CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Emma excused herself as if going to the ladies’ room and headed upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Darias. There at least she could call him in peace. She dialed as she headed up the stairs, and he picked up on the first ring. She glanced around—the hall downstairs was filled with glittering guests and there were three different staffers on the staircase alone.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I’ve been at the armory, where the boy is being held. I’m heading back in a security car right now. He’s not who he says he is at all. He claimed to be a radical student, but I recognize him. He’s the son of a prominent Piedmont family. I know his older brother.”
Emma hurried along the hallway, out of sight of the guests downstairs. “Why did he do it?”
“To get my attention. That’s all he would say. Now his expensive lawyers are here and he’s clammed right up.”
She was so frustrated to be talking into a phone, especially after the drama of earlier. She wanted to see him. “Darias, I’m still nervous about this mock battle and Aldobrando. If everyone’s face is covered, how do you know who is who?”
“Good point. I’ll make sure to eyeball them all. I’ve asked Gibran to sic Beatriz on Aldobrando. You know what she’s like. He won’t have a spare moment to get up to no good.”
Emma laughed. “She’s really taken care of me.”
“I know she means well.”
“I miss you,” she said softly. She felt odd confessing it, but of course it played right into the loving-husband-and-wife charade, if anyone was listening in.
“I’ll be back soon. Meet me at the main door.”
She hung up, with a tiny ache that he didn’t say anything about missing her. Then she chastised herself. He was busy being made king today, not to mention trying not to be assassinated. She needed to get over herself, and fast!
Emma tucked her phone into her pocket and descended the stairs again, eyes on the door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Beatriz, severe and elegant in navy, greeting a tall, rather handsome man with a suspicious expression. That must be him. He didn’t look like a murderer, but they never did, did they?
Aldobrando wore a slim, dark suit, a stark contrast with the gaudy braid and uniforms of so many men at the palace. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she saw Beatriz crack a reluctant smile. No doubt he was a charmer.
Lucky thing Beatriz was the last woman on earth to fall for some hustler’s charms.
The front door flew open and Darias strode in, flanked by guards. She couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face and she rushed to him, too fast for royal dignity.
He kissed her on the cheek, and she let herself luxuriate in the warmth that radiated from his lips. Relief swept through her that he was back. “Can I help you with anything? I’d love to watch you get ready for the mock battle.”
“I think it’s perfectly appropriate for a queen to gird her husband’s loins for battle,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Let me lead the way.”
They entered a very large bedroom where six suits of armor had been disassembled into their component parts. Four men were already half dressed in theirs, and two stood empty. One—elaborately carved in both silver and gold—was set apart from the others. Darias approached it with a smile.
“We like to kid ourselves that these are the original medieval suits of armor, but the reality is that our ancestors were a good six inches shorter than us. There’s been a lot of very skilled metalwork done on these in the last century.”
He unbuttoned and shrugged off his uniform jacket. Emma glanced around, surprised that he would undress in front of everyone. Maybe she expected them to start bowing and scraping now that he was king, but he just chatted with them in their language like he was one of the guys.
“This is Paulo Fortis, one of my oldest friends.” The tall blond man nodded. “And this is Vincenzo Lotti, son of the chief of the armory.” She nodded at a bearded man with red hair. “Arlo and Fritz are twins, nephews of my mother, who visited us every summer as children.” Both handsome and boyish, they nodded their hellos. “Where’s that scoundrel Rigo? He’ll be late for his own wedding. I’d have preferred Sandro, but he sprained his wrist playing squash last week.”
“He’s coming,” said Paulo. “But who’s wearing the last suit?”
“Dom Bartolo.” Darias frowned. “But now that you mention it I haven’t seen him today. Let me call him.”
Darias dialed, waited, then left a message. “That’s odd.”
Emma’s gut did that weird warning thing again. Was the last suit somehow reserved for a killer? “Perhaps one of the security guards could wear it,” she suggested.
“Do you think I trust one of those strangers to wield a sharp sword above my head?” Darias lifted a brow. “I’ll call Rigo and tell him to bring someone.”
He made the call, then she helped him don the suit over his shirt and underwear. It fastened with leather straps, and she tried not to overreact each time her fingers brushed his skin.
She couldn’t wait to be alone with him tonight. As long as they were both alive by then.
Rigo burst in, “Sorry I’m late, bro. Got chatting with an old friend I haven’t seen in ages. And I brought him to stand in for Dom.” He beckoned someone into the doorway.
