Into His Command (13 page)

He was here…everywhere. Worse than before.
Better
than before. My relentless ghost. My impossible dream.

Now, more tormenting than ever—especially as Camellia motioned me over to the bed
after kissy
buh-byes
to Orielle and Freya.
Dammit. The bed? Really
?

“Okay, woman.” Her ladyship suddenly appeared anything but, flopping down then patting
the mattress next to her. “Come here. I’m
so
looking forward to hearing someone speak with contractions.”

I laughed. Was actually grateful for it. Helped with masking my clenching nerves.
Though I managed to sit, it was like lowering onto pine cones. Every inch of my skin
pricked with every new detail I took in—and relived. The stitched swirls on the comforter…grating
into my knees as Syn lowered my body onto his. The pristine white of the pillows,
contrasting his dark, swirled hair. The tiny moan of the lake’s breeze against the
window…a perfect harmony for his orgasmic groans.

I cleared my throat. Even laughing to hide the pain wasn’t an option anymore.

“You okay?”

I blushed. Not in a good way. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” It was entirely
too casual for dealings with the woman who’d soon be queen—or so said the cute little
“etiquette expert” from the palace offices, sent ahead to ensure that the “mountain
folk” knew what we were doing when dealing with the royals—but talking to Camellia
felt more like talking to Dillon. Well, a female Dillon. Without the moodiness. Or
the overprotective brother thing.

She answered my crack with a dismissive huff. “So, you all lined up with your wig?”

I nodded. “Guess I’ll find out if redheads really do have wild adventures.”

“Not
too
wild.”

“Agreed. Definitely.”

She let a contemplative pause go by. The description was accurate. Her face crinkled
into lines of deep thought. “Brooke…look…you know we’ve agreed to a small media presence
at this foof-fest, right?”

Despite myself, I chuckled. “I’m aware of the foofy guest list, yes.” And of the decision
Evrest and she had made to let a handpicked selection of reporters into the ball,
rather than letting rogues ransom their cell phone shots for money. Because of that,
cells and smart pads would be checked at the event’s entrance gate.

“Well, if you feel uncomfortable about babysitting me, that even the wig and colored
contacts won’t keep your identity safe—”

“I’m fine with the arrangements, Your Ladyship.”

“Camellia,” she rebuked. “No. Not even that. Call me
Cam.
Please. I’ll only take that ‘Ladyship’ crap when I have to.”

“You’re going to
have
to a lot more—especially when ‘Ladyship’ becomes ‘Your Majesty’.”

“Crap.” She fell backward, cutting the full plummet short with her elbows. God forbid
she ruin the hairdo and the flowers
now
. “I’m never going to get used to that shit.”

“You don’t even hear it after a while,” I assured—before tacking on a fast shrug.
“Or—or so I’m told.”

“By whom?”

“By who
else
?”

The comment, snarky layered on affectionate, came from the other room. Cam yelled
in that direction, “Aren’t you supposed to be wallowing in silence?”

A violent snort burst out. Impressive. If I hadn’t known it was Jayd, I’d have guessed
Evrest, Syn or Shiraz as the source. “If the subject’s rolling around to Syn, I want
in on the fun of skewering him from afar.”

“Move along, girlfriend,” I teased. “No Samsyn evisceration to see here.”

“Fun killer.”

I had no decent comeback. Apparently, neither did Cam. After a stunned silence, we
burst into full laughs. The glow of Jayd’s gloat was damn near visible through the
walls.

“The killer says you win,” I finally called.

“Of course I do.”

After Camellia regained her breath, she cocked her head contemplatively. “So. You
and Samsyn are good friends?”

My turn to sober up. “Um…friends?”

What the hell did she mean? Her face, now cloaked in Mother of Dragons serenity, seemed
no different—which could mean nothing or everything. Had Jagger said anything to anyone?
If so, had it gotten all the way to Camellia? To the whole damn island? And what
if
that were the case? What difference would it make? As far as the world at large was
concerned, I was just another of Syn’s “lady friends” with benefits. The only entity
that said otherwise was the mass of messed-up neurons between my ears.

