A Guiding Light_A Royal States Novel Read online

  I left the obvious unsaid. If His Royal Majesty didn’t realize I’d take steps to remove whatever—and whoever—made her unhappy, I wouldn’t tell him. I needed every advantage I could get.

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “That doesn’t bother me. I’m not in love with you. I’m in love with Veronica.”

  The king’s expression darkened. “She’ll never be yours.”

  “Slavery is currently outlawed in the Royal States, Your Majesty. She’s not yours to control. But you already know this, don’t you?”

  The king rose to his feet and did as I feared—and expected—him to do.

  He pulled out a handgun and opened fire.

  Chapter Twelve

  Peter’s bulletproof vest prevented my chest from having a few new holes punched through it. The first round drove the breath out of my lungs. The second and third staggered me back a step.

  Prince Marshal screamed, and he jumped for his father and the weapon. No matter what, I couldn’t allow the king to shoot his son. I couldn’t breathe, but until my legs gave out and I ran out of strength, I would do everything in my power to prevent the unthinkable. I whipped out my arm, grabbed the prince, and spun around.

  The next bullet slammed into the middle of my back, and my legs collapsed beneath my weight, and I fell onto the young prince. With my body shielding his, I held some faith he might escape bruised but alive.

  One more shot rang out, and the bullet thumped into me. For a blissful moment, I couldn’t tell where I’d been hit, but then pain tore through my leg, so intense it burned away my every thought.

  “Adam!” Marshal clawed at my shoulder, likely trying to shove my weight off him. Under no circumstances could I let him be hurt. Shuddering, I got to an elbow and wrapped my other arm around him, pinning him against me to make him a smaller target.

  The ground trembled beneath us, then it rocked. Something crashed to the ground nearby, and the tiles cracked, dust rising from the floor along with the dark haze of smoke. All around us, people screamed.

  “Adam.” Marshal tugged at me again.

  The sharp stab in my chest reminded me I needed to breathe. I gasped, and smoke bit at my nose and lungs. Where there was smoke, there was usually fire, and if my leg was to be believed, I’d bleed to death before the flames had a chance to get me. “That bastard shot me. In public.”

  “With an entire room of witnesses, several of whom are reporters—big ones, too. Why are there reporters here? You need to take the vest off. It’ll swell.” Marshal wiggled beneath me, poking his head around my side so he could get a better look at the food court. “Dad’s RPS agents dragged him off, and I think a flameweaver is lighting tables on fire. Are you all right?”

  A flameweaver starting the fires didn’t worry me much; most could snuff them out as easily as they could light them, and while Veronica and Ian needed a distraction, I wasn’t going to say no to one, either. I fought to control my breathing.

  “Adam? Are you all right?” Marshal grabbed at Ian’s jacket and fought with the zipper. “Move. I need to get this jacket off. Talk to me. Are you all right?”

  If I didn’t talk to him, he’d probably panic, and I couldn’t deal with a panicking child. “Not precisely, but I’ll be fine.”

  I hoped I wasn’t lying to him.

  Marshal’s curses would’ve impressed a hardened soldier. “Where?”

  Bracing for the inevitable pain, and hissing a few curses of my own, I rolled off Veronica’s little brother. My back, chest, and leg protested the motion, and I snarled a few extra curses for good measure. Once I lurched upright, I peeled my slacks away from my calf for a better look at my bloodied leg.

  While it bled a lot, instead of the hole I expected, I had a shallow graze running alongside my calf. “Could be worse.”

  “He really shot you.”

  “So it seems.” I prodded the injury to get a better idea of its severity, and while there was a lot of blood, it wasn’t bleeding as much as I feared. “I need to tell Peter he’s my new best friend.”

  I expected Veronica would be in a panic, as I doubted I could prevent her from sensing my pain. Figuring out how to contain my emotions would be a top priority after I dealt with everything else. In the meantime, I’d need to downplay the incident as much as I could. I dug my new phone out of my pocket and turned up the volume, setting it aside in case Peter texted me back. I’d missed one message, which I checked.

