Chapter 30
Astrid
“This isn’t just a meeting,” I whisper as I watch dozens of people going in and out of the co-op building on Bond Street, just as Callum said.
From my hiding place in an alleyway a block down, I can’t get a good look at any faces, but everyone is dressed casually.
No one is in a real rush, but they keep their steps quick.
One woman went inside, then exited less than ten minutes later and walked off in a different direction from the way she’d come.
“What do we think they’re doing?” Sander leans closer to get a better view, and one of his hands finds my waist in a warm, firm hold.
He keeps doing that, touching me. I’ve felt every point of contact down to my bones, like we were always meant to be together, and I can’t say that I hate it.
Not when Sander was the one who almost kissed me in the linen closet.
Sander told me he would always be on my side.
He may have spent the last week and a half lying to me, but somehow everything he’s done has felt entirely honest.
And everything he did led us here.
Aleksander Alverra.
Who would have thought?
I take a breath and pull my focus from Sander’s hand, back to the building. “Maybe—”
A shuffling sound behind us makes me turn, gun in hand, but I freeze when I get a good look at the young woman standing a few feet away with her hands in the air. As far as I can tell, she’s unarmed, and she keeps her eyes on the gun pointed at her.
“Sorry, Miss Storme,” she says, offering a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to frighten you and His Highness.”
I share a glance with Sander, but then his eyes lock onto something behind me. He’s tense, but not overly so, and I assume we’re being surrounded. As long as Sander isn’t nervous enough to pull his gun, I don’t need to worry yet.
“We were hoping you’d come,” a man says behind me. “Though, you’re early.”
Since the woman hasn’t moved, I risk taking my eyes off her to see who’s talking.
Two men stand behind me, their hands out and empty. “There’s no need for that, Miss Storme,” the one on the right says—different from the last one who spoke—and nods at my gun. “We’re not about violence here.”
He seems sincere, but putting my gun away feels like a bad idea. “‘Here’ being…?” No one finishes my sentence, all of their eyes on the weapon in my hand. I can appreciate diplomacy without violence, so I start to slip my gun into my holster.
The first man clears his throat. I don’t think he’s packing anything under his thin jacket, but I’d hate to be wrong about that.
“I can hold on to that for you if you’d like,” the woman says, her voice sweet but not overly so. “And yours, Prince Hendrik. I’ll be sure to return them when this is done. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.” Something tells me her offer isn’t a suggestion.
When a third man joins the woman, again with empty hands in the air, my stomach sinks.
I expected a trap, but they’re better than I thought they would be.
I can’t keep brandishing a gun at them when they’ve been nothing but calm and peaceful.
None of them are threatening, and yet… This moment feels threatening.
They all know what’s going on, and we’re still in the dark.
The only way we’re going to move forward is if we act like supporters, so we’re going to have to comply with their requests.
“What’s happening?” Callum asks, though I don’t know how he expects either of us to respond. At least he’s still with us; knowing he’s listening means we’re not entirely alone, even if there’s a good chance Callum won’t be able to do anything to help us.
Sighing, I empty the clip from my SIG and hand the gun itself to the woman, pocketing the ammunition. Sander does the same beside me with his Glock. Thankfully, the group seems satisfied, and the first man who spoke gestures to us to lead the way to the co-op.
“Four against two,” Sander mutters under his breath, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his mind as he takes my hand and walks forward with me. He keeps an eye on the four people following us, giving me a chance to watch what’s ahead.
People are still going in and out of the building, and the closer we get, the more they notice us.
One man nods in greeting as he passes us, and another greets us by name and offers a traditional Candoran greeting.
No one is surprised to see a prince and the queen’s former bodyguard stepping into the middle of their…
whatever this is. I haven’t recognized a single person, so I doubt any of them are part of the nobility, and so far I haven’t seen any weapons.
If they’re mobilizing, it doesn’t look like it’ll be violent, which doesn’t match with the anti-royalists’ assassination attempt last year. If they’re not mobilizing… Then I have no idea what we’re walking into.
“Ready?” Sander asks as we reach the door. He squeezes my hand.
