Free The Wrath of the King by Danielle Bourdon

of his footfalls receded.
    Wynn couldn't even see her hand in front of her face but questioned the wisdom of finding a light switch. That might only draw an unwanted visitor into the room and straight to her hiding place. What the hell was going on out there? Had a shooter made it past the layers of security to target one of the royals? Pressing her palms against her flushed cheeks, she regulated her breathing and tried to concentrate. Her thoughts were scattered.
    She hated not knowing what lurked beyond the closet door. Anyone could be stalking the hallways. Somewhere, someone shouted. Another voice, male, responded. No shots followed. Wynn thought she heard running feet.
    After ten minutes of listening to what sounded like half the house tramping up and down the hallway, Wynn cracked the closet door open. Moonlight falling through a window in the bedroom left shadows in the corners but as far as she could see, no one had taken refuge in the suite. Crossing to the next door, she opened it a hair. A body ran past. Opening it a little more, she saw two guards enter a bedroom all the way at the end, not far from her own borrowed suite. Men spoke in terse voices and another two guards raced along the corridor, weapons drawn.
    If they were entering the room, then surely they had the perpetrator trapped. Too curious to stay put, she darted into the hallway just as Leander exited the far end bedroom.
    He pointed a finger at her, as if that might halt her where she stood.
    And it did. Caught red-handed, she stopped and pleaded for information. “What's going on? Who got shot? Did you capture the shooter?”
    Leander jogged the rest of the way, gun held down at his side. Scooping an arm around her waist, he bodily lifted her straight off the ground and walked her the opposite direction. “You don't listen. As soon as we know more, you'll know more.”
    “But my room is down there--”
    “Too bad. You'll have to find another in a different wing tonight.” He carried her past more guards to the staircase. When another guard came up from the lower floor, Leander spoke quickly—in the Latvala tongue.
    Wynn translated the important parts, surprised at what she heard. Apparent suicide. One of the councilmen. Cover the back stairs and don't go anywhere unless you're in pairs.
    “Suicide? Someone committed suicide?” Breathless, Wynn hung on with her arms around Leander's neck.
    “ Apparent suicide.” He stalked past running waitstaff and other guards coming and going through the halls. Turning into one of the empty conference rooms, he set her on her feet and made strict eye contact. “Listen this time. You can't go back upstairs tonight. Wait for Urmas or someone like that to tell you where you need to sleep.”
    “But--”
    “No buts.” Leander pointed a finger at her again and exited the room.
    Exasperated, Wynn slumped into a chair, lamenting the lack of her cell phone. She couldn't even call Chey.
    All she could do was sit there while she waited, wondering if the suicide was really a suicide and if not, who might have been the one to pull the trigger.
     
    . . .
     
    “I said, I want to see the body.” Gunnar, in a stare down with Ingvar, refused to relent. “If you're so sure it's suicide, then there's no danger letting me on the scene.”
    Ingvar, resplendent in his military uniform, was an immovable wall between the Prince and the hallway. “I'm sorry, your Highness--”
    “Don't placate me, Ingvar. Just let me by. The castle's on lockdown, no one is going in or out and we both know it.” Gunnar ground his molars together. The news that Belmar had committed suicide tonight of all nights set off alarm bells. Earlier, when Belmar confessed the contents of the meeting, he'd been overly paranoid about being found out. Now he was dead. The math didn't add up in Gunnar's mind and he wanted answers. A few had already presented themselves, ones Gunnar didn't want to acknowledge. Paavo wouldn't stoop to murder. Would