  It confirmed Veronica and Ian were making their move to extract the rest of her family from the castle.

  Marshal pulled his shirt over his head, rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a pocket knife, and cut the thin material into strips. “I never thought I’d actually need to do this. He really shot you. My father really shot you.”

  “And he would’ve shot you, too,” I pointed out. “What’s done is done. You didn’t get shot, and that’s the important thing.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “Marshal, listen to me.”

  The prince froze, staring at me with wide, teary eyes. “What?”

  “Your father’s in a corner and dangerous. You can’t afford to forget that right now. Veronica and Ian are trying to get the rest of your family out of the castle right now to make sure they’re not hurt.”

  Marshal closed his eyes and sighed, and the sound was so painful I flinched. “Abby will be shot, but she’ll survive. Mother’s going to die. Father refuses to accept her leaving him. The others will be all right. I already knew. I dreamed about it. Before, everyone would’ve died. But the future changed. You changed it. You coming to Fargo changed everything. The future keeps changing. But Mother’s going to die. That’s the one thing that never changes.”

  I reached for the child, pulled him to me, and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do to comfort him.

  There was no explaining the unexplainable.

  “Can you tell me anything that might help them?”

  “Avoid the main gate. That’s where Abby will be shot.”

  I texted Peter, warning him the queen was at the highest risk and that the main gate needed to be avoided.

  A reply came within moments, confirming Marshal had the sort of talent no one deserved burdened with. Another message came confirming they’d avoid the main gate.

  I hoped it would be enough to spare Abigail from more harm. It wouldn’t change the loss of her mother. My chest tightened. Everything had gone wrong so quickly, and there was nothing I could do. I wouldn’t belittle Marshal’s talent or his belief I had changed circumstances, but I couldn’t find any comfort in what I had changed.

  His mother was dead because I hadn’t changed enough.

  My fury grew, and my grief and fear waited for their chance to strike.

  I wanted to tell Marshal everything would be all right, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. His mother was dead. I had no idea what would happen to his father, but if I met him again, I’d likely try to strangle the life out of him for tearing his family—and mine—apart.

  Words were inadequate. They’d always be inadequate, but I said them anyway. “I’m so sorry, Marshal.”

  “She didn’t know it was coming. It didn’t hurt,” he whispered. “I checked on the internet to find out if it would hurt. It didn’t.”

  If given a single chance, I would murder the king with my bare hands without regret. That a child would have to even think about such a thing stoked my rage to an inferno so intense it burned away everything else.

  Later, there would be time for anger, grief, and the helplessness of being unable to do anything. Some of the tables in the food court still burned, and smoke hung heavy in the air. Taking the strips from Marshal’s hands, I wrapped them around my leg and tied them tight, hoping it would stop most of the bleeding long enough to get out of the mall and figure out what to do next.

  “I didn’t know he’d shoot you.” Marshal clung to me, burying his face against my shoulder. Then he yelped, pulling
away. “The vest! You need to take off the vest. The impact points will swell.”

  How long had Marshal been dreaming of his mother’s death? His ready acceptance of it bothered me almost as much as his ability to redirect his attention. How long had he been carrying his grief?

  At a loss of what to say or do, I went through the motions of peeling out of Ian’s jacket, which was beyond redemption. Marshal helped me pull it off, and he scowled at my suit jacket and shirt beneath. “You’re supposed to wear the vest over your shirt but under your jacket.”

  “Peter had me wear it under to hide I was wearing one.”

  “Take it off.”

  My chest and back throbbed, but I did as told, and the instant I had my shirt unbuttoned, Marshal helped me get it the rest of the way off before he attacked the buckles holding the vest in place. I kept still for him while he worked to extract me from the damned thing.

  My phone rang, and I grimaced at the thought of holding it to my ear. “Marshal, would you answer that for me, please?”

  “Why?”

