Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett
CHAPTER 23
Jackson
Camille once said that this party would be a ridiculous spectacle, and she wasn’t joking. Originally, the plans were to use a combination of indoor and outdoor space on the palace grounds where party guests could spread out.
Dmitri and I nixed that plan, knowing there would be too much vulnerability having guests outside. The palace grounds are immense, and while they’ve been sealed off as effectively as possible, it doesn’t mean someone can’t get in. It could be that someone is already on the premises and has been bought by the lure of a lot of fucking money. It would only take a well-executed smuggling plan to bring in a high-powered, long-range rifle, and someone could set themselves up in a treetop with a clear line of sight to put a bullet through either Thomas’s or Camille’s head.
No way is this party going to be held outdoors.
There is a mass scramble, and a lot of grumbling, to figure out logistics. But for fuck’s sake, this palace has thousands and thousands of square feet, so it can’t be that damn hard to pull three rooms together to fit the exclusive guest list of almost two hundred people.
After the debacle this morning with King Thomas bursting into Camille’s room, I’ve thrown myself into ensuring security protocols are enacted with the utmost precision and dedication. All off-site personnel and contractors coming onto the palace grounds from the outside—florists, caterers, and such—are subject to random searches and have to agree to the same in writing. Those are being carried out now and will continue, even through the party.
Explosives-detecting dogs have been over every inch of the palace, and more agents are going room by room searching for weapons that could’ve been smuggled in or hidden. I’ve spent hours today moving about the palace, talking to the security personnel, conducting my own random searches, and testing out the metal detectors to ensure they’re working properly. I’ve done this over and over again, not because I’m afraid somebody has missed something but because I don’t want to see or deal with Camille after what happened in her room this morning.
I lost my cool. Could have shot the king had my reflexes been poor because as soon as that door flew open, I had my gun trained on him in about two seconds flat.
Heard the insults he flung and was an asshole back to him, but he’s not my king. I don’t owe him any ass-kissing, and I have a commodity he needs—protection of his daughter.
The things the king said, while offensive, are one hundred percent true. I don’t come from an appropriate royal lineage to compete for Camille’s hand, nor do I have the requisite money. It didn’t hurt my feelings or anger me when he tossed these facts out with a tone that made it clear I’m not good enough.
But for him to think he has the right to assume I want that life, that I’m only here to take advantage of Camille’s status and wealth… well, that crossed a line and made the asshole in me come out.
Granted, Camille did defend our relationship. But she did it from the standpoint that this is just a fling, that she’s a mature adult and is entitled to have one, and that she and I both have accepted it’s temporary. She pointed out that I have my life, and she has hers.
Also all true and accurate.
Sure, it bothers me a little that she didn’t come to my defense when her father accused me of taking advantage. It wouldn’t have been hard for her to quell that accusation. I can’t figure out if that was an oversight due to anger and possibly embarrassment at being caught naked in bed with me, or perhaps her dad got into her head, and now she’s wondering if she misjudged me.
Regardless, every bit of that exchange pissed me off, and after the king left, I didn’t want to talk about it. I was already beyond stressed that for the next several hours, Camille will be at high risk for getting killed. I don’t need her apologies on her dad’s behalf, nor the reminder that we’ll never be able to work this out for the long run.
So I took a hasty shower, dressed, and left the room without a backward glance. Camille didn’t try to stop me, but I know the whole incident has left her pretty shaken.
Once outside her room, I called Paul to come up and take my place, as well as ordered four more security agents to her room, stationing two at each end of the hallway. I instructed Paul to stay in her room while she was there, and I don’t care if she finds that intrusive. She has plenty of secure, private places within her suite to get ready. But while her balcony is three stories up and the locked windows are bulletproof, it’s still a point of ingress if someone were to blow it open. As such, Paul’s job is also to keep Camille away from the windows, but that’s not difficult. Her suite is big enough to do so.
When she’s ready to move about the palace, she’ll have a total of six agents with her, not including Paul.
Paul keeps me updated via text on Camille’s whereabouts, and I make sure to be in another part of the palace at all times. Currently, I know she’s up in her room getting ready for the party, which starts soon. The Winterbournes will have a receiving line, so they’ll be down shortly to get in place. I’m making my way through the three interconnecting rooms where the party will be held, making sure everything is in order. I move slowly through each room, once again taking in every window and door ingress and egress. The middle room, a massive library space, is actually two stories high with sweeping staircases at opposite ends of the room going up to a large, walk-around balcony. Up there, groupings of furniture offer spots for guests to sit and chat.
I wanted to cut off access to that area because if somebody did manage to get a gun inside, it would be a prime angle from which to take a shot. Dmitri denied my request, pointing out that the chance of a gun getting smuggled in was almost nonexistent, and he’s right about that. Our searches have been thorough and the metal detectors are functioning. He did assign additional plainclothes security to that area, though.
