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Two armed men stood before him. Four others lay on the floor, either unconscious or faking it. Gideon couldn’t tell. No way in hell had the king authorized this. Gideon and Clement had a darker past than most people knew about, but this had come out of left field. Did the man really think he could get away with this?
What Clement’s true motivation was would have to be delved into at another time. Right now, he had to get out of here without any bullet holes.
“Move aside,” Gideon growled at the guard standing at the door. “I’ll release him once I’m clear.”
“You think you’re going to walk out of the castle with me as your prisoner?” Clement snarled. “You’re delusional.”
“I’m not going to leave the castle. I’m going straight to the king.”
The increased tension in Clement’s shoulders confirmed Gideon’s suspicions. Clement had taken it upon himself to dole out this punishment. The arrogant, sadistic prick shouldn’t even be allowed to have close proximity to the royal family, much less be in charge of protecting the castle.
“The king gave me authority to detain you.”
“He may have given you authority to talk to me, but no way in hell would he approve this, and you know it.”
“Fine.” Clement nodded toward the guards. “Stand down.”
Weapons were put away, but the hyperalertness in their eyes didn’t diminish.
“Let’s walk out together,” Gideon said.
Keeping his eyes on the guards, he pushed Clement forward. Five feet from the door, agony struck his body. Knowing he had been tasered did nothing to stop the pain. With fury fueling his awkward movements, Gideon tried to will himself to turn. He managed one halfhearted punch to the closest guard, but when another one tased him again, he went down. The last thing he saw was a giant boot headed to his face and then nothing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eve barely had the chance to compose herself before the door opened. The instant her father entered the room, her heartbreak and pain were shoved to the back of her mind. It had been months since she’d seen him, but he appeared to have aged ten years since that time.
Oliver Wellingsley III, the King of Ile de la Lune, epitomized the very essence of royalty. At seventy-seven he had the build of a man twenty years younger. He was broad-shouldered with a head full of thick iron-gray hair, dark blue eyes, a sharp, aristocratic nose, and the cheekbones of his Slavic ancestors. But today, for the first time, she thought he looked his age.
“Papa, are you all right?”
“I believe those should be my words, my darling Lina.”
Perhaps so. She knew some of the worry in his eyes was because of her. She had not been an easy child to raise, and as an adult, she knew he worried about her more than his other children.
Eve had been a midlife surprise for her parents. With three teenage boys, they had believed their baby-making days were over. And then Eve had happened. To say she had been a challenge would be a huge understatement. Her father claimed she came out of the womb independent and stubborn. She couldn’t argue with him on either claim.
She remembered little of her mother. When Eve had been two years old, her mother had stumbled over a rug and fallen down the stairs, cracking her skull. She’d died instantly. Eve remembered gentle words and soft kisses, and that was about all.
Her father had raised three sons and an infant daughter, while ruling over a country. She loved and admired him more than words could say.
He took her hand and kissed it softly. “You have given me more nightmares than both your brothers combined.”
Even after all these years, it still hurt for him to refer to only two brothers, instead of three. Losing Samuel had been devastating. Her father rarely mentioned him anymore, and that bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She knew it was his way of coping with the loss, but it still seemed wrong.
She couldn’t, however, argue with his statement about causing him nightmares. Her brothers were the very definition of toeing the line and following tradition. Nicolas was fourteen years older than Eve. Samuel had been twelve when she was born, and Alexandre, her youngest brother, was ten years older. They had all been the epitome of perfect children.
“I know, Papa. I’m sorry to worry you, but I will heal. There’s nothing to be concerned about. How are my brothers?”
“Doing well. They’re both out of the country on business but will be back soon.”
“And my sister-in-law and nephews?”
“Everyone is well and healthy. They wanted to come, but since we want to keep you as low profile as possible, you’ll see them at another time.”
She loved Nicolas’s wife, Camille, and their sons dearly, but it was a relief that they weren’t here. Andre was eighteen, Pierre was sixteen, and Leo had just turned twelve. They were all well-behaved children, but putting on an act for her father was hard enough. Pretending to a large group, no matter how much she adored them, would be more than she felt capable of right now. Besides that, there was always some member of the press looking for a story on the royal family. The last thing she wanted was to have them find out she had returned home.
“And Uncle Jacques? How is he?”
