Secrets of a Reckless Princess (16 page)

There was a hiss in the air and she turned, realizing that the room was filling with a strange sort of mist, the sensation like being touched with a light rain. Jayla stepped back, her head suddenly light, her vision not as clear.

This is why they wanted the decreased security
…

She didn’t really understand until she took another step back and stumbled, realizing one of her guards was already on the floor, sprawled in an ungraceful heap, one arm out flung. Her other guard had gone to his knees, his breathing audible. He said, “Take my weapon, Highness…”

Had it been possible, she would have taken the advice. Obviously, she thought dimly, falling to the floor on her stomach, trying to escape the descending drug, the time given the thieves or terrorists, whichever they may be, had been utilized as they had installed some sort of poison in the air-filtration system.

Both Marc and Damon were going to be furious with her, she contemplated, cheek to the cool floor, her muscles beginning to go lax already. They’d told her to stay in the palace once the sprawling complex had been cleared, but she’d been intensely curious to refresh her memory over the museum…

And it might be the last mistake she ever made.

“Princess.” A face swam into view, distorted by a mask of some kind, but she recognized even through the growing fog the mocking voice of the truculent stranger. “I’m Lucien.”

It meant nothing…she wasn’t sure anything was significant at the moment.

Floating
…

The stranger said, “You will add a certain piquant nuance to the upcoming negotiation. Thank you for joining us. I only hoped to take the museum and its contents, but never dreamed a member of the royal family was a possibility. The rumors aren’t exaggerated. You are very beautiful.”

“Why are you doing this?” She couldn’t quite focus and her words were slurred. The floor was oddly comfortable.

“For the oldest reason in the world,” he said on a light laugh, kneeling next to her.

“Money?” It was unsettling to hear the drowsiness in her voice, the lack of inflection.

“It’s not the only motivation but we do need to fund our cause.”

This is awful. They’ll use me against my mother….against Anasta
…

“What else?” She barely managed the words.

“Not just money,” he leaned close and whispered. “Power. They aren’t necessarily one and the same, but in the right hands…oh yes, my gorgeous, privileged princess, one can bring the other. We are going to prove to the Federation we are a force of our own. At this time, we can’t fight your military, but give us time and the necessary funds to raise our own forces. That is all we want.”

“Is…that…all?” She somehow managed to insert an edge of scathing sarcasm despite it was an effort to even stay awake.

“That’s all. Some will die, of course. Someone always has to die. The Federation needs to be destroyed. Le Clerc has some good ideas, but he is too conservative. No change comes without cost, trust me.”

Damon, conservative? And she
didn’t
trust Lucien, whoever he might be. Except to the extent that he wanted power and at the moment, she feared, thanks to her, he had it.

He reached out and touched her hair. “Such a pity. Good bye, Princess.”

Chapter Fourteen

Jayla was missing and the Royal Museum had been literally taken hostage, and unfortunately the two events seemed to be connected.

Palace security kept track of her all the time but her movements were not restricted in any way as she was a grown woman and allowed to do what she wished. Though both he and Damon had asked she stay in the confines of the palace compound, evidently she’d decided to do otherwise.

Marc would worry about her reckless independence some other time. Right now they needed to get her out of there.

He tried his best to calm the rise of fear, but considering his conversation with his father and the current state of alarm, he wanted to do nothing but deploy troops and take the museum back at once.

Minoa had also been hit. In their case, the Federation library, currently under the control of the group calling themselves The Power.

The Power
.

“What exactly did they say?” Damon paced, his agitated movements not helping the atmosphere of the room. “You are being deliberately vague, Father.”

It was true. Raphael Le Clerc had merely said that the terrorists had sent a communiqué with some demands.

Regal and pale, the queen sat back in her chair and leveled a glare at Colonel Kale. “This is your domain. What do you suggest?”

Her chief security officer briefly bowed. “There is a reason we train and employ special enforcers, Majesty. Let’s send them in to surround the building.”

“You can’t! Jayla is in there.” Damon was vehement, halting in yet another sweep of the floor, his pallor pronounced, a lock of dark wayward hair hanging over his brow. Marc knew exactly how he felt but he didn’t express fear the same way. He kept it contained…he’d been trained to deal with every crisis in a forthright manner with all sights on a positive outcome.

They had left the part out of his diplomatic training when it involved the female a male had taken as his wife. Especially one like Jayla. He was much more emotionally invested than was wise. The idea of her in the hands of conscienceless criminals told him a great deal about how he felt about her, even on such short acquaintance. His mother had always told him he’d recognize his life mate on sight, and it appeared she was right. “I agree with Damon,” he said in a deceptively even tone. “At least to the extent we cannot go rushing in with weapons and the obvious other ploys.”

“Kale, I swear I’ll kill you myself if you put her in danger.”