Emma’s blood froze as she recognized Lorenzo Aldobrando.
“I didn’t realize you two were friends,” said Darias slowly. He probably hadn’t warned his brother that Lorenzo was a suspect.
“It’s been a long time,” said Lorenzo, entering the room confidently. “I know our families haven’t been close for a long time, but it’s time to change that. What am I wearing for the festivities?”
Emma blinked as one of the twins pointed to the last suit of armor. She glanced at Darias, who was watching Lorenzo closely. What was he up to? First talking to Beatriz, then Rigo, and now.… She knew Darias didn’t need warning that this was a potentially dangerous situation.
Rigo and Lorenzo donned the armor, and the chief of the armory showed up to explain the ritual. None of them had ever seen it before, including the chief himself. It took Emma a while to realize that it would be on horseback—a joust. It had last been performed at Darias’s father’s coronation more than thirty-five years earlier. Three men, including Darias, would ride from one end of the courtyard, Darias would tilt with their leader, then he would win and the crowd would cheer and—
“I’ll be your opponent,” offered Lorenzo.
“Will you be able to keep the ceremonial nature of the event in mind?” asked Darias, drily. “Or are you hoping to take control of Altaleone this afternoon?”
Lorenzo laughed, a rich, rather disconcerting sound. “I can contain my ambitions and sporting instincts enough to perform the duty.”
“That is a relief.” Darias didn’t look worried. But then he didn’t look relaxed, either. They were all speaking English, probably for her benefit. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife, Emma.”
The way he said it, gruff and…proprietary, made something sizzle deep inside her
“My pleasure.” Lorenzo bowed low, as if it were the fourteenth century, not the twenty-first. “I do hope you’ll excuse my changing in front of you.”
“No problem,” she managed, glad she didn’t have to shake his hand. She wondered if that piece of paper with the poem should be checked for his fingerprints. She decided to make sure they got some as a sample. “Would you like me to help you with your armor?” If he touched the shiny metal before donning gloves, they’d get a clean sample.
She felt Darias’s stern and surprised gaze on her. “I’m sure he can manage by himself.”
She wanted to laugh. Was he jealous? She wished she could let him know her intentions.
“As long as I can figure out which way everything goes.” To her relief he handled each piece, putting them in order. Now all she had to do was secure them after he took them off.
In less than five minutes she was walking along the hallway to the courtyard in the company of six clanking knights in armor. None had put their helmets on, as apparently they were very hard to see out of, the eye slits being angled for a man high on horseback.
They went out a door she’d never been through before, into a rectangular stable yard where six horses stood waiting. They weren’t the strapping draft horses she’d imagined, more like slender thoroughbred racehorses, each decked out in a fringed and embroidered costume of a different color.
A crowd had started to gather around the edges of the courtyard. “Is it going to happen here? This area seems awfully small for a joust.”
“It’s been the tilting yard since 1320.” Darias looked at her with amusement in his eyes. “Who am I to say it’s too small?”
“I see what you mean. It’s hard to argue with seven hundred years of tradition.”
“Story of my life.” He said it with good humor and donned his helmet. He was unrecognizable in the ornate armor but somehow still had a commanding presence that made others turn to him for guidance. He mounted first, with assistance from costumed attendants, and the others followed suit, then took their places at each end of the courtyard.
Why does everything involve horses around here? Emma found her heart racing at the prospect of something happening to spook the horses again. The center of the courtyard was hard gravel, but strips around the edge were floored with smooth, ancient cobbles that would probably be slippery in an emergency. She couldn’t wait until this was over.
Each rider was given a tall lance, painted to match their horse’s costume. Darias brandished his easily, though it didn’t look light and she could see one of the twins struggling to keep his at the right angle.
And she didn’t take her eyes of Lorenzo Aldobrando. He looked at ease atop his horse, holding his lance. He even tipped up the lid on his visor and looked out at the crowd. Was he looking for someone? Surely he wouldn’t try anything stupid in this crowded courtyard in front of so many spectators.
Trumpets played a fanfare and Darias and Lorenzo circled their horses, then headed across the courtyard at a slow canter, lances raised high.
Emma held her breath as their lances met. They passed and circled, then did it again. On the third time Aldobrando dropped his lance with a flourish—as if wanting to show everyone it was intentional—and he and his men dismounted their horses and gave them to Darias and his men. Darias’s team them rode around the courtyard—on the slippery cobbles—one time, while their “captors” stood in the middle, clapping graciously.
