Chapter 6 Public Masks #3
We hit the marble floor as the chandelier crashed into the table where I'd been sitting. The impact was deafening. Glass exploded outward. Someone screamed. Wood splintered under iron weight.
Viktor's body covered mine, one arm braced beside my head, the other pressed against my chest. His heart hammered against my shoulder. His breath was hot against my temple.
For a heartbeat, the world was just him. His weight. His heat. The fact that he'd moved without thinking, without hesitation, had thrown himself between me and death like it was reflex.
Then chaos erupted.
Screams. Shouts. People scrambling away from the wreckage. Guards rushing forward. My father's voice cutting through the panic, commanding and afraid in equal measure.
“Sebastian! Sebastian, are you hurt?”
Viktor pulled back, scanning me with clinical intensity. His hands moved over my arms, my ribs, checking for injuries with impersonal efficiency. “Are you injured?”
“No. No, I'm fine.” My voice came out rough. Shaky. “You?”
“I am unharmed.”
He stood smoothly, offered me his hand. I took it, let him pull me to my feet. His grip was solid. Steady. Everything the rest of the world wasn't.
My father reached us, hands grabbing my shoulders, eyes wild. “Are you hurt? Tell me you're not hurt.”
“I'm fine, Papa. Viktor got me out in time.”
My father's gaze snapped to Viktor. “You saved him.”
Viktor inclined his head. “I did my job, Your Majesty.”
“You saved my son.” My father's voice cracked. Just slightly. “Thank you.”
Marcel appeared beside us, face painted with perfect shock and concern. “My god. Is everyone alright? Someone check for injuries!”
He took charge immediately, voice calm and commanding, organizing guards and staff. Making sure photographers got their shots of the aftermath. Controlling the narrative before it could spin out of control.
“A structural fault,” he said, loud enough for the press to hear. “Nothing more. I'll order a full inspection of every chandelier in the palace. This cannot happen again.”
But I watched Viktor. Watched the way his eyes tracked back to the ceiling. To the broken bolt still hanging from its mounting.
His expression was unreadable. But I knew.
This wasn't an accident.
They moved us to the courtyard balcony while staff cleaned up the wreckage.
Photographers swarmed below, cameras clicking like hungry insects. I stood with my father's arm around my shoulders, Viktor a silent shadow at my back, and smiled for the cameras because that's what princes did.
We survived. We smiled. We pretended everything was fine.
“You're certain you're not hurt?” my father asked quietly, voice meant only for me.
“I'm certain.”
“You could've died.”
“But I didn't.” I looked back at Viktor. “Thanks to him.”
My father followed my gaze. “Yes. Thanks to him.”
Marcel joined us on the balcony, face grave. “I've already contacted the maintenance supervisor. Full inspection starting immediately. Whoever is responsible for this oversight will be dealt with.”
“Oversight,” Viktor said. His first words since we'd left the dining hall. “You believe this was oversight?”
Marcel's smile was patient. Understanding. “What else would it be, Mr. Volkov? The chandelier was over two hundred years old. These things happen in buildings this age.”
“Support bolts do not snap without cause.”
“Corrosion. Stress. Time.” Marcel spread his hands. “Any number of natural causes.”
Viktor's jaw tightened. But he didn't argue. Just stepped back, falling into professional silence.
“We should get you inside,” my father said, guiding me toward the door. “Away from the cameras.”
I let him lead me, but I looked back at Viktor. Our eyes met, and something passed between us. Understanding. Recognition.
This wasn't over.
Whatever this was, it was just beginning.
Twenty minutes later, I stood in my private chambers while Viktor paced like a caged wolf. My father had left after extracting promises I'd rest. Marcel had returned to damage control. The palace was in controlled chaos.
And Viktor was furious.
“You are not leaving these rooms,” he said. Voice flat. Final. “Not until we complete full security sweep of entire palace.”
“Excuse me?” I turned from the window where I'd been watching staff scurry across the grounds. “You don't give me orders.”
“Is not order. Is professional assessment of threat level.”
“Threat level.” I laughed. Sharp. Bitter. “A chandelier fell. Maintenance issue. You heard what Marcel said.”
“Marcel is lying.”
The words hung between us. Dangerous. Accusatory.
“That's a serious allegation,” I said carefully. “The King's closest advisor.”
“Someone sabotaged that chandelier.” Viktor stopped pacing. Faced me fully. “Support bolts do not fail like that. Not on their own. Someone weakened them. Timed it. Knew exactly where you would be sitting.”
“You can't possibly know that.”
“I know sabotage when I see it. I know deliberate structural failure versus natural degradation.” His hands fisted at his sides. “And I know you are target.”
“That's you being paranoid.”
“Is realistic.” His accent thickened with frustration. “And you are treating it like inconvenience instead of existential threat.”
