Chapter 35
“What color are my eyes?”
VALENTINA
ONE DAY LATER
“It’s beautiful!” I gush to Roman when he unveils the latest painting in the gallery.
I blush, smiling at the memory of learning another of my husband’s talents, remembering when he had me pose nude for him.
Until now, he kept the painting a secret.
It awes me how he managed to capture my contours and curves…
in a flawless balance of oil paints. He’s displayed it in the shaded portion of the gallery, reserved for us.
Suddenly, a strident alarm blares, resonating through the air. Every nerve in my body jolts. This alarm…it’s a full-scale breach warning.
Roman’s expression changes instantly. His jaw turns to iron. His hand goes to the chip in his wrist, pulling up a translucent holographic feed. My breath catches, chest on fire. Red pulses flash across the map overlay of our estate.
“Helicopters,” he says, low but laced with venom. “Two, no—three.” His eyes narrow as icons swarm in on the grounds. “Mercenaries. They’ve tripped the outer wires, set off landmines. But more are coming.”
We know who is responsible for the invasion.
Anton.
And Nikolai—Roman’s father.
Before I can speak, his arm hooks around me, dragging me from the gallery and pushing through a side corridor.
We find Zina already in the main hall, a hurricane in human form as she ushers staff and Sasha and Roman’s mother toward a heavy reinforced door in the west wing. I shouldn’t be surprised at the entrance of the tunnel. She doesn’t even flinch at our approach—her focus is razor sharp.
Roman shoves me forward, right into her path. “Take her,” he commands.
Shalun swoops down from his perch above the mezzanine, his black wings slapping the air as he caws like a warning siren. My heart is already pounding, but his agitation makes it worse.
“Where are you going?” I demand, grabbing Roman’s arm even as Zina’s grip tightens on mine.
His gaze locks on mine, blazing with a promise I feel in my bones. “To show them what a grave mistake they’ve made. Coming for my home. And my wife.”
I should let Zina drag me away. I should go into the tunnel, down into the safe darkness. But my feet dig in. Zina shouts to the others, herding them into the passage, but I pull free long enough to help the last of the staff through. “Go,” I tell her, “I’ll be right behind you.”
She eyes me, distrust in her narrowed gaze, but there’s no time to argue. The remaining staff enter, and she steps into the tunnel.
And that’s when I shove her, just far enough for me to slam the door shut and twist the lock. The sound of it echoes in the hall, final and absolute.
“Valentina!” she shouts through the thick steel, voice sharp with fury and fear.
I lean in. “I’m going to help my husband,” I say, steady and certain. As a true queen does for her king.
The pounding on the other side fades beneath the thunder of approaching helicopters. I turn. My blood runs hot. My crown is out there, facing an army. And I will stand beside him.
So, I run as fast as I can, removing my heels. Tights clothe my feet. The wine-red dress is snug, not built for running, but I don’t care. I grab a black wool cloak from the hook in the greenhouse and tear outside. I have to get to Roman.
Shoving myself into the coat, I breathe a silent prayer of thanks that my husband armed me after the other day. My Makarov is tucked into my belt. But I don’t see him anywhere.
A shot rings out nearby. I break into a run, rounding the corner of the path from the cemetery into the open courtyard with all the calcified creatures, fused with glass.
There he is, concealed behind a hedge, gunning down anyone who gets past the perimeter. An explosion thunders through the air, causing my heart to ricochet, but I don’t stop moving. A bullet whizzes past me, slaughtering one of the statues, shattering it in moments. My chest clenches.
Roman shoots his head up, and I read his worst possible expression ever. Greater than fury. A storm of hellfire in his eyes, vowing to ruin me for this.
“I’m going to bloody your fucking ass, Valya,” he growls as I reach his side.
“You should have known I won’t leave you.” I take out my handgun and peek through the thin gaps in the hedge.
The silent snarl on his face stays, but I swear I see a flash of admiration, of pride in his eyes. “Time to put those crack shot skills to good use, Moya Koroleva,” he says, gesturing to the few mercenaries who get through the perimeter.
We fall into rhythm, backs touching, the sound of our gunfire echoing in the air.
I match his pace, picking off shadows between the hedges.
He moves with lethal precision, each pull of the trigger an execution.
I aim and fire wildly but hit my targets every time, bringing down at least five mercenaries.
Then—a single crack splits the air, sharper than the rest.
Roman jerks.
For a heartbeat, I think he’s pivoting to reload—until the warmth suddenly splashes across the back of my hand.
