Unfaded Glory (17 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

W
HEN
D
AMARA
CAME
downstairs the next morning, she wasn't sure what she expected to find. She was thankful that some of those purple boxes from Sweet Thing were part of the package.

Two of the purple boxes had been demolished—their smashed and battered tops, not to mention
empty
remains, were on the counter by the waste can.

The last box was being guarded by Byron, uniform fatigues, weapon and all. It would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic. She saw the living room was full of people. She was glad she'd bothered to dress before coming downstairs. She plastered on her princess face.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. From your faces, it appears we have a situation. Let me get my coffee and we'll get started.”

Sonja handed her a paper cup, and Damara sipped the dark brew. It was slightly bitter, even with the sugar and heavy cream. But it was exactly how she liked it. The coffee fortified her. She helped herself to something from the purple box. She didn't want to face impending doom on an empty stomach.

Byron released the box into her care, and she let herself enjoy the moment. Then she said, “What's happened?”

A man in a suit who she didn't know, but who had been part of Renner's team when she'd met him on the tarmac, typed some buttons on a laptop. The big-screen TV came alive.

With her brother's face.

He was still as handsome as ever. Strong jaw made to look even sharper by the high collar of the imperial jacket he wore. His eyes were large and dark, and they'd always been his secret weapon. No matter what he said, how blatant the lie, he always seemed so earnest because of those eyes. She knew her brother would employ whatever means necessary to get what he wanted.

Although she was surprised that he'd sent a public plea. And surprised that it brought Renner and company all the way to Glory from D.C. for a group viewing.

Perhaps Renner had been right and Abele didn't want to risk angering the international community. That would be a first for him. He had to have some other motivation. He'd probably already installed the Kulokavs in some official position on Castallegna.

Damara watched the screen in front of her and the image of her brother talking to her, imploring that she see reason and return home like a dutiful, loyal citizen of Castallegna.

The part at the end was the best, where he begged that if she wouldn't return home, she at least call him and let him know she was safe.

He looked so sincere.

Damara wasn't stupid. He was planning something.

Most likely her death.

And it broke her heart.

Abele had been a different person when she was a child. He'd been caring, attentive and everything a big brother should be.

It had been Abele who'd taught her how to read, helped her escape her comportment tutor. He'd been her rock when their mother had died. Their father was a good man, but losing his wife had torn something vital out of him.

Abele had picked up the pieces.

Damara didn't know what had happened to them. A descent down a slippery slope that had started with a little stumble. He'd gone away to university in Greece and he'd come home a different man. Then their father had died and the Abele she knew and loved was gone.

When one of her tutors had told her about the torture, the disappearances, she hadn't wanted to believe them.

Until she'd seen it for herself.

She narrowed her eyes. “He's wearing my father's sash.”

“What does that mean?” Sonja asked.

“It means he's declared himself king,” she answered. “And since I've already called him, he's setting the stage for something else.”

“Known associates of Kulokav's tried to enter the U.S. this morning, but they were stopped and detained by customs,” Renner said.

“He really wants me dead. He's not going to stop until he kills me.” Saying it out loud made it more real somehow, drove it home into that place in her heart that still loved her brother. She bled on the inside, a bile of pain and loss.

“You already know my solution for that,” Byron said grimly.

“He's a king. You can't just kill him,” Renner said, as if he were explaining to a child why he couldn't have another cookie.

“Yes, I can. You'd just prefer I don't.”

“I think the princess would prefer you don't, as well,” Renner said meaningfully.

Damara chose not to answer that. Instead, she said, “So what's our next move?”

“We do the satellite interview today. Then we move up the wedding,” Sonja said.

“Didn't we already do that?” Byron asked.

“The production. There has to be a ceremony so all the little girls can wish they were Damara. The people need to see the beginning of your happily ever after,” Sonja supplied.

Damara nodded. “Okay, let's make this happen.”

She couldn't look at Byron, but she didn't need to look at him to feel the weight of his stare.

He was right—it hadn't been fair to either of them last night. She shouldn't have asked that of him, and now it was all she could think about. Especially now that she had irrefutable proof that Abele wanted her dead.

She'd seen Vladimir's associates in the palace, and they were the same ones who'd been seen talking to villagers who'd gone missing. She didn't need them to spell it out for her.

Damara wondered if she'd ever see Castallegna again.

It made her wish she were a different sort of person. Someone who could say that, yes, she wanted a man dead. Yes, she wanted her brother dead.

But she didn't. She wanted him to be safe, to be well. She wanted him to be like he was when she was a little girl. Damara knew it was time to mourn that boy because Abele would never be him again.

Sonja led her back to the stylist, who had clothes laid out for her and was waiting to do her hair. The cosmetics had been splayed out just as she'd asked previously, a ritual for her to calm her nerves.

“You know, it's okay that you don't hate him,” Sonja said quietly.

“Is it? There are so many lives in danger because of me.”

“No, it's not because of you. It's because of him. Your people will have hope because of you. You can do this. Look at how far you've come already.”

Damara didn't feel as though she'd come very far at all. She felt as if she'd screwed everything up beyond fixing. If she'd just been quiet, done as she'd been told— No, she couldn't doubt herself. If her father had taught her anything, it was that while she had to be aware that she wasn't infallible, she also couldn't second-guess herself.

Her phone rang, and a sense of foreboding slipped over her like a shadow. She knew without looking that it was Abele.

“I didn't think you had it in you, sister.”

Abele's voice chilled her blood to ice. “Had what?”

“Are you afraid?” His voice was silky with the implied threat.

“We all have our resources, Abele.” She assumed he meant his goons being detained at customs.

