Page 95 of Iron Unicorn

“That is way too early, Eddie. What sort of maniac rides at dawn?”

“The kind that actually wants to escape.”

If Olivia ran, I would chase her. I’d complain heartily about having to chase her, but I’d do so smiling at the woman’s antics. Shaking my head over the insanity, I focused on my food, hoping the pair would show some mercy on me.

TWENTY-TWO

My talent was useful for things like that.

Rather than napthe day away, I made myself at home in the lounge by the fire and escaped into spy thrillers written by authors with strange ideas of what security personnel did in their daily lives. According to the novel, security agents could operate on three hours a night of sleep, were so hopped up on testosterone they required sex marathons every evening, and spent five or six hours of their workday running around.

While Montana RPS agents did more running than normal, containing Queen Mackenzie rarely took longer than an hour. Afterwards, everyone tended to be tired enough to behave, especially the queen. During live events, adrenaline kept agents going for hours, but it wasn’t a daily affair. It wasn’t anywhere near a daily affair.

However, one scene caught my attention. The hero of the story donned on a dress, a wig, sculpting clay, and makeup to transform himself into a woman for an infiltration. Outside of a few hiccups involving heeled shoes, refusing to shave his legs, and poorly choosing how to pad his bra, he got away with the guise.

I would need to check security at the palace and possibly make use of the tricks. Unlike the fictional hero, Icouldsprint in high heels. I could also dance in them, too.

Once upon a time, back when life had been a great deal different, I’d gone to a Halloween party with Sabina while dressed as a woman. It’d been a masquerade ball type of party, andeveryonehad gone as a woman in a ballgown. Sabina had adored that I’d been willing to step outside of my world and into hers for an evening, and I’d presented myself better than most of the other men.

Fortunately for me, it hadn’t been the kind of party elite attended, with Sabina and I being the only ones present.

She’d met the host of the party through her work, and her sweetness to everyone had won us the invitation.

Sabina had died shortly after.

Searching the internet on my phone indicated that the facial sculpting clays were a bit pricy for daily use but were available, primarily meant for people suffering from extensive scar damage. I would use the clay to smooth out the harder lines of my jaw and cheekbones along with my nose. Once I changed those features, acquired color-changing contacts and feminine glasses with my prescription, I could concoct a false identity. Assuming I got access to the palace records, I would check into how they handled temps, create a record for my new identity, and create a gap for myself.

The electrical system would fall to my talent, but I would use it as a way to force them to use traditional identification versus digital records.

While nabbing the queen would be a goal, Princess Olivia of Montana would be my primary target. I’d even see if I could pilfer our horses, toss Queen Jessica in the cab, and run for New York. Getting across the border would be easy.

I’d make a road whenever needed.

My talent was useful for things like that.

I’d be able to get everything needed for the ruse in Dallas, although I’d have to give the RPS, Olivia, and the other busybodies in my life the slip to make my preparations. It would depend on how I accessed the palace while dressed in a fashion nobody would believe. Once inside and the electrical systems down, the job would be simple enough.

The Texans relied on a network of loyal RPS agents to keep unwanted entities away from their royals. They also relied on their monarchs to fight back excepting the youngest of children and the king.

I would pay the king a visit during the show, and I’d handcuff his ankle to the furniture just to cater to the story of how the pair first met.

He would love it—and he’d be more comfortable with me carting his wife off for the scenario. I’d make sure the queen knew I’d handcuffed her husband, and between the two of them, their sentiments would make them easier to keep happy for the duration of my demonstration.

Olivia would be a problem for the thirty seconds it took to bribe her with a new figurine she could watch me make.

I almost felt badly for the Texans, but losing was not an option.

Their queen stood in the way of me making off with my princess. Had they been wise, they would have just offered Olivia as the sole prize. Alas, had I only been after their queen, I might have considered leaving some of their systems intact.

Once I finished the book, I put it aside and went through the pile I’d hauled from our suite to keep me entertained while Eddie and Olivia suffered at the hands of the talent evaluators. I went for an action novel, one involving cops and robbers playing a lethal game of chase. The hero of the tale, an innocent bystander brought into the mess by a robber willing to take hostages, wanted to go back to his quiet life as a teacher.

According to the book’s description, there would be nothing quiet about his life, and I wished him luck going back to being a teacher.

Sure enough, within twenty pages, the hero had gotten his fill of adventure, contracted a severe case of annoyed at his captors, and wanted to go to bat for the cops.

My phone pinged, and I reached for it, patting on the sofa until I located it, and glanced at the screen to discover His Royal Majesty of Montana wanted a word. I put aside my book, opened the text, and laughed at the text, which consisted of the total sum of my spending ventures at the auction barn.

I texted him a warning I would be calling, waited twenty seconds, and connected the call. When I heard the line pick up, I said, “In my defense, there was a foal in the slaughter pen, and his mommy had a broken leg. That cost me twenty grand. Then I got a pair of RPS horses for work, my queen and king now have four Standardbreds, three of which were sored, and I bought myself the sweetest grullo yearling. That one is my baby.”

---