Chapter 13 The Lion and His Shadow
THE LION AND HIS SHADOW
VIKTOR
Istood beside the armored car, running through my checklist for the third time. Mirror angles perfect. Lock seals intact. Tire pressure optimal. Ballistic integrity of the glass confirmed at level four protection. Every detail memorized, every variable accounted for, every failure point reinforced.
Ritual masquerading as thoroughness.
Truth was, I couldn't shake the feeling crawling up my spine. The one that said today was wrong. That the city was holding its breath.
I'd learned to trust that feeling. It had kept me alive through wars and ambushes and situations where trusting that instinct was the difference between breathing and bleeding out in foreign dirt while your squad moved on without you.
“Mr. Volkov.”
The King's voice cut through the drizzle. I turned to find him approaching, umbrella held by an aide, concern carved into every line of his face. He looked older in the gray morning light. Worn down by grief and duty and whatever he felt about what had happened between us in his quarters.
“Your Majesty.”
He dismissed the aide with a gesture, stepping close enough that the guards stationed around the motor court wouldn't hear.
“The city's restless today. Protests planned for the afternoon near Parliament Square. Intelligence suggests increased chatter among radical groups. Nothing concrete, but the noise is louder than usual.”
His hand settled on my shoulder, heavy with unspoken weight. The same shoulder I'd let him touch in firelight. The same hands that had traced my jaw before I'd kissed him back and made a mistake I couldn't undo.
“Keep him safe, Viktor.”
“I will protect him with my life, Your Majesty. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Viktor. I know you will.”
I watched him walk away, back straight despite the weight he carried, and felt something twist in my gut.
“Planning my funeral already?”
Sebastian's voice made me turn. He approached through the drizzle, navy suit perfectly tailored, movements fluid despite the injuries he was still hiding. He looked every inch the prince. His hair styled back. Charming smile in place. The perfect mask for cameras and crowds.
I opened the car door without responding. Professional. Distant. Everything I should've been in the training hall yesterday instead of almost kissing him. Instead of learning what his fingers felt like in my hair and how his breath tasted against my mouth.
He paused before getting in, close enough that I smelled his cologne. Something expensive that probably had a French name I couldn't pronounce. Something that made me want to lean closer instead of maintaining proper distance.
“You're not even pretending this is voluntary, are you?” he said, eyes bright with challenge.
“My orders do not require enthusiasm. They require execution.”
“Everything about you says otherwise.” He slid into the car, that half-smile playing at his mouth. The one that made my chest tight and my hands want to reach for things they shouldn't. “You look like you're escorting me to my execution, not a weapons expo.”
I closed the door harder than necessary and climbed into the front passenger seat.
The driver, Marcus, glanced at me. Young. Twenty-four, maybe. Competent. One of the Sentinel Network's newer recruits. Adrian had vouched for him personally. “Route's clear, sir. Traffic's heavier than usual, but we should make the expo center in thirty minutes. Forty if the protests start early.”
“Stay alert. Something feels wrong today.”
“Yes, sir.” He didn't question it. Good. Men who questioned instinct in this job didn't last long.
The motorcade pulled out through the palace gates. Three vehicles. Two security cars flanking ours. Standard protocol for public appearances in unstable areas.
Not enough if I was right about today.
But I'd been overruled. The King's advisors had insisted that more security would “send the wrong message.” Would make the crown look afraid of its own people.
Politics. Always fucking politics.
London rolled past beyond bulletproof glass. Gray buildings. Gray sky. Gray people hunched under umbrellas, going about their gray lives without knowing how fragile everything was. How easily it could all shatter. Rain streaked the windows, turning everything into watercolor smears.
In the back seat, Sebastian leaned forward, voice carrying through the partition. “You could smile, you know. For the cameras we're about to face. It would make you look less like you're planning a murder.”
I glanced at him in the rearview mirror. He was watching me with those green-gold eyes that saw too much. That looked at me and stripped away every defense I'd built.
“Smiling is not in my job description.”
“No. But neither is looking like you want to murder every photographer in London.” He paused. “Though I admit, some of them deserve it. There's this one guy who keeps asking about my dating life. Very persistent. Very annoying.”
“Want me to shoot him?”
“Viktor Volkov. Did you just make a joke?” Sebastian's grin was immediate. Bright. “I'm writing this down. Historic moment.”
