Kingdom Come (3 page)

“What do you think of our country, Prince Edric?”

He was still studying her, when the president’s question permeated his single-minded focus.

“It has merit,” he answered, watching Abigail blush a becoming shade of pink.

“Have you had a chance to see much of it?”

He pulled his eyes away from her to give the other man a flat look. “As of today, I have seen this building and a small portion of the grounds.” None of which was terribly impressive, he mentally added.

“Ah. A fan of architecture?” The man was baiting him. A surge of pure loathing went through him.

He added a bit of bite to his reply. “No, you architecture pales in comparison to what I am accustomed to.” His lips twitched in amusement as the president’s eyes narrowed.

The man visibly calmed himself and calculation flickered in his eyes a moment before he spoke. “Then what is it that has impressed you, Prince Edric?”

His eyes drifted toward Abigail without his consent. Her warm, gray eyes were watching him. He forced his eyes back to the satisfied gaze of the president. The man truly thought he had the upper hand. He allowed himself to sink back into the uncomfortable couch.

“You have a very large military, Mr. President.” He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Why is that?” He nearly chuckled at the man’s flabbergasted stare.

“Excuse me?”

He cocked his head to the side to give the man a look of mock sincerity. “Eighth in the world, if North Korea is to be believed.”

He let the threat hang in the space between them, relishing the look of alarmed fury that filled the president’s face. Never mind that he had no interest in the petty spats between the human nations, it was enough to let the man know he was aware of human politics.

He sat forward to get a better vantage point to enjoy the emotions crossing the president’s face. He was far too easy to read, a great weakness in a leader. As he was considering whether he should twist the verbal knife, Abigail spoke.

“Prince Edric?”

He immediately gave her his full attention, dismissing the man across from him. “Yes, Miss Ashley?” He was aware of the warmth in his tone, but was unable to prevent it.

After a false start, she gathered herself and said, “Would you explain what you meant earlier? About being champion. What does that mean?”

He knew she was trying to bring the meeting back to something resembling pleasant conversation. He considered ignoring her question, but beyond the pretense of her job, he saw she was truly interested. He could not resist her.

A smile curved his lips, the first he had truly meant since he had left his own world. Her cheeks instantly pinked and he barely suppressed the pleased rumble in his chest. Every fiber of his being wanted to move across the room to be at her side. He answered to distract himself, careful not to look her in the eye.

“To be the Queen’s Champion is a great honor. It is comparable to a general, if Earth has one military and one general.”

“And the queen, that’s your mother?”

After she asked the question, he caught her glancing toward the president. For permission, he assumed. He ground his teeth, but nodded to her question. When it was possible, he would take pleasure insuring she need
never ask anyone for permission again. Never bow her head to anyone.

“Yes,” he murmured, to both his planned liberation and her question.

“Is she going to come here, too?”

Tone filled with dark amusement, he turned his gaze to the president. “She does
not care for humans.”

“Oh?” she asked in a light tone. “Any particular reason?”

If he did not already want her, her saucy smirk would have done him in. He smiled, forgetting the president’s presence in his enjoyment of her.

“Several,” he told her in a conspiratorial tone.

She started to smile at him, when the president cleared his throat. Her smile slid off her face and guilty look took its place. He slowly turned his head to pin the other man with a glare.

“I think this meeting is over.”

As loathe as he was to leave Abigail’s presence, he could not stay near the president a moment longer without causing him irreparable bodily harm. Something he did not think she would appreciate. He rose to his feet and stalked toward the door, without giving either of them another look.

“Love in its essence is spiritual fire.”

- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Her eyes followed the enigmatic man as he stalked from the room, unable to look away until he vanished through the doorway. The president’s voice jerked her back to attention.

“Miss Ashley.”

She whipped around to face him, praying her face was blank and holding none of the intrigue she felt. The prince was rude at best, a terrorist at worst. She had no place finding him the least bit interesting. She straightened her spine.

“Yes, sir?”

He was no longer looking at her, already on his feet and walking toward his desk. Back still to her, he said, “Ask the ambassador to meet with me again next week.”

She blinked at his back. When he offered no further instructions, she snatched the tablet from the couch beside her and headed for the door at a fast limp. Get him to agree to a meeting. She could do that.

She paused in the hallway, glancing both ways. She caught a glimpse of
an armored back vanishing around the corner at the end of the long hall. Muttering under her breath, she jogged as best she could in the uncomfortable shoes, heels making an uneven clicking on the floor as she went.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she rounded the corner and the prince’s party seemed to be having a discussion amongst themselves. She sucked in a lungful of air and
let it out slowly, before she raised her head and walked toward them with what she hoped was a dignified air.

