1
Marisa Donati crept through the door, her weapon loaded with fifteen rounds of simunition. She felt their presence before she actually saw them in the dim room. She kicked right, hitting one attacker in the shin, causing him to fall to his hands and knees and release his gun. As her foot returned to the ground, she shot exactly three times—twice to the front and once to the right. The bright green sim rounds hit their marks, exactly center mass each time. The three men cursed, holstered their weapons and put up their hands. Marisa sensed movement and stamped down on the hand of her first attacker as he tried to retrieve his gun. She shot him in the head; green paint dripped down his black helmet and goggles.
Soundlessly, she slipped past him and stepped into the next room, taking out two more attackers above her and one that popped out from under a table. The door that led out of the simulation stood only a few feet away, but she stayed on her guard. It had been too easy; there was sure to be another threat. She noted the three windows to her right and the two doors to her left. Out of instinct, she slid under the windows, her back pressed up against the makeshift enclosure.
One man crashed through each window, followed so closely by seconds that she barely registered the six intruders. Three bangs and then three more sounded from her gun. All six men raised their hands and dropped weapons as a fresh four crashed through the two doors. Two through one. Her finger begged to pull the trigger, but she waited, assessing. The two who had entered the room first had no weapons. They must be hostages. She fired without a moment’s more hesitation. The hostages were free, and the two attackers were smattered with green.
Groans and swearing filled the space. The lights brightened, and she looked around her, assessing her performance. Not even a spatter of paint from the simunition got on the hostages. Marisa smiled as she opened the door to exit the training exercise.
She passed into the review room, looking around for a reaction from her fellow guards, but they were all pointedly looking away. Her smile turned into a scowl. Would it kill them, just once, to acknowledge her for a job well done? She set her jaw and turned toward the score boards, and a little of her elation returned. Her name was at the top, as it had been for the past eleven months straight, ever since she had become the first ever female to join the royal castle guard. She didn’t need anyone to recognize her—the numbers spoke for themselves.
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the rear wall, watching the screen as fourteen surly men made their way out of the simulation area and into the review room.
“You stepped on my hand,” one of them, Armani Barsetti, said as he passed her.
She pushed off the wall and stepped closer to him. “Shot you in the head, too. You gonna whine about that?”
“Watch it, Donati.”
She smirked. “I’m sorry you got an owie, Barsetti. You should have been quicker.”
“Più veloce? I’ll show you quicker.” He lurched forward, but she was ready and clocked him in the jaw. What she hadn’t been counting on were the two guys behind her. One pulled her bun and the other set his foot to the back of her knee, causing her to fall back as she grabbed for the hand pulling her bun. She popped back up, even though her right shoulder stung from the impact of the fall. She whipped her leg behind her, ready to spin and take out the two men who had humiliated her, but her foot was caught instead, and she teetered on the toes of her other foot. She looked behind her to see the captain of the guard, Christian Di Stefano, holding her foot and frowning.
“Save it for sparring tomorrow.” His dark hazel eyes pierced her, his lips pressed into a thin line as he lowered her captured foot to the floor.
The men chuckled quietly, and her face flamed. She wished she could control that better. Adrenaline rushed through her, and she narrowed her eyes at the two men who’d sent her to the floor—Vadik and Yale, Barsetti’s loyal hound dogs. They puckered their lips and pretended to send kisses her way. The absurd gesture spread to everyone behind the captain. She tried to ignore their childish actions and put on an uncaring face, but deep down she seethed. She would get back at them for their mockery. The kissy lips vanished as soon as the captain turned around.
“Good work on the training today,” he said. “Shift change is in fifteen minutes. Get to your posts.”
Acid burned in her gut, and she had to clench her fists and lock her knees to stop herself from shaking with fury as she marched away from the training. The large group of jostling young men headed one way down the long, tapestry-lined hallway, and she went in the other. Since she was the first woman royal guard, Queen Aria had ordered a separate changing room to be created for her. She rounded the corner to her room and slammed the door open. It was a small room, but adequate, with three wooden lockers, a bench, a shower, a toilet stall, a sink, a full length mirror, and a desk and chair shoved into a corner against a stone wall.
It usually irritated her to be cordoned off from her peers, but right now she was grateful for the chance to blow off steam away from those idiots. It probably wasn’t safe for her to be around them right now—safe for them, anyway. She was so sick of the hostility and childishness of the other guards. Every day she put up with their immaturity, their inability to handle a slight disruption to the norm, and all the while the captain did nothing about it.