“Roman!”
He stumbles, his body going heavy into mine, and I go down with him, knees biting into gravel. My palms press hard against his side, and they come away slick with red.
Shitshitshit!
“Stay with me,” I breathe, shoving down the panic clawing at my throat. I rip off my tights without thinking and wad the fabric against the wound.
His laugh is pained, wet. “You’d choose now to strip for me, Valya?”
“Shut up,” I hiss, leaning on the makeshift bandage with all my weight. “You’re not dying before I’ve had the chance to kill you myself.”
“Before or after I bloody your ass?”
I don’t answer.
An icy wind blasts against us, whipping my hair into my mouth. I look up. Terror rips through my veins.
A helicopter descends onto the lawn, its blades slicing the winter air into shards. Snow and leaves whip around us in a blinding storm. It lands between the maze of hedges and the black treeline, like some black beast, disgorging men in tactical gear, rifles leveled.
Roman’s hand finds my arm, shoving weakly. “Go, Valya.”
“No.” I slam my palms back to his wound. “Not without you.”
“Run,” he grits out, but I lean down, pressing my bloody hand to his cheek.
“Not happening.” Fucking love you.
Through the swirling snow and rotor wash, a figure steps down from the chopper.
He walks with the same measured prowl as Roman—except his hair is a dark, curling shadow and his eyes are bottomless pits of polished black.
The same sharp bone structure. The same mouth made for both threats and promises.
Anton.
Roman tenses beneath me, his breath hitching. “Fucking run.”
“I said no.”
With his entourage, Anton comes to a stop before us, folding his hands behind his back.
His gaze sweeps over us like we’re specimens in his collection.
Then, in a voice that’s pure silk and venom: “So. My suspicions were correct. My dastardly brother carrying off my bride like the Romans and the sobbin’ women. ”
I raise my chin and hiss, “Does it look like I’m sobbing to you?”
His smile is slow, a predator’s. “You will.”
I battle a shiver.
He lifts his chin, and the nearest mercenaries step forward.
“No!” I grab my pistol, catatonic at the thought of them touching my husband. I swing it up and fire. One drops. Then another. I raise the gun for a third shot, but Anton’s hand clamps on mine, twisting with cruel precision, overpowering me until the weapon clatters onto the gravel.
His breath ghosts my ear as he pins my arms with one hand and presses the small of my back, drawing me closer. “If you struggle, moya nevesta, it will be worse for him. I assure you.” His promise is dark and avenging as he brushes his nose along my cheek, his lips skimming my jaw.
The words sink into my bones. My bride. My chest caves because I know he means it.
Roman growls, lunging toward him, and the mercs move in fast. Anton forces me to my knees, holding my jaw still so I watch every fist land on my husband, every bruise they deal, every drop of blood they spill.
The same blood smearing my hands. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts, drowning out the sounds of my cries, my screams for Anton to make it stop.
Anton waits until Roman is gasping for air before gripping my chin, tilting it up, and meeting my eyes.
“Here is the bargain, Valentina. You will become my wife. Publicly. The ceremony, the vows, the papers. You will share my bed, bear my name, and be mine in every way. In exchange—” He gestures lazily to the estate around us.
“They all live. Your staff. Your brother. My mother. Yes, I knew about Roman’s precious tunnel…
and how to hack the system. My men are gathering them all into the great hall for my grand announcement. ”
“And Roman?” My heart freezes.
Anton grins. “Yes, even this stubborn fool you call husband will live. I have plans for him.”
My mouth is dry. I force my voice to work. “And if I refuse?”
His smile is slow and pitiless. “Then I burn this island until nothing is left but ash. And I will watch with delight as my men torture my brother to death before I stab him through the heart, since he was the coward who stabbed me in the back.”
You’re the coward, I want to spit. But Anton is serious, deadly serious. Tears blur my vision. Hot, angry, but most of all? Defeated.
Roman’s eyes lock on mine—bleeding, furious, desperate. “Valya.” His head lowers. Because he knows we have no choice. This is our island. We rule it. And we are responsible for everyone on it.
I can’t breathe. My lungs are splintering.
I look at him and see my true husband, the man who fought for me since the first moment I set eyes on him, who fought for me years before, when I was just a vague transaction.
The man who made me his queen and gave me a home, a family.
I see Zina’s laugh, Mikhail’s loyalty, Roksana’s sharp green eyes—all the lives knotted together because of this place.
I hear my voice before I realize I’ve spoken. “I’ll do it.”