6. Killian #2
Killian lunged, placing his hand over the man’s mouth, his other gripped firmly around his neck.
Given the man’s size, he’d only need to endure fifteen more seconds of muffled screaming before he fell silent.
The pressure point Killian was pressing on now was quick, painless and effective. His preferred style.
The man’s nails dug into Killian’s forearm as he struggled. Killian counted forty seconds before the man’s grip eased and fell slack. With careful movements, Killian dragged his body into the stairwell.
“Good fit,” Killian said under his breath, dusting the sides of the borrowed suit.
He had at least twenty minutes to get in and find Riggs before the man woke.
But given the man’s hefty size and health, Killian may have extra time.
A man could only hope. He glanced beyond the door, checking his surroundings, and strolled down the hall.
If Riggs learned anything from me, he would be questioning the guests.
Killian glanced around the castle, noting the monstrous plants lining the brightly lit halls and the famous art pieces hung across the space.
His features fell flat, heart stopping as he recognized a particular painting from an event he and his wife had attended over a decade ago.
Never did it fail.
The cold, haunting truth that he’d constantly be reminded of her, wherever he went.
The blues and purples merged into a single color, swirling around each other like a storm.
The piece was titled Calm in Chaos. His wife had wanted it, but Killian couldn’t afford it then.
Looking at it now, his insides twisted and plunged.
He had failed her. He shook his thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on something else—anything else.
He entered the ballroom, his broken heart an impossible burden, and wished he’d never laid eyes on that painting.
He scanned for Riggs, but there were too many people crammed into one space, and from the looks of it, the crowd was gathering for an announcement.
Killian moved through the crowd, eavesdropping as he went, but none of them were worthy of sustained attention.
Talks of a missing cat and gossip about someone’s husband fucking the maid.
While pieces of shit like the maid fucker kept and mistreated their wives, Killian could only wince at the memory of his. Layalara. It was just further reason he’d remained a heretic.
“Excuse me,” Killian said loud enough for the couple blocking his way to hear.
They both moved and bowed. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
The pit of his stomach fell. Your Grace?
Dammit…who did I knock out?
Masking his surprise, Killian nodded, walking toward the stage and hoping for a better view. Two royals sat on red throne chairs, donning feathered masks and languidly looking out across the crowd. Inwardly, he winced, quickly realizing that only the royals were wearing feathered masks.
Fuck me.
“Excuse me, Lord Donnavan.” A petite blond woman walked by, her face puffy, tears pooling in her eyes. Now I know who I knocked out.
His chest tightened. Killian couldn’t stand the sight of a woman crying—it was his weakness. But he couldn’t allow himself to care. He had one mission: Get Riggs, get the hell out. Ideally, without anyone finding out they were ever on the castle grounds.
A hoarse male voice boomed over the cacophony, “We have a royal engagement this evening! Our daughter Princess Esemeray and Prince Peter are to marry.”
Cheering and clapping rang throughout the room, worsening Killian’s headache.
He skimmed the stage where the king stood, holding onto a lion staff.
He had no idea there was another princess.
She looked nothing like her parents. Even though her mask covered most of her face, obscuring her from view, her pale skin was delicate, and her hair was darker than the night itself.
She wore a purple, feathered mask, though a few feathers were missing from the right side.
Did she fall? No… He knew that mark. With the redness spilling beneath her mask, it looked as if someone had struck her.
His fists tightened. If the prince did that…
Not important.
Killian continued scanning. There was another woman on the dais, standing behind the queen in the shadows. Killian’s chest heaved, realizing those blue eyes were the same ones that had met him outside with the box. He swallowed hard.
What connections did Conwell have with the kingdom?
Turning around, he strode toward the back of the room quickly to avoid getting stopped again. Killian surveyed all the guests, but Riggs was nowhere to be seen.
Where is that fool?
Growing frustrated, he grunted, catching the attention of a servant walking by.
“Lord Donnavan, would you like another drink?”
Killian hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in over two years.
After a brutal bar fight with a local in Aldmoor, he almost lost his life.
If Riggs hadn’t been there… Killian didn’t want to think of the alternative.
Besides, the vicious scar on his cheek would never let him forget hitting rock bottom. “Water is fine.”
The servant dipped her chin. “Yes, Your Grace.”
His annoyance flared. Luckily, Lord Donnavan had a beard, but he was starting to take offense.
I’m much more handsome than that bastard.
Killian’s beard was fuller and less gray, his build slightly larger as the jacket strained across his shoulders, but he supposed it was helping him blend in.
He waited for the servant to return so it wouldn’t be suspicious.
At least the orchestra was bearable, but the high notes were driving him up the fucking wall.
He tapped his foot, arms crossed, thudding his fingers on his lips.
What’s taking the servant so long?
Killian grunted as a soft object hit him in the stomach. Crouching down, he picked up a red ball as a ten-year-old boy darted toward him. Feeling a pang of sadness, he froze near the floor. Our child would have been around the same age.
“Can I have my ball back?” the little boy asked, breaking his trance.
A small smile formed, and Killian gently tapped on the boy’s shoulder. “Here you go.”
Cute kid.
The little boy snatched it with a manic look, then flew his foot into Killian’s testicles. “Don’t touch me anymore!”
White, blinding pain filled his vision. Gripping his stomach, Killian collapsed onto one knee.
“Hey, you little shit!” The nearby guests stopped and stared at him.
The boy’s mouth fell open, eyes laced with shock.
“I’m telling my Mum, you creep!” Killian gritted his teeth, ignoring the child as he stood, nodding to the crowd.
In the corner of his eye, the child darted, disappearing.
Killian dusted the side of his jacket, an unsettling wave of nausea hit him straight in the gut. His hands bunched. Is Lord Donnavan a pedophile? I should have strangled him to death.
Minutes later, the servant arrived, an older woman wearing a green, feathered mask like the one Killian wore. She looked pissed. Her brows bunched, shoulders tense. And there was no water on the platter.
“Where have you been, Charles? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.
” She gasped, covering her mouth. Her stunned silence did not last long.
Her voice drowned out the orchestra as she shouted, “That is not my husband!” The woman’s eyes roamed Killian several times, her brown eyes lined with tears. “Somebody help! Guards!”
Oh gods. Here we fucking go.
Cursing under his breath, Killian lunged forward and skidded to a halt. Three guards rushed toward him, swords raised. Killian threw his hands up to surrender. He would talk his way out of this.
“On your knees!” the taller guard demanded. Slowly, Killian dropped to the floor, and the guests backed away, gasping.
Killian forced a chuckle. “I can explain?—”
“Where is my husband?” the woman screamed, hiding behind the guards.
His mouth went dry.
That water would have been nice now.
Rough fingers gripped into his cheeks, ripping the mask off that hid his identity.
“Where is Lord Charles Donnavan?” the guard questioned.
Killian let out a frustrated breath. “In the stairwell, alive.”
The king and queen approached, noses turned down at him like he were an insect they’d enjoy crushing. “Take him to the dungeon with the other one,” the queen demanded.
The other one? Killian’s heart thundered as callused hands gripped his arms, a deep voice growling in his ear, “Move it.”
Was Riggs caught?
The king spoke, halting their march through the crowd. “Captain Rutherford, do what you must to find out how they got in. I would like a word once you’re finished.”