He couldn’t take it anymore, sitting in the van and watching from live feeds. Hearing her voice, the terror in it after encountering Bruzon, Owen made a decision. “I’m going in.”
“Stay put,” Pike growled. “That infected face of yours and the bruises are enough to scare the most hardened of thugs.”
Hand on the door of the van, Owen faltered. I can’t… I can’t stay out here.
“Don’t worry, Apollo. We got her.” Dante’s words weren’t much reassurance.
Not while Leighton was inside and Bruzon was on the loose. His gaze lit on something in the feed. “Chief, eyes on Bruzon.”
“Affirmative,” Pike said in his preternatural calm. “OTG, north corner of the reception hall.”
“Got him,” Tariq reported.
Brick Archer, far too burly and red-bearded to blend in well, sat in the catering van with him. “I don’t know how you do it,” he muttered. “I’d be all over that like white on rice. No way I’d sit here.”
That was all Owen needed. He grabbed the thobe and ghutra from the stack purchased for the insertion.
“Hold up,” Brick said, straightening from the feeds. “That was figurative, lover boy.”
Owen secured a ghutra on his head. “Sounded literal.” With that, he shoved out of the concealed van and made his way through the rear of the building. He picked up a box of supplies. Didn’t care what it was. Just had to get it and himself into the palace.
“Chief,” Brick said in his distinctive twang, “Apollo incoming.”
“Negative,” Pike hissed. “Apollo, stand down!”
Owen ignored the chatter and entered through the rear of the kitchen. If he held the ghutra just right, he could conceal the marred mess on his jaw. In the kitchen area, he set aside the box and kept going.
A shout went up, and he forced himself to remain calm. Look to the side where a chef with a very large kitchen knife pointed to the box, misunderstanding Owen’s identity. Assuming he was a worker. He said something then indicated to the corner.
Acquiescing, Owen relocated the box. Waited till the cook looked away, and then eyed the door where servers were entering and exiting. He grabbed a tray and moved with purpose toward the door. Ducked through and followed the stream of staff filtering from the kitchens, down the hall that seemed mildly familiar from the times he’d walked Leighton to the garden. Feeling his bearings grind into place, he followed staff into the reception hall that was insanely decorated. Festooned with flowers and pink…so much pink. As if a bottle of Pepto vomited here.
Holy what? This was like something from some fantasy movie.
“Okay, Apollo,” Brick comm’d, “since you dived in with both feet, she’s up front. Your two o’clock. Don’t mess this up. Unlike you, we have a plan.”
“Understood,” he subvocalized as he set the tray on a serving table and with a few steaming mugs in hand, worked his way over to her. But there were hundreds of people, women with their heads covered. Where…?
“Green, she’s wearing green,” Brick muttered. “Good night, do I have to hand her to you?”
“Shut up,” Owen muttered even as his gaze struck her. Something in his gut tightened. “I see her. En route.”
Settled back in her seat near the head table, where Hassan and Daria were eating and laughing, receiving well wishes from their guests, Leighton…felt this prickling dread. Something…
Her gaze wandered over the crowd, wondering where Bruzon was. Had he left? Despite the hundreds feasting in honor of Daria and Hassan, she quickly located the man. Navas’s enemy—that’s who he was, right?
Mercies, she did not like his expression. He seemed…predatory. Just as he had in the hall when Pike intercepted her. Intervened, really. She knew it for what it was. And thank goodness. Who knew what the man would’ve done?
Stop. You’re stressing over nothing. She eyed the head table. Saw the king smile at her. She hated deceiving him. He would not appreciate the truth of her birth. And that nauseated her.
King Faruq lifted his mug and swung it at her, as if in toast.
Though she lowered her gaze, something pricked at her mind.
The mug. Was that… Her thoughts flicked back to the prep hall. Before the man came out. Someone had wiped the mugs… Her gaze bounced to the cup the king aimed toward his mouth. Jerked her attention to the man.
He was leaning forward. Eager. Anxious.
The cup. It’s the cup. She started to rise.
