The Eye of the Wolf (44 page)

She finished the glass and
wandered back in the door. She stopped at the counter-top, still littered in
Post-It-Notes, tracing the history of Amor. A paper sat nearby where she had
already begun to transcribe the crazy time-line she had developed. It would be
helpful, especially now that the rest of her research had been returned, in the
writing of the book that she had promised she would write. Her materials,
computer and all, had been found in Kankaredes’s office, hidden in a locked
desk drawer. All of the books and notes in her precise hand neatly stacked.
Just another clue pointing to Kankaredes’s guilt. Why then did things just not
feel right?

Mikayla leaned her head on her
fist, her eyes scanning the notes, cursing herself for the waste of time it had
been to create it. She moved through each event, time melting away until she
felt as if King Malachi were beside her, speaking to her in the words of his
diary. He told her the story of the arrival of King Henry and his Crusaders.
The bloody rebellion that decimated the population of Amor. The mysterious death
of Henry. The building of the Secluded City. The life of his grandmother Elena
and her influence. His own coronation and …She pulled the note off of the
counter and ripped it to shreds. She shoved the pieces into the trash and went
back to recreating her timeline.

The sweet song of violins and deep, melodic voice
of cellos blended with the brassy sound of trumpets and shrill of flutes as
dancers glided across the glossy wooden floor. The scents of hot-house roses
and perfumes blended into a sweet smell that made the heart smile. Black ties
and tux coats whirled silver sequins, pink taffetas, and purple velvets around
the room. Diamonds glittered at throats and winked at ears, decorated the best
dress. Royalty mixed with commoner. Famous mixed with unknowns. Smiles and
laughter added to the music of the evening.

A trumpet rose sweetly above the voices, heralding
the entrance of the King and Queen, newly crowned. Citizens lowered onto one
knee, heads bowed to their sovereigns. King Andrew escorted his wife through
the main door of the ballroom, his black tuxedo neatly pressed and set off by
the royal blue bowtie. His burnished crown sat proudly, nestled in silvered
blond hair. His hand rested on that of his wife resting gently in the crook of
his other arm. Her free arm raised in a royal wave, white satin gloves
glimmered but not as strongly as the strapless white column sheath that
showcased a figure she was more proud of than anything. Diamonds and rubies
glittered at her throat and wrist. Blood red teardrops dripped from her ears,
accenting the Queen’s crown that sat proudly on her head winking in the light
of the room. She was a vision, royalty as it should be, in the eyes of many of
the attendants.

Carefully, the new Queen Elizabeth lifted the skirt
of her dress, moving down the stairs beside her husband, her head lifted in
pride. Behind her, her daughter, the Crown Princess, moved smoothly down the
stairs, her ice blue bell shaped skirt sweeping across the stairs as her
sequined slippers clicked merrily on the polished floor. A laugh tinkled from
her perky mouth as her escort attempted to make sure that she knew he was in
love with the princess. Her ring covered fingers played with the necklace at
her throat and dipped low into the vee of her necklace, drawing his eyes down
to the soft swell of her breasts under the sequins and pearls of the
short-sleeved top. A tiara of diamonds nestled in among the blonde hairs swept
away from her face. 

Victoria accepted the glass of champagne from her
escort, a handsome duke from a small principality on the continent. She
adjusted the slightly darker blue satin wrap around her shoulders and flirted
gaily with him, playing the part of the beautiful princess who had yet to take
a husband. She knew she made a stunning image, and turned so the press could
snap a picture of her with her duke. Her smile as he whispered in her ear
suggestions that were indecent but left her wanting broke the heart of the
photographer from
People
.

The Dauphin moved around his sister whose eyes,
vibrant green followed his every move. His eyes scanned the room as he adjusted
his tuxedo jacket. The ruby red bowtie pulled at his neck, but he left it
alone. The red satin sash shimmered in the light. His hair, for once, stayed firmly
in place instead of falling over his eyes, giving him the rakish look he was
used to. His eyes scanned the room even as women simpered and batted their eye
lashes, gowns dipping low over plumped up bosoms. He froze and his heart
stopped when the vision in blue stepped through the door.