  “I really don’t want to lift my arm that high right now.”

  “Oh! Right. Sorry.” He cursed, grabbed my phone, and answered, “Adam’s phone, Marshal speaking.”

  As I expected hell if I didn’t get the damned fest off, I picked up where Marshal had left off, undoing the last buckle so I could wiggle out of it. Moving hurt like hell, and I expected my entire chest and back to become a single bruise before the end of the day.

  “We’re at the mall downtown in the food court. My father shot Adam. The vest stopped most of the rounds, but he was hit in the leg. Dad left. His agents dragged him off. A flameweaver started a fire as a distraction. The place is full of smoke, but I can’t see the flames, but I think it’s contained so far.”

  I would’ve been happier if the flameweaver had put out the fires, but I couldn’t deny that the smoke was a good distraction. While I could still hear chaos around us, I expected most of the people in the food court were fleeing the building.

  “Oh. He’s taking off the vest right now before the swelling gets bad.” Marshal paused, lowered my phone from his ear, and tapped the screen. “It’s on speaker. Adam, it’s a guy from the Montana RPS. I’m going to help him get the vest the rest of the way off.”

  “Adam Penshire?” a man with a voice almost as deep as mine asked.

  “Now Smith, but yes.”

  “Good. I’m Fredrick Oliver, and I’m a dispatcher with the Montana RPS. We were given this number by a New York RPS agent.”

  “Tell me his first name,” I ordered.

  “Peter.”

  The immediate reply assured me, and I sighed. “Thank you. I can’t tell if your timing is awful or impeccable.”

  “From my understanding of the situation, sir, it’s both. His Highness claimed you’ve been shot?”

  “Yes. The vest took most of the rounds.”

  “Can you tell me the location and severity, sir?”

  “Calf, looks like a graze. It’s shallow, bled some, but there are no holes.”

  “Does it look like the bullet hit the bone?”

  “No.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Even if I could, I won’t; there’s a lot of smoke in here.” Sighing, I considered the mall’s layout, tempted to smack the architect for putting the food court in the heart of the design, far away from any windows and the exists. It’s position on the second floor didn’t help, either.

  I didn’t look forward to hobbling down the steps to get out of the mall.

  “Your job is to get away from the smoke and avoid drawing attention. I’m dispatching two agents to your location. When they arrive, they’ll tell you William sent them. If circumstances allow, they’ll show you their Montana RPS badges. I’ll notify them you’ve been shot. While our information on you indicates you have no offensive talents, are you armed?”

  “Yes, I’m armed. I’m carrying a weapon Peter gave me before I went to the mall.”

  “I’ll make certain your agents are aware you have a firearm and that you might be wary. Please remain near Prince Marshal; they’ll be looking for you both.”

  “All right. I can do that.”

  “Good. This is really important. Until you’re with your agents, do not answer your phone unless it is from a Montana number. Your phone can be traced while the call is active. If you’re called from a Montana line, answer the phone but do not speak. You’ll be given instructions, and you’ll be notified if your line is being traced so you can be picked up.”

  “Got it. Answer, don’t talk, do as told. I can handle that.”

  “Good luck, keep your head down, and be careful. If you have any trouble, contact dispatch at this number. I recommend you save it in your contact list.” The dispatcher hung up.

  Marshal finished pulling the bulletproof vest off me, and he poked and prodded at my chest. “That’s going to hurt later,” he predicted.

  “Already hurts, kid,” I muttered. “Can you carry my briefcase? I’d rather no one get their hands on my laptop.”

  He crawled to the table, where my laptop bag had somehow escaped with only falling onto the chair. “Got it. What do we do now?”

  “Good question. I’m making this up as I go.”

  “I don’t know either, I didn’t see this coming,” he complained. “It’s all different.”

  “Well, I can tell you this much. We’re getting the hell out of here, then we’ll figure out everything from there. Okay?”

  “Okay. We came in the south entrance. We should avoid going that way.”

  “Then we go to the east or west wing.”