Truly, Damon might make the worst single negotiator ever. The queen instantly bristled, her eyes a betraying red, her face taking on a tight expression. “It isn’t your decision.”

To his credit, Kale said coolly, “Like any of us would ever risk her if there was a choice, Damon. Calm down, because your hot-headed reaction doesn’t help a bit. Do you have a better suggestion?”

“We could pay them,” Raphael said in his measured way. “It is always an option.”

“No.”

To the surprise of the entire room both Damon and the queen spoke in unison. Damon said passionately, “I don’t trust them to release her. The Power is a militant group, not just a pack of thieves. The explosives were set as a diversion to lessen the security in the places they wished to take over, but obviously they didn’t care if, like on Mega 3, the ploy didn’t work and people were killed. Why not let Marc and I talk to them? He’s the diplomat among us and they’ve at least heard of me and know I support political change. If anyone can negotiate for her freedom, maybe we can. Once Jay is free, you can deal with the museum. They didn’t intend to kidnap her, she just happened to be there and they are capitalizing on the moment. Maybe they all aren’t in agreement on how to handle it. From their demands, murder is not the intention. They want leverage of a different kind.”

“Power,” Marc corrected quietly. “I agree with Damon…I’d like to talk to them, to find out what is at the core of this. Do they wish reform like Damon, or destruction? They are not printing inflammatory articles with ideals for change, but seizing buildings and extorting ransom to fuel their cause. It isn’t at all the same.”

As if on cue, a light flashed on the desk and the queen reached over to push it, quickly scanning the screen that rose up from the console. She said grimly, “Two other planets are reporting hostage situations, so with Anasta and Minoa, that makes four.”

“Well-planned,” Kale muttered, rubbing his hand over his face, lines of fatigue from the long night of supervising the scan for explosives in the palace showing around his mouth. “All at the same time, so we can’t help the others as we deal with our own situation. I’m glad we detained Lettrick before he had a chance to flee.”

“Give me about five minutes alone with him—”

Marc interrupted Damon, his voice taking on a hint of steel. “No, let
me
start there. The first time I was just feeling him out, but this time I
know
he’s involved. I’ll interview him again and then I’m going to the museum.”

“We don’t need more hostages,” Raphael objected, leaning back in his chair, calm but clearly shaken, his voice not completely steady.

“If I don’t succeed,” Marc said as he rose, “consider me already dead.”

“There’s no way in hell you’re going without me.” Damon followed him from the room in long, impatient strides.

Kale followed too, Marc found, but that really didn’t surprise him. The current situation was certainly not the fault of Anasta’s chief security officer, but there was no doubt he was responsible to contain it.

“I will do all the talking,” Marc instructed, his father’s authority creeping unconsciously into his voice, that tone familiar his entire life. “What I want is information and I don’t need anyone else intervening no matter what I say. Understood?”

In any other circumstances he might expect Damon to argue but if he’d learned anything about Jayla’s other lover, it was that he was deeply loyal. “Just save Jay,” Damon told him, his voice hoarse. “I’ll do anything you say. If necessary, I’ll die for her.” His smile was crooked. “Apparently you would too.”

Their gazes locked for a moment, their purpose entirely understood.

Marc nodded, and as Kale scanned them into the secure area, he realized that maybe for the first time in his adult life he was actually nervous about his ability to defuse a potentially volatile situation.

But then again, he’d never been a life mate before, nor had he ever met a female like Jayla.

* * * *

She was surprised to be alive.

The impression was that perhaps she was in some sort of storage space, the slightly musty odor reminiscent of a closed room, a hint of decaying paper in the air.

But where? It was entirely too dark to tell. Jayla sat up and found that her hands had been bound with a form of stubborn tape that made even flexing her wrists nearly impossible. Though her ankles were free, she soon discovered why after getting up on wobbly legs and trying to go more than three feet in any direction.

Definitely a confined environment. Maybe a closet. She fought a surge of panic over the utter darkness and took in a deep, calming breath.

What did she know?

Her head ached and her memory was a bit foggy…yes, she recalled, thinking that she wanted to visit the museum after Damon spouted his theory of what might be the motivation. She’d talked to someone by the case of Rykar’s papers…and there had been a sudden sound, and a mist…people crumpling to the floor…

They’d all been drugged. Her back pressed against the wall, alone in the pitch dark, Jayla tried not to give in to wild panic. She hadn’t been gagged, which simply meant screaming would do no good, so why waste the energy?

That was it
. Logic. Cool. Sound. Controlled.

One deep shuddering breath and she calmed, but it wasn’t easy, especially as she was sure she was imprisoned alone, which meant she had no idea what might be happening.

And left her to wildly conjecture what it might be.

The enemy had taken over the museum. That she knew. She hazily remembered the blond man kneeling next to her as she lost consciousness. But what did they really want?

He’d told her.
Power
…

There was only one controlling power on Anasta.