To Steal a Prince

To Steal a Prince

Royal Lions, Book One
Cora Caraway
Copyright © 2013 by Cora Caraway
http://coracaraway.wordpress.com/
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1

Two cameras sweep over the room. I watch them from the corner of my eyes. If security reviews the tapes later, I don’t want to look guilty. They’ll have to work hard to catch me.

My heels click on the marble floors. It’s early, and the gallery is still empty. I slow to take in a rich tapestry. It shows the king on his wedding day. He’s handsome, and looks very happy next to his queen. She’s pretty, though I don’t know what she’s trying to prove with that huge dress. Intricate though the tapestry is, I still can’t imagine why they couldn’t make do with a photo. People do love to indulge here, their royalty most of all.

Tearing my eyes away, I wander into the main room. I can’t get sidetracked, but I also can’t look like I’m on a mission. Clasping my hands behind my back, I try to seem interested in the art around me.

Something glints in the center of the room. I do a double take, like I didn’t expect to see it there. I walk toward my quarry.

The crown sits in an open display. The cocky guards are convinced that no one steals in The City of Lions, least of all from the monarchs. I’m about to prove them wrong.

Two tourists stand in my way. One seems glued to her camera, bouncing flash after flash off the dazzling gems.

“Did you read that it’s for the future princess?” the other tourist asks. “And it’s on loan to the museum until she’s chosen?”

“Did you see how much it’s worth?” The first tourist never takes her eye from the viewfinder.

“Why would anyone loan something like that?”

“Because they’re rich. Rich people are crazy.”

“Like you would know.”

The shutter clicks wildly. “How can he have trouble finding a bride? I’m sure women are lining up for him.”

“That might be his problem,” says the other tourist as she circles the display.

“Poor rich people. I feel so sorry for them.”

“Don’t you feel even sorrier for rich royal people?”

“I really do. Where do you think the line forms?”

They move on, laughing. I step up to admire the crown.

I wonder if anyone will wear it. The people seem eager to gain a princess, but the prince is never seen twice with the same woman on his arm. Most of those who fawn over him seem vapid and dull. If he’s not eager to put a ring on any of them, I can’t blame him.

Well, when he chooses one, she can have the lovely replica I found online. It’s even the same weight. It matches the original exactly, except that it’s made with heavy plastic and synthetic stones. The display’s pressure sensors won’t know the difference. All I have to do is swap them out.

The cameras whir above me. There’s a seven-second window where neither points directly at the crown. I have five seconds to make the transfer before an alarm goes off. I can only attempt this when neither of the guards is looking at the main display.

I need a little luck on my side. I’ve tried to scope out the place at different times, so that no guard sees me too often. Still, I think I can only risk coming here once more. I’d rather not attempt this heist at all than be caught.

The guards like to keep moving. Right now, one is positioned in front of me while the other stands sentry at my back. The guard in front looks off to one side, at a diorama of a shipwreck off the coast. It’s so early, the museum so quiet, that he might have slipped into a daydream. All the better for me.

Behind me, I hear the tourists asking the other guard for directions to a painting. I don’t dare check, but from the sound of his voice, he’s turned to point into the main hall. Even if he were looking at me, I think my body blocks his view of the crown. I count down in my head, waiting for the cameras to point away.

Inhaling, I try to keep my fingers from trembling. Now is not the time for mistakes. I fix my gaze on the crown. I can’t risk looking at the guards again. The only people who look around constantly are the ones who feel guilty about something.

Adrenaline pumps through me as I take the fake from my bag. I hesitate for a full second. Thieves don’t fare well in this city. It wasn’t so long ago that any hand that dared to steal got cut off.

But if I can sell this to one of my contacts, I won’t have to steal again for a long time. Reaching out, I pluck the crown from its plush cushion and slip it into the depths of my bag. As quickly as I can, I replace it with the knockoff.

I draw my hands away as the cameras sweep back into place. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. I did it.

“Hey!” The guard in front of me isn’t distracted anymore.

Suppressing the wild urge to run, I look up at him, eyes wide.

“No touching.”

I bat my eyes at him. “I’m sorry, I won’t. It’s just so pretty.”

He frowns, but flicks his eyes to a tourist who just walked in.

Retreating from the main display, I move to another. I stare blankly at a huge turquoise carving, oblivious to what it depicts. All I want to do is sprint for the exit and hurdle the turnstiles. I try to exude a calm interest as I make my way around the room.

Finally, I come to the guard. He puts a hand on the door, barring my way.

“Miss?”

Oh god. Is he going to search me?

“Enjoy your day in The City of Lions.” His eyes linger on my ass as he swings the door open for me.

I flash him my sweetest smile. When this is discovered, there’s no chance he’ll think of me as a suspect. No one expects a pretty woman to do such ugly things. I walk into the morning sunlight, my bag thumping against my side.

I could skip through the city if it wouldn’t draw too much attention. My post-heist euphoria is hard to contain. I’ve been plotting and calculating for months, and everything’s finally come together.

A bum holds out his hand for any spare change. Regretfully, I shake my head. I would give him all my change if I had any. What he would never guess is that I’m not so far from where he is. I’ve spent a long time preparing for this job, but my gamble paid off. Now I can repay my student loans and then some. I just have to find a buyer.

As I start to come down from the high of a successful theft, I realize that my hands are shaking with a rush of nerves and hunger. I should probably eat something.

There’s a café in the next plaza, though I have to fight against the rising tide of commuters. Many of them have fancy clothes and messenger bags. I’d fit right in if I weren’t going the wrong direction. Of course, I only have one nice suit for when I have a job to do. You can go anywhere with the right suit.

