“Wade Paxton would unite the kingdoms and make us both leaders in the new government.”
“Wade Paxton is a thug.”
“Not very respectful verbiage for the Prime Minister of Totrington, also known as our future partner.”
“He’s no better than one of those mob bosses on American television. Savage.” Reggie’s voice is laced with snobbery. “He’d tax the people and change the very nature of Monagasco.”
Hubert’s tone is undeterred. “Some things might change, but as leaders, you and I can help maintain the best parts, the heart of the nation. Once Philip is out of the way, of course, which could be sooner than we think.”
My fists tighten at my sides. I’m ready to step out of the shadows and shake Hubert’s traitorous neck until his teeth rattle. The only thing stopping me is my desire to hear the extent of this treachery.
“You’re right about one thing,” Reggie says. “Philip’s health is tenuous. We need to be prepared to act should a crisis arise.”
“What about Rowan? If he’s not on our side, we could end up in the same position—and with a much younger king to wait out.”
“Possibly.” My uncle pauses, and I feel the heat rising around my collar.
“Wade has a plan for managing such a contingency. Should Rowan prove… difficult.”
“I’m sure he does,” Reggie scoffs. “And Cal? Shall we wipe out the entire Tate line?”
Hubert’s voice is low and wicked. “Perhaps being in league with a ‘thug’ as you put it has its advantages.”
How dare these bastards! What they’re saying is high treason! My body is poised to move when Reggie’s words freeze me in place.
“I’m sure Wade’s tactics won’t prove necessary. When the time comes to do the right thing, we can count on Rowan.”
Count on Rowan? Is it possible he thinks I would even consider a merger with Twatrington? Their voices recede down the corridor as my level of disgust and loyalty to my father rises. The king has had a difficult evening. I’ll let him rest tonight, but I will present him with this conspiracy first thing tomorrow. Reggie is right. When the time comes, I will do the right thing.
Looking back, I had no idea the time would come in less than twenty-four hours…
Survival Skills
Zelda - Six years later…
Lifting my chin, I shove my pale-blonde hair behind my ear and straighten my shoulders as I enter the Hard Rock casino in Hollywood, Florida, five miles north of Miami.
The carpet is a dizzying pattern of swirls and diamonds, driving my eyes up and through the large, open gambling space. Neon lights chase their tails around the metal slot machines, and the musical tones battle like dueling carousels.
Since smoking is banned in bars and public spaces, the air is clear. I’ve only been to one casino where it wasn’t, and I went home reeking of cigarette smoke. Now all I catch is the faint scent of the citrus used to invigorate gamblers and make them stay longer. No clocks are anywhere to be seen, of course, but I know it’s nine, the precise hour I’m scheduled to enter this establishment and make my way to the roulette wheel.
My flesh-toned, halter-top pantsuit is covered in tiny silver beads that shimmer in the flashing lights, and I carry a white alligator-em
bossed clutch. My hair is arranged in long, sixties-inspired curls, and my makeup is smoky cat-eye. A gold cuff and large yellow-topaz earrings complete the look. I’m somewhere between a Bond girl and Charlie’s Angels, and as I walk, I mentally note the positioning of the security guards.
South Florida isn’t known for its gambling scene, and the Hard Rock is a small casino. It’s perfect for the scam we have in mind. I count only four men in suits with curly earpieces dotted around the space. They’re casual and easily distracted by a flirtatious wink or a nod.
Seth is five minutes behind me. He’s the mastermind of this gig. We’re running a short con, but if things go as planned, it’ll yield enough payoff to keep the three of us in hundies for the next few months. Long enough for him to come up with another scheme far away from the crystal shores of Miami.
This job only works once, so we have to get it right the first time or we’re done.
An enthusiastic round of applause breaks from one of the card tables in the back corner, where I can only assume a patron won a minor victory over the House. It will soon be gobbled back up in his or her losses. Just as I pass the bar in the center of the room, I see Ava. She’s in a short black strapless dress that has a sheer panel over her slim, elegant shoulders.
Her long dark hair is styled in a low ponytail that hangs in a dramatic curl over one shoulder, and a grey-haired man in a tux is leaning toward her grinning like a wolf. I spot his telltale earpiece, and a smile lifts the corner of my mouth. Good work, Little Sister.
She blinks those emerald eyes at him, and I watch as her slim hand gingerly touches his forearm. She’ll keep him distracted for the next several minutes, and if she’s feeling brave, he just might discover his watch or gold cufflinks are gone an hour after she leaves him. He’ll never suspect her. Who would suspect her angelic sweetness hides devilishly light fingers?
Only two other patrons are at the roulette table when I arrive. One is an elderly woman with silver-blue hair and a navy sweatshirt with “May contain alcohol” plastered across the front in white.