Page 97 of Fallen Crown

Truthfully, I’ve never been much of a physical fighter. Of the three of us, Nick’s the most likely to throw a punch, whereas I’m typically a heckler.

My emotions are so turbulent as I wait for the elevator to open on Tucker’s floor that I think Nick might have a point about me going for Enzo’s jugular. Posey heard Enzo wasn’t even the one who found Tucker in the bathroom. It was the hostess who worried Maren had been gone from the table too long. The idea of her collapsed on the bathroom floor, alone, bleeding from a head injury makes me clench and unclench my hands.

“Does this feeling fade?” I address Nick, but I’m keenly aware of Jag’s silent presence too.

“What feeling?” Nick raises his eyebrows.

“Like I—” I fumble for the right way to phrase it. “Like I could tear people apart with my bare hands for hurting her, or I’d use myself as a human shield to keep her safe.” Never in my life have I experienced such an intense surge of protectiveness. For a while, I’ve suspected this feeling lay underneath what I allowed myself to show Tucker, but there’s no hiding its ferociousness now.

“Not for me,” he says. “And you’ve seen the lengths Alex will go to for Rory. We love hard, and we love well.”

His reference to gran’s tattoo has never resonated more. “You probably shouldn’t leave me alone with him.”

“One step ahead of you on that one, little brother.” He flashes me a grin. “Jag and I will pull you off him if you go for his throat.”

When we get to the nurses’ station on Maren’s floor, they tell me that her husband has requested no visitors other than her family. I stand in the middle of the corridor with my hands on my hips, trying to deep breath my way out of this. Under other circumstances, I’d try to charm my way past the rules, but I’m not feeling particularly charming.

“Is she awake?” I ask. “Can someone ask her if she’ll see me?” Still a gamble, but at least she’ll know I’m here, even if she decides she’s still too mad or disappointed in me to let me in.

The nurse leaves to check on Maren, and Nick takes his phone out of his pocket. “Do you want me to call Nathaniel? He might be able to get you into the room.”

“Nathaniel is too nice.” I’ve been contemplating another option if Tucker is sleeping or Enzo insists that I can’t go in. Before I go nuclear, I text Wren to see whether Enzo has let any of the team in to visit. She gets back to me right away, confirming what I suspected—he hasn’t. He’s isolating her from anyone who might point out that her absent husband shouldn’t get to be controlling her recovery.

There’s one person I can call who’ll get me in, but I’m not sure Tucker would forgive me for doing it. “Celia. If Enzo won’t let me in, I’ll call Celia.”

“An AK-47 to a knife fight,” Nick says drily.

“I’m not messing around. If he won’t let me in, I’ll find someone who will.”

The nurse returns with a frown on her face. “She’s not awake, but her husband has offered to speak to you outside her room to update you on her condition.”

Pretty sure the only thing he wants to update me on is that he’s back in Bellerive and wants to resume his place in her life, as though that’s going to deter me from going after what I want. He’s been gone a year, and he doesn’t get to come back here and lift his leg all over her life as though he has a right to mark anything as his. She sent him separation papers. She slept with me—more than once. Pretty clear signals about where she falls on the idea of their marriage.

Or where she did fall. The handholding as she came out of her apartment is still throwing me off. Could he have said something to sway her?

She wouldn’t take him back, and if she did, it wouldn’t be that quickly. Her stubborn streak runs deep.

As I follow the nurse down the hall, I can’t get my thoughts straight. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m not leaving this hospital until I get to see Maren with my own eyes.

Outside the hospital door ahead is a tall, broad-shouldered, well-built man. He looks athletic, but the fact that he never got into adventure racing with Tucker makes me think he can’t be much of an athlete, in the same way he hasn’t been much of a husband. Appearance versus reality.

An irrational surge of anger goes through me that he’s the one who’s been sitting beside Maren when he’s done nothing in that last year to earn that place in her life. He shouldn’t be the one in that room; I should be.

“Brice—” Enzo begins.

“Your Highness, actually. As is the custom in Bellerive, my country, when you address royalty.” I come to a stop in front of him, and I can sense Nick and Jag behind me.

“Hmm,” he says, and we stare at each other. “I hope my wife hasn’t given you the wrong impression about what’s happening between the two of you.”

“Not the wrong impression, no.” I cross my arms.

“She’s married.”

For now. Maren already decided to let the marriage go, and now it’s merely a matter of sticking to that decision. “I want to see her.”

“She’s not up to having any visitors. The race took a lot out of her, and this infection has taken even more. She’s asked not to see anyone.”

“If she said that, she wouldn’t have meant me.” There’s a fifty-fifty chance she meant me, but I’ve never had a problem with bluffing. “One way or another, I’m getting in to see her.”