That meant… “Leighton!”
Bruzon was here to kill Leighton and get back at Navas, her biological dad.
No. No, no, no! This was bad. Beyond bad!
He balled his fists that the threat to Leighton was walking the halls of the palace and Owen was locked behind a steel door, unable to do a single, stinking thing.
I have to get out of here. But how?
Son of a freak-fried biscuit. What could he do?
Pray.
“God,” he muttered, shaking his head as he paced before the door. “I have to get out of here.”
How?!
The king…the king would want to know of a threat against his daughter. Correction: his believed-to-be daughter. If he could get the king to come down here…
Owen angled around. Tiptoed up and strained to see down both directions of the passage. “Guard!” he shouted. “Guard!” With his limited view, he had no idea if anyone was anywhere near close. But he wouldn’t miss the chance to get help because he didn’t shout loud enough. “Guard!”
Silence met his bellow, though the bars rattled in response.
“GUARD! GUARD!” The image of Leighton being killed at the festivities demanded he keep raising cane to get the guard here. He kicked the door, ignoring the pain spiking up his foot. Punched it.
“Askut!” came a terse voice seconds before a guard in the standard thobe and ghutra appeared. “Askut!”
No idea what that meant, but it probably wasn’t the guard asking how he could help.
“The king,” Owen snapped. “I need to speak to the king!”
“No king!” the guard barked. “No king!”
“Get me the king! His daughter is in danger!”
The guard looked at him, confused. Clearly not understanding. Or choosing not to. With a shrug he started away.
Owen bucked. Shouted, “GET. ME. THE. KING!”
The guard shuffled back and lifted a rifle at the window.
Scrambling back, Owen stumbled and went down even as the report of the rifle clapped through the cell. He felt more than saw the track of the bullet whiz past his ear. Shock ripped through him at how close he’d come to eating lead.
But Leighton.
His vow to give every drop of his blood if it saved her rang in his head. He leapt at the door. “Please! Call the king. I need the king!”
The guard was gone.
Holding the ledge of the small window, he hung his head. Fought the intense frustration that made his chest feel like an elephant sat on it.
Elephant… Leighton…
Thud. Oof!
Owen stilled at the very distinct sounds. That…that sounded like a fist on bone—as in a punch. He lifted his head as a grunt sounded. Peering through the window, he found the guard face-down on the stone floor. What…?
Had Bruzon heard him? Come back?
