Page 43 of Good As Hell

“Fi.” Now it comes out like a pitiful whimper, one that screams of fear.

Knowing better than to jostle or try to move either of them, I look ahead. “Asif.” My stoic driver, who I’m pretty sure didn’t like me, is half way out of the windshield. His head sits at an awkward angle and his eyes are open, glassy as he stares off into nothing.

Hot tears spill down my face. He’s been with me every day. Silent but always on time. Always carrying the packages of gifts and crafts, people have given me, Ayaan and Hassan withoutcomplaint. This man has a family and people he cares for and now they’ve lost him because of me.

I speak a blessing over him, then squeezing through the partition to get into the from seat. Craning my sore neck, I look where we came down the hill and my heart stops. A full on firefight is going on. The top of the hill has a contingent of the palace guard and my personal security in battle with men dressed in fatigues. They could be professionals or a militant group, but the battle that’s waging is going to cost a lot of lives.

My team is not that big. The other group, in contrast, has three times as many people. Fear burns a hole in my chest as I think of Ayaan waiting on me and me never returning to him.

I don’t know they noticed that I’m not among the group of SUVs taking fire from the combatants or if they think I’m already dead, but no one is making a move towards us down here in the crumpled car.

There is a chime. Looking up, I see that it is Asif’s phone peeking out the pocket of his suit pants.

Grabbing it, I press the button.

“Is she dead?” It takes me a moment to decipher the cultured Arabic coming in over the phone.

“Brother? — Brother?”

Not wanting to give the dastard any indication of my wellbeing, I sit quietly as he calls for his brother twice more before hanging up.

Betrayal sits like a hot coal in my heart. He hated me. Wanted me dead and still help me without complaint every day.

That kind of treachery I’m used to in the industry I work in but not in my own house — at least not since I became an adult. If I could unshed the tears I shed for him a few moments prior, I would.

I press the icon for the palace, knowing I’m taking a chance with my life. What if one of his cohorts answers and lets theother traitors know that I’m alive? I’m about to change my mind when the phone answers.

“Asif? Are you well? Is the royal consort safe? Their Royal Highnesses demand to know.”

The urgency of the words that I can pick out through the rushing bombardment is enough to encourage me to speak.

“Hello? This is Lyric. I’m alive.”

A few days later…

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine —”

“Mistress.” Looking up, I see Aliah at the entrance of the guest suite the queen had set up for Fi after the palace doctor and specialist declared there was nothing we could do but wait for her to wake up.

She’s suffered a severe concussion and dislocated shoulder from the accident — correction attack. Indigo’s fared better if such a thing could even be said after having her beautiful face slashed so viciously. The pain in her eyes made me sick with shame. No one deserves that.

I’ve been by both their sides since I got the all clear from the doctors. Bringing Ayaan with me each time as I’ve traversed the suite of guest rooms adjacent to the other.

Ayaan made Indigo smile every time we visited her and today she even joined in as we sang with her. She even asked for the newest copy of a fantasy, Oathbound that she heard was all the rage back home.

All her enthusiasm even has me — a dark and urban romance reader interested.

“Yes?” I ask Moussa and Fariq’s sister, knowing she also gathering information for her brothers not only about Fi, who Fariq’s besotted by but also for the royal family about me. Their concern is nice, but I won’t be trusting anyone in this palace until the culprits are caught.

Somehow, all the attackers are dead either at the hands of my security or by suicide. A little bit too convenient. Making matters worse, I’ve been regulated to my suites and garden at the prince’s directive, which was only reconsidered after I appealed to the queen.

Hassan is a fucking tyrant, and that’s the nicest thing I can say about him at the moment. Not once has he come to check on me or my friends since the attack.

His mom contends he was distraught when they brought me in unconscious and stayed by my side as I was treated.

However, I’ve not seen him once since I woke the next day. Only told that I couldn’t see my friends until the symptoms of my concussion were alleviated.

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