In fact, we’re all in plainclothes. While an assassin wouldn’t be stupid enough to think we’d go without security, they won’t know who we are as the male agents will all be in tuxedos and the females in evening gowns. We have minuscule, high-tech earpieces to enable us to speak to one another. Weapons are hidden in chest holsters or strapped to thighs in the case of the female agents. I note their gowns have easy-access slits, which will probably make them a bit quicker on the draw than the men.
“The king and family are on their way down,” Dmitri says from behind, and I turn to face him. I’d heard the same announcement over the comms.
“Everything is secure and everyone is in place,” I reply, but he knows that as well. He’s been listening to the same check-ins I elicited a few minutes ago.
“Heard what happened this morning.” His voice is clipped, matter-of-fact, and not at all nosy. Just a statement.
“How pissed is the king?” I ask curiously.
“He ordered the guillotine dusted off,” Dmitri replies, and I snort before he continues, “He’s cooled down. No worries.”
“Because he knows Camille is only having a dalliance with me and the precious throne is protected.”
Yeah, there’s way too much bitterness in that statement.
“He is just being an overprotective father.” I’m not surprised by Dmitri’s defense of the king. His loyalty is absolute.
Still, I scoff. “Yeah, well, his accusations that I’m taking advantage of his daughter and have my eye on the throne pissed me off. He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him.”
“You’re lucky,” Dmitri says drolly, “as I would have had to shoot you.”
I can’t help but chuckle. That’s exactly how it would’ve gone down. “Lucky cooler heads prevailed, right?”
“Right,” he replies, and I’m gifted with an actual smile from the normally dour man. Well, not actually a smile. One side of his mouth curves up. Could be a nervous tic, though.
“Everything set for my flight?” I ask. It’s the one thing I asked him for help with today.
“The king graciously got the ball rolling as he wants you out of here faster than you want it. You have a flight crew at the ready to depart tonight after we take down our assassin.”
“Appreciate it,” I reply, even though the thought of flying away from Bretaria makes my stomach roll. But there’s no sense in staying another night. It’s such a long flight, requiring multiple stops, that leaving during the day or night doesn’t matter. And there’s no sense in staying another night. More time with Camille makes it that much harder to leave, and I did a good job today starting the break.
That’s the real reason I avoided her. I’m afraid being in her presence will make me do something stupid.
I glance at my watch. The party is set to start soon. It will probably go on for three to four hours. If we’re right, the danger to Camille and Thomas will end in that time frame, and then I’m free.
Then I’m out of here.
“Family is arriving,” a voice crackles across the comms.
Without a word, Dmitri and I make our way to the huge foyer that could hold a hundred people on its own. The receiving line will be there to greet guests as they come through the entrance. Guests have been instructed to arrive early to be searched and go through our metal detectors.
Dmitri and I move adjacent to the doors, which are closed for now. Our backs will be against the short wall that borders the receiving room. The family will be placed before us with plainclothes agents—if tuxedos and sparkling gowns are considered plain—already milling about with faux glasses of champagne in hand. Early admittees, the incoming guests will assume.
My attention goes to the top of the staircase as King Thomas and Queen Juliana arrive, her hand tucked into his arm. They are dressed like any other guest might be, Thomas in a tux and Juliana in a formfitting, bloodred, strapless gown. The only adornment that indicates royalty are the heavy jewels Juliana wears.
Rubies, of course.
They start down the stairs. As they descend, Camille comes into view. Marius stands beside her, ready to escort her down. He’s playing her date for the night, but Paul is right behind them.
I almost want to gouge out my eyes because she’s so radiant. The most beautiful I have ever seen her, and I’ve seen her dressed to the hilt and naked underneath me.
She’s wearing a golden dress, also strapless, and looking way too fine and fitted over her breasts, which I’m feeling very proprietary over. The gown is asymmetrical with swaths of material wrapped at slicing angles across her torso, hips, and halfway down her thighs where it opens into a wide angle exposing one leg almost in its entirety and half of the other.
Camille’s hair is swept up, pulled back severely from her face, and wound into an intricate knot at the back of her head. I imagine it’s deliberate to showcase her delicate tiara, done in rubies of varying sizes. I suspect that was what was in the black velvet box Thomas had when he burst in on us this morning.
More rubies drip from her ears, pool around the base of her throat, and form a wide cuff around one wrist. The ring finger of her right hand sports a ruby so big, it distracts.
She is the ruby princess, heir to a throne and a mountain of gemstones.
I want to avert my gaze as she moves gracefully down the stairs with her hand tucked into Marius’s arm. But her eyes lock on mine, and I’m stuck.
