Chapter 18
Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
Pike muttered an oath in the comms.
“What’s wrong?” Owen demanded. Seconds fell off the clock with the weight of iron. “Pike, what—”
“It’s under control.”
He couldn’t take it anymore, sitting in the van and watching from live feeds. Hearing her voice, the terror in it after encountering Bruzon, Owen made a decision. “I’m going in.”
“Stay put,” Pike growled. “That infected face of yours and the bruises are enough to scare the most hardened of thugs.”
Hand on the door of the van, Owen faltered. I can’t… I can’t stay out here.
“Don’t worry, Apollo. We got her.” Dante’s words weren’t much reassurance.
Not while Leighton was inside and Bruzon was on the loose. His gaze lit on something in the feed. “Chief, eyes on Bruzon.”
“Affirmative,” Pike said in his preternatural calm. “OTG, north corner of the reception hall.”
“Got him,” Tariq reported.
Brick Archer, far too burly and red-bearded to blend in well, sat in the catering van with him. “I don’t know how you do it,” he muttered. “I’d be all over that like white on rice. No way I’d sit here.”
That was all Owen needed. He grabbed the thobe and ghutra from the stack purchased for the insertion.
“Hold up,” Brick said, straightening from the feeds. “That was figurative, lover boy.”
Owen secured a ghutra on his head. “Sounded literal.” With that, he shoved out of the concealed van and made his way through the rear of the building. He picked up a box of supplies. Didn’t care what it was. Just had to get it and himself into the palace.
“Chief,” Brick said in his distinctive twang, “Apollo incoming.”
“Negative,” Pike hissed. “Apollo, stand down!”
Owen ignored the chatter and entered through the rear of the kitchen. If he held the ghutra just right, he could conceal the marred mess on his jaw. In the kitchen area, he set aside the box and kept going.
A shout went up, and he forced himself to remain calm. Look to the side where a chef with a very large kitchen knife pointed to the box, misunderstanding Owen’s identity. Assuming he was a worker. He said something then indicated to the corner.
Acquiescing, Owen relocated the box. Waited till the cook looked away, and then eyed the door where servers were entering and exiting.
He grabbed a tray and moved with purpose toward the door.
Ducked through and followed the stream of staff filtering from the kitchens, down the hall that seemed mildly familiar from the times he’d walked Leighton to the garden.
Feeling his bearings grind into place, he followed staff into the reception hall that was insanely decorated.
Festooned with flowers and pink…so much pink. As if a bottle of Pepto vomited here.
Holy what? This was like something from some fantasy movie.
“Okay, Apollo,” Brick comm’d, “since you dived in with both feet, she’s up front. Your two o’clock. Don’t mess this up. Unlike you, we have a plan.”
“Understood,” he subvocalized as he set the tray on a serving table and with a few steaming mugs in hand, worked his way over to her. But there were hundreds of people, women with their heads covered. Where…?
“Green, she’s wearing green,” Brick muttered. “Good night, do I have to hand her to you?”
“Shut up,” Owen muttered even as his gaze struck her. Something in his gut tightened. “I see her. En route.”
Settled back in her seat near the head table, where Hassan and Daria were eating and laughing, receiving well wishes from their guests, Leighton…felt this prickling dread. Something…
Her gaze wandered over the crowd, wondering where Bruzon was. Had he left? Despite the hundreds feasting in honor of Daria and Hassan, she quickly located the man. Navas’s enemy—that’s who he was, right?
Mercies, she did not like his expression. He seemed…predatory. Just as he had in the hall when Pike intercepted her. Intervened, really. She knew it for what it was. And thank goodness. Who knew what the man would’ve done?
Stop. You’re stressing over nothing. She eyed the head table. Saw the king smile at her. She hated deceiving him. He would not appreciate the truth of her birth. And that nauseated her.
King Faruq lifted his mug and swung it at her, as if in toast.
Though she lowered her gaze, something pricked at her mind.
The mug. Was that… Her thoughts flicked back to the prep hall. Before the man came out. Someone had wiped the mugs… Her gaze bounced to the cup the king aimed toward his mouth. Jerked her attention to the man.
He was leaning forward. Eager. Anxious.
The cup. It’s the cup. She started to rise.
A hand landed on her shoulder. She startled and looked up and behind her. Penetrating blue eyes held hers. “Owen!”
“It’s time. Let’s go.”
Already on her way to her feet, she swung her gaze back to the king.
“Come on. Now,” Owen tugged her—gently, but firmly.
But…the cup. Had they done something to his cup? Her heart hammered as she stalled.
“Nouri.”
“No,” she said as the moment powered down to an infinitesimal speed. The greedy gleam in Bruzon’s eyes. The king’s cup—the same one she’d seen someone wiping in the side room. “No!” she shouted, wrenching out of Owen’s grasp. She stumbled and knocked the table.
The din in the room faltered, gazes swinging to her.
“King Faruq! Don’t drink from that cup!” she shouted, but it was still too loud in the hall. Even as she saw his mouth touch the rim, she snatched up a small tart and pitched it at him, desperate to stop him. “Don’t drink it!”
The pastry careened into his forehead. He jerked visibly from the impact. Spiced coffee splashed his face, and he shoved upward with a roar.
Weight plowed into her back and slammed her onto the table.
Owen had no idea what she was screaming about, but he went headlong into the table with her, two guards pinning them both there.
“What the Hades just happened?” Brick grumbled.