“Yeah.” Cam pushed back up to rest on her wrists, as if shooting the shit with her
gal-pals in a satin gown was an everyday occurrence. “Ev tells me you two are close
buddies. Have been since the day your family got here.”

“True. We were.” I shut down the wistful lilt by forcing out another smile. “We
are
. He’s…always been there for me.” I gulped hard. Would he still be? And would he keep
letting me be there for him too? The potential fallout from what we’d done, even with
the hottest memories assaulting me from every corner of this room, smacked me all
over again.

Cam grew noticeably quiet. Her distinctive turquoise gaze darkened like the sea beneath
deep mist. “I still can’t believe I’m looking at you. When Evrest told me exactly
who’d be heading my security detail…” She shook her head. “Well, I didn’t believe
him. I watched them bury you.” She bracketed the last two words in air quotes. “They
covered the service on TV. It was a
really
nice service.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“And a week before that…the day they broke the story about Rune Kavill’s attack on
your home…I’ll never forget it. I don’t think anyone in the country will. I’d just
finished interterm finals at Chapman. Every news feed in the commons—in the
country
—was carrying it. Your house—well, what was left of it—”

“Yeah.” I dropped my stare to my hand—and its death grip on the coverlet. “I remember
that too.”

“Shit!” She bolted upright. Hauled me into a fierce hug. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m so
sorry. I might’ve been damn near raised in the dirt but I was also taught not to act
like it. Okay,
you
can officially call me Miss Piggy.”

I spurted a new laugh. Anyone who tagged Camellia Saxon as a disaster for Arcadia
was simply someone who hadn’t met her. The woman embodied everything that was good
about the kingdom: its warmth, beauty, brilliance, and you’re-with-family-now honesty.
Because of that, I felt comfortable retorting, “Okay, give that one up right there,
missie.” I reared back, mocking out a skeptical glare. “Besides…Miss Piggy? Is she
still a thing? Didn’t she and Kermit ride away into the sunset and—”

“That got complicated.” She twisted her lips and patted my hand. “A lot of things
have in the last six years.”

I returned her gesture by squeezing her hand. “Maybe you can fill me in soon.”

Her grin matched the sparkle in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

She pulled back a little, giving me that dark lagoon scrutiny again. “So if you’re
okay about the wig and the contacts…”

“More than okay.” The resolution of the statement opened a perfect chance to stand
again. Anything to get even a step away from the bed.

“Then that means you’re squirming about something else.”

Hell. She wouldn’t lend Arcadia just her charm. The woman had the insight of a Vulcan—without
even needing the Spock squeeze. As I debated about how to respond, I wondered if the
answer had started unraveling across my forehead anyway. Camellia certainly gawked
like it had.

And sometimes, Jagger and his matchless timing were the best damn blessing on Earth.

“Oh damn.” I flashed a glance at her—
what-am-I-gonna-do-with-these-guys
?—before tapping the comm link that had chirped at my ear. “This is Badger. Go ahead.”

Camellia frowned. “Badger?”

“Small, fast, and won’t take any shit.” It was fun to accent that with a smirk. “Hey,
it wasn’t my call.” But I sure as hell hadn’t argued with it.

“Badger, this is Robin Hood. State your twenty, over.”

“Still holding at home base with Crown Jewel,” I stated, using the team’s code term
for Camellia. “But we’ll all be ready to roll in…”

“Ten minutes,” Cam supplied to my expectant look. I scowled but repeated the information
to Jagger.

“Perfect.” His answer was distorted by the noises behind him. The school’s marching
band, warming up to greet the royals’ arrival with trumpet fare. Motorcycles revving.
Men shouting. “We will be there for rendezvous at that time.”

“Copy that.” Though I still openly gaped at Camellia.

“Robin Hood out.”