The guard closest to the back of the group, glanced over his shoulder at her and immediately elbowed the one next to him. The second guard, the tallest woman Abby had ever seen, cocked her head to the side and stared at her. The Amazonian redhead eventually cleared her throat, attracting the attention of the rest.

“Your Majesty, you have someone seeking an audience.” Her voice was deep and raspy, as if she had smoked a few packs of cigarettes before the meeting today.

Abby barely suppressed a smile at the ridiculous thought. The other woman seemed to see her amusement, because she gave her a faint smile in return.

“Sir?” Abby called, peering between the guards to locate the prince at the center of the group. The guards shifted aside and suddenly he stood less than a yard from her.

“Miss Ashley.” His eyes did not meet hers, instead moving over her face and eventually fastening on a spot just above her head.

She frowned. He never looked at her when they spoke. It was a small thing, but it nagged at her. She arranged her face into a neutral expression.

“The president would like to meet with you next week.”

The guards shifted, drawing her gaze. She noticed the redhead was not the only woman. There were several. A strongly built blonde and a lean, dark-skinned woman. All of them in armor identical to the men. The guards watched the two of them with a strange expression. She was not sure how to take the combination of satisfaction and watchfulness.

“I have no interest in meeting with him,” the prince finally answered, drawing her
gaze back to him.

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, just long enough for her to
see the unique aquamarine color again. The splash of color beneath his dark brows, almost took her breath away. She found herself nodding, before she could stop herself.

“Yes
. I noticed you don’t get on too well.”

His lips twisted into a wry smile. “What gave you that impression, Miss Ashley?”

Her stomach did not flutter when he said her name. She cleared her throat. “The barely concealed hostility mostly.”

His eyebrows shot up at her bluntness. The surprise quickly faded into amusement. “You have a very disarming way of speaking your mind, Miss Ashley.”

“Yeah, it gets me in trouble.” She glanced over her shoulder to check that the hallway was still empty behind her. “So, how about that meeting, Your Majesty?”

His faint scowl made his thoughts clear. She hurried to cut him off before he could turn her down.

“I could take your party on a tour of the grounds, afterwards? Or the city. Whichever one.” When he continued to stare at her silently, she racked her brain for something else to offer. “Lunch?”

He cocked his head to the side, at least considering her proposal. After a moment, he nodded once. “Agreed.”

She started to smile, when she heard quick footsteps approaching from down the hall. She glanced over her shoulder. Agent Jackson managed to look dignified as he stalked down the hall toward them. His face was arranged in a mask of neutral politeness, but his eyes were cold when they landed on her.

When he was within speaking distance, he gave the prince a tight smile. “Your Majesty.” He ducked his head in a quick bow and stepped up beside her. “You have work to finish,” he told her without making eye contact.

In trouble, again. She mentally sighed and gave the prince’s party a forced smile. “It was nice to meet you, sir. I look forward to seeing you next week.”

Agent Jackson cleared his throat and sent her a quick glare. “I’ll meet you in my office.”

She glanced at the prince to see him watching Jackson with an unreadable look. He did not look at her. She refused to examine the bloom of disappointment she felt at his lack of attention. Turning away, she took a few steps before the prince spoke.

“Miss Ashley
?”

Her breath caught in her throat at the husky tone. She swallowed hard and glanced over her shoulder at him.

He gave her a small smile, but his eyes were warm. “I enjoyed meeting you, also.”

She bobbed her head
in a quick nod and limped away with as much dignity as possible. Agent Jackson’s office was empty when she reached it, the other agents having vacated the premises. She collapsed into one of the chairs facing his desk and settled in to wait.

Her feet and hip throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She could almost feel the bruise forming on her pale skin. She shifted uncomfortably. The hard, wooden chair was obviously meant as a torture device. Or the first discomfort in an interrogation. She tried to shove the thought away before it could take root.

She had not actually done anything wrong. At least, she did not think so. She rubbed at the back of her neck and allowed her eyes to wander around the office. The white walls were hung with generic landscape artwork and framed certificates of achievement. Her eyes slid over a few medals and she tried not to think about how outranked she was in the situation.

She jumped when the door swung open behind her, her eyes fastening on her stone-faced supervisor. Agent Jackson crossed the room to stand behind his desk, never giving her even a cursory glance. Definitely in trouble, she mused. She sat up straighter in the chair, carefully crossing her ankles and laying her hands in her lap.

“Sir?” she asked in a neutral tone.

His eyes snapped up from his desktop to glare at her. “Do you know your title here?”

“I’m a temp, right? Stepping in for the president’s usual assistant while she’s on leave?” Her voice grew quieter as she spoke and his expression did not soften. She sighed. “Am I fired?”

He held his glare a moment longer, before he slowly shook his head. “No.” He pulled open one of his desk drawers and set a single sheet of paper on the desktop in front of her. “Sign that.”

