Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,124
in case chaos erupted?”
He matches my pose then leans one shoulder against the wall beside him. His gaze sweeps over the mismatched group of people in my drawing room. All stand in separate corners, as if the battle is only just about to begin. “I don’t have high hopes,” he admits.
“Does anyone?” I mutter.
It’s going to be a proper blood bath.
There was no telling Guy otherwise, though, after confirmation of Robert Guthram being taken from Broadmoor landed on every media outlet in the country. And it was a done deal as soon as Damien told Guy that he’d spotted anti-loyalists within Broadmoor. For better or worse, two enemies are converging today. Though Guy made it clear, right before he hung up, that if anyone so much as pulled out a weapon, he’d shoot us all.
From my corner of the room, I watch Damien’s oldest brother as he grips Gregory’s hand and introduces himself.
Guy Priest is nothing like Damien.
Both men have hair the shade of midnight, and their hips, shoulders, and chins line up, as if the universe decided to draw the two brothers on a grid to get them even with each other. They easily stand taller than everyone else in the room. But the similarities end there. Where Damien is brawny, his muscles thickly defined beneath the fabric of his clothes, the eldest Priest is lean, nearly hawkish, with features just as intensely angular. And where Damien’s blue eyes flicker with barely repressed heat, his brother’s gaze remains calculating, cold. It softens only when he turns to Damien, and I don’t miss the way he shuffles his body in front of his youngest brother with every new introduction.
“How far we’ve fallen,” gripes a voice to my left, and I don’t need to look to know that it’s Hugh. “First the Mad Priest and now the rest of them. I wonder, do your terms apply to all the Priest brothers or just—”
My heel sinks into his foot.
“Jesus fuck, Rowan!”
A few of the Holyrood blokes turn in our direction and I smile and wave like I’m the bloody queen of England instead of her best mate. Hyper-aware of the fact that Dr. Matthews is doing a shoddy job of pretending not to listen, I turn my head toward Hugh. “Speak like that to me again, and you won’t enjoy what I do next.”
He shifts his weight onto his opposite foot. “Ian is probably rolling over in his grave right now.”
The devil in me replies, “A tough feat considering that you had him cremated.”
Letting out a dark growl, Hugh gestures to the room. “You’ve let his killers into our lives, Rowan.” He doesn’t bother to modulate his voice, not even with Dr. Matthews eavesdropping from my righthand side. “And I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s wrong. The king recruited us—”
“The king recruited me.” At the base of my spine, my fingers interlace tightly. “And then I recruited you and Ian. I don’t fault you for feeling the way you do, Hugh—no one would, not even the Priests. But this is . . .” I bring my gaze to his face. “Can’t you see that this is bigger than all of us?”
His stiff jaw suggests that he can’t.
Frustration eats at me and I clamp my mouth shut before I say something that I’m sure to regret later. I won’t pretend that losing Ian as a friend somehow equates to the loss of him as a brother, but Hugh is dangerously close to finding himself out on his arse. Aside from that first night, everyone else has managed to dance politely around Damien. Everyone, that is, but Hugh.
He’s a loose cannon when we’re already on the eve of war.
Either his rashness will see him dead or it’ll take down someone else in his stead, and I can’t . . . I can’t allow that sort of devastation to happen. As much as I want to walk in Hugh’s shoes with him, this is one trek that he’ll have to make alone.
“Take the night off.” Easing one hand away from the other, I place it on his arm. “Put down the hate and rest your heart, Hugh. Please.”
“I don’t need—”
“It’s an order,” I tell him gently, raising my chin, “not a suggestion.”
His dark eyes squeeze shut, and then he’s spinning away without another word. Only once he’s gone do I release the pent-up breath in my lungs. Falling back against the wall, I allow my hands to sink down to my sides.