“Really? All that—I’m falling and need you to catch me?”
His blue eyes swung to her with a smirk that had more than a little amusement in it. “Hold up—is that jealousy, princess?”
“Do not call me that,” she growled. “And no! It’s not jealousy.” Liar. “Something isn’t right. They’re acting strange.”
“So, it’s okay for you to flirt and carry on with Prince Rayan, but when I can’t seem to ditch Ali, you?—”
“Ali?”
“—you suddenly say something is wrong.”
“That’s not—it’s not—” Ugh. She hated her tied tongue and inability to make him listen. To think past her own drumming heart. Had to set aside whatever it was that had her making inane comments about the princess and get to the point. “They’re being too nice, Apollo. Her and Rayan.”
“I know.” He gave a cockeyed nod and returned his attention to the terrain. Tilted his head again, craned his neck as he squinted, then moved in that direction.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, exasperated. “Look, I don’t have many people that I can talk to, so can you stop ignoring me and get over your jealousy that Rayan actually seems interested in me?” Okay, she had zero idea why she’d said that, because she didn’t want the prince interested in her. And she especially regretted her words the instant his gaze rounded on her. “Forget I said that. I?—”
“Hey.” He shifted to her. Set a hand on her arm. His gaze was weighted, blue eyes shifting past her, toward the house. “Just…don’t scream.”
Breath trapped in her throat, she froze. What had he seen? “Is it a lion? Jackal?” Fear strangled her and forbade her from moving.
“The royals are watching.” Apollo extended a staying hand to her, then spoke quietly, “Go ahead, Rawlins.”
Rawlins? What in the world?—
“You sure?” came a preternatural voice from directly at her feet.
She tried. Sweet mercies, she tried not to scream, but confusion and shock arrested her good sense when she saw the grass roll…and reveal a heavily camouflaged face. She stumbled back with a strangled yelp.
The voice continued. “Sounds like this lover’s quarrel isn’t done.”
“Hey,” Owen rasped to her, lifting his eyebrows in meaning. “Easy.”
Inhaling a breath at what was happening—someone he knew was here, in the grass—she saw disappointment in Apollo’s gaze that she’d reacted when he’d warned her not to. But what really churned so much outrage through her chest was that this was one of his team, which meant he’d completely ignored her wishes.
Air staggered through her lungs, easing the clamp on her chest. “Are you kidding me right now?” she snarled and flung a hand toward the lodge. “They’re right there!”
“Nouri—”
“No!” she snapped and drew straight. “No!” She stomped a foot. Turned, then seeing the curious gazes focused on them, whipped back to him. Stabbing a finger at him, knowing the royals would just assume the same thing his buddy had. “You do not get to chide me!” She shoved her palms against her forehead and pushed up till she dug her fingers into her hair. “I told you—told you I did not want this.” She pointed down, too late realizing the mistake. “I can’t believe you.” Backing up, she shook her head. “I thought better of you.”
“Nouri!” Owen thought to go after her, but there was a reason Rawlins had put his sniper skills to use and low-crawled this far in, putting his life at risk. Pivoting back, he threw a fist in the air—half for good measure since he was being watched and half because he was ticked. “Why are you here, Rawlins?” he spoke straight ahead, hoping it would look to the royals like he was ranting to the elements.
“Your comms isn’t working.”
He stared toward the high-rise in the distance, recalling when Hassan had struck him in the neck. “A throat punch will do that.”
“Some guys just have all the fun. Comms device at your feet,” Rawlins stated. “Extraction at Masai Mara. Be ready.”
Those words thudded against his conscience, blurring with the ones Leighton had just hissed at him. “I don’t know that she’ll go.”
“Chief says to get your head on straight. She’s emotionally compromised and doesn’t get a vote. You were put here to get her out, not ask her opinion.”
“You sorry?—”
“Not my words, man. Take it up with the chief.”
“I will.” Owen lowered himself to a crouch, plucked a stalk of grass with one hand, and found the device with the other. “This whole thing is muffed up.”