Mikayla stepped through the arch from the balcony
into the ballroom. Her simple, navy dress shimmered around her, strands of
silver sewn into the silk. Her creamy skin was iridescent against the dark
dress giving a striking contrast that had men throughout the room turning from
their dates to look at the woman who paused in the door, unaware of the effect
she had. Her hair tumbled down her back in an orderly mass of curls, tamed by a
silver cord that glimmered in the light. She moved her head slowly, taking in
the sights and sounds of the ball making the small diamonds at her ears flash
like fire. Her blue eyes danced with excitement, and she winked when her eyes
met Will’s across the room.

Will found himself short of breath and at a loss
for words as he crossed the room in long strides, anxious to be at her side but
refusing to give the impression of anxiousness. He paused in front of her,
reigning the desire to drag her against him and crush her with a kiss that left
her breathless just as he was breathless at the sight of her. Instead, he bowed
low over her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. When he raised his eyes, her
eyes were dreamy and cheeks rosy. He straightened. With a sly smile, he brought
his other hand from his back and held before him a simple, white rose, a blush
just touching the tips of the petals.

He slipped her hand into his own and led her away
from the door. His heart pounding as if it would burst. “I thought for a moment
that you were a vision.” He whispered as he handed her a glass of champagne. “I
think the other men concur with me.”

Mikayla giggled as she glanced around the room
under her lashes. Men snuck peaks at her, on the arm of her prince, as she
moved throughout the room, being introduced to other members of royal families
and finally, being reacquainted with his own parents.

The sights, smells, and sounds filled her senses as
people moved about the room, dancing, talking, eating.  Images of knights
in shining armor, silk covered princesses filled her mind. A return to the
Middle Ages with each glance. Each image was ingrained in her mind as part of
her mental photo-album, as she took in each experience, promising to remember
when the moment had passed and she was once again a college professor. She
would especially remember the image of her prince, as he came through the door,
regal in his bearing, with a devilish grin on his face. The memories were firm
in her mind, capable of being remembered when the moment had passed and life
had returned to what it was supposed to be like. But at that moment, she felt
like a princess on the arm of her prince.

He swept her into a dance, holding her close, their
bodies brushing as people watched, whispering behind hands, and bulbs flashed
as photos were taken. But he was oblivious to the world. To him, they were
alone, lost in a world of candlelight, sweet scents, and music. She was soft in
his arms, gliding along, matching his steps with her own, graceful in her
movements. When the song had ended, he pulled her through the French doors into
the night.

The violins and cellos faded into the darkness as
he led her along the stone balcony, soft light filtering through the glass, the
murmurs of people blending with the waves of the ocean crashing on the rocks
below. Stars winked in the sky as he pulled her close, moving into another
dance, singing softly in her ear, words that she recognized. Salt scented the
air as her mind blanked when his lips settled on hers, drawing her into a kiss
that left her senses alive but she was defenseless against the singing of her
nerves and the emotions that welled within her. Sadness. Joy. Warring with one
another.

Will pulled back and studied her face, illuminated
in the night. “I love you, Mikayla.” He said it simply, no pretenses. It flowed
from his mouth but it also reflected in his eyes, filling Mikayla with love for
him.

She laid her hand on his cheek and whispered the
words that he longed to hear from her own lips. Every emotion filling those
words. She pulled him to her, sliding her hand along his cheek until it twined
in his hair, silk against her skin. As he deepened the kiss, arms holding her
close, time seemed to stop. The world disappeared and Mikayla was sure she saw
fireworks.

She yanked her head back and burst into laughter as
red and white and blue fireworks burst in the sky above her head. “I was
thinking I was seeing fireworks because of the kiss.”

Will laughed. “I’m good, Luv, but I’m not that
good!” He pressed another kiss to her palm and then moved away. “I’ll be right
back. Don’t move!” He winked again and disappeared into the ballroom as
elegantly dressed people moved onto the balcony to enjoy the fireworks.

