Page 63 of Lone Spy

"So my evil plan is working." He winks.

I grin at him. "Something like that."

We're standing close, the space between us subtly intimate. My eyes roam over his face; there is no sign that only two weeks ago he was the victim of an explosion. That he was knocked unconscious and carried out by his equerry.

The bruises on my throat have faded to nothing. My burn is still healing, though, the bandage wrapped tight.

Footsteps behind me draw Omar's gaze over my shoulder. I turn to follow his attention. Alesana is standing there—looking normal-sized in this giant hallway.

Ash appears at the top of the stairs. His eyes slide over me and roam to Omar. Ash’s expression remains unchanged, as if we mean the same to him. Two figures on a chessboard, neither evoking emotion.

"This is Alesana," I say, introducing him to Omar, turning slightly so the two men can meet. "And you remember Ash?" I ask as he reaches us.

Omar smiles, steps forward to shake hands with Alesana, who offers a polite, professional smile. "Hopefully we won't need you," Omar says. "But I'm glad you're here."

"Nice to meet you," Alesana says with none of his usual warmth. I get the sense he doesn't like Omar. But then again, no one who cares about me seems to want me around him.

Ash takes Omar's offered hand. "Your Highness."

Hamish has basically melted into the wall at this point. It takes me a second to place him next to a random chair—dark wood with an intricately carved straight back. Clearly a decoration not meant to be actually sat in. Though with this long of a hallway, it's possible people might need a respite.

"I'm sure you want a moment to freshen up," Omar says. "Will you meet us in the drawing room for tea? Hamish can show you where it is when you're ready."

"Yes, thank you."

Omar joins us the rest of the way to my room and then leaves me with a chaste kiss on the cheek. Hamish comes in to show me around.

A canopy bed that looks like something out of a period drama rests against one wall. Made of dark wood with thick curtains and decorative fringe, it's imposing. A fire crackles in the hearth across from it, two armchairs facing the flames. Space yawns between the sitting area and bed.

Hamish takes Alesana and Ash with him when he leaves to show them their rooms next door.

The warmth of the fire does not reach the bathroom. I take a few minutes to touch up my makeup and breathe. When I come back out, Ash is standing by one of the large windows looking out onto the gardens beyond. He turns to look at me. "Ready?"

I nod. He starts toward the door, the air between us even colder than the bathroom's chilled tiles. "Ash," I say, not following.

He turns, the fire at his back, flickering light outlining him. "Yes?"

"You think this is a terrible idea?"

"I'm not sure what the idea is," he answers, his tone implying that's fine by him. He's just the muscle. Why would I share my plans with him?

"I just…need to…" I can't find the words. Ash doesn't help, refuses to fill in the blanks for me. His expression remains unchanged, the fire behind him a stark contrast to his cold gaze. "Don't look at me like that," I say, my tone turning frustrated. Annoyed.

His head cocks slightly, as if he's trying to find a new angle to see me from, one that he can understand.

"Ash!" I hiss-whisper at him, rushing to close the space between us, stopping short a foot shy of touching him. "Come on."

He's looking down at me, blank. Empty. Cold. "I'm here to protect you, Angela. What else can I do for you?"

Tears clog my throat and burn behind my eyes. I need to pull it together. "That's how you want to play this?" I ask, keeping all the emotion trying to spill down my cheeks out of my voice. "Fine." I wrap myself in the cold mist of indifference and lift my chin. "Fine."

ChapterTwenty-Seven

I let out a big laugh—onlyhalf fake. His Royal Highness, Benjamin Arthur—who insists I call him Ben—is charming and, after adding whiskey to my tea “for the chill”, has been telling a story about the time when he and Omar first went riding together. It ended with both of them in the mud and their horses returning to the stables unmounted.

"The queen was not amused," Omar says, playing the straight man to Ben's boisterous orator.

Victoria and I laugh into our spiked tea. These three are clearly good friends. And the fact that I'm the only other guest is wild. This is an intimate evening before the rest of the hunting party is set to join us tomorrow afternoon. I'm basically on a sleepover double date. The only non-royal here.

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