Page 3 of The Bodyguard

Chapter Two

Kayne

There aren’t any creatures like the immortal jellyfish. At the first sign of danger, they just reset, go back to an earlier stage of development, and start all over again.

It’s odd that my mind decides to dredge up the memory of my uncle telling me that when I was twelve years old, adding I would be trained as the family's killing machine.

It’s even odder that the thought of the immortal jellyfish comes to my mind at the mention of her.

“It’s of utmost importance, Kayne, that she remains safe for the next two weeks. I can’t allow her to do anything that would jeopardize… this union. I know she has ideas, and I agree with them. I do. But the world isn’t ready yet. Not now. She’ll always be too beautiful to be taken seriously, and too young to know what she’s doing. She’ll be eaten alive.”

I take in the man sitting opposite me at the vast monarchal desk, in the vast monarchal room.

A full head of white hair, a tall, sturdy demeanor, and clear gray eyes speak of trust, fairness, and respect. A man who gives in to the urge to bite his nails in the dead of night when no one is looking, like it's some kind of deviant fetish that would repulse the world. One that a man of his birth, rank, and stature shouldn’t have.

King Ernst of Strohamden stills cuts an impressive and imperial figure at the age of sixty-five, to everyone around him, and he maintains that countenance in every circumstance imaginable. He doesn’t falter. He remains uniquely optimistic, calm, and kind in the most stringent of events and procedures.

But the stoop of his shoulders and the weariness in his voice, are enough signs that he’s troubled. He also failed to camouflage the evidence of him biting his cuticles which was something his wife did for him. She died five years earlier, leaving behind a one-year-old daughter and Princess Sophia away at school. Agitated. Tensed. And somehow I feel he doesn’t believe his own words about his daughter, Princess Sophia.

He keeps looking at the entrance of his study. As if he expects someone to crash through the closed door at any moment.

I also know he’s not telling me everything. Half-truths maybe, but not everything.

I know because I have been studying this man from the moment he hired me ten years ago as his personal bodyguard.

“I understand, sir,” I say automatically from my chair. I’m seated only because I’ve been ordered to be seated.

I taper off on the remainder of the politics regarding his daughter. All I focus on is keeping her safe for two weeks.

That’s my assignment.

Clearly, she has enemies; I’m that good at my job that I don’t doubt my abilities in carrying out the task, whoever her enemies might be. Still, I would like to know who’s threatening her.

I would rather kill for a good man—the king, my boss—than a bad one.

“She’s going to hate me. She hates me already. She doesn’t want to understand that it isn’t just a matter of me not giving her what she wants. There are Strohamden’s… traditions and rules I have to follow. I need to uphold these customs. It’s all we have left, our history, in this fast-changing world. You understand?”

I say nothing this time because it sounds as if the king is still trying to convince himself he’s doing the right thing, whatever the right thing is. He hasn’t supplied all the crucial details yet.

Who am I going to be protecting the princess from for fourteen days?

I’m the king’s bodyguard outside of Strohamden Palace. Inside, he’s protected by the royal guard of one hundred men, and a slew of ten other highly trained bodyguards.

Outside, he prefers just me and me alone.

It’s not necessary for me to be in contact with the princess. She’s been away at school most of the time, and her itinerary is vastly different from the king’s.

The sparse glimpses of the dark-haired, browned-eyed princess have always left me with a feeling I have no desire to explain.

“The future of Strohamden, I’m afraid, hangs in the balance. And you are the only man I trust implicitly to carry this out for me.” King Ernst takes what seems like a fortifying breath before he continues.

“Princess Sophia is set to marry the son of the English duke of Burkings, Roger Thompson. The Alexsens and the Thompsons have shared a comradery that dates far, far back.”

I ignore the sensation coiling in my gut, and I consciously have to unclench both my fists and my jaw.

“Roger Thompson will become king of Strohamden when I retire shortly before reaching the age of sixty-sixty as dictated by our royal decrees. It is written, and it will be implemented.”

I make it my business to know everything about the people the king associates with. I pull up a mental image of the duke's son in my mind. Young, preppy, and harmless. At least harmless on his own.

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