Mikayla pressed her fingertips to her lips,
savoring his taste, her eyes half-closed as memories flooded through her. She
turned to look out of the sea as more fireworks exploded in the sky. The oohs
and aahs of the celebrants reminded her of Fourth of July celebrations in
Michigan when she would lay on her back watching fireworks explode in the night
sky as friends and family gathered. A secret smile played on her lips, dreams
in her eyes.

Victoria stepped clear of the throngs of people and
glided along the balcony, Mikayla her destination. The smile on her lips
cunning as her green eyes narrowed, her prey in her sights.

“Well, Darling, I suppose I should scold you for
upstaging the royal family; however, Dear, you look too fantastic for me to be
angry.”

Mikayla turned her head slowly, her dreams fading
as her eyes focused on Victoria, standing a few feet away, a champagne flute
dangling from her ivory fingers. Ice blue satin trailed long the stonework as
Victoria stepped closer. She linked an arm with Mikayla and turned her from the
sea to watch the people who sipped from crystal glasses and rubbed elbows with
the rich and famous.

Mikayla chilled at the touch of the Crown Princess.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She lifted her chin and stood still.
Her eyes scanned the crowd for Will, praying he would return soon. “Your dress
is lovely, Your Highness.”

Victoria’s laugh rang like silver bells. “Why thank
you, Darling. I do love a ball.” She sipped from her champagne glass, the
bubbles sweet on her tongue. She gestured to her escort with her glass. Her
words slurred slightly, showing the slightest of drunk. “See him. I’m going to
marry him. He’s a duke.”

Mikayla smiled and made casual noises of assent
while she skimmed over the faces searching for Will, searching for anyone, but
she knew she was too far from the crowds to draw their attention to her. Mikayla
swallowed and tried to disengage her arm from that of the Crown Princess.
“Excuse me, Your Highness, but I think His Highness has forgotten where he left
me.”

Victoria tightened her grip on Mikayla’s arm until
her nails dug into the bare skin. That was when Mikayla felt the cold steel
pressing through the thin silk against her rib cage.

Her eyes wide, Mikayla turned her head to the
Princess Royale, seeing only the cunning eyes of the hunter, the Wolf who had
cornered its prey. “My dear, I don’t think he’ll be joining us, nor do I think
you will be going anywhere.”

         
Her heart
jackrabbitted in her chest. Breath lodged in her chest, strangling her as fear
threaded through her. The barrel of the gun was sharp through the fabric of her
dress where it pressed in. Victoria’s satin wrap fell gracefully over their
joined arms, shielding the hand that held the pistol. She smiled, nodded, and
called friendly greetings to people as they waved and applauded the fireworks.

          She had to get
away. She had to draw attention to her or distract Victoria somehow. She had to
do it now, while there was a large crowd, before people wandered back inside.
Before her chance of survival disappeared with the last guest. The champagne
flute was cool against her fingers, only a sip left in the bottom of the glass.
She tipped the glass back and drained it, searching for courage in the liquid,
knowing that wasn’t where courage came from.

          Mikayla slowly
lowered her arm and allowed the champagne flute to slide from her fingers,
shattering into thousands of glass shards as it impacted on the stone balcony,
hoping to draw attention, to bring someone to help her, but the boom of the
explosions from the fireworks drowned out the crash of the fine crystal against
the stone. She heard the click of the hammer of the gun clearly and Victoria’s
menace even over the grand finale now showering the sky in brilliant sparkles.

          “Don’t even think
about it, Mikayla. I will kill you before anyone can help you.” Victoria smiled
brightly, nodding and encouraging people to enjoy the celebration. Her voice
was cold as the steel she pressed into her adversary’s flesh.

          As people
wandered through the French doors, returning to the ball, music gaily pouring
forth from the windows, Victoria nudged Mikayla with the gun, pressing harder.
“Now, Mikayla, we shall take a little walk, just the two of us.” She moved
forward, dragging Mikayla with her. “Smile, Mikayla. If anyone approaches us,
we are simply two friends taking the air. You do anything, anything at all, I
will kill you, without a second thought, just like I killed Monsieur Dejeune.”