Dana Marton - Royal Protocol

It made terrifying sense.

One of the older guards, Vilmos she thought his name was, protested some more that the prince should stay in the security office with some guards, but Benedek overrode him.

They trooped down the stairs then, through deserted hallways. The prince kept close to her. She found that she didn’t mind.

In a minute or two, they could see the first signs of damage, cracked walls and floor tile, then, as they turned the corner, the gift shop came into view. The ceiling had collapsed, wires hung from the wall, everything was covered in dust and rubble. It was the first visual they got of what that bomb had done, and it painted a scary future.

A body lay propped against one wall.

“Peter.” The director hurried over.

“Tamas.” The prince was ducking behind a chunk of busted wall.

She followed him and saw a man down just as the prince bent to check for a pulse. His face held so much cold anger that she drew back.

“What happened to him?”

He moved away, and she could see the bloodstain on the man’s shirt. Small cut, big stain.

“Knife wound,” someone spoke from behind her, and her head reeled.

The prince looked over the small group, even as his bodyguard moved closer to him. “Nobody goes anywhere on their own. They have a man in the building somewhere.”

He meant the rebels had a killer in the building. She glanced around, surprised at how well everyone else was taking the news. Meanwhile, her heart was racing so fast she could barely catch her breath.

Dark thoughts chased each other inside her head. The rebels didn’t trust their bombs one hundred percent. They had a backup plan, insurance, someone on the inside who could take out their small group, one by one if necessary, until he got to the prince.

“We’ll stay together,” Benedek was saying, taking control again. “We’ll be fine.”

But something told her they wouldn’t be.

They were trapped in a building rigged with some serious explosives.

And they were being hunted.

“Have you looked out the window lately?” Miklos asked over the phone.

“Looking right now,” Benedek said. The rebel forces seemed to have dwindled. “What’s going on out there?”

They were back in the security office. At least from here they could keep track of the building with the help of the security cameras. No movement anywhere. Where in hell was the bastard who’d killed Peter and Tamas?

“The protest was staged by the Freedom Council. It’s confirmed.”

Benedek swore. He’d suspected as much.

“Some paid agitator stirred up the crowd,” Miklos continued. “Half of them didn’t know the real reason why they were marching on the opera house. They thought they were protesting new tax burdens. Now that the true reason is out, many are deserting the protest.”

“Even if every one of them leaves, the bombs remain. And we’ll still be locked in here.”

“We’re working on that.” Miklos’s voice sounded tight. “I have the bomb squad on standby. The second you find anything, you call.”

“We have other problems. Two men are dead in here.” Benedek told him who they were. “I think there’s an enemy inside.”

A moment of silence on the other end, then, “Could be that was their backup plan.”

“Or could be that was plan A. Surround the building, announce the bomb scare, and in the resulting chaos, an assassin could have killed the royal princes. Maybe using the bombs was the backup, in case the assassin didn’t succeed.”

“Except that we were late. You’re the only prince there.”

“And I want to keep it that way. I’m trusting you to keep our brothers at the palace.”

“Believe me, I’ve had my hands full with that. I had to wrestle Lazlo to the ground, not that I mind showing him who’s boss now and then.”

Benedek relaxed for a second, thinking about his twin. Then realized that if Miklos was keeping the others at the palace, that meant he was planning on coming over all alone, because there was no way Miklos could stay out of this. “Before you do anything crazy, think of your wife and your son.” It was the only leverage Benedek had.

“Don’t you worry about me, little brother.”

It wasn’t exactly the reassurance he needed to hear.

They didn’t talk long before hanging up. Benedek was putting the phone away just as the red cell rang.

“Time is up. I’m about to deactivate the lock on the front door. I better see Rayne Williams coming through there.”

The line went dead before Benedek could have demanded that the bastard call off his inside man. Not that he thought the guy would suddenly turn reasonable. But he would have liked to at least try and talk some sense into him given the chance.

“What is it?” the director asked.

“Same demand as before.”

“You should let them have me.” Rayne stood from her chair with a rustling of fabric, determination on her face. She looked like a heroine from some century-old legend. “It’d be a distraction. Maybe the security forces could grab the rebel leaders.”

Some of the guards kept staring at her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Benedek couldn’t blame them. She did look spectacular, as regal as any queen and sexy as hell in that low-cut bodice. Craig stood close to her, patting her hand now and then.

The gesture irritated Benedek—and so did the warm looks she shot back. “I can’t guarantee your safety, so no.” That she would even think that he would let her walk into danger…

She didn’t look happy with him, but after a moment said, “Even if we don’t all fit into that meat locker, you at least should go in there. You’re the prince.”

“She’s right, Your Highness,” his bodyguard immediately voiced his support.

He glanced at his watch. “Safe’s closer.”

“What safe?” Rayne was blinking at him.

“I haven’t received the new code this morning, Your Highness.” The director’s lips flattened.

“I have it.” Benedek was already heading toward the back. He opened a door that revealed a steel panel, and keyed in a code, then waited impatiently for the steel panel to open.

“WHY DOES AN OPERA HOUSE have a bank safe?” Rayne went in first as all the men motioned her forward, and she didn’t feel like arguing. The inside looked like flea market storage, which, under other circumstances, she would have appreciated. She had a weakness for flea markets and everything old.

“It’s a three-hundred-year-old opera house,” the director explained. “We have a lot of valuable antiques, furniture, paintings, Persian rugs that are hundreds of years old and worth hundreds of thousands. We use the safe when there’s work being done in the building. Also, the artwork in the hallways and rotunda are rotated continuously as pieces are restored. Some are stored here.”

The place was fairly full. With thirteen people on top of all those valuables, it was pretty crowded. Somehow Prince Benedek came to be standing behind her. As more people came in, she had no choice but to back up until her back was pressed against him. He was nearly a head taller than she, so her bare shoulders rested against his hard chest.

Normally, someone standing that close would have bothered her but under the circumstances, she felt comforted by his nearness. Comforted and something else, not that she was prepared to admit that.

Especially when she realized that she could feel his breath on her neck, that all he would have to do was dip his head to press his lips to her skin. What a stupid, stupid thing to think.

He would never do that. Why would he? So he’d sent her some flowers over the years, but he was hardly desperate. He probably had a dozen mistresses—the privilege of wealthy men. She pushed her ex-husband from her mind. Her marriage was over. She’d wasted enough years on Philip. She didn’t want to think of him ever again.