Chapter 4 #2
“I am impressed.” Rayan angled more toward her and considered her. “And who were you wanting to fight for?”
Pulse tripping over his words, she nearly choked on her next mouthful. “What?”
He gave a half-hearted smile. “I find that most people who go into law or medicine want to do so because someone they loved did not get the justice or help they deserved.”
Was he serious? “I would think my cause might be obvious…” When their eyes met, she instantly regretted her reply. Hoped he did not resent her or grow angry.
“Ah.” Suddenly focused on his food, he switched to the deep-fried balls.
Soon, the staff delivered the main course of a rice mound with meat to each of them.
Steam spiraling up taunted her with a delectable aroma, which made her mouth water, even though she did not know what it was.
And really, did it matter?—this would be her first full meal since being taken from Ummi in London.
She searched the plate for any allergy offenders.
“This is maqluba,” Rayan said, clearly seeing her uncertainty. “Maaz would eat it for every meal if we let him.”
Picking up her spoon, Leighton appreciated his guidance throughout the meal.
Yet, she weighed his generosity. Wondered that he did not see her as an intruder or interloper like the others.
Unlike Daria’s congeniality, which somehow felt as if there were an ulterior motive behind it, Rayan seemed… genuine. Kind.
Raucous laughter erupted from the far end of the table, drawing her attention. Princess Daria and her fiancé were laughing hard, while Crown Prince Maaz sat there, jaw tight.
“Oh, come, brother,” Daria chuckled. “You have to admit—”
“You are inappropriate, Daria!”
Silence clapped down on the room, and the princess’s merriment faded.
The bite of falafel in Leighton’s mouth soured as she slowly chewed. Licked her lips and swallowed.
“What were you thinking?” Crown Prince Maaz spat, his Arabic quick and sharp. “You have lost all sense of decorum. I should have known after you had her brought to our table!”
The princess all but preened, apparently proud of the tension she had wrought. “Our father said I could have whomever I wanted in my wedding party,” Daria sniped back, “and I want her.”
“You cannot—”
“I can,” she said with a flourish of her manicured and bejeweled fingers. “It has all been cleared through the king’s office. She is to be with me.”
Maaz did not erupt in fury as expected, but a clear menace lurked in his expression when he cast his gaze at Leighton. Mouth tightening, he jerked back to his sister. “Do you not respect the memory of jiddat al-ab? He is your blood!”
Grandfather…? Oh, King Nasir—her mother’s father.
“Of course, I do,” Daria hissed quietly. “But she could be our sister, Maaz. You know what Baba did to his own sister!”
Maaz shoved upward. Backhanded her, the sound a loud crack in the now-silent dining hall. “Do not speak such evil, or I will cut out your tongue!”
Hassan shot to his feet, arms drawn back, ready to defend his betrothed, but also conflicted as he owed his allegiance and loyalty to the crown prince.
Maaz squared to the challenge, like the alpha in a pack of dogs. The would-be groom lowered his head. Set a hand on Daria’s shoulder, clearly bringing her under control.
It was infuriating. Frightening, these men so intimidated by a woman with a mind.
Pulling her thoughts and attention back to herself, Leighton tried to steady her racing heart.
She did not want or need the crown prince’s anger barreling into her.
She could not believe he had threatened to commit such violence against his own sister.
She certainly could not fathom doing that to Hale and Holland, her adoptive siblings.
A cool breeze swept her shoulders, eliciting a shiver.
She glanced there, wondering at the chill, and found Rayan had stood to go after the prince.
The others focused on eating. Princess Aliyah sat quietly, chewing the side of her lip, then offered a wan, apologetic smile paired with shrug.
Even amid the uneasy quiet, the staff served dessert.
If this was their idea of family…no, thanks. The instinct to rush back to her room proved nearly overpowering, forcing Leighton’s gaze to the door, hoping Asim would be there. He was not. And she could not move about unescorted, so—
A soft thump sounded beside her, drawing her gaze back. Had Rayan returned? Instead, she found Princess Aliyah adjusting in the seat. She gave a mischievous smile. “It is the special request of Princess Daria that you come with us to Paris for her wedding shopping.”
Shopping? In Paris? That would be a long way from the concrete dungeon of two days ago. “I—”
“Do not worry.” Aliyah touched her arm. “It will be great fun. And after that, we go on safari. For fourteen days!”
Leighton gaped at the pretty princess whose dimples winked each time she laughed. Paris and a safari? “I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “Why me?”
