Page 51 of Prince of Wrath

I love you, forever, and always.

Tristan

“I’ll kiss it away once we’re home,” I murmur into her earpiece, molten rage pulsing beneath my skin until it feels like lava searching for somewhere to break through. Every instinct I possess narrows to one objective: destroy him, break every bone in his body, and leave nothing of the man who dared touch what was never his to touch.He takes her hand with the casual entitlement of someone who has spent his entire life confusing possession with love, leading her toward the staff entrance and away from the terrace where we carefully planned to trap him. Wrong direction, wrong on every level. Cole’s posture remains loose, almost leisurely, every movement carrying the confidence of a man who believes he has already won.

Ella…

God.

Ella is beyond fear.

Her shoulders are impossibly rigid beneath that pale blue silk, every muscle locked so tightly I wonder how she’s still standing. We are way past fear now; she’s somewhere near horror, balancing on that frightening edge where the mind begins protecting itself by simply leaving. The officers hidden throughout the ballroom see it too. Masks do not hide the way bodies shift. One by one, they subtly reposition, conversations abandoned mid-sentence, champagne glasses left untouched as they drift toward the service entrance without looking like they are drifting anywhere at all.

“Change of plans,” Garron’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Everyone to the staff entrance. Nobody moves until we give the go-ahead.”

Too late.

I am already moving.

I shoulder past sequined gowns and tuxedos worth more than a small car, apologizing to no one as masked guests stumble out of my way. Nate stays on my heels, his voice a constant stream of restrained profanity.

“Don’t lose your shit.” Another guest. “For fuck’s sake, Tristan.” Another apology I do not bother making. “Walk. Don’t run.” But he has her. He has my girl, and every second I spend pretending otherwise feels like betraying her. The orchestra continues behind us as though nothing is happening, violins spilling through the ballroom while I carve a path toward the staff corridor, every laugh and champagne toast dissolving into meaningless static.

Where is she now?

A sweep of pale blue fabric disappears through the service door. Something tears inside my chest with such brutal violence I genuinely wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like. Brenton steps into my path. Even dressed in a tailored black suit with half his face hidden behind a paper-gray masquerade mask, I recognize him right away.

“Mr. Ashford.” He plants himself squarely in front of me, panting. “Wait, sir. Wait for the signal. Do not engage. He needs to be in a clear area to avoid collateral damage.”

“Move.” I shove his shoulder hard enough to stagger him sideways, but Nate catches my arm before I can take another step. I wrench against his grip. He does not let go. Brenton straightens immediately, his hand drifting toward the radio clipped beneath his jacket.

“Wait until he’s outside,” he says, speaking fast enough that every word lands before I can interrupt. “If we engage here, it turns into a bloodbath.”

“He already has her.”

“I understand, sir,” he pants. “But Cole didn’t come alone. We’ve identified seven men who weren’t on the guest list. All disguised, and likely armed. Wait until they step through the staff entrance, and we’ll take them clean.” I almost laugh. There is nothing clean about watching the woman you love walk beside the man who broke her. Nothing clean about the way she keeps her head slightly bowed because terror has folded her inward until she barely occupies her own body. Nate tightens his grip.

“Listen to him.” His voice does not sound like Nate’s anymore. “For once in your life, listen, goddammit.” I force myself to the small wired-glass window set into the service door, but the angle gives me almost nothing. Beige walls. A catering trolley stacked with empty champagne flutes. One employee hurrying past. The brief flash of an officer disappearing around the corner. A car door slams. My pulse spikes. Cole’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Where good to go,” he shouts to someone in another car.

Every instinct inside me snaps.

Fuck it.

I shove through the door. The corridor narrows around us, and Cole turns just in time to see me. My fist reaches him first. Bone cracks beneath my knuckles as my uppercut pushes him off balance, blood exploding from his nose before he crashes onto the polished concrete with a howl that echoes through the service hallway. Then everything collapses. Weapons appear seemingly from nowhere. His. Ours. Two catering staff drop serving trays and draw concealed pistols from beneath their jackets. One of the chauffeurs abandons the waiting SUV, reaching inside his coat. A woman I passed ten minutes earlier carrying a tray of desserts produces a handgun from beneath the folds of her apron. They have been here all along. Hidden in plain sight. The corridor erupts into shouted commands as officers identify themselves, civilians scatter toward emergency exits, and Cole’s own men point their guns at us. Where is she? My weapon is already in my hand, the movement natural, one smooth draw from the holster beneath my jacket. The first shot cracks somewhere behind me. Everything disintegrates.

Bullets shoot from all corners, but I don’t lose my focus, noticing Cole getting up and opening the door of the car, pulling out Ella, and positioning her like a human shield. Hell no. He rushes to the main gate. I follow him, aiming at his head, but I cannot shoot. I’m too close to hers. He drags the love of my life, her eyes wide, terrified, tear striking her beautiful face, one of his arms locked around her while the muzzle of his pistol presses cruelly beneath her jaw.

“Come on, Ashford,” he calls with a grin stained red from his own blood. “Be a big boy for once.” His hand strokes her cheek with the barrel. “If you’re going to shoot, try not to ruin the dress.” Every muscle in my body turns to stone.

“Let her go.”

“Aren’t you being greedy now? Haven’t you taken enough from me already?”

“She was never yours.”

“Oh, but she is.” His smile widens. “She didn’t even fight getting into the car.” He brushes the cold steel along Ella’s cheek as though comforting her. “My little birdy.” His eyes lock onto mine. “She still remembers who her master is.”