CHAPTER SEVEN
Emma unpacked her bags, hiding the contract inside the folder with her birth certificate, passport and other important papers.
Then she pulled it out. If someone was to snoop through her things, looking for damning information about her, surely that would be the first place they’d look. After glancing around the room, she reached up and stuck the three typed pages up on top of the scrolled wardrobe, where they were hidden behind a decorative flourish on the front.
She dusted off her hands, then changed for lunch into a pair of dark brown pants and a fitted blouse. Everyone was quite smart—almost business casual—so she figured this would fit in. She combed her hair and put on some lipstick, then took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
She followed the sound of voices to a bright dining room with a shiny wood table set for a meal.
“Emma, come join us quick, before Darias gets here.” His mom was beaming. “I think a woman should choose the decorations for her own wedding, and he’s such an artiste he’ll probably have strong ideas about it.”
Emma doubted that, since he didn’t consider this to be a real wedding at all. “I’m open to anything you suggest,” she said, sitting in the chair his mom indicated. Beatriz sat opposite her, and the table was covered with glossy pages imprinted with the logo of some expensive design firm. “It looks like you’ve made progress already.”
To her surprise Darias’s mom seemed to blush slightly, her neck reddening. “I’m sure it sounds terrible, but I’ve been thinking about it all week. It was the only way I could get my mind off the awful events and the sadness of the funeral. We’ve been looking at monogrammed glasses and flower arrangements and the most beautiful cakes, even though we didn’t know who Darias would marry. I thought we were going to have to truck in a bride along with the extra chairs and napkins. I’m just so very happy that he brought you here.”
Emma blinked. “Me, too.” Darias really was doing his mom a favor by contracting his own bride. Otherwise his mom and sister would have probably arranged his marriage using a glossy stack of pictures of European nobility similar to these pages of expensive wedding ornaments.
“What style of dress did you have in mind?” Beatriz asked.
Emma paused. She had never given a single moment’s thought to a wedding, let alone a dress for one. And she had no idea what would be considered appropriate for a royal bride. “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing it should be long and white?”
“I think we should have the local dressmaker come and bring some samples. She’s quite famous for her wedding dresses. And we can choose the bridesmaid dresses, too. Will you be flying many friends out?”
Emma froze. She hadn’t even told her friends about Darias. She’d been so caught up in her mom’s illness and her two jobs that she’d lost touch with most of them lately. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Your parents will be coming, though?” Darias’s mom looked hopeful but wary.
“I’m afraid they’ve both passed.”
“Oh, goodness.” Her smooth brow furrowed. “You’re all alone?”
“I have a brother, but he’s…busy.” She probably wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that her beloved firstborn son was marrying someone with a junkie in the family, let alone that he was paying for the junkie’s rehab. “He won’t be able to come either.”
Oh, dear. This wasn’t going well.
Darias’s mom’s faced softened, and Emma startled when she almost looked like her eyes were going to fill with tears. “Then, my dear, you have absolutely come to the right place, and we welcome you all the more warmly into our family.” She took Emma’s hand and squeezed it. Emma felt sudden tears rise unexpectedly at the warm gesture. “Darias’s sisters can be your bridesmaids. They’ll be thrilled to play a part in the wedding.”
Emma snuck a glance at Beatriz, who didn’t look entirely enraptured by the idea but stiffly said, “Of course we would.”
“I know it’s very soon to suggest this, but.…” Darias’s mom hesitated. “Would you consider calling me mama? I would never presume to take the place of your own dear mother, but I do hope you’ll count on me for anything you need.”
Uh-oh. Hot tears rolled down Emma’s cheeks. “That’s so very kind of you.” And of course Darias was right again. “I’d be very pleased to.” As long as she could handle each sharp stab of guilt she felt at knowing this was a business arrangement, not a true family bond being created. She wiped awkwardly at her eyes with the back of her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”
“Of course you are,” said Darias’s mom softly. She pulled a perfectly pressed white monogrammed handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Emma. “A new country, a wedding, a new life—it’s enough to overwhelm anyone. Beatriz and I will do our best to make you feel at home.”
“Of course,” said Beatriz unconvincingly. “I’ll call the dressmaker.”
Darias climbed in his car, determined to drive out to the old palace, where his father and grandfather had been murdered, before one more person could try to stop him. He’d made it out there once during the frantic funeral preparations, but the site had still been a police crime scene and he couldn’t seem to get any straight answers from anyone, even about how the bodies had been found.
Newspaper accounts were disturbingly vague, and his mom wouldn’t tell him anything other than to warn him to “be careful.” Two members of the royal family dead in one day and not one suspect arrested? The injustice made his blood boil.
He left the narrow, cobbled streets of Casteleone behind and headed out into the sheep meadows outside the town. The dirt road wound up toward hillsides covered with flowers in the warm summer sunshine. The old palace was in a remote location and had once been the summer playground of his ancestors but was now rarely visited. He had never even been there himself until a week ago.