Aliyah giggled. “You are family. Princess Daria insists, so you must go and have fun.” Another giggle. “So much better than where they had you, yes?”
Disbelief corkscrewed through Leighton. “You knew?”
“Of course.” Aliyah seemed contrite all of a sudden.
“Daria was very upset when she saw you in the dirty clothes, walking in the alley. She begged the king for this one favor, to have you with her.” She rolled her eyes.
“His Majesty would do anything for her”—she leaned conspiratorially and lowered her voice—“though she is quite rebellious.” She giggled again, then rasped, “Do not tell her I said so.”
There was no explanation for why the princess had chosen her.
Incredible to think Daria had even begged the king to remove Leighton from the dungeon.
Why? She let her gaze wander to the princess receiving care from her betrothed.
When those large, darkly lined eyes slid to Leighton, she gave a slow nod.
In that moment, Leighton understood. Felt it in her bones—solidarity. She returned the nod, hoping to convey her thanks. After weeks spent in that dungeon, the daughter of her captor had rescued her. Now would take her to Paris to shop. Was this really happening?
Even as she wondered, there rose in her a vibrating sense of caution. Told her to tread softly. Carefully. All was not as it seemed.
Paris, France
If someone had told him last week that he’d be sitting at a café in Paris waiting to save the girl he’d never forgotten about, Owen would’ve told them to get therapy.
The Omen flight to Jeddah had been diverted when word came that a Saudi royal entourage had headed to Paris—and Leighton had been spotted deboarding a private jumbo jet with Princesses Daria and Aliyah.
Owen had suggested they just grab Leighton and run, but Pike showed him surveillance footage that revealed more than two dozen armed, concealed assets on-site to protect the princess.
“Heads up,” Crow Rawlins comm’d, watching from the feed of a micro-drone high overhead. “Princesses exiting shop.”
“Good copy,” Pike replied. “Apollo, visual confirmation on six armed security trailing objective in addition to the two vans and limo.” Six out of the twenty-four. Packing kinda light…
Owen lifted a cappuccino to his mouth. “Yep.” He took a sip, glanced around, and checked his watch, as if he were waiting on someone to arrive.
“En route to you,” Crow reported.
“Brick, move in,” the chief said. “Tariq, prepare to intercept trailing security.”
“Roger that.”
“Apollo,” Pike said, “on you in five…”
Owen eyed the windows of the outdoor shop and saw the four women in its reflection. He stood and strained his neck, searching for that nonexistent friend again.
“Two…”
Tugging down his ball cap so Leighton wouldn’t recognize him right off, he looked in her direction. Felt his heart twinge at the droop to her shoulders, the way she kept her head down. Behind her, the burly oaf was barreling down on her.
Two additional operators Omen had recruited intentionally shifted between Leighton and the princesses.
Brick barreled into Leighton, snatching her bag.
“Look out!” Owen bolted forward, partly hating that he was playing a fake hero, but it served a purpose. “Hey!”
As the attacker, Brick hooked an arm around Leighton, eliciting a scream as terror seized her.
That expression on her beautiful face tore at Owen. “Hey!” he shouted again, rushing into the supposed fray. “Hey-hey. Easy, man. Don’t do this.” He motioned the other princesses away and focused on Brick. “Let her go, man. This isn’t worth it.”
Leighton was hauled off her feet, and the move made Owen tense. The big buy was going a little rough. “Easy, easy!”
When he heard tires squealing a block away and the signal from Pike in his ear for the big finale, Owen threw everything he had into launching at Brick.
Pitched the two apart. Clipped the back of Brick’s legs.
The big guy stumbled backwards, last-minute hauling Owen to the ground with him.
Owen dropped hard onto the guy’s gut. Heard the hard grunt.
Before he could realize it, Owen found himself on his back. He jabbed a dagger hand into Brick’s side. Heard the guy’s pained grunt. Hoped he hadn’t struck too hard. He’d deliberately gone into the wrong spot to prevent any real damage. But it gave his escape legitimacy.
But the brawny guy was faster than expected—he drove a stiff left hook at Owen’s chin.
That sucker hurt too, pain ricocheting down his jaw and neck.
But even as he stumbled backwards, he was free.
Hopped to his feet, landing in a fighting stance.
Angled aside and shifted around, searching for the objective.
Mouth open, Leighton stood frozen, bags dangling from her hands. Though she turned, as if to flee, she didn’t.
“Go!” he shouted.