I squeeze back. “In we go.”
Once inside, the second man from the alley steps in front of us and leads us down a long hallway of closed doors and dark offices. A quick glance behind us tells me that the other three have disappeared, so either we’re no longer threats, or they fully believe we’re on their side.
A few people pass with nods of greeting and stacks of cards in their hands.
They look more excited than anything. If things were going to turn dangerous, they’d likely be nervous, but no one shows any signs of anxiety.
Hopefully that’s a good sign that whatever this is, it’ll be easy to shut down.
Letting Sander guide my way forward, I look back and watch the people as long as I can.
They don’t go straight to the exit but instead enter a stairwell and head upward.
We’ll need to see what’s up there at some point.
When we reach the end of the corridor, our guide gestures for us to enter what looks like a large conference room on the right.
A man and a woman sit at the table with open notebooks, scribbling on more cards like the ones the people were holding in the hall, and the woman hands off a stack to a waiting man who slips out of the room as soon as he has the cards.
I catch a glimpse of one of the cards, and all I can see is a string of numbers and a letter. It’s different from the invitations Sander and I received, but clearly it’s some kind of code. Either everyone involved knows the code, or there’s a way to decode them upstairs.
I’m more interested in the two men conversing on the other side of the table, who look up as we come to a stop with the table between us.
The first is Greywick, whose expression is unreadable as he takes us in.
The second is unfamiliar, but based on the way Sander’s hand tightens around mine, I can guess that he’s the courier who confronted Sander the other night.
“I’m glad you decided to accept my invitation, Miss Storme,” the courier says, his eyes fixed on me.
I’ve gotten so used to being seen as an accessory to the prince that his attention unnerves me.
Or maybe it’s his expression, which is just as hard to read as Greywick’s.
It’s easy to understand why he rattled Sander as much as he did when everything about him is carefully blank.
“I told you she’d choose to be here, Rowen,” a familiar voice says, and I turn to find Blackmere leaning against the wall near the door, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his slacks.
He doesn’t meet my gaze, but his jaw tightens like he’s all too aware of the scowl I’m giving him.
“And the prince follows her like a lovesick puppy.”
“Better than someone who’s only out for himself,” Sander shoots back.
He doesn’t even look at Blackmere, keeping his eyes on the courier—Rowen.
Right now the prince’s stance is very Hex, casual but powerful.
He looks like he’s itching for a fight, and I take a second to marvel at how well he slips into his “Hex” persona.
Or maybe Sander is more like his brother than I thought.
Determined to take some control, I address Rowen; he has the most imposing presence and seems to be the one in charge. “Why exactly are we here? I’ll admit I’m curious, but that doesn’t mean I know what you’re doing.”
Rowen smiles. “You know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come.”
Before I respond, I watch one of the people at the table hand off another stack of cards to a woman who comes into the room. She meets my gaze on her way out and offers a polite smile that I return. Then I look back at Rowen and drop the smile. “You’re very confident.”
Blackmere chuckles, but it’s so quiet that I almost don’t hear it.
I glance back again, but he’s still not looking at me.
Upon first meeting him, I thought he was terrible at choosing his words.
If he was an anti-royalist, he was being far too obvious about it, and if he wasn’t, he was saying so many things that made him look guilty.
After the way he talked to me at the symphony tonight, I wonder if he’s smarter than I thought he was.
Maybe everything he’s said has been deliberate.
How many other nobles am I going to underestimate? First Fennor, now Blackmere. I thought for sure Blackmere was on Helena Vardane’s side, but Helena isn’t here.
At least Sander and I can say we were right about Helena not being the one to invite us.
“I have to be confident,” Rowen says as Greywick folds his arms next to him. “Hesitation is how people get hurt.”
“We were told outside that you don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Sander says, speaking for the first time.
“But considering my sister almost died at the hand of two of your bullets last year, that’s hard for me to believe.
” His eyes are focused on Rowen, and I can’t help comparing him to his brother.
Where Hex is fiery bravado and action, Sander is quiet and calm observation. Together, they’re probably unstoppable.
Two sides of the same coin.