Her face gives nothing way, but I know she’s pissed I’ve been avoiding her. She’s texted me several times to meet—to talk—but I responded each time that I was too busy with preparations.
When she reaches the bottom of the staircase, her high-heeled sandals make a tiny click as they touch the marbled foyer. She leans over and accepts a kiss on the cheek from Marius. My gut burns but deep inside, part of me hopes that if she chooses someone to fall in love with, it’s him. I’ve seen enough to know he cares for her, not in the full way a husband would a wife, but maybe they could grow into that.
Camille doesn’t look at me again as she follows her parents and sets herself up beside her mother, who is beside Thomas, first in line to greet their guests.
Paul moves over to join Dmitri and me, and with everyone in place, as prepared as we can be, we open the doors and begin the hunt for an assassin.
♦
I’m busy.
Over two hours into the party, my eyes are constantly roving, moving from room to room as I follow Camille at a very short distance. I’m back as her main protector, but at any time, there are fifteen agents in each room also watching. There are almost two hundred invited guests and another fifty security personnel blending in. Of course, we have obvious agents dressed in matching plain, dark suits with earpieces, the coiled wire extending from their ears to hide within their jackets. No one would think the family would be without protection, so we set them out to be obvious.
We also didn’t place a lot of them, hoping the assassin would take stock of the minimalist security protocol and feel more confident. In fact, we stationed the obvious agents strategically, leaving what would appear to be an unprotected place around the ballroom dance floor. We’re guessing that will be the room where the assassin will make their move. We, in essence, are funneling our villain to a place where we have a concentration of plainclothes agents.
There’s nothing more to be done.
For myself, I’m in disguise as a guest. I have on a black tuxedo, and Leandra, a female agent, is beside me at all times posing as my date. We’ve even danced on a few songs when Camille’s on the dance floor, but there’s no small talk between us. Our murmured conversation while sipping nonalcoholic champagne is on open comms with the other agents.
While I always check our perimeter, my eyes mostly stay on Camille. I watch her laugh with guests, get hit on by would-be suitors, and dance with men young and old. Marius essentially abandons her, flirting with other women, but she doesn’t seem to mind, and neither do I. But for as much as she tried to get me to meet her today—wanting to talk about what happened with her father—she’s pretty much ignored me all night.
Oh, once or twice, her eyes come to me, but then pass right over.
Frankly, it’s fucking bothering me.
She’s currently dancing with some young fuck who can’t be more than twenty-one, and he’s got a smarmy expression pasted on his face as they talk. He’s desperately trying to charm her, and because Camille is polite, she laughs appropriately. I sort of wish his hand would fall too low on her waist or he’d ogle her chest so I’d have a reason to remove him from her presence, but the fuckwad is a gentleman.
At least there’s some measure of joy from knowing better than any person in this room, Camille doesn’t really want a gentleman.
At least not in bed.
The music starts to fade from the current song, and Camille inclines her head to the young man, thanking him for the dance. Without any thought to the why of what I’m doing, or if it’s going to piss off her father—which I really don’t care about—I push my almost-empty glass of fake bubbly into Leandra’s hand and say, “I’ll be back.”
And then I’m winding my way through the couples who stand between me and Camille. The minute her current suitor steps back, I take his place. Hand to her hip, I hold it possessively. My hand wraps around hers, and I bring it to my chest. An absolute intimate gesture.
She blinks in surprise but then sets her mouth in a flat line of displeasure before moving her gaze to something past my shoulder.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask, knowing the obvious answer.
Most women would deny it and pout, but she brings those ocean-blue eyes to me and simply says, “Yes.”
“Deserved,” I admit. “I was avoiding you.”
Camille sighs and her face softens. “I’m really sorry about what my father said.”
“What he said doesn’t matter,” I assure her.
“But it does,” she insists, her hand squeezing mine. “He said you’re trying to take advantage of me, and I was so discombobulated, I didn’t think to defend you. I was more worried about defusing the situation and reassuring him that I’ll still meet my obligations.”
Those last words are almost spit out, as if they taste bad on her tongue.
Her eyes focus on mine. “I hate my life sometimes. I hate the expectations I have to live up to.”
My heart shreds for her. Not giving a fuck who might be watching, I lean in and press my lips to her temple, pulling back just enough to murmur in her ear. “You’re a strong woman. I admire you for sticking to those things rooted in loyalty and love of family and state. I know you hate it sometimes, but you’re important to the people here.”
Lifting my head, I find her eyes misting a bit, but she blinks any tears away. She is a strong woman, as I said, and she’s not going to display emotion in front of all these people.
“At least we have tonight,” she says with a sigh.
My gut tightens and I ignore her statement for a moment as I do a perimeter check. When I bring my attention back to her, I say, “Actually, we don’t.”