He laughed. “Is that so? We'll see about that in person very soon.”

“I'm sure we will. I'm not afraid of you.” But if she were being honest with herself, she was. She was terrified of the stranger that lived in his skin.

“You don't have to be afraid to die. And if you cost me this partnership with Kulokav, you will.”

“You should worry about yourself, brother,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “You could be in a sniper's sights as we speak.”

He laughed again. “I suppose I could be. But I'm not. If you wanted me dead, you would've sent your ranger after me. If you thought he could do it.”

Her brother didn't know her at all. That was both comforting and heartbreaking at once. “I grieve for you, Abele. I do. I grieve the loss of my brother, because you're not him.”

“This is your last chance, Damara.”

She ended the call, numb.

“Was that him?” Sonja asked.

Damara nodded. “He didn't say anything new.”

“I'll tell Renner. I doubt we'll get any more information off the line, but we can try.”

Damara pulled on her princess costume—the expression, the hair, the makeup—and she went back to face the camera feeling as helpless as she ever had.

* * *

B
YRON
READIED
HIMSELF
for the satellite interview that would air on all the major news networks. He still didn't want to put on the ranger uniform, but it was all about the image.

He still didn't think he deserved it.

But he kept thinking back to his nightmare, and it was strange that he found a sort of ease in it.

Someday, he'd find the courage to write those letters to each of the families of the men he'd lost. He'd always wanted to, not just to say that he was sorry because he knew that was never enough.

He wanted to tell Foxworth's wife that he couldn't wait to come home to her and their children. He wanted to tell Barnes's daughter that her father was a hero. That he knew what lay in store for him, but he faced it without fear because he wouldn't abandon his fellow rangers. He wanted to tell them all that they deserved so much better than what they got, and maybe one day, if he could ever forgive himself, he might ask them for the same. To forgive him for what he'd taken from them.

To forgive him for living when those they loved didn't.

Byron didn't know if he'd ever be able to say those things out loud, but he'd finally been able to acknowledge them. They'd always been there, waiting in the shadows and the dark to tear at him with claws and teeth.

But he ripped at himself deeper than they ever could.

The constant loop of screams in his head was still there, but they weren't as loud and insistent.

He checked himself in the mirror, and he saw a ranger staring back at him. He wanted to recite the creed, for Barnes, for Foxworth, for himself. For them all. Only, he still wasn't ready. He still hadn't earned it.

Sonja checked them over and decided that Damara needed a bit more lip gloss before she was camera ready. Then they took their positions in the sunroom—the new couple relaxing at home.

A large monitor had been set up for them to be able to visually engage their interviewer. Byron didn't like that they were accepting calls for questions, but he wasn't the PR person. He had no idea how this would help their cause, but he knew someone was going to say something awful. That was just the nature of people, especially if they could be anonymous. “Ready to go?” Sonja asked.

Damara nodded, and the screen buzzed to life. The reporter on the other side of the screen gave her intro.

“I'm Melanie Moon, and tonight, we have a live satellite interview with the princess and the ranger. Thank you so much for being with us, Princess Damara and Lt. Hawkins. So let's get right to it. Everyone wants to know more about you both and your amazing story. Mobsters, royalty and intrigue. It sounds like some kind of novel. How did it all happen?”

Damara recounted the same story she'd told at the press junket, how they'd been interacting for months before she made her escape. She sounded completely believable. Who knew she'd be such a good liar? He'd been taught the body language and the microexpressions to look for when people were being dishonest, and Damara had none of them. For that moment, she must've found a way to make herself believe everything she was saying.

“You've definitely got some critics. What do you have to say to them?” Melanie asked.

Damara flashed what he'd come to call her princess smile. It wasn't fake, but it wasn't exactly real, either. “I don't have anything to say to them. There's always someone who wants to judge you. I've done what I thought was best with the resources I had. And that's all any of us can do.”

“So true, Princess. So true.” Melanie nodded. “Lt. Hawkins, do you have a response?”

Byron fell back into the same character he'd adopted at the press junket. “She's the diplomat with the pretty words. I'm just a soldier, and my words probably aren't appropriate for live television.” He flashed his best bad-boy grin. It was all he had in his arsenal and probably the most believable anyway.

Melanie laughed. “Okay, I have another one for you. How do you feel about the threats that the king of Castallegna has made against your life?”

Byron hadn't known that they'd released the call to the news outlets, but it made sense.

“Let me play it for the audience.”

He tightened his fingers around hers to offer his support. Hearing this once today had been enough to last her a lifetime. Now she had to hear it again on live TV with everyone watching her pain. Her brother's betrayal. It was an open wound, and they were inviting everyone to tear it wider.

After it finished, Byron said, “I put my life on the line for my country every day. It's the least I can do for my wife.”

Melanie's expression told him that was exactly the right answer. “Wow, it looks like you've lit up the phone lines, Lt. Hawkins. Why don't we take a call? Hello, caller. You're on with Melanie Moon and the princess and the ranger. What's your question?”

“You're married?”

Byron grinned at the camera. “As of yesterday morning. In fact, I have a little something I forgot to give her.” He pulled out the ring and slid it on her finger.

The tears in her eyes might have been real as she held up her hand for the audience to see.

“Was that your question, caller?” Melanie asked.

“I was going to ask if he had any single friends that were like him.”

He didn't have any friends, single or not. But he knew to play up to the audience. “I'll see what I can do for you.”

Melanie seemed irritated at the question. It was obvious she was hoping for something a bit more hard-hitting and worthy of journalism, rather than the dating habits of the American girl. “Next caller.”