Chapter 18
Sander
It’s hard to feel satisfied when I’m shooting like Hex.
But I have to.
I reload the clip with practiced ease and get ready to shoot again.
Maybe this time I’ll be able to get my head on straight and stop thinking about how I panicked in front of Astrid. Astrid! About how I drank more than I should have with Blackmere and came dangerously close to admitting everything.
About how I almost kissed Astrid in that closet, which would have been the biggest mistake of my life because she thinks I’m my brother.
The man she’s been in love with for the last decade.
Shooting another rapid-fire round the way Hex would, I clench my jaw at the few stray holes in the target sheet. For anyone else, they’d still be good shots, but I can’t be good. I need to be perfect. I need to be Hex.
I load again and lift my gun, but a tremble in my hands makes me pause. My breathing is too shallow and my grip is too tight, and the edges of my vision blur.
I’m losing control again.
Taking a long, slow breath, I close my eyes and let my thoughts filter through the front of my mind instead of pushing them aside like I’ve been doing for the last half hour I’ve spent shooting.
As much as I don’t want to, I replay the events of the weekend that have left me off balance because I won’t be able to regain control if I don’t.
The shooting competition with Astrid, the moment in the closet, the discerning look Astrid gave me before leaving the palace this morning.
That last one is the worst. I open my eyes and aim, taking my time with the shot.
Astrid knows I’m hiding something from her.
I could see it in her eyes. I’ve seen it in her eyes from the very start of all this, when I showed up in that apartment building and told her that nothing I did with her was real because, if nothing else, I wanted to tell her the truth at least once.
Even if I was lying to myself because everything I’ve done has been real for me. I’m in love with the woman who loves my brother, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
That’s not even the worst of it.
I squeeze the trigger, landing the bullet dead center of the target.
Astrid doesn’t trust me, and she shouldn’t. All I’ve done over the last week is lie to her.
My second shot lands exactly where the first one did.
I still haven’t heard from Hex. There was a storm in the Canary Islands where he’s been for over a week, but filming should have been done by now.
Even with a storm delay. So why haven’t I heard from him?
I tried to find a number for the company producing the reality show he’s a part of, but he never told me the name of it, so I didn’t have the first clue of where to look.
Hex promised he would check in, and it’s been days.
I fire again. Perfect hit.
Members of the nobility are preparing for the worst, which is not only proof that something’s coming but also means they don’t see things ending well. It means they’re not willing to step up and stop what’s coming. They’re expecting someone else to save them.
Another direct shot.
All of Candora thinks Hex and the queen’s former bodyguard are a couple thanks to a gossip story this morning highlighting the time Astrid and I spent together at Fennor’s estate, complete with pictures.
Who took them? I have no idea. I was barely holding it together this weekend when I should have been paying attention to the men around me and figuring out which of them are traitors.
A fifth bullet blazes through the same hole at the center of the target.
I take a controlled breath and take my time with my final shot, and when it lands exactly where the others did, I feel…empty.
I can have all the control in the world, and what does it get me?
Nowhere. I’m nothing if I’m not Hex. Nothing to the RIA, nothing to Candora, nothing to Astrid.
The gossip story didn’t even mention me, when I thought they would at least speculate about me being left behind by my better half because Hex and I have always been a pair.
Before Elliot left for America with Freya, he told me to be careful.
“Don’t lose yourself in the shadows, Sander,” he said.
“You don’t have to be Hex to be seen.” He’s the only person in the world who knows I’m pretending to be Hex—except maybe Callum—and one of the few people in the world who ever truly sees me.
Sees more than my brother’s shadow. His copy. His lesser half.
Elliot shouldn’t have worried; I lost myself a long time ago.
Slowly lowering my gun, I release the empty clip and turn on the safety without looking down.
My eyes stay on the target sheet that taunts me at the end of the run.
I pull off my ear protection, unsurprised by the silence in a room that was full of other palace guards when I arrived, and let my sore muscles relax.
Maybe I’ve been here longer than half an hour.
There’s only one other person left in the range, and his footsteps come closer. He probably wants to comment on my perfect shots, but which prince does he think I am?
Does it even matter?
Just as I turn to see which of my colleagues is about to make my day worse, he shoves me into the wall and slams a newspaper into my chest.
Hex.
I stare wide-eyed into my twin’s face as he glares at me in a way he never has and spits, “What the hell did you do?”