Page 148 of The Unlikely Heir
My security team continues to manhandle me away from the dais, but I fight them fiercely until someone literally picks me up and carries me toward the nearest tower, all while I’m struggling.
“Your Royal Highness, we need to get you to safety. There’s still a gunperson on the loose.” It’s Mateo’s voice in my ear, cutting through the noise I’m making.
I can’t take my eyes off the pandemonium on the dais.
Oliver’s protected by his own security people, and there are ambulance sirens shrieking in the background.
I’m sobbing, my chest heaving as my security team ushers me through a door into one of the castle towers.
There’s someone with a gun out there right now, but I don’t care. Nothing matters but Oliver.
My security team remains swarmed around me, and they are so close I can hear the messages coming through their headsets.
“The Rose is secure. The Thistle is secure. The Leek is secure.”
Vaguely I realize they are talking about Gran, Nicholas, and Amelia. And I know I should be relieved that my family is safe, but nothing can penetrate my fear for Oliver. It’s crushing my chest.
Two security people bar the door, but I’m not sure if it is to keep potential threats out or me in.
“I need to be with Oliver,” I try to bargain with Mateo.
“You can’t go anywhere until the threat is over.”
“I don’t care about the threat.”
Mateo fixes me with a hard look. “The prime minister just threw himself into the path of a bullet to save your life. Do you think he’d want you to risk it now?”
Mateo’s words sink in, and all fight goes out of me.
I slump against the wall, trying to calm my breathing.
Oliver.
Oliver.
ChapterForty-Three
Callum
The harsh smell of disinfectant. The distant noise of a machine beeping. The metal armrest that is a cool strip down my palm as I grip it tightly.
I catalog every aspect of the private waiting room I’ve been ushered into in an attempt to stop myself from losing my mind.
Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.
My heart and head throb with his name.
My security team is with me, two securing each door. I’d stared dazedly at them when they’d first gone to stand like sentries by the exits because there was no room in my head to worry about my own safety. I’m too concerned about Oliver.
Oliver is in surgery. That’s all I know so far.
Surgery to remove the bullet in his chest.
The bullet meant for me.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to hold myself together.
I’m praying desperately to every deity I can think of. Keep him safe. Please. I’ll do anything.