I didn’t bother responding. Chose instead to address little Crown Jewel, now letting
her stylist fuss over last minute arrangements, including a micro-shine on the stunning
tourmaline engagement ring King Evrest had put on her finger five months ago. “Ten
minutes?” I charged.

Camellia looked at me via our shared reflections in the mirror. “You’re ready, right?
And
I’m
ready. Let’s get this dog and pony on the road. The sooner my fiancé and I can sneak
back here to nail each other, the better.” She openly sighed. “God, I miss the Palais
and its…privacy.”

Deciding that statement was best left untouched, I ventured, “And Orielle and Freya…?”

“Will either be ready or late.” She let me have three seconds for open bemusement
before laughing softly. “Come on, Brooke. You think I want to hang with those two
airheads
all
night long?” She turned as the stylist moved in, wrapping a sparkling silver cape
around her shoulders. “Ever heard of a thing called keeping your enemies close?”

An enlightened—and admiring—grin spread across my lips. “Hmmm.”

“Hmmm…what?”

“Nothing. Except maybe that we selected your code name prematurely, Your Ladyship.”

Cam smirked. “That so? What do you suggest for a new one?”

I tapped my chin. “Buffy.”

She grimaced. “
Buffy
?”

“Cute and cheerleader-y on the outside. Bad-ass bad guy killer on the inside.”

“Oh.” She mockingly preened. “Well in that case, Badger girl, lead on to the ball.”

I took a turn at the grimace. “Guess I have to, huh?”

She snorted in commiseration. “Let’s make it quick and painless. I need to take care
of your king tonight, in more ways than one.”

‡

E
ntering the ball
was, shockingly, kind of fun. Grand productions like this had never been my favorites,
even during the days of officially being a politician’s kid. The princess girl novelty
of it all wore off after my tenth birthday, when Disney Channel was replaced by Nickelodeon
and all I wanted to be was a normal kid hanging at the mall in a bucket hat and cut-off
shorts. I’d never enjoyed any red carpet since.

Funny, what a few years—and a long red wig and green contacts—could do.

When I climbed out of the town car at the LeBlanc Tower, nobody batted an eye. Not
the small press corps, the jittery fans, or even the Tahreuse dignitaries, lined up
to greet Camellia and Evrest with all the pomp and circumstance they could have possibly
drummed up for the occasion. With my earpiece hidden beneath my “hair”, I wasn’t even
distinguishable as a member of the local security detail. Literally, I had no name;
was just one of Cam’s modern-day ladies-in-waiting, like Orielle and Freya—who bore
that comprehension with a lot more pouts and huffs.

I was euphoric. Completely free to do my job, though right here in plain sight: the
whole purpose of the op to begin with. Positioned nearly at Cam’s side, I could protect
her best without anyone raising the slightest inch of an eyebrow.

“Crown Jewel’s at the red,” I murmured, hoping Jagger and the team could hear me over
the crowd. Though held back by barriers, they went berserk the moment Camellia disembarked
from the car.

“Copy that, Badger.” Jag’s response was crisp and cool, as if he were merely running
me through conditioning drills at the Center. “Please hold her there until our mark.”

“Don’t think that’ll be an issue.” I watched Cam charming the pants off every person
in the throng, posing for pictures and signing everything from posters of the Arcadia-set
movie she’d once been a crew member of, to the hokey royal couple merchandise that
every shop in town was hawking now.

After thirty seconds, the comm line crackled again. “Big Wolf is in position and ready
to go.”

It wasn’t Jag this time.

It was the voice for which I’d been steeling myself over the last six days. The voice
I’d last heard in my ear, softly growling my name as early sunlight streams buffeted
us from the world for a few last, miraculous minutes.

The voice pouring just as much longing and arousal into me now.

I pushed my way past clutching lungs and rubbery knees, intoning in return, “Roger
that, Wildcat.” Syn’s radio name was the guys’ nod to the bible story from which the
ancient version of his name had come; I derived a completely different meaning. It
was impossible to think of the man at the height of sexual temptation and not think
of some dark jungle beast, on the hunt for his primal fulfillment…