Though, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want the captain holding her hand or making the boys play nice. She had worked hard to get where she was, and she didn’t need any handouts from anyone. Besides, it didn’t matter if the other guards didn’t like her. She was just putting in her time as a castle guard—the real goal was to get promoted into the royals’ personal guard. She didn’t need friends in order to do that; she just needed to demonstrate her capability. And no one could deny the stats—she was the best.
She changed hurriedly into her official uniform—another thing that had to be specially made for her—grabbed her staff, and walked briskly to her station outside the women’s chambers. She arrived a few minutes early and nodded to Carlo, the guard currently on duty. He didn’t acknowledge her. Castle guards were to remain strictly silent, unmoving, and alert at all times, and Carlo never dropped protocol. At the chime of the hour, he turned toward her, and they performed the motions of the changing of the guard, a maneuver that involved marching past each other in a square. On the first cross, Carlo whispered out of the side of his mouth, “How was the training?”
“Sucked.” Marisa answered with a grimace as she began the second cross. “Talk later?
“Gate duty next. Come see me?”
“Sounds good,” Marisa said as they made their final pass.
Once Marisa was posted in front of the door, her staff at an angle blocking the entrance, Carlo saluted and marched off down the hallway. Her heart felt a tiny bit lighter. At least she had one friend.
***
She heard him coming. The cadence of his steps on the palace’s marble floors was unmistakable. She stood taller, more rigid, next to the intricately carved, solid wooden doors of the women’s chamber, where the queen, her advisors, and Lemon Beauchamp, their newly appointed publicity representative, discussed their various projects. The captain of the guard didn’t often come to the women’s chambers during her shift, and her insides buzzed at the chance to show him how well she performed her duties.
Marisa couldn’t think of another guard that looked more perfect in his tailored uniform; there was no doubt that he had a lean and fit body beneath it. His short-cropped brown hair complemented his dark olive skin and hazel eyes, which seemed greener today than any other. Captain Di Stefano often seemed so focused, it appeared he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, but Marisa knew he noticed everything. So as he approached, she straightened her shoulders, holding her lean and muscular, but still feminine and curvy, body rigid as he entered the massive hall. She knew her earlier altercation with Barsetti had made her look undisciplined, and she wanted desperately to override that impression in the captain’s mind.
He stopped directly outside the door she was guarding, the five inches he had on her made him seem to tower over her despite her six-foot frame. Her heart pounded with the hope he would admire her dedication.
He gave her a curt nod and she lifted the staff, setting the blunt end almost silently back onto the perfectly polished floor.
He stepped forward and knocked.
The conversation within stopped, and Queen Aria’s voice called for her visitor to enter. After a beep and the whir of the electronic lock spinning, the door swung open. The sing-song Italian words of Queen Aria of Monterra filled the space. “Oh, Captain Christian. We are so glad you are here. We have a lot of things to discuss.” He took a deep breath and walked inside, shutting the door behind him. After Marisa heard the beep and click of the lock, she slowly let out a long shallow breath of relief and relaxed, but only a slight bit, her muscles glad for the respite. She even let her lips turn slightly up in the corners, if only for a quick moment. She did her job well; surely the captain could see that.
Despite the sealing of the doors, Marisa could still hear much of what was said inside. She had excellent hearing and didn’t miss a thing. She never deliberately tried to eavesdrop, but the women never tried very hard to keep their voices down, either. Most of their conversations revolved around Monterra’s image—and that of the Fiorelli royal family.
The Fiorellis were determined to improve the standing of their tiny country in the world, and most of their conversations revolved around various plans to do just that. The Crown Prince had brought on Lemon, a PR director, a few months ago, and she had been tasked with improving Monterra’s image and bringing in more tourism. Lemon thought the crown had spent too much time talking about the lucrative mines in Monterra and that it was time to move on to new things.
“Lemon, tell the captain about your idea.”
As the American woman spoke, Marisa watched the hallway and kept her face impassive, as was her duty, though all the while she was inwardly cringing at the ludicrous idea Lemon was detailing. What she was suggesting was simply ridiculous—she wanted the twin Fiorelli princes, Dante and Rafael, to go to America to appear on a reality dating show called Marry Me. The idea of putting thirty women together to compete for one man was laughable. The trouble and drama associated with it gave her a headache. It was so very American. Besides, Marisa had spent enough time around the royals to know that quiet, studious Rafael would never agree to such a thing.