Darias drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. He hoped Emma was getting along okay with his mother and sister. So far she seemed like she would work out just fine. Except that he was far more attracted to her than he cared to admit.
Still, if a man couldn’t keep his hands off a woman in a business situation—which this was—he was hardly a man at all. He would simply have to keep reminding himself that he was doing this for the good of Altaleone and his family.
A herd of red-and-white cows did not look up from their grazing as he drove past. He shifted gears as the road grew steeper, winding toward the mountains. The dry dirt road bore the tracks of many cars, not simply the tractors that would normally pass this way. Police, detectives, the so-called security experts that the family had hired, any of these people might be milling around when he arrived at the old palace. He resolved to treat them all with suspicion.
And, if his mother was correct, he’d do well to be wary of them. They still had no idea why the royal family had been targeted.
The cows gave way to a herd of goats wandering across the fields with bells around their necks, much as they must have done for hundreds of years. Time stood still in Altaleone—it was one of the things he liked least about the place. But now that the serenity of his homeland had been disturbed, he took the affront very personally. He intended to find the killers and restore peace to his family and his nation.
There were only two cars in the wide courtyard in front of the palace. One, a police vehicle, parked almost directly in front of the main door, as if barricading it. Darias’s hackles rose. This house was Leone family property. He parked further away, by the second car, a black SUV with Altaleone plates.
“Hello?” His voice echoed off the stone facade. He had no desire to surprise the security and get shot. “Who’s there?”
He climbed the smooth stone steps toward the door, which stood ajar. Again, his sense of family honor felt offended by the casual treatment of this ancient family home. Even if no one had lived there for decades.
Darias braced himself as he stepped into the cool gloom of the interior. This remote building always gave him the chills. And where was everyone?
“Darias Leone here,” he said, in as authoritative a tone as he could muster.
A figure dressed in black stepped out of the shadows to his left. Adrenaline coursed through Darias’s body, but he simply lifted his chin as a tall man walked toward him.
“Gibran Al Nazariyah. Your family has retained me to investigate the murders and secure your safety.
Gibran didn’t hold out his hand, but Darias wanted to feel his handshake and see what he was made of, so he held out his. Firm, solid, reasonably trustworthy. “Now that I’m back here for good, I want answers and I won’t leave until I get some. The details I’ve heard are far too vague. Where exactly was my grandmother—the queen—found?
Gibran’s poker face barely moved. “The circumstances were unusual.”
“I imagine that could be said for most murders. Tell me the exact details. I know it was in an upstairs room.” He hadn’t even been permitted entry when he’d returned for the funeral. “Take me there.”
Gibran led the way up a dusty staircase of inlaid red and white stone. The family portraits on the walls had been removed, leaving ghostly outlines. As they reached the top of the stairs, Darias saw a police guard standing outside a tall doorway.
“Why is he here?”
“We don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to tamper with the evidence.” Darias walked past the guard into the room. He was about to ask what evidence, but the words withered on his lips. In the center of the room was a tall wooden device with a hole in the middle like a medieval stocks where someone’s head would poke through. On the floor nearby, surrounded by strips of yellow police tape, lay a black leather flogger of the type used in BDSM play.
Darias stared. A horrible feeling clawed at the inside of his gut. “Was she…?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question.
Gibran spoke. “She was found fastened inside the stocks. Dressed in a one-piece black leather suit.”
Darias drew in a deep breath to steady himself. “How was she killed?”
“Asphyxiation.” Gibran’s voice was low, professional. Darias could barely bring himself to look the other man in the eye, even though Gibran had probably not seen his grandmother in this compromising situation. He had been hired after the events transpired. “When I first arrived, I entertained the scenario that the situation was consensual. But of course her son being found murdered in a room nearby made that unlikely.”
“My grandmother would most certainly never have participated in bondage-style activities,” said Darias grimly. “She was a very proper lady. A queen in every sense of the word.”
Gibran stared at the empty stocks for a moment. “Often it is people in positions of power who most feel the need for this kind of release.”
“Never.” He hoped he would be able to banish the vision of his elegant and charming grandmother dressed in black leather from his mind. The idea appalled him. “Someone has arranged this disgusting scene to smear my family’s reputation.”
Gibran's eyes narrowed slightly. “Were you aware that she and your father were both members of a secret society called the Cross of Blood?”
Darias paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I was aware. However, the Cross of Blood is an ancient society dating back to the Crusades. They have meetings of some sort, perhaps once a year. At one point my father tried to convince me to join. I thought it would be boring so I refused. I hardly think he would have invited me to join some kinky sex club.” Just talking about his beloved and respected family members in this manner made his blood boil and his fingers curl into fists. “We need to find out who did this.”
Gibran cleared his throat. “Our investigation is being hampered by your mother’s insistence that we keep the circumstances surrounding the deaths completely secret.”