“What do you want me to do?” My voice rose despite my effort to stay calm. “Hide in my rooms like a frightened child? Cancel every public appearance? Stop living?”
“Want you to live long enough to have life worth living.”
“By becoming a prisoner?”
“By being smart about risks you take.” Viktor's jaw worked. “You have state dinner in three days. Public appearance at hospital opening in five. Gala next week. All of these are opportunities for someone to try again.”
“So I cancel everything. Disappoint everyone. Look weak and afraid.”
“Better weak and alive than strong and dead.”
I crossed my arms. “That's not your decision to make.”
“Actually, is exactly my decision. I am head of your security. I assess threats. I determine protocols. You follow them.”
“I'm not your subordinate, Viktor. I'm the Crown Prince. You work for me.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or anger. Hard to tell with all that control.
“I work to keep you breathing,” he said. Voice gone quiet. Dangerous. “Whether you appreciate that or not.”
“I appreciate it. What I don't appreciate is being told I can't do my job because you're paranoid.”
“Paranoid.” He repeated the word like it tasted bad. “Is paranoid to recognize pattern?”
“You're assuming that there's some grand conspiracy instead of just bad luck and palace politics.”
“Bad luck.” Viktor laughed. Sharp. Humorless. “That chandelier was inspected two months ago. Passed all safety checks. Then suddenly support bolt fails at exact moment you are underneath? That is not luck. That is planning.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know enough.” He moved closer. Close enough I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
See the barely leashed fury in those pale eyes.
“I know you are treating this like game. Like performance where you show everyone how brave and unshakeable you are. But this is not game, Sebastian. This is your life. And you are gambling with it like it means nothing.”
“It means everything,” I shot back. “But so does duty. So does showing the people their prince isn't cowering behind palace walls. So does proving that whoever is doing this won't win.”
“They already won if you are dead.”
“Then keep me alive. That's your job, isn't it?”
“It is impossible when you refuse to take threats seriously.”
“I take them seriously. I just don't let them control me.”
“There is difference between bravery and stupidity.”
“Careful, Viktor. You're close to crossing a line.”
“Good. Because you need to hear this.” He stepped even closer.
Invading my space. Making me tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.
“You think being reckless makes you strong. Makes you worthy of crown. But all it does is make everything harder. Makes it so I have to choose between following your orders and keeping you alive.”
“Or what?”
“Or I go to your father. Tell him you are refusing security protocols. That you are making my job impossible. That I cannot protect someone who will not be protected.”
My blood went cold. “You wouldn't.”
“Try me.”
We stared at each other. Two wills colliding. Neither willing to bend.
“You're bluffing,” I said.
“Am I?” He pulled out his comm device. “One call. That is all it takes. Your father will ground you so thoroughly you will not leave palace for months. Is that what you want?”
“You bastard.”
“Da. But I am bastard who will keep you alive despite your best efforts to die.” His thumb hovered over the call button. “So. Do we do this my way? Or do I make that call?”
I wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream. Wanted to throw him out and find a bodyguard who understood that some things were worth dying for.
But I also saw the fear underneath his anger. The genuine terror that he'd fail.
That this wasn't about control. It was about not watching someone else die.
“Fine,” I ground out. “We do it your way. For now.”
“For now is not agreement.”
“It's all you're getting.”
His jaw worked. Then he lowered the comm. “State dinner is cancelled. Hospital opening is postponed. Gala will have triple security or you do not attend.”
“The state dinner can't be cancelled. We have foreign dignitaries coming.”
“Then they come to palace. We move dinner to secure location. Smaller venue. Controlled guest list.”
“That's going to create a diplomatic incident.”
“Better diplomatic incident than state funeral.”
I flinched. He saw it. His expression softened slightly.
“I am not trying to make your life difficult,” he said. Quieter now. “I am trying to make sure you have life at all.”
“I know.” The anger was draining out of me. Leaving just exhaustion. “I just hate feeling helpless. Hate that someone can make me afraid in my own home.”
“Is not helpless to be smart about danger. Is survival.”
“Survival isn't living.”
“No. But is required for living.” He stepped back. Gave me space. “We will find middle ground. You do your duty. I do mine. But you have to meet me halfway. Have to trust that when I say something is too dangerous, I am not trying to control you. I am trying to keep you breathing.”
I nodded. Unable to speak around the tightness in my throat.
“Get some rest,” Viktor said. “I will be outside if you need anything.”
He moved toward the door. Hand on the handle.
“Viktor?”
He paused. Looked back.
“Thank you. For earlier. For pulling me out of the way.”
Then he was gone. Door closing softly behind him.
I stood there in the silence. Feeling the weight of almost dying. Of the argument. Of the unspoken things hanging between us.
My hands were shaking.
I pressed them against my thighs until the trembling stopped. Until I could breathe normally again. Until I could pretend I was fine.
But I wasn't fine.