She internally bristled at the order, but leaned forward to look over the full page of writing. “What is it?”

His lips pressed into a flat line and his eyes narrowed. “A housing contract.”

“I have an apartment.” She looked up at him. “Why do I have to move?”

“You have moved,” he told her blandly. “A team moved all of your things this
morning. You are now staying in a triplex a few blocks from here.”

She fought the urge to frown. “Why?”

“Do you have another job lined up, Miss Ashley?” he asked her pointblank.

Her eyes dropped to the contract and she shook her head. “I need a pen.” The smug satisfaction rolling off him made her want to grind her teeth. She snatched the pen he handed her and signed her name in an irritated flourish.

“Thank you, Miss Ashley. Now, if you would wait outside, I will have someone escort you to your new living accommodations.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard one. She forced a smile. “Have a nice day, sir.”

He waved her off. “You, as well.”

She managed to close the door gently when she left. The woman sitting at the desk to her right shot her a cool look, as if she were disturbing her work on purpose. Abby tried to ignore her irritated sniff.

“Are you Abigail?” a voice asked from behind her.

She turned to see a pretty, dark-skinned woman giving her a once over. The woman raised an eyebrow when she did not immediately answer.

“Abby, please.”

“Candace,” the other woman quickly answered, thrusting out a hand to shake. As they shook, she leaned to the right to peer at the woman sitting at the desk.

“Do you have a problem, Gretchen?”

Abby glanced over her shoulder to see Agent Jackson’s assistant shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

“That’s what I thought.” Candace rolled her eyes and sent Abby a pointed look. “Let’s go. Your things?”

Abby shook her head. “I’m good.”

“Let’s go, then.” Candace turned and walked away without waiting to see if she was following.

Abby blinked at the abrupt meeting and exit. She quickly followed the shorter woman down the hall, finally catching up when they reached the elevator.

“So…”

Candace glanced at her. “So?”

Abby’s lips twitched up into a smile. She already liked the other woman. “How long have you worked here?”

Candace snorted. “Too long?”

The elevator slid open and they stepped into the small space.

“What do you do here?” Abby asked, trying to start a conversation with the other woman.

Candace gave her a bland look. “Are we going to be girlfriends, now?”

Abby turned her head to hide her smile. She cleared her throat. “No, sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy.”

Candace stepped off the elevator and took off down a brightly lit hallway.

“Are we underground?” Abby struggled to keep up with the other woman, snatching looks at doors as they hurried past.

“There’s a car waiting,” she said by way of an answer.

Abby sighed, wondering at the secrecy. After several minutes of walking in
silence, they approached a concrete staircase and took two flights of stairs up to ground level. A pair of guards waited outside the door, both heavily armed.

“Candace Johnson and Abigail Ashley,” Candace quickly told them, holding out her ID card and gesturing for Abby to do the same.

The closest guard spent several seconds examining the IDs, before he nodded silently and waved them on. Abby followed Candace across a hallway and through a door to what looked like a side driveway. Candace nudged her into the back of a black car before she could ask any questions.

The car began moving the second the door closed behind the other woman. Candace reached past her to push the button to raise the screen between the front and back seat. It slid closed with a soft sigh and Candace echoed the sound.

“Where are you from, anyway?”

Abby looked at t
he divider and then smiled. “Missouri. You?”

“Virginia.” Candace turned in the seat to face her. “First thing. You can’t just say what you want when you want. People are listening. Back there, for sure.” She thumbed over her shoulder toward the White House.

“Okay…”

Candace visibly relaxed.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’re staying next to my place. It’s a triplex. You’re in the middle and Jenny King is on the end.”

“Who?” Abby asked, watching Candace dig in her purse.

“Spencer Harrington’s secretary.” She fished out a key ring with two keys on it.
“It’s not important. Here’s your keys. That’s the front door and a spare.”

“Thanks.” Abby started to put the keys in her pocket and paused when she realized her pants did not have one. She sighed. “Is this the usual dress code?”

Candace looked up from her purse. “You better get used to it if you’re going to be working at the White House.”

Abby wrink
led her nose, but nodded. “Right.”

At her flat tone, the other woman set aside her purse and gave her a bland look. “What?”

“Nothing. So, what do you do?”

Candace raised an eyebrow at her blatant change of topic, b
ut answered the question. “HR.” She paused for a moment, before she said, “How did you get here?”

“Long story,” Abby hedged.

“You followed a man.”

The comment surprised a laugh from her. She shook her head. “Yes, but not the way you think.”

“Mmhmm.”

Abby grinned. “No really. A friend of mine moved to New York to pursue his photography. I had just graduated from college and wasn’t really doing anything, so I agreed to share rent with him.”