Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(58)

There were parts I couldn’t access—Daxton’s quarters, mainly, which put a damper on things. And the vents were far too small for me to fit inside, much to my frustration. But I memorized every hallway, every room, every closetof Creed Manor I could find, until I knew it as well as I had known Somerset.

My knowledge of the manor’s layout came in handy when, at last, Greyson managed to get his bug up and running. We weren’t sure what we expected to get out of it, but it was comforting, having a way to find out what Daxton was really up to. And once the bug had the run of the manor, Greyson and I spent hours in his suite, watching the feed and waiting for anything telling to happen.

It never did. And the more time that passed, the more discouraged I grew. Daxton had yet to give us an opportunity to kill him, and though I was tempted to do it over yet another course of roast beef, I knew that would only put every other person in that room in danger. Greyson was right—it had to be public. All we could do was wait.

One morning, at the crack of dawn, a guard burst into our bedroom. “Get up,” he ordered. “The car leaves in an hour.”

“We get to leave?” I said groggily, sitting up from the second bed in Greyson’s suite. “Where?”

“Oversee reconstruction of Somerset,” the guard grumbled.

Greyson and I exchanged a look, and my heart leaped into my throat. This could be it. This could finally be the opportunity we’d been waiting for.

Once the guard left, we got ready, and I carefully hid the gun inside the lining of my bulky winter coat. One shot. That was all I needed, and all of this would finally be over.

We took two cars to Somerset, with Daxton and Minister Bradley in the first while Greyson, Benjy, and I followed in the second. I checked to make sure the privacy screen was up, blocking our conversation from the driver. “Do you think the guards will try to protect him?” I said in a low voice as we drove down an avenue toward Somerset. Creed Manor wasn’t far, but that only gave us a few minutes to talk, and I needed to be prepared for anything thatcould happen once I pulled the trigger. Having Greyson and Benjy there wasn’t ideal, but with luck, I could separate from them. If the guards retaliated, I wanted to be the only one who paid the price.

“Maybe,” said Greyson grimly. “If you think for a moment they might—”

“I’ll stop,” I lied. I knew I wouldn’t, and they knew I wouldn’t, either. But as willing as I was to die for this cause, I couldn’t stomach the thought of dying today—of never seeing the light at the end of the dark tunnel that had become our lives—and I told myself again and again that it wouldn’t happen. I would hide the gun in my coat. They wouldn’t be able to tell it was me until Greyson was in charge, and he would pardon me. It would work out.

It had to.

When we arrived at Somerset only a few minutes later, there was a crowd of onlookers waiting for us at the gates, held back by armed guards. Daxton’s car slowed, and he cracked the window to stick a hand out and wave.

A few members of the crowd clapped, but it didn’t look terribly enthusiastic. Maybe public sentiment was turning against him more swiftly than we’d thought. Or maybe it was too cold out for anyone to feel particularly enthusiastic about anything. With that in mind, I rolled down our window.

“What are you doing?” said Greyson, trying to snatch my hand from the button. I gave him a look.

“Seeing how much fallout we’re going to have to face.”

Sticking my head out the window, I beamed at the crowd and waved, and a roar of applause and whistles began. Nearly everyone in the crowd lit up, and they began to shout and wave back. My smile grew genuine. Daxton was the only one feeling the cold, it seemed.

“Get back in here before someone shoots you,” hissed Benjy, but I only slid back into my seat once the crowd was out of sight. Greyson hastily rolled the window up.

“No one’s going to shoot me,” I said. I was the one with the gun, after all. “Did you see that?”

“Yes,” said Greyson, frowning. “It was unnecessary.”

“No, it was exactly what they wanted,” I said. “Daxton waved, and no one cared. I smile and wave, and they’re practically crawling over themselves to get closer.”

“It was still dangerous,” said Greyson, and I shrugged.

“I’ve been shot at before. Besides, this was worth it.”

“I don’t see how,” he said, but Benjy spoke up before I could.

“In the court of public opinion, Lila will win every time against Daxton. We can use that. We will.”

When the white manor of Somerset came into view, my stomach knotted, and I had to force myself to breathe steadily. This was it. This was the moment we’d been waiting for. I touched the inside of my jacket, the metal cool and reassuring to the touch. I could do this. I would do this, and by noon, everything would be exactly the way it should be. I just had to pull the trigger.

In a stroke of inspiration, I secured my right sleeve in the pocket on that side, making sure it wouldn’t accidentally fall out. This way, it looked like I had both of my hands in my pockets, but my right arm was inside my coat instead, within reach of the gun hidden in the lining. It wasn’t the most graceful of plans, but it would give me a way to shoot Daxton without giving the appearance of pointing a gun directly at him. It might buy me the fewprecious seconds I would need to keep myself alive.