Darias took another look at the stocks. “I agree with her. At least until we have some idea what was going on, we should keep completely quiet about this. I couldn’t bear for my grandmother’s reputation to be tarnished by someone’s idea of a cruel joke.”
“I understand.”
“And my father—” Darias was almost afraid to ask. And very little scared him. “What were the circumstances of his death?”
Gibran rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You are aware that he was stabbed with a sword?”
“Yes, I had heard that much. However, I suspect there is more to the story.”
“Come with me.” Gibran exited the room with a nod to the police guard. He turned right and headed further along the hallway to where another door was closed with yellow police tape. “His body was found in here.” He pulled back the tape and opened the door. “I’m afraid the scene is very bloody. On my instructions, they’ve left the room exactly as it was found.”
Darias peered past him into the gloomy interior of what must once have been a large bedroom, now devoid of furniture. As he made out the dark shadows on the floor and realized that they were blood—his father’s blood—his stomach churned and he fought a powerful urge to vomit.
He steeled himself to face the horrifying scene and walked into the room. “Tell me the exact circumstances. Don’t hold anything back.”
Gibran cleared his throat. “He was found facedown in the center of the room. Naked.”
Darias closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to ground himself. “And the weapon?”
“Was still sticking out of his back when he was found.”
“Did it have fingerprints on it?”
“Many.” Gibran grimaced. “Too many. Nothing we could work with. We suspect the murderer wore gloves and that the fingerprints we found were older. The weapon was a family heirloom usually kept in the royal armory.”
“Who removed it?”
“No one knows. It may have been missing for some time.”
“What? The royal armory is where the crown jewels are kept. There is a single diamond in there worth twenty-three million dollars. How can items just vanish?”
“We’re looking into it.”
Darias blew out hard, frustration growing to boiling point. “The bodies were found by police sent out to look for the missing persons. Who sounded the alarm?”
Gibran hesitated again, his eyes narrowing in that disconcerting fashion. “That’s the official story but the truth is that the bodies were found by your mother. She came out here to look for your father.”
“What made her think he’d be here?”
“She said he came to meetings here with a private club that he belonged to.”
“Good lord. So she saw—” He stared down at the shadows of dried blood on the floor.
“I’m afraid she saw it all. We are under instructions to keep that secret, too.”
Darias blinked. How could his mother be thumbing through wedding brochures after witnessing such horrifying scenes? He shook his head. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“She’s a suspect, of course.”
“What?” Darias’s voice boomed off the walls. “Never. Impossible.”
“A murderer is often the first person found at the scene of a crime, for obvious reasons. Of course it’s awkward for the police to even try to question a member of the royal family. So they didn’t.”
“I should hope not.” Darias frowned, assaulted by these fresh horrors that his mother had endured. He shouldn’t have gone back to New York after the funeral. Not for just another gallery show—but he’d had no idea.
Why didn’t she tell him? “I’ll talk to her myself, but I’m sure she had nothing to do with this.” His skin crawled at the sight of all the blood, etched in dried waves on the floor. “There was nothing else in the room?”
“Nothing. His clothes were folded up in the corner of a room downstairs.”
“So he walked up here naked?” Darias couldn’t believe that for a minute.
“We have no way to know for sure.”
“Footprints, on the stone tiles?”
Gibran shrugged. “The early investigations obliterated all footprints outside the immediate crime scenes. The local law enforcement was not well prepared for such a crime.”
“I wouldn’t expect them to be. We haven’t had a murder in Altaleone in years.” He shook his head. “Do you have any theories on motive?”
Gibran tilted his head very slightly. “The current ruler and the successor both die in the same night. The person who stands to benefit most is, of course, the next in line.”
“Me?” The word exploded out. “First, you all but accuse my mother, and now you’re pointing the finger at me? I wasn’t even on the continent of Europe when the murders happened. I was in New York. I suppose you suspect that my mother and I formed a conspiracy—” His voice boomed through the empty halls. “I should fire you for even suggesting it.”
“You certainly can.” This man was totally unruffled. “But I have a strong track record of solving similar crimes. A complex crime like this, where motive and even method are obfuscated, takes time and cunning to solve. As much time and cunning as the crime took to plan and execute.”
Darias turned and walked from the room and down the stairs. He could hear Gibran striding behind him. “Find the killers. And I want to be informed immediately about every step of the investigation. You can continue to keep the ugly details hidden from the press but not from me, do you understand?”
“Of course. And I would prefer if you were under constant guard. If you are not the murderer—” Gibran’s eyes shone with dark mirth. “You must presume that you are in immediate danger.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Dirt flew as Darias drove back through the remote mountain meadows and descended the gentle hillsides toward the village of Casteleone. Even the royal armory had been violated. And those horrible images were etched into his gentle mother’s mind.
He intended to find the killer and make him pay.
But first he had to make sure his queen didn’t decide to skip town before the wedding.