12. Elena #3
“Alexei doesn’t wear much jewelry,” I murmur, though my feet refuse to move.
Hannah lets out a deep sigh, her eyes drifting toward the square. “There has to be something else.”
I step closer, palms flattening against the cool glass. My breath fogs the pane as I lean in.
Hannah turns. “What did you see?”
“Let’s go in.”
Her eyes narrow. “You found something.”
A smile curves before I can stop it. “I found an idea.”
Warmth envelops me the moment we cross the threshold. The shop owner looks up, and hesitates. His gaze rests momentarily on my sunglasses, the scarf knotted high, the hat casting a shadow over my face.
I feel Lance and Braydon enter behind us like a shift in gravity. They fan out a little too deliberately. Their gazes follow the reflection of my face on every surface. On the other side of the shop, Lizzie and Arabella prowl with their own protective vigilance.
“Can I help you, miss?” the shop owner asks carefully.
“Do you do custom work?” I ask.
His posture straightens, suspicion replaced by interest. “Anything you wish.” His smile sharpens with curiosity. “What are you searching for?”
I turn toward the table in the center of the room. “There’s a watch there. Can it be redesigned? Engraved?”
His face lights up in understanding. “Absolutely,” he affirms. “But this level of workmanship does not come cheap.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
He steps around the counter, and Hannah follows as I gesture to the watch.
The moment he lifts it, my pulse steadies.
Black, glossy face. Gold accents catch the light like quiet fire. Polished silver band, strong, unyielding. It’s elegant without being fragile.
Powerful without excess.
It looks like Alexei.
I picture it on his wrist: at council meetings, at training, at the few times when he lets his guard down with me. Something he’d wear—not because it was pricey, but because it was mine. Especially after the improvements I have in mind.
“This piece is one of a kind,” the shop owner says.
Hannah tilts her head. “Why?”
“My father,” he answers, thumb brushing the band. “Tradition shaped by time.” His eyes meet mine. “It waited for the right owner.”
Something tightens pleasantly in my chest. “I’d like a few changes.”
For just a heartbeat, I could picture it on his wrist, a quiet reminder that no matter what the world demanded of him, he’d always carry a piece of home with him.
I explain the engraving, the subtle redesign, and he is caught up in every word as he listens intently.
“It would be my honor,” he says, already turning away.
My attention drifts. Then it freezes.
Gold. An emblem.
My stomach drops.
A serpent, red and green, coils around a shield. A bear, claws raised, backs away inside the serpent.
The Vasiliev crest.
My breath stutters. “That’s not possible.”
“El?” Hannah murmurs.
“Sir,” I say sharply.
He turns. “Yes?”
I point. “That brooch. Where did it come from?”
He leans forward, pushing his glasses upward. “A remarkable piece.”
“When did you get it?”
“About an hour ago. A trade.”
Cold races down my spine.
I scan the shop. Lizzie and Arabella laugh quietly. Security circles. Nothing is wrong.
Everything is wrong.
I pick up the brooch.
The world slams sideways.
Water rushes into my lungs. It’s icy and crushing. The darkness closes in, as if I’ve been pulled beneath the surface that I hadn’t noticed in the first place. My hand flies to my throat as the brooch falls from my fingers and clatters to the table.
“El!”
I fold, air gone, vision fracturing, stone walls, rushing water, a scream swallowed whole…
Arms catch me. Lance’s voice cuts through the roar. “Medic bag. Now.”
The vision pulls me under completely, floating, drowning, reaching…
Then it releases me.
I cough violently, air tearing back into my chest.
“Your Majesty?” Lance asks.
“I’m… fine,” I rasp, though my hands shake.
“We’re leaving,” he orders.
“No.” I straighten, forcing breath into my lungs.
Braydon appears, medic bag in hand, his shoulders slumping, his jaw unclenching, now that his eyes have scanned my face.
Lance lowers his voice. “It’s not safe.”
“I need a moment.”
He hesitates, nodding reluctantly.
“Elena?” Lizzie asks, gripping Arabella.
“I’m alright,” I say gently.
I retrieve the brooch and turn to the shop owner. “Describe the man who traded this.”
He frowns. “Stocky. Reddish-blond hair.”
The room seems to tighten around me.
Shouts erupt outside. Cameras flash. Light pours in through the windows.
I turn, and see him.Tall. Stocky. Broad-shouldered. Him…
Wendell.
“Lance,” I whisper.
He spins as my voice breaks. By the time he follows my gaze, the spot where he’d been standing, swallowed by a crowd of paparazzi.
“I saw him,” I whisper confidently. “He was here.”
I feel the grip of his hand clamp down onto my shoulder. “We’re going. Now.”
I let them lead me away to the back, but not before giving the window one last look.
The brooch.
The vision.
The watch meant for a king I love.
I don’t even know how to process that Wendell would find me here. He wasn’t here by accident.
And deep down… I know he’s still lurking in the shadows.