A bell chimes as I enter. At least it’s not too crowded. People step up to the counter for their daily dose of caffeine. Coffee makes me jittery, so I’m not a huge fan. However, I’m very interested in the smell of muffins that wafts toward me. I inhale deeply. Blueberry. My mouth starts to water.

I step in line to wait. The muffins sit behind a glass case. Scanning the shop, I see a display of pastries on the counter. I grin. They’re sitting there, waiting for me just as the crown was. I shake my head. It’s not worth it to steal a muffin when I have something far more valuable in my bag. Police are the last thing I need right now.

I’m so caught up in thought that I barely register the chiming bell. I do catch two new voices, low and furtive.

“Do you want me to go to the front? I’m sure they’d make an exception for you.”

“No, I’ll wait in line with everyone else. Let’s not draw attention.”

Hearing that, I have to look at him. I turn, casually glancing at the clock above the entrance. I can only see him in my peripheral, something that I instantly and deeply regret. He’s the kind of man that you want to stare at through a one-way mirror. I’m sure he prefers to be called handsome, but there’s no other word for him than beautiful. He’s clean-shaven, his dark hair immaculately combed. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but nothing can cover his strong jaw, or the confident way he carries himself. He looks like a man who has never known something to go wrong.

I frown at the clock, as if I’m late for work. “Is that the time?”

Though I ask this of no one in particular, he takes the bait. I’m almost giddy as he shakes one perfect sleeve aside to reveal a shining silver watch. Idly, I wonder what brand it is.

“Five after eight.”

“Oh, thank you.” My reflection looks strange in his glasses. Forcing myself to pull my gaze away, I face the front of the store again. My hunger hasn’t dissipated, but it’s hard to think of anything but him.

I tap my foot. Anything to keep me from turning around. Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t think about him. Or his suit. Yes, I’ll think about his suit instead. I’ve never seen one so well tailored. Every stitch seems placed to bring out his best features. How can he look sleek and muscular all at once? I have a sudden desire to know if he looks as good without his fine clothes. This isn’t helping at all.

There’s a tap on my shoulder.

I wheel. It’s him.

“You in a hurry?”

Wow. Is he concerned that I’ll make it to my non-existent job in time?

“I’ll be fine.” I look down demurely.

“Can I get you anything?”

Something about the way he says it makes me bristle. Like my answer is already foregone, like I’ll accept his offer instantly. I think Mr. Suit might get too much of what he wants, especially when it comes to women. He intrigued me at first, but now I see that he’s just a rich asshole. This city has too many of those already.

I turn on my heel. “No thank you,” I say, as coldly as I can.

“Not even a coffee?”

Oh, so he’s never been rejected before? Well, there’s a first time for everything.

“I hate coffee.”

That shuts him up. Good. Men love to flirt with me, but it never amounts to anything. I’m the kind of girl who turns men’s heads, but never their hearts. I don’t want to waste his time.

I think about his suit again. The left breast moves differently, like it’s weighed down by something. He probably has a fat wallet. My fingers itch to relieve him of his burden. I only restrain myself because of that large friend he has with him. I don’t like the way he’s scanning the shop. He’s far too aware for my tastes, the mortal enemy of my kind. As much as I love a challenge, this isn’t one I should take.

Mr. Suit is quiet as I step up to the counter.

“Blueberry muffin, please.” I reach for my money as she wraps it up for me.

My heart almost stops. I didn’t want to be carrying anything that could be traced to me if I had to ditch my bag. I left my wallet at home today.

Shit. I’m going to have to walk out empty-handed in front of this rich prick.

“Sorry,” I stammer to the cashier. “I-I…” I could use a jewel from the crown to pay. I think that should more than cover the cost. Imagine how they’d react then. I clap my hand over my mouth to keep hysterical laughter from bubbling out. I really do need to eat something. But I can’t. Not without money. I back away from the counter.

Someone bumps into me.

“I’ll get that.” Mr. Suit steps up beside me, setting a stack of bills on the counter.

“Don’t,” I hiss. “I’ll just leave it.”

“You’ll take it. In lieu of coffee.” He smiles, making his face light up. I wish he’d stop.

“Thanks,” I mumble. Taking the muffin, I prepare to run. I wasn’t ready for such humiliation so early in the morning.

“Wait. What’s your name?”

“Grace.” Muffin in hand, I bolt from the shop.

Stupid. Stupid! Why didn’t I give him a fake name? It’s only my first, but he could still find me if he wanted. I’ll have to hope that he won’t.

I stride down the street as fast as my heels will allow. I don’t want to give him a chance to gloat. Cars honk as I cross the street without looking. I want to get away from him, far away. He paid for me, very nicely after I was rude to him. That makes it worse. I shouldn’t have let him pay. He’ll only be more full of himself. I swear under my breath. Just when I think I can take care of myself, some man has to swoop in and save me again. I’m sick of it.

My heartbeat throbs in my ears, the beat increasing as my need to escape rises. I stop, walking back a few paces. There, parked perfectly next to the curb, is the sleekest car I’ve ever seen. It’s a work of art that looks like it could take flight if you drove it fast enough. I have to hold back a grin. How do I know with such certainty that it’s Mr. Suit’s? I have the feeling that this will be his first bad day in quite some time.

I roll up my sleeves. If he wanted to have a good day, he shouldn’t have parked his car in front of me. I have such itchy fingers today. Fishing in my bag, I grab my favorite pick.

“Don’t fail me today,” I whisper.

People walk by, their heads turning to admire the car—and me. As long as I get this lock open in time, no one will think I’m a thief. After all, who would be mad enough to steal a car in broad daylight?

I dig the pick into the lock, but nothing happens. Trying to move no more than my wrist, I wrestle with it furiously. I pause my battle as someone passes. That’s when I realize why this isn’t working. The car isn’t even locked.