Camille’s entire body jerks and her eyes narrow. “Why not?”
“I’m leaving tonight,” I reply and it’s a struggle to hold my eyes on hers, because they immediately fill not with tears but with pain.
Fuck. I pull her in closer and explain in a low murmur at her ear. “It’s hard enough, Camille. It’s going to kill me to do it, but I just want to get out of here when it’s done. I need to rip off the Band-Aid, and so do you, so you can go on with your life.”
“And you can go on with yours,” she hisses.
I pull back to look at her. “It’s what we agreed on.”
“Right,” she murmurs softly, dropping her eyes to my chest. She doesn’t say anything more.
My chin lifts in another perimeter sweep. Thomas and Juliana are off to my left, Dmitri and Paul within two feet of them. People mingle, dance. Waiters pass out food. Those are the ones I keep a close eye on—the people who came in from the outside for this event. They’re all dressed in uniforms of black pants and white shirts with ruby-red vests and bow ties. The red wasn’t planned, but it definitely makes them easier to spot and track.
I pass over a group of five or six ladies, all wearing what I’d bet are millions of dollars in jewels and couture gowns. One of the ladies—an old matron with iron-gray hair in a chignon—talks animatedly with a tiny smirk, and I’d also bet they’re gossiping. She stops her chatter only to accept a cocktail from a waitress who expertly carries the fruity-looking concoction on a tray at her shoulder.
The matronly woman takes the drink, waves a dismissive hand at the waitress, and swallows a long sip before launching right back into whatever story she’s telling. My eyes start to move past the group, but the woman gasps and drops her drink, both hands clutching at her throat. Her eyes roll, foam pours from her mouth, and she crumples to the floor. The women surrounding her scream. Most of the crowd scuttles backward but a few rush in, including several agents.
I’ve seen enough, immediately searching the crowd to find the waitress who just delivered that drink, which was clearly poisoned.
Clearly delivered to cause a distraction.
I spot her, weaving in and out of the crowd that has become curious and is now squeezing in on the woman on the floor. The waitress is moving straight at Thomas and Juliana, and I watch as she puts her hand behind her back and starts to pull something from under her vest.
It slides out… a long, plastic shiv that would not have been found by the metal detectors and probably made it into the palace tucked in a secret compartment of a duffel bag or something similar.
Things happen way too fast, and I’ll have a hard time sorting it out during the debrief later. The first thing I do is look around me, turning Camille once in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin to make sure no one else is coming for her. We were told there is only one assassin, but I don’t trust anything that’s told to me.
I don’t see anyone making a move, so I release Camille and reach across my torso with my right hand for my gun. I vaguely note Leandra is there, at Camille’s side.
When I pull my gun free, Camille gasps, but I don’t spare her a glance. I locate the waitress who now has the shiv in her hand with the spike running up her forearm so it’s not noticeable to Dmitri, Paul, or the king and queen.
I raise my gun and aim for the back of her head. But I hesitate. The kill shot would not be the wrong move, but this person has information.
Quickly, I drop my aim, focusing on the back of her right knee, and squeeze the trigger once. The crack of the round leaving the gun causes everyone to scream and scatter.
I ignore it all, watching blood spray from the back of the assassin’s knee just before she crumples to the ground. Dmitri moves fast, grabbing Thomas and pulling him away and out a door. Another agent does the same for Juliana, and Paul moves to the waitress on the ground who is writhing in pain and clutching at her wound. Paul picks up the shiv, spares it a curious glance, and then moves his gaze across the floor to me.
I give him a nod and take Camille by the arm. Quickly, I lead her out a side door, traverse several hallways, and escort her to the throne room, our predetermined rendezvous point in case anything happened. The ten agents before the door part and let us in where we find Dmitri with Camille’s parents.
Camille pulls free of my grasp and rushes to her parents, where all three engage in a circular hug.
There’s nothing for me to do here, but a lot to do out there. I want to see what this bitch assassin has to say. I’m assuming Paul is giving her medical care so she doesn’t die on us.
I turn to walk out of the throne room, but a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“Mr. Gale,” King Thomas says as I pivot to face him. His hand moves from my shoulder as he offers it in a handshake. “Thank you for what you just did. Saving me… also saving Camille.”
I reluctantly shake his hand, my eyes moving to Camille who stands beside her mother, their arms around each other’s waists as they watch us. My attention goes back to Thomas. “Just doing my job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more to do.”
“Of course,” Thomas says, and I can see he wants to say more—I’m sure an apology, perhaps even an admission he misjudged me—but I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t change anything. Because after we clean everything up, ensure the rest of the palace is safe and interrogate the assassin to verify she is in fact the only one, I’m on a plane out of here.