Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,172

brows lift that he misses nothing. Not the thin scar that winds itself around my head like a crown. Not the shiny blister that kisses my temple. He stares there the longest, and I’m tempted to quip that I would have been a feast for the eyes just weeks ago.

Biting my tongue has never felt like such an exercise in self-control.

“You were in the palace for the fire,” he says, his voice whisky-smooth, “weren’t you.”

It’s not phrased as a question, and since we both already know the answer, my welcoming smile veers straight into mind-your-own-bloody-business territory. I won’t be bullied for supporting the Crown, just as I won’t apologize if my appearance unnerves him. I refuse to feel ashamed for surviving. “I’m glad you could make it today, Mr. Fitz. And I’m grateful that the Priests were able to return you to your wife and children.”

Embarrassment flickers in his expression. “I don’t know how they managed it, but I always figured . . . Well, you know.” When I raise a brow, he clears his throat. “They’ve always seemed a bit too notorious, if you catch my meaning. No pub owner can afford the toys the lot of them do. Not that I’m complaining, of course, because Broadmoor was . . .”

“Hell?”

This time, a genuine smile softens his austere features. “Hell is a good word, Miss Carrigan. Although I’ll tell you—when Saxon Priest said that your father was the one responsible for our kidnappings, I didn’t know what to believe. We never saw him there, not once. But I’ll be . . . Well, I’ll be glad to make a difference today, that’s all.”

With an apologetic murmur to Fitz, I step back and dig through my handbag for my new mobile. One glance at the home screen has my palms growing clammy, and I quickly open my last text thread.

Me: ETA for QM? Session starts in 15.

Damien’s reply is immediate: Head in there now. Be strong. A moment later, a second text comes through: I love you without mercy.

Me: And I love you forevermore.

With sweaty hands, I dump the mobile back into my handbag and motion Gregory over with two fingers. Stamping out a cigarette under his boot, he bypasses the equestrian statue of Richard the Lionheart and beelines straight for me. After a brief explanation to Caren Fitz about the role he’s meant to play until we’re seated in the Commons, I lead our trio toward Westminster’s entrance.

The heels of my pumps clack loudly against the pavement.

My heart threatens to burst from my chest.

I don’t allow us to be sidelined by security, instead smiling pleasantly at the guards as we put our electronics into proffered trays and step through the X-ray scanner with our arms lifted by our ears. To them, I’m just the prime minister’s daughter visiting her father. To them, Gregory and Caren Fitz are nothing but members of my security team.

“Never can be too careful nowadays,” I say with a trembling bottom lip.

As predicted, the flirty one working the scanner just grins. “Be safe now, Miss Carrigan. We hope you’ll visit us again soon.”

There’s a good chance they’ll want me dead within the hour.

Jerking my chin toward the nearest corridor, I make sure to keep my voice light and breezy. “Daddy will be down this way, lads! Follow me.”

Gregory snickers under his breath.

Fitz’s pallor whitens, and I have half a mind to ask if he’ll be needing a vomit bag.

Knowing that they’ll follow, I book it for the Commons Chamber. Ten minutes. We have exactly ten minutes to be situated in place or this will all come crashing down on our heads. I pick up the pace, spotting a few familiar faces along the way. None, however, seem to recognize me. My long hair was lost to the fire and my face is bare of makeup. No winged liner. No pop of blush. No bold red lip that was once my signature color.

I escaped death and lived to tell the tale.

And it’ll be me who brings my father to his knees.

Slamming to a quick stop, I pull around and point a finger at the hotelier. “You’ll speak when I tell you and not a moment before. Understood?”

Fitz blinks. “There’s a protocol to the Commons, yeah? Ceremonial procedure? Will I know when I’m meant to—”

I shove him inside the chamber.

“’e looks like a bloody penguin in that getup,” Gregory grunts, lowering his head so that his voice won’t carry. “I thought Saxon told ’im to dress like