“And the boys have already agreed!” The queen interjected, clear delight in her voice. Marisa blinked. Obviously, she didn’t know the royals as well as she thought. “Isn’t it wonderful? Just the thing Rafe needs, don’t you think?”
The captain cleared his throat. Stalling, Marisa thought.
“Your majesty, I—”
“Of course, I realize this will make things a little difficult for you—the boys’ personal guard detail will obviously need to be increased, with the amount of publicity involved…”
The queen continued, but Marisa’s heart was pounding so hard, she couldn’t focus on the rest of what the queen was saying. Ridiculous show or not, her heart was surging. This was it! This was her chance! There would be openings on the personal guard, and one of them would be hers. She’d been waiting for a chance at promotion, and this was finally the opportunity she’d been hoping for.
“Your Majesty, Signorina Beauchamp, I do not wish to argue with you,” the captain’s voice brought Marisa out of her daze. She didn’t like his tone. “But I think if you considered this plan a little longer, you would come to the conclusion that it isn’t wise. We simply don’t have the manpower to manage it. And with your cousin,” he continued, turning to the queen, “arriving for the centennial celebration, we are already stretched quite thin.”
Marisa cringed inwardly, though her face showed none of her dismay. The captain had a lot of sway with the royals; they listened to him. If he talked them out of this, who knew how long it would be before she got another opportunity?
“Nonsense, Christian,” the queen said lightly. “The centennial celebration is just a little thing, a formality. We’ll read the mining agreement and they’ll go home; it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Of course, your majesty,” the captain’s voice was even, but Marisa thought she detected a bit of impatience in his voice. “I simply think it’s not the right time for something like this.”
“Thank you, and your advice is always appreciated,” the queen said. No, no, no. Marisa fought the urge to bite her lip in dismay. She didn’t want to wait for another unpredictable opening on the personal guard. This had to be it. “But I’ve already made up my mind.”
There was a pause. Marisa could imagine the captain giving a curt nod. “As you wish.” Her heart soared.
“You will coordinate with Lemon for all the finer details.”
“I have these documents for you,” Lemon said. “They contain detailed maps, schedules, and specifics about the eight-week trip. Please let me know if there is anything else you need.”
Again, Marisa imagined the nod.
“Anything else, my Queen?”
“That will be all. And thank you, Christian. I trust you will have specific plans to me by Friday, as they are scheduled to leave on Sunday.”
“Indeed.” This time, Marisa heard the click of his heels.
“You are excused.”
Only a second passed before she heard his feet pad across the thick rugs that covered the stone floors. There was the familiar click of the lock and the buzz of the electronic keypad being activated and the sound of Captain Di Stefano’s measured steps.
She took a deep breath and held her chin high in anticipation. This was going to change everything. It had to. This was her chance.
Captain Di Stefano stormed out of the room. All Marisa could think about was being perfect as he passed. Perfect enough to be picked to go to America as a personal guard. Something fluttered low in her gut as he stormed past her. His strides were slightly longer than normal and hit the marble with such force, Marisa was surprised he didn’t crack it. It was possible that he truly hadn’t noticed her as he passed. She’d never seen him in such a foul mood.
As she watched him stomp off, a plan formulated in her mind. She was the first one of the guard to know about this new opportunity—it would be her advantage. She’d go to him as soon as her shift was over and make her case for promotion. Best in the standings, and first to the punch, there was no way she was going to be passed over for this promotion.
She replayed the whole encounter over and over in her mind until the palace doctor came hustling down the hall, his black bag swinging by his side, muttering to himself as he approached. “How the queen suffered a monkey bite while in a locked room, I’ll never know.” Although her nose flared slightly, she didn’t even have to bite on the insides of her cheeks today to keep from smiling. Every time he came to the women’s chamber, he made a point of doing or saying something he hoped would make her break her form. “Maybe next time,” he said with a chuckle. “You certainly are good at this.”
Inside she was smiling. She hoped one day to be able to really talk to this guy. She bet he was interesting. She moved the staff, and he knocked. Only after he went in, did she let out a little chuckle about the monkey. Her day had certainly turned around—she could allow herself a little laugh.