Page 93 of Royal Guard

“Follow orders!” bawled the General.

“Save those people!” I yelled.

“I am your commander!”

“I am your Queen!”

The soldiers all looked at me.

And then every one of them turned to point their rifles at General Novak and Aleksander.

I scanned the assembled military officials and found the one I needed. “Air Marshall Trathers!” I yelled. “Turn our bombers around!”

He whipped out his phone and started snapping orders.

“Someone give me a phone!” I said frantically. Emerik ran down from the control room and threw me one and I dialed the palace switchboard, then asked to be connected to the Garmanian Prime Minister. When he answered, the hate and distrust in his voice made my stomach twist. What if he didn’t listen?

“Mr. Prime Minister,” I said, “there is a great deal to tell you and very little time. We have both been the victim of a plot to spark war between our countries. I know now that the attempts on my life and my father’s life were not your doing. The men responsibleare in custody. I have turned around the bombers that were heading for your country. I ask you please to do the same.”

There was no reply. I could hear his breathing, shaky with rage.

“Sir,”I said. “I know you don’t like me. But I need you to trust me. I know I didn’t trust you. I should have listened, when you called me. Everyone told me that you just wanted war and I believed it, I let them convince me that you were different to me. But now I think you’re just the same.” I looked at the soldiers. “You want to save your people.”

Still only silence, but his breathing had changed.

“We have one chance to stop this, Mr. Prime Minister. One. Or our children will grow up hating each other.”

There was a long silence. Then, “For a young woman, you have an old head, Your Majesty. I think your father would be proud.” He sighed. “I have ordered my bombers home.”

I closed my eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister.”

I ended the call and suddenly it all rolled towards me in a black wave: the days of barely any sleep, the emotional drain, the constant tension. I swayed and had to grab the podium to keep from falling over. “Is that it?” I asked weakly. I didn’t even know who I was asking: I didn’t have a lead advisor, anymore. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

And then a big, warm presence was behind me. My feet left the floor and I was scooped up into his arms. He turned me to face him and I looked up into those clear, Texas-blue eyes.

“Just one,” he said. And he kissed me, long and deep and true.

EPILOGUE

Kristina

One Month Later

Cool metal whisperedpast my hair. There was an undefinable sensation of lightness. Freedom.

And that was it: I wasn’t a queen anymore.

The official stepped back from my chair and bowed, my crown in his hands. He placed my crown in a velvet-lined box, picked up the King’s crown... and placed it on my father’s head. The thousands of people who filled the hall stood as one and cheered. The noise was deafening... and wonderful.

My father had woken from his coma four days after I’d retaken power, but he’d needed another three weeks to get back up to strength. Now—finally—my reign was over.

There was a knot of tension that had been right at the center of my chest, ever since my father was shot. It suddenly melted away and I wanted to groan at howgood it felt. Instead, I leaned across to the chair next to mine, grabbed Garrett’s hand and squeezed it, and he squeezed back. God, it was good to be able to do that with everyone watching.

A lot had changed, in the last month.

In the aftermath of the TV broadcast, my policy had been complete honesty. I’d told the media everything: how I’d met Garrett, how he’d helped to save our country, how I’d initially been forced to keep our relationship secret but how I now hoped my people would welcome him. And once they’d heard our story, they did. There was a little muttering about tradition and him not being a prince from the older generation, but they hadn’t wanted to see their children sent off to war, so even they accepted him. And everyone else, especially the women, went nuts for him. I’d had to relate the part about him swearing his allegiancefour timesin interviews.

Now, as he sat next to me on the stage, he was wearing a gray tailored suit with a crisp white shirt and a blue tie that set off his eyes. He looked even better than he had in the royal guard’s uniform. The tailoring of the suit showed off those huge, broad shoulders and his tight waist, while the white shirt was soft enough that it hinted at the strong curves of his pecs. The royal hairdresser had asked whether he could make Garrett look more “respectable” and I’d immediately forbidden it. Cutting his hair short or insisting he was clean-shaved would just bewrong.He was exactly as he was supposed to be.

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