3. Riggs #2
If the nerves of the mission weren’t making his head fuzzy, the sight of her was.
He’d drop to his knees for a body like that.
She was wrapped in an immaculate midnight-blue dress.
Sparkling like the night sky—a sky full of stars he’d gaze at till sunrise.
Then he’d count the minutes to dusk. His gaze dropped.
The sight of her peaked breasts erased any memory of why he was in the castle in the first place. Fuck.
Riggs found himself walking toward her, but then slowed his steps.
He shook his head. Killian will kill me.
Every bone in his body screamed at him as he turned. Suspense rocketed through his chest. Oh, shit.
A breath escaped Riggs' lungs.
“Watch where you are going!” a short man shouted, pointing a pale, wrinkly finger toward him.
Riggs gulped. “Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to step on his foot, or leave a muddy boot print on his velvet pointed shoes. The man didn’t notice, not as he tugged at his suit, and disappeared through the crowd.
Thank fuck.
That could’ve been bad.
The music came to a halt, and everyone turned toward the dais, even Riggs, but when he faced the stage, the woman was gone. His face warmed. Glancing around, Riggs clenched his glass. She was nowhere in sight. Where did she go?
A familiar face appeared.
King Gabriel.
Riggs' chest stuttered, stomach forming into a knot. The royals always made him nervous. He’d seen his old, worn yet handsome face plenty after Princess Elora was declared missing.
Just drawings, of course, but he’d remembered the many posters plastered throughout Aldmoor: the king and his lost daughter.
Whoever their artist had been at the time, they’d sketched King Gabriel’s nose much smaller.
I would’ve done a better job.
The king’s voice carried through the room like a feather through violent wind. “Tonight we celebrate the twins’ birthday, Princesses Elora and Esemeray.”
Everyone in the room raised a glass and, for a moment, it went silent, not even a breath interrupted the moment of peace.
Elora’s a twin?
Riggs bunched his brows. He’d never recalled another princess; he had only heard about the missing one. Sounds like I need to further my research on the Zavatorri family.
Riggs raised his glass with the rest of the guests. “Happy birthday.” His voice was hardly a murmur.
And for a long moment, it was silent. The room grew thick with empathy, making it hard to breathe.
“For anyone who knew my daughter, she was the light of the castle; a beautiful, caring little girl stolen away in the dead of the night.” Tears lined his eyes, a nearly unnoticeable tremor shaking his hands.
“Wherever she may be, I do hope my sweet daughter is safe and well—” The king dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, waving his hands in the air as if the speech was too heartbreaking to continue.
The queen sat there, stone-faced, lips pursed.
She looks like a real charmer. Murmurs filled the room as the king disappeared behind the royal-blue drapes, the guards following close behind.
Riggs sighed, sadness tearing at his chest as he glanced at a guest who was on the brink of crying. Good thing Killian wasn’t here for the speech. He would’ve started drinking again.
Riggs passed on a sympathetic smile to the man. “Sad story. I wonder where she could be…”
The man glared, his eyes filling with tears. “We don’t know. I can’t believe they still haven’t found her. We miss her dearly.” His voice carried a heavy emotion that was difficult to hear. He wasn’t wearing a mask like the rest of them, but he didn’t look like he worked for the castle either.
“How long has it been now?” Riggs asked gently. He knew the answer, but needed to inch his way into the man’s head. Trust.
“Eight years… Eight long years.” The man’s lips went tight.
“No luck in finding her?”
The man stiffened, looking around the room before flicking his eyes to Riggs. “The men sent to look for her never returned.” His expression dulled, then he murmured, “Strange things happen beyond our wards.”
Riggs hadn’t realized the kingdom had a power source to set wards. It required magic—something long forbidden in Dagon. For as long as Riggs remembered, anyone who possessed a drop was sentenced to death. King Gabriel’s nickname wasn’t Head Roller for no reason.
Interesting.
Riggs' eyes slanted as he inched closer. “Are the king and queen still offering a reward for finding her?”
The man’s expression faltered into boredom. “If you can earn yourself a presence with Their Majesties, I suppose you can ask yourself, boy.”
His stomach dropped.
Riggs laughed. “Yeah, right.” He cleared his throat after an awkward stare from the man.
“What did you say your name was?” The man leaned closer, pulling at the corner of his mustache. “Are you from around these parts, boy?”
Riggs took another sip of the shat wine to buy himself some time.
Think. Staring out in the crowd, cupping his ear. “Oh, honey, what was that?” Riggs stepped forward in a hurry. “Nice talking to you. Duty calls.” He fluttered his hands in a wave and scurried away. Heat crept up his cheeks. He needed to disappear from the humiliation burning inside of him.
The music resumed, and a violinist hit a high note that brought goosebumps to Riggs' arms. He slowed his steps, sliding his free hand into his pocket, and observed the stage.
He supposed he could spare a few minutes to listen to the song.
Between his research and bounties, he stayed busy, never able to enjoy inspiring melodies.
What Killian won’t know won’t hurt him.
Moving his gaze from the violinist, he observed the woman who sat along the wooden bench, her fingers swiftly moving across the ivory keys. Her body swayed with every note she played, making him want to sway with her.
His attention was rightfully stolen by a delicate bell sound—a man playing the harp. Riggs watched his fingers—observed the way he flicked the strings with a purpose, creating the most beautiful, yet haunting sound he’d ever heard.
“Extraordinary…” Riggs breathed. He had always found it impressive how unique instruments could come together and create a masterpiece. How many times did the musicians practice this particular song to make it as perfect as it was?
They never missed a beat—not once.
As the song reached a crescendo, Riggs felt his soul being carried to the heavens as they struck the high and low notes in harmony.
“You play?” a woman next to him asked, breaking his trance.
Riggs stared at her and smiled. Curiously, he took her in, his gaze roaming across her cherry-red hair, pinned in a bun, and the creme mask surrounding her rounded, freckled face.
“Something I’ve always wanted to learn, but sadly, I don’t. Do you?” Riggs admitted.
She beamed, her bold eyelashes fluttering. “I do, for quite some time now.”
Riggs raised a brow, adjusting his stance. “What instrument?”