The tenacious woman who’d prompted him to accuse Brick of rape was at it again. “So he spotted your men closing in? How and when did you know that?”
“When he shot LaBarre in the face.”
“Goddammit,” Brick muttered. It was odd but comforting when Samsyn added a non-translatable Arcadian profanity.
“Bonsun was waiting for that one,” Shiraz added.
Just like Carris waited for the reporters to regroup themselves, preparing follow-up queries. But it was a fake-out. They weren’t going to get any. With the lofty hike of his chin and the stiffer set of his stance, the asshole was clearly winding up to start his second act.
And fuck, did he ever.
“As you all know, Brickham eluded us by rendezvousing with a squad of accomplices that included an Australian named Ozias Demos, his lover Jagger Fox, and a full private jet crew at Bourget. Though my men and I assisted French law enforcement personnel in chasing them all the way to Bourget, they successfully boarded the plane, keeping both Princess Jayd and her ladies maid assistant in their captivity.”
The mob rustled again. Noisy as they were, Jayd and her girl growls were louder. “Captivity, my plush island backside.”
“Captivity,” came Irianna the Intense’s interruption, minus the irate princess embellishments. “That is a weighted word, Monsieur Carris. Are you standing firm on that allegation? That Jayd Cimarron is being held hostage on her own island? Perhaps in her own home?”
Carris narrowed his gaze. “Are you standing firm that she is not?”
Irianna huffed and backed off. Obviously, the palais press office had taken some time off since their princess’s return. Undoubtedly, that directive had come straight from His Majesty Evrest. Trouble was, it hadn’t kept them ahead of the media wolves—who were all about to go rabid on their asses.
“Regardless of either answer, the facts of this situation remain very much the same,” Trystan persisted. “One: Maximillian Brickham and his ruffians took advantage of an artless young woman in the throes of shock about her true ancestry, perhaps her entire future. Two: just as she might have gotten some peace about that revelation, that man put a bullet through her father’s head as she looked on. Three: if everyone in the Palais Arcadia is not being held at gunpoint by that gang, that means they are harboring wanted criminals.” He spread out his arms and gripped the podium hard enough to lean up and over it. “And that means that something must be done about it.”
Like tentacles of a psychic octopus, Carris’s menace twisted through the crowd. Though it was good to observe skeptical sneers on some faces, there were few too many of those compared to the reporters who still chomped on Carris’s bullshit, lured by melodrama in the name of jumping ratings.
Fortunately, Irianna seemed part of the saner segment. She jabbed her microphone at Carris, prequeling the question on everyone’s minds. “Something done like what, monsieur?”
The podium again became as the guy’s dance partner, succumbing to his smooth swivel back toward the journalist. “I am most happy you asked that, mademoiselle.”
“Certainly bet he was,” Shiraz growled.
Evrest slid his eyes shut before muttering, “Creator help us.”
“This morning, I personally expressed the urgency of the situation to your nation’s magnificent president,” Carris relayed. “He has been most supportive in his concern about everything—the security of not just our princess but our entire country.”
“Which means what?” Irianna asked again.
“That I shall be returning with my team at once to Arcadia, backed by a troop of France’s most highly trained special operations personnel. Our gratitude is boundless for this gesture—”
“Which is what, exactly?” demanded a square-jawed, dark-skinned guy at the rear of the throng. “You are a member of Arcadia’s Pura faction, oui? So do you intend to storm the infidels’ castle now? Has the French government just pledged supporting you in a military coup?”
“Oh, my word!” Requiemme rasped.
“Creator have mercy.” Jayd’s gasp erupted at the same second.
“Is he fucking serious?” Samsyn roared. “How many operatives did they give him?”
“Rerda,” Evrest snapped. “Calmay!”
“What he said,” Brick inserted. “Cool the jets, kids. That throng has throttled all the way past eleven, and Carris is dancing in the jet fuel with a lighted match.”
“He is right,” Evrest asserted, even as his brothers gave disgruntled side-eyes. Brick was a few degrees more forgiving. Probably wasn’t a stellar idea to refer to them as kids, but they’d have to wait on his apology muffins until later. Clearly, Carris still had a few soundbites up his sleeve.
“Come now,” the bastard chastised to the lanky reporter. “Coup is such an ugly word for our beautiful kingdom. At this time, my only concern is keeping Arcadia’s denizens safe through whatever means might be necessary. We are hoping the campaign will be brief and peaceful, but—”
Mercifully, they were all saved from the rest of the loon’s antics. Evrest punched the remote with a white-knuckled thumb. “Brief and peaceful?” he gritted. “While already referring to it as a campaign?”
“I am not inclined to suggest a royal motorcade at the airport and a formal greeting in the rotunda,” Shiraz stated.
The king returned the remote to its holder with a decisive slam. “If that bonsun and his horde get anywhere near the palais, we have something to worry about.”
“Which he already knows we are thinking,” Shiraz countered.
“Which means he will attempt an unexpected entry point,” Samsyn put in.
“Which means we have to be ready for him anywhere,” Evrest insisted—only to be quickly negated by the other two men.
“We have not the adequate numbers,” Samsyn declared. “You know this, Majesty.” With his respectful nod and the deliberate use of the title, he numbed some of the rebuke’s sting. “The battalions at Saqique and Minos, as well as the more remote banks of the Mousselyn and into Sauvage, have been downsized and redistributed. There has simply been no need for lots of personnel in those regions.”
Evrest paid back the deferential nod, murmuring, “Of course. And that will probably still hold true for the more secluded villages, so we shall focus on the probable access points along the coast.”
Shiraz nodded. “Wise.”
“Wise but not infallible,” Samsyn inserted. “Even if I beef up the coastal watches with the citizens’ guard and some of my sharper training recruits, they will be like clumps of farmers with pitchforks compared to the French operatives on loan to that clown.”
“That pathologically lying clown.” Jayd yanked off every ribbon of propriety between her voice and the words, once more convincing Brick that she had to be more enchanted elf than actual human, while balling her hands by her sides. “Except for the one truth he swore he would stay silent about. Damn it.”
She rattled the floorboards with her furious stomp, but Emme braved the tremors to step over and cup her princess’s shoulder. “Anger is just another way of letting him win, Highness.”