“Apollo screwed it up,” someone muttered in the comms.
Gritting his teeth, Owen found his cheek pressed to a plate that cracked beneath the impact and made his stitches sting.
Leighton was next to him, shouting, “It’s poisoned! It’s poisoned.”
Guards in black attire hauled them up out of the room, barely letting their feet touch the ground. Coming out of the shock of seeing her shout and throw food at the king, he realized what had happened. She’d realized something. Something they’d all missed.
He’d expected to find themselves in a dungeon cell or the executioner’s block. Instead, they were delivered to the same hall that Owen had been brought to—the king’s reception room—that first day.
Forced into the couches that lined the hall, he dragged off the Arabic attire.
Leighton looked at him, pale and shaken. “They…the assassin—”
“Bruzon.”
She nodded. “I think he tried to poison the king.”
“You think?” Owen grimaced. “I hope you’re right…”
“Me too.”
His gaze tracked over her. “You look amazing.”
“Shut up!” a guard shouted, staggering toward them as if to strike her, but instead just shook his fist. “How dare you attack our king! He has given you everything!”
They waited in silence for what felt like hours.
Finally, the doors opened and the king—in clean clothes—stormed in with Crown Prince Maaz.
They strode to the front without looking at anyone, then the king turned to them.
Scowled at Leighton. “Explain yourself, Nouri.” He pointed to the center, directly in front of himself.
She stood, slowly moved to the middle of the hall.
“Earlier, I was returning to the reception hall when I got lost. Made wrong turns. I stumbled upon a door that opened. That’s when I saw a tray of mugs and cups.
Someone was wiping one with a cloth and gloves.
A man then barreled out and crashed into me.
Later, I saw him in the reception hall. He seemed eager.
Anxious. He was watching Your Majesty. That’s when I noticed your mug was the one I’d seen being wiped.
I could only guess they were trying to poison you. ”
Owen waited, watched. Saw the tight expression on the king. The rage in the crown prince’s gaze.
“So you threw food at me.”
She flinched and drove her gaze to the marble again. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I was too far away, and when I cried out, you could not hear me. I was afraid you would drink from it.”
Silence gaped through the hall for several long minutes. A man rushed down the side and hurried to the king, delivering a paper to him with a firm nod.
King Faruq glanced at the paper, then to Leighton. “Would you recognize this man again if you saw him?”
“I would, sire.”
The king motioned for the side doors to be opened. A moment later, ten men were ushered into the room.
Oh no. Pike, Dante, Crow, and Tariq stood with Bruzon.
“These men have false IDs,” the king said. “Is the man you saw here?”
Leighton scanned the men, then pointed to Bruzon. “That’s him.”
The king jutted his jaw, and guards set upon him. Pulled him from the room.
“Apollo.”
The bark of his callsign jerked Owen to his feet. “Sir—er Majesty.”
“How did you get out of your dungeon?”
Owen swallowed. “With help.”
The king indicated to the team. “From these men?”
He did not want to rat out Omen, but he also had a feeling the king already knew the answers.
“To save Nouri.”
Again, another trap. “To save Leighton.”
The king drew up.
“You should know, Your Majesty,” Leighton said softly, “that I am grateful for the protection you have afforded me all these months I have been here.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You believe me your daughter—”
“Leighton,” Owen hissed.
“—but I am not,” she said, unyielding. She did not seem to care when Prince Rayan moved to her side.
Owen didn’t miss how pale the prince looked now. Or how Omen shifted, their postures screaming readiness to protect her. To act. Respond to any threat presented. It was the same one roiling through him. He adjusted to her left.
King Faruq stepped toward her. “Go on.”
“My father is a mercenary whom my mother, Princess Yasmina, met on a vacation with her mother. Despite what you…did to her, you did not father me.”
His gaze darkened, then he pivoted and returned to the front. He swiped a hand over his beard.
Owen was proud to stand with her. Hated that Rayan was there too, but he’d take what he could get.
Leighton, however, only gave him her eyes. Sorrow cut through them, but also resolve.
“You did the right thing,” he whispered.
Though grieved—what she had done, said, would have consequences—she nodded.
“You are right, Nouri,” the king pronounced, his gaze finding her again as he raised the paper given to him moments ago. “The cup was poisoned.” With a flick of his finger, the king held her gaze. Next to him, Maaz produced a dagger.
Adrenaline jacked through Owen as the prince flew straight at them. “No!” he dived in front of Leighton even as he heard the woosh of ghutras and an agonal grunt.
With a lethal blow, the prince took Rayan to the ground.
Leighton screamed even as Owen spun her away from the confrontation and held her there. Omen grouped up around them.
“Prince Maaz recently discovered,” King Faruq said, “that my nephew has been plotting to take my throne by colluding with the man you witnessed.” He sauntered over to the fallen prince and spat on him. Then he moved to Owen and Leighton. “It seems you saved my life today, Nouri.”
She swallowed and straightened.
“You may not be my daughter, but al-Zahrani blood does flow in your veins because of your mother.” He gave a slow, recognizing nod. “For this great mercy you have done me this day, how can I repay you, Leighton Kingslake? Speak and it will be done.”
Leighton shifted out of Owen’s arms. Stood tall before King Faruq. “Just one thing.”
“Name it.”
“Swear nobody—not you nor anyone on behalf of House al-Zahrani—will ever again come after me or those I love.” She moved closer. “I just want to live in peace.” She eyed Owen. “With no more secrets.”