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“Oh?”
As Victor and I enter the room, he turns and starts to close the door.
“We’re under strict orders,” one of the guards growl, placing himself as a buffer in the doorframe.
“I am amongst family.” The Queen’s jarring voice causes my heart to palpitate. “Almost.”
My eyes link onto Sarah’s and Burt’s, who, along with the Queen, are seated facing the doors. Mary and Madeline, as well as Graham and his guest, are seated opposite them with their backs to me.
As they turn in their seats, Madeline’s smile falls off the edge of the earth. Before she can pop out of her seat, I’ve clasped her steak knife in my hand.
The Queen gasps but doesn’t call out for her guards. Victor secures the wrought iron door handles with a golden candle holder. I lift the knife high and use all my force, driving it down. The blade skewers the center of Madeline’s hand, and blood pools beneath.
“Well,” Sarah sniggers, “that’s a bloody efficient way to assert your dominance.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Princess Mary’s hand runs flush to her forehead. “Your Majesty, aren’t you—”
“I’m intrigued,” the Queen cuts in. “Hush!”
“Pretty princess, you may want to keep your wits about you,” I growl, directing another steak knife toward Victor’s mother.
“Help me, son,” she whispers to him, frozen rigid in her seat.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Burt speaking in a subdued voice in Sarah’s ear—possibly sharing that this is a little more serious than he originally let on. I catch discreet, cautionary words while Madeline alternates from screaming to hyperventilating.
I glance over my shoulder. Victor’s fists weigh heavily at his sides.
“Do something, Victor!” The princess’s entire body shakes with her command.
“You’d rather I not, Mum.” His voice hardly rises above a gruff, malicious whisper. He steps forward, hand clasping his maternal grandmother’s shoulder. “Grandmother Sarah . . .” A fraction of tenderness enters his tone. “You must go. And Grandmummy, your curiosity—”
The Queen’s calculating gaze flickers toward him. “I was informed that my grandson would right a grave injustice during dinner. Do it.”
“If she stays, I do too.” Sarah’s usually jovial demeanor is blanched as she can’t take her eyes from Madeline’s hand. “I’ve not the slightest idea what the likes of them engaged in, aside from the horrible night at your estate, Vicky. I created this . . . this . . . impudent monster—my daughter. I shall stay.”
“Oh, fuck you, you old cunt!” Madeline pulls her hand from the table. Blood arches through the air as she roars in frustration.
“You took the hard way out,” I mutter, arms folded over as she prances about, staring at the four inches of crimson blade still spearing her skin.
“Was Mary involved?” I ask.
It finally dawns on Madeline to clasp the knife's handle with her left hand and lift.
With the knife raised like a stabber-flick, the lithe brunette charges toward me. I kick out at the last possible second. The heel of my stiletto punctures her square in the abdomen. In a scene that would be fit for a Quintin Tarantino movie, Madeline sails across the room on her ass.
“I didn’t think you had real balls,Maddy,” I grit.
All is silent, aside from the click of my heels. Cradling her hand to her chest, Madeline uses the other to help garner space between us. A red handprint smears across the marble as she attempts to scoot away.
“Did you,” I inquire, biting out each syllable while stalking after her, “act alone,Maddy? Did you create your own side deal with the sheikh, or did—”
“A sheikh? Wh-what sheikh?” Mary gasps. “Tell that madwoman what she needs to know, Madeline.”
“Yes, tell us,” the Queen insists, still no emotion riding her pinched face as she sips champagne. “Who initiated a liaison with another nation?”
My gaze rounds on Her Majesty in combative scrutiny.This ain’t about you.
Then I glare at Mary, who flinches beneath Victor’s vicious hold. His mother shouts, “That bitch is delusional, Victor! Victor, unhand me. These baseless accusations about some sheikhs? What sort of narcotic have you given my—”