The whole thing was beyond weird. Why would a family “enemy” offer to play the role of a conquered one? Had he planned it all along, or was it truly an accident?
At last Darias dismounted and she hurried to him and helped get his helmet off. “We need to put your opponents’ armor aside,” she whispered, leaning in. “To check it for fingerprints.”
Darias surprised her by wrapping his armored arms around her waist and squeezing her so hard she almost dropped the helmet. Luckily, an attendant grabbed it. She hoped no one had overheard her.
“What would I do without you?” He kissed her mouth, sending shivered of excitement through her.
“Good question.” None of this would be happening without her. Unless he’d managed to find another royal bride at a few days’ notice. Which probably wouldn’t have been all that hard, considering.
“I’ll make sure of it. Now we just have to get through the dinner and I’ll finally have you to myself again.”
She looked around, wanting to make sure Lorenzo Aldobrando didn’t slip away. Her blood chilled as she looked up and down the courtyard, where the crowd had moved in to cover the gravel and fuss over the horses. “Where is Aldobrando?”
Darias glanced around. “I’ll text Gibran.” He pulled out his phone and typed rapidly. “Where’s my mom? We need to keep her busy. I don’t want her getting upset. The last time she saw this it was my dad riding.” Emma chastised herself for forgetting all about Carolina in the commotion. “There she is.” Darias strode over to her, still in his armor, and kissed her on her cheek.
“You make a very gallant knight,” she whispered. Emma could see she held emotion hovering just beneath the surface. “Your father would be so proud.”
How odd to think that his father could never have seen this moment because this whole ceremony depended on his death. It must be so odd to grow up knowing that the events of your life would follow a certain progression—whether you wanted them to or not.
Unless you threw a wrench in the works—like a nonroyal bride you found behind a desk at your art gallery.
“Are you all right?” Beatriz materialized behind her mom.
“I’m fine.” Emma choked back the strange giggles that had risen to her throat. “Just way too much excitement for me. I think I’m getting hysterical.” She tried to make it sound like she was joking.
“I know the feeling.” Beatriz looked sympathetic. “Especially so soon after the wedding.”
“And moving to a new country and meeting a big new family.” Carolina stroked her cheek. “You are doing magnificently. We all just have to keep our game faces on for a few more hours.” Her lips quivered as she pushed them into a smile. “After that?” She shrugged.
Emma wanted to hug her but contented herself with smiling back. She didn’t want to upset royal protocol if she could help it.
“Now that your brother has vanquished me, will you join me for a drink?” All heads spun to see Lorenzo Aldobrando—already dressed again in his dark suit and with his hair slicked back neatly—approaching Beatriz.
Even unflappable Beatriz looked startled.
And he would have had time and opportunity to remove his fingerprints from the armor.
“Of course, darling, go on.” Carolina prodded her. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be fine.”
Emma realized that Darias’s mom knew nothing about their suspicions. She glanced at Darias in time to see his eyes narrow slightly.
Beatriz looked suspicious. “Of course,” she said in a clipped tone. “Lead the way.” Lorenzo gave her his arm and she rather hesitantly slipped hers inside, as if she were slipping it into a lion’s open mouth.
Which maybe she was.
The ceremonies continued well into the night, with speeches, feasting and music. Darias stayed at her side nearly all evening, only stepping away for occasional conversations with old family friends, ministers or visiting dignitaries. The mood was festive. Everyone seemed excited about the future with their new king—and queen.
She kept her smile steady despite the occasional twinge of guilt when someone else exclaimed over what a lovely couple they were and how bright the future of Altaleone shone with them at its helm.
Finally, after most of the guests had drunk themselves into a stupor and staggered off to bed, Darias made his excuses. He wrapped his arm around her waist as they ascended the stairs, and even staff members smiled at what an adorable couple they were. She could almost believe her own PR as she gleefully anticipated a night in Darias’s arms.
They headed for their room, only to be intercepted by sheepish staff members who told Darias that their effects had all been moved to a different room.
As the crowned and reigning king, Darias had been moved—against his will and express wishes—into the traditional royal bedchamber recently occupied by his mother and father. All of their effects had been transferred while they were at the party, and Emma found it chilling to see her clothes hanging in the closet.
The contract! She’d forgotten all about it in the frenzy of wedding preparation. It was still in her solo bedroom, which had been packed up without her knowledge and which was no doubt occupied tonight by one of the guests. She’d better focus on getting it back because if that got into the wrong hands.…
Right now she couldn’t even imagine what would happen.