Page 32 of From London, With Love
“Stand up,” she said firmly, because while a part of her did enjoy the sight of him on one knee, it also unnerved her a little. Malloryn was the weapon she always had at her back. And while that weapon sometimes rubbed her the wrong way, she slept better at night knowing he was out there, protecting her. “If I didn’t trust you, Malloryn, I would have had you locked in a cell long ago. You’re too dangerous and you know too much for you to go free, but I have always known that you reserve those instincts for those who remain enemies of the empire. And yes, you overstep yourself at times. And yes, you’re a little managing”—she looked back down at her maps—“but sometimes, I may privately admit to myself that you are right, when I am wrong. I need you at my side to remind me in those moments. Too many others do not, and as my father always said, a wise ruler listens to even those who speak against her.”
“And then does whatever the bloody hell one desires anyway,” he said by rote as he stood.
It earned a smile from her. “He did say that, yes.”
Malloryn leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “He would have been proud of you, did you know?”
She stirred her fingers across the plans. “I like to think so.”
Silence fell.
She could see thoughts racing through his eyes, as he clearly began to restore his equilibrium. And her first thought was thatthat would not do, but would she then be guilty of the precise thing he’d just apologized for?
“I will accept your apology,” she said slowly. “And I am sure we will be arguing over the council table within a few months as if this conversation never happened. But you were right. I do not like the way you maneuvered my back to the wall. If you feel something needs to be done for the good of the empire, then come to me. I promise I will listen. And I promise I will think about a resolution. But your wife and friend are also right: I cannot continue like this. I need to know that I can trust you.”
His focus seemed to have shifted again. He cocked his head and glanced to the side, frowning.
She wanted to slam her fist on that table. “Malloryn!”
Instead, he held a hand up. “What is that noise?”
“What noise?”
Crossing the room, he stalked along the bookshelves, narrowing in on the shawl she’d been wearing. Squatting down in front of the chair it hung on, he flipped it out, revealing a glimmer of gold.
Clinging to her shawl, the little scarab whirred its wings. What on earth was it doing? She hadn’t wound it since this morning, and its functions had ceased several hours ago.
“Oh, that,” she said, with some relief. “It’s my brooch. Prince Ivan gave it to me. It flutters its wings and crawls across my bodice.”
“Does it usually make that high-pitched whining noise?”
Alexandra rolled the plans up, frowning at it. “What whining noise?”
Malloryn flourished, and a knife suddenly appeared. He eased it under the scarab, and the little device crawled onto the blade. Beneath its carapace, it appeared to be glowing. Little lines of light showed where its seams met.
“No, it doesn’t.” She crept closer, but he held up a hand to keep her at bay.
“Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”
“It’s a brooch, Malloryn. They’re all the rage in London, Prince Ivan said.”
“London?” He looked up sharply. “How would he know that? He only arrived a week ago.”
Alexandra backed away swiftly.
“It’s too small,” Malloryn said, almost to himself. He eased the tip of his knife under the carapace of the scarab, and the whining became audible to her ears as the scarab brooch began to thrash wildly. “There cannot be explosives within it.”
“It’s just a brooch. You’re—”
A high-pitched scream echoed behind her.
Both of them spun toward the open windows.
“What was that?” she demanded.
Malloryn strode toward the window as a hawk-like shape circled past. “It appears to be some kind of gyrfalcon.”
“A gyrfalcon?” Circling Kensington Palace?
