His choice of the nameRaphael Mirabaudcontained his anger.
Dieter still stood against the back wall, his hands curled into fists at his sides as he watched Flicka, her father,and the other security staff. Golden light from the sconces played over his blond hair and the black leather of his jacket.
Flicka said, “Yes,” and nothing else because everyone in the room could hear her.
Wulfram said in her ear, “You didn’t get permission from me and Aunt Elizabeth.”
“I know,” she said, “and Idon’tcare.”
“You should carewhathe is,” Wulfram said. “You don’t remember theArchangel raids. You were too little, and there’s a world of damnation in only that. During the Archangel raids, when we were living up in Rolle, Switzerland felt like a war zone. It was worse than when that lone maniac with a gun killed Constantin. They locked downInstitut Le Rosey.Every day, there was news of arrests, murders, and crimes revealed. The whole of Europe was under siege, fromthe Port of Rotterdam to Constantinople. The police raided warehouses, ships, and offices. People were shot. Police were murdered in their homes.Le Roseyhad armed guards patrolling, and father sent more security for us.”
“I just remember not being able to play outside on the playground,” she said.
Oh, that sounded bad.
“Right,” Wulf said. “Indoor recess and gym for months because it was toodangerous to go outside.”
“That wasn’t his fault, and it was over a decade ago.”
Dieter turned and looked at her, his face impassive and his eyes glinting like steel.
The phone whispered in Wulf’s voice, “We’ll arrange for an annulment.”
“No,”Flicka said.“No.Don’t. Not at all. I just wanted to tell you that I’m safely with father atSchloss Marienburg,and now I have to go.”
She hung upthe phone and handed it back to her father. He was watching her, but she didn’t think he’d heard what Wulfram had told her. She said, “I’m so tired. I’m so exhausted that I’m out of sorts. Tomorrow, we’ll discuss whether I should do something on social media.”
Her father nodded and rang the bell again. “I’ll have someone guide you to a room, and I’ll see that your servant has a room tonight.”
Flicka glanced back, but Dieter was shaking his head, heading her off from defending him.
She told her father, “Thank you.”
Flicka went to sleep that night in one of the suites ofSchloss Marienburg,a sumptuous bedroom draped in velvet and silver, an ostentatious display of yet more useless wealth.
She’d been asleep for an hour or so when, once again, the locked door clicked open in the dark,and Dieter crawled into bed with her. She knew it was him from the clean scent of warm musk, and the slight French accent in his hoarse whisper, “Don’t cry. I’ll make sure you’re all right. We can leave, if you want to. I’ll make everything all right. Don’t cry.”
In the dark, Flicka wrapped her arms and legs around him and buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m all right now that you’re here.Please don’t leave. Stay with me. Please don’t leave.”
“I’ll figure out how to make Wulfram all right with this.”
“That’s not your job. He’s my brother. I’ll deal with him. Just don’t leave.”
“I won’t leave. I will never leave you. Don’t cry, my love, myDurchlauchtig.”
He made love to her that night inSchloss Marienburg,slowly and sweetly and whispering in her ear that he loved her.