  “Not north?”

  “Too predictable.”

  “Okay. The east wing’s under construction, so a lot of the stores are closed, but people still park there because it’s easier to find a spot.”

  “Then we’ll go to the west wing. Let’s not make ourselves easy targets.”

  As with all things, escaping the mall was easier said than done. While the smoke served as excellent cover, it was near to impossible to avoid breathing it in, even when using the sleeve of my battered shirt as a filter. Smoke inhalation had started high on my list of things to avoid, and if I never had to experience it again, I’d be happy. I delayed long enough to fashion a mask for Marshal from his tattered shirt to make certain he breathed in as little as possible while disguising his identity.

  I doubted it would work, but I kept quiet. Marshal had too much to worry about as it was. If there had been reporters in the food court as I expected, the king’s treachery and attempted murder of his own son would spread a lot like the fire creeping through the mall. I’d stopped trying to figure out how others used their magic long ago, but the flameweaver had skill.

  The mall burned, but it didn’t engulf the entire place in an uncontrolled inferno.

  It should have. Assuming we made it out of the mall alive, I’d be filing a few complaints that the sprinklers hadn’t kicked on in the building. A waterweaver could’ve disabled them, a thought I didn’t like it all. A single strong flameweaver could do a controlled burn of an entire building, even one as large as the mall.

  Someone disabling the sprinkler system while the flameweaver worked implied a planned, coordinated effort.

  But why? Who did they side with? It would’ve been trivial to burn us alive, which led me to believe the king wasn’t involved, especially not after attacking his own son. With the entire building shrouded in smoke, it’d be easy to lose track of anyone, making it unlikely we were a target.

  Had the RPS agents done it? They tended to pack some high-level talents, elites by right, using their talents to protect the royals.

  A pair of elites could easily smoke out an entire mall without breaking a sweat.

  That the RPS agents had abandoned Marshal confirmed his words and my fears: the king’s treachery had a long reach, and no one would be safe from him.

  But why would the RPS agents abandon Marshal and
the rest of the royal family?

  If he touched Veronica, I would tear the king apart without regret or hesitation.

  Hatred, fury, and fear drove me on, and while my leg throbbed, I ignored the pain and herded Marshal through the mall, walking when I could and crawling when I couldn’t. On the first floor, the haze thinned, although my eyes stung and watered from the smoke hanging in the air. Steady streams of people evacuated the mall, making it easy to slip among them. Unless someone was right beside me, it was impossible to identify anyone.

  I would use that to my advantage.

  The tricky part would be making the rest of the hike to the west end of the mall without drawing attention to my limp. While I could walk, every step hurt like hell, and I hissed curses.

  “I’m sorry,” Marshal whispered, clutching my hand.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  I had the sinking feeling I’d be spending a long time trying to convince us both we weren’t responsible for the king’s madness. Would anything have changed if I hadn’t emerged from hiding, attempting to bail out the kingdom’s economy?

  No, I wouldn’t have changed anything. Even if Marshal hadn’t found me, when I saw the crash, I would’ve scrambled to act. I wouldn’t have done as good of a job of it, but I would’ve bought as many stocks as I could to slow the fall.

  “There’s a smaller exit down the next hall,” Marshal said, tugging at my sleeve. “It’s near the dumpsters, and it stinks, so everyone avoids it. There are good places to hide there.”

  “I hope you haven’t forgotten I’m a living giant.”

  “Even you can hide there.”

  “Lead the way, kid.”

  Marshal’s choice to cut through a lingerie store startled me, but he had my hand in an iron grip, and whenever I slowed, he tugged and shot glares at me. Running might’ve made him happy, but I refused. My leg could barely handle walking, and all running would do was draw unwanted attention.

  The other side of the lingerie store opened to a small corridor, and the smoke was thicker than in the main hallway, making it ideal for slipping away unnoticed. While a few moved through the haze, I doubted they could identify we were more than a tall man and a child leaving a lingerie store together.