Royal Protocol. Dana Marton
No other man had ever been able to do that to her, and she resented his ability to mess with her head.
But right now he was the closest thing to hang on to, and hang on she did.
“Easy,” Benedek said next to her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck, tickling its way down her skin.
Half of her was preparing for death. Her other half was…tingling.
He had a soapy scent, very expensive soap, masculine but non-obtrusive, with a trace of spice that made her want to lean closer to catch more. Instead, she peeled her fingers off his arm as her initial panic ebbed and took a deep, steadying breath from the opposite direction. She couldn’t be losing her composure just because they’d touched. They weren’t even alone, for heaven’s sake.
When, after long minutes, no further explosions came, he moved away from her. The light came on the next second. He was standing by the door. He’d probably flipped the switch.
He exchanged a glance with his bodyguard, emotions swirling in his dark eyes. Anger, out-and-out fury, was dominant. Then something else came into his gaze when he looked at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. A bomb just went off in the building. This wasn’t normally part of the whole opera singer experience. Lockdown or not, they needed to get the hell out of here. There had to be a way.
His bodyguard was already opening the door and checking outside.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked when Benedek hesitated for a moment.
“There are two more bombs,” he said.
“I APOLOGIZE. If I’d known that something like this would happen, if I thought that the country wasn’t a hundred percent safe, I would have never allowed you to come here,” Benedek told her.
“Yes. Well.” She seemed shaken, but was covering it up admirably, holding her head high and her spine straight, as regal as any queen. “I can hardly blame you. I’m sure you didn’t plan on getting blown up. What do they want?”
The kitchen was in shambles, chairs turned over, pots and pans scattered on the floor.
He shook his head. “We should find the others.”
“What do they want?” She wasn’t easily distracted.
“They want the monarchy gone,” he said, as his headset crackled to life.
The director was asking, “Is everyone all right?”
“Fine here. I’ve got Rayne,” he said.
One by one, everyone checked in, except the ex-cop. Benedek tried to remember his name. “Where’s Peter?”
“He was heading to the gift shop to look for the bomb last I talked to him,” the guy’s brother said.
Foreboding filled him. “Where was the explosion?”
“East corner.” The director’s voice was glum.
Benedek moved forward. The east corner of the building was where the gift shop was located. “Going there now.”
His bodyguard stepped in the way immediately. “Your Highness—”
Benedek held up a hand. Someone was talking over the headset again.
“I’m almost there,” the lost guy’s brother, the construction expert, was saying. Tamas. Benedek remembered his name.
A few moments passed. “I’m there,” the words crackled through Benedek’s headset. Then came the scraping noise of something being pushed out of the way. Then a grunt. Then complete, utter silence. The man’s voice sounded broken when he spoke next. “He didn’t make it. No need to come here.”
Benedek’s jaw clenched. He relaxed it with some effort.
Originally, fifteen people had remained in the building after everyone else had left. With the ex-cop gone, they were down to fourteen.
“We lost a man.” He passed on the news and reached for Rayne’s hand, held it for a brief second before she pulled it back.
No more information was coming through his headset, the line was quiet. He wanted to ask of the damage to the building, but how could he do that? To Tamas, the damage was absolute. He had lost a brother. Benedek gave thanks to God that his brothers had been late to the performance, that they would be spared whatever was going to happen.
As long as they were smart enough to stay away. Unfortunately, knowing his brothers as he did, he highly doubted that.
“Ceiling caved in here,” Tamas reported after a while, his construction-trained mind probably surveying even without conscious effort on his part. “Some walls collapsed, but all the load-bearing walls are still standing. No major damage to the structure. No breach in the outside wall to get us out of the place.” He paused. “I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes. ”
To say goodbye. “Take all the time you need,” Benedek said.
The siege of the opera house had its first victim. He wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that the man had also been the last.
A MAN HAD DIED.
It brought everything into sharp focus, making their situation even more frighteningly real. Rayne followed Benedek back to the security office where he was supposed to meet the others.
“How did you know they were going to detonate the bomb?” The way he’d been running for cover, it was as if he’d known exactly what was going to happen.
“They gave us an ultimatum.”
“Which was what?”
They were heading up the stairs. The prince remained silent.
“What ultimatum?”
He said nothing.
A man waited for them at the office door. Benedek introduced him as the director of security. Rayne wasn’t impressed.
“What do the protesters want?” she asked without preamble, in a voice that told the guy that she expected a clear and honest answer.
“Right now, they want you, Madam.” The man cast a nervous glance at the prince.
The words left her speechless.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the prince reassured her immediately.
Which was exactly what she’d been thinking, but she would have liked to be the one to decide that. “What on earth would they want with me?” She had no connection to this country, none whatsoever.
The prince explained with some reluctance.
A hostage. So they could get away after they killed him. And he was so insanely calm. Youth. It had to be that. He just didn’t comprehend how much danger he was in. Then again, he didn’t seem like a man who missed much. He had keen, sharp eyes that shone with intelligence. And desire if he looked at her for more than a second. She so did not want to have to deal with that.
And she wouldn’t have to if the rebels took her as a hostage so they could kill him.
She had to sit down. The folds of her gown draped over the chair, nearly making it disappear under the billowing material. Her brain chugged along at a snail’s pace.
He was to be killed.
“Hell of a country,” she said to herself.
“The best in the world.” Benedek’s eyes flashed. “Which doesn’t mean that we don’t have a few malcontents.”
“Odd, but I don’t recall civil unrest and murderous tendencies being mentioned in my pre-trip briefing. Must have missed a page,” she snapped, angry at the whole situation and that he would defend the very people who tried to kill him.
“You’ll be