know enough royals and hangers-on that he couldn’t change his identity now.
“Someone may recognize me and tell her who I am,” Casimir said.
“As long as they give her the cover story and do not reveal who you actually are, you can handle it,” DeSante said.
Casimir could handle anything. He would leak the story that he had been the man who’d saved the princess’s life. It might keep him interesting to the royalty of Acacia and Rizari. Staying close gave him leverage to manipulate the situation to his benefit. “I’m not worried.” Yet. Living a lie every day was almost as hard as harboring the rage he felt toward Samuel Warrington.
“Call me after you make your move,” DeSante said.
“Will do.”
Casimir hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. Few people trusted the president of Icarus, but Casimir did without question. Not only did DeSante owe him, DeSante had a vested interest in Casimir taking control of Rizari. Having allies in the region and preventing Rizari from interfering with Icarus had long been DeSante’s goal. With Casimir assuming the throne, DeSante would have the freedom to do as he wished.
Casimir entered his mother’s house. His weekly meetings with her were difficult to press through, and grew worse with each visit. Casimir hated the stink of booze and cigarettes. “Hey, Mom.”
His mother, Anna, rarely greeted him. She was sitting in the dark in her living room, like she often did. She had the television on, but seemed to be staring blankly at it. Casimir muted it. His mother hadn’t always been this way. Every year, she grew noticeably more withdrawn, tired and depressed. Now, he couldn’t convince her to sit outside on a nice day. She was a recluse and if he didn’t do something, she would die in this dark, dank house.
“He’s still alive,” his mother said. She was looking haggard, having lost weight, and her skin appeared sallow.
Samuel Warrington was still alive. Casimir hadn’t killed him. He had told his mother he would take care of it, but he had failed. The knowledge burned him. But he wouldn’t give up on his new plan. “There were other assassins in the room. They killed the Acacian king and his daughter Danae.”
His mother lit another cigarette. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
Casimir hid his frustration. His mother’s sole focus was revenge. “I couldn’t get to Warrington in the confusion.”
His mother said nothing and her silence reeked of censure. Her history with the king and his family was a bitter one.
One year into her marriage to King Constantine Warrington, he had falsely accused her of having an affair with his brother, Charles, and had exiled her. Anna had blamed Charles’s jealous wife, Katarina, for manufacturing stories about her. She had fled to Icarus with a new identity. Fearing for her life and the life of her unborn child, she hadn’t told the king that she had been pregnant with his baby. She had lived in Icarus and raised her son with her eyes on one goal: for Casimir to return to Rizari in glory and take his crown when he was of age.
But when Constantine and his brother were killed ten years ago, Casimir knew presenting himself as the rightful heir would earn him a knife in his back as well. He needed to be more careful, more crafty. Martyrdom wasn’t the goal. Making things right for his family and Rizari was.
Casimir’s existence and true parentage was a secret from everyone in the world, except his mother and DeSante, whom Casimir had allowed into his confidence when he was fifteen.
When his father had died, so had his mother’s chance of revealing to her ex-husband his true heir. With false accusations about her participation in his and his brother’s murders and her conviction without a trial, her life had spiraled further into darkness. Anna had sworn to Casimir all his life that she still loved his father. His death had robbed her of the family reunion she had not-so-secretly wished for. Anna had believed that Constantine would see that she had been loyal and that Katarina would be revealed as a liar.
That hadn’t happened.
When Anna had heard rumors that Constantine and Charles had been killed by Charles’s son, Samuel, in an effort to usurp the throne, she had made Casimir swear he would avenge his father’s death by killing the king who had stolen his life.