“Was not joke. Was genuine offer.”
“Even better.” He laughed, and the sound did something uncomfortable to my chest. Made it feel less tight. “But no. Father would frown on bodyguards shooting members of the press. Bad optics.”
“Your father frowns on many things I do.”
“Like what?”
“Like keeping you alive in ways that are not approved by committee.”
Sebastian snorted. “God forbid we actually be effective instead of diplomatic.” He shifted in his seat, leaning closer to the partition. “So what's really wrong? And don't give me the professional bodyguard deflection. I can tell when you're worried.”
I shouldn't have answered. Should've maintained professional distance. But the words came anyway. “City is too quiet. When cities go quiet like this, it means they are holding their breath. Waiting for something.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For violence. For chaos. For whatever breaks first.” I met his eyes in the mirror. “I do not like taking you into this. Too many variables I cannot control.”
“You can't control everything, Viktor.”
“I know. This is what worries me.”
“Welcome to my entire life.” He settled back, but his eyes stayed on me. “Control is an illusion anyway. We just pretend really hard until something explodes and reminds us we're all just improvising.”
“This is very pessimistic worldview.”
“This is very realistic worldview.” But his tone was light. Teasing. “Besides, I have you. The immovable object. The unstoppable force. Pick your intimidating metaphor.”
“Am neither. Am just man who is very good at his job.”
“You're more than that.” The words came quieter. More serious. “You know you are.”
I didn't know how to respond to that. Didn't know what to do with the fact that he saw past the weapon to the person underneath and seemed to like what he found.
“You should wear seatbelt properly,” I said instead, deflecting. “Not lean forward like this.”
“Worried about me?”
“Is literally my job to worry about you.”
“That's not what I asked.” His smile was dangerous. Knowing. “But fine. I'll behave. Wouldn't want to give you another reason to brood.”
“I do not brood.”
“Viktor. You brood professionally. It's like your resting state.”
Marcus made a sound that might've been a laugh quickly turned into a cough. I glared at him.
“Even Marcus agrees with me,” Sebastian said, clearly delighted. “This is a democratic vote. You brood.”
“Democracy does not apply to security assessments.”
“No, but it applies to personality assessments. And the people have spoken.”
Despite everything. Despite the tension coiled in my gut and the feeling that today was going to end badly. Despite all of it, I felt my mouth twitch.
Not quite a smile. But close.
“There it is,” Sebastian said softly. “Knew you had it in you.”
“Had what?”
“A sense of humor. Buried under all that Russian stoicism, but it's there.”
“Will not help us if city explodes.”
“No. But it might help us not lose our minds before it does.” He settled back properly this time, buckling his seatbelt. “Besides, if something's going to happen, I'd rather spend the time before it laughing than drowning in worst-case scenarios.”
“Worst-case scenarios keep you alive.”
“So does remembering you're alive in the first place.” His eyes met mine in the mirror again. “You're allowed to exist as more than a weapon, Viktor. Even if it's just for a few minutes in a car with someone who actually likes you.”
“You should not like me,” I said. “Makes things complicated.”
“Everything about you is complicated. Doesn't make me like you less.” He grinned. “Makes you more interesting, actually. Like a very deadly puzzle I'm trying to solve.”
“Am not puzzle.”
“You absolutely are. A grumpy, Russian, extremely competent puzzle who pretends he doesn't have feelings.”
“I have feelings. Just know when not to show them.”
“And when do you show them?”
“Never. Is safer.”
“For who?”
“For everyone.”
Sebastian was quiet for a moment. Then, softer, “That sounds lonely.”
It was. But I didn't say that.
“Loneliness is luxury I can afford,” I said instead. “Attachment is not.”
“What if someone wanted to be attached anyway? Despite your better judgment?”
“Then they would be very foolish,” I said.
“Lucky for you, I've been called foolish my entire life.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Approaching the bridge in two minutes, sir.”
Marcus navigated it with practiced ease, and I scanned constantly. Every vehicle. Every face. Every window that could hide a shooter. Every variable that could become threat.
That's when I saw it.
A motorcycle. Black. No plates visible. Weaving through traffic three cars back, maintaining perfect distance but never falling behind. The rider's posture was wrong. Too controlled. Too deliberate.
“Marcus. Black motorcycle. Seven o'clock position. How long has he been there?”