We stopped beneath the arch. The same place where he'd towered over me with that stone-cold expression, telling me in clipped Russian-accented English that my security was his responsibility and I'd damn well cooperate. The same place where I'd told him to go to hell and walked away feeling something I'd refused to name.
Now I tilted my head back, looking up at him. “You realize we're in plain view.”
“Da. I know.”
“Guards at two o'clock. Kitchen staff at the windows. Three ambassadors' aides probably watching from the east wing.”
“I see them.”
“So you're aware that if you kiss me right now, you're basically announcing to the entire palace that the prince and his bodyguard are...”
I trailed off. Because I still didn't have a word for what we were. Lovers felt too simple. Together felt too fragile. Mine felt too possessive and not possessive enough.
Viktor's hand came up, cupped my jaw. His thumb traced my cheekbone with the same deliberate care he used when checking weapons. Like I was something valuable that required attention.
He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not performative. Just firm and real and claiming in a way that made my chest go tight.
I heard a soft gasp from somewhere behind us. Probably one of the maids. Definitely someone who'd be gossiping in the staff quarters within the hour.
Good.
When we pulled apart, I was grinning. “You just started three rumors in thirty seconds.”
He stepped back, hand falling to his side, but his eyes stayed on mine. Warm. Real. “We have work to do.”
Right. Work. Because even with my father's blessing and the morning sunlight making everything feel possible, the world was still trying to kill us.
“Ghost Zero,” I said, sobering. “You really think it's someone inside?”
“I know it is.” Viktor's expression shifted. Professional. Focused. “Pattern is too precise. Too informed. Someone with access to schedules. To routes. To exact positioning.”
“Could be anyone on the security council. Half the advisory board. God, even some of the senior staff.”
“Which is why we trust no one.”
I nodded. My hand drifted to my pocket, found the small wooden falcon Viktor had carved. I'd been carrying it for weeks now, ever since he'd left it on my workbench with no explanation. Physical evidence that the stoic bodyguard had a heart buried somewhere under all that tactical armor.
“When do you check in with Adrian?” I asked.
“In five minutes. Encrypted line from the Sentinel office.”
“I want to be there.”
His jaw tightened. “Sebastian?—”
“Don't. Don't try to protect me from your world.” I stepped closer, voice dropping. “We're in this together now. That means all of it. Your contacts, your network, your past. I'm not some porcelain prince who needs to be kept in the dark.”
For a moment, I thought he'd argue. Saw the war playing out behind his eyes, duty versus trust, professional distance versus whatever the hell we'd become.
Then he exhaled. “Fine. But you let me do the talking.”
“Deal.”
We started walking again, his hand finding the small of my back.
A guard passed us, young guy with nervous eyes. He nodded to Viktor, glanced at me, then away fast. Too fast. Like he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to acknowledge.
