Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(59)

As we piled out of the car, Daxton watched me coldly from the other side of the drive, and it took me a panicked moment to realize it wasn’t because he had noticed my empty sleeve. He must have witnessed my impromptu rally. I couldn’t decide whether to feel smug about it or worry about his potential retaliation. But what could he do? As long as I did my job, he would be dead in a matter of minutes, and the country would be ours. If I survived that long.

I swallowed that thought and steeled my spine against the fear washing over me. Too many people were counting on that bullet for me to change my mind, but it was far more difficult to find my courage now than it had been in a room far from Daxton and his guards and the consequences of my actions. I bit the inside of my cheek. This was exactly the version of me Knox would have been thrilled to see—someone thinking her actions through before taking them. Only now, that hesitation could blow things all to pieces.

As we had hoped, a camera crew had gathered to record our observation of what remained of Somerset. They likely planned to show this clip on the six o’clock news as a fluff piece about how the Hart family was rebuilding after the war; they had no idea this would become a shot that, with any luck, would go down in history. My palms began to sweat. I could do this. I had to do this.

Construction crews had cleaned up the worst of the wreckage in Somerset, and they had already built scaffolding around the parts that had to be reconstructed, including the residential wing. Seeing the destruction from the outside made me wonder how anyone had survived at all. As we all gathered on the brown front lawn, a foreman in a construction hat joined us, and he and Daxton shook hands.

“It’s a pleasure, Prime Minister,” he said, and I caught a glimpse of the V on the back of his neck.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Daxton with grace and charm I’d nearly forgotten he was capable of. “I hear you’re planning on remodeling the residential wing completely.”

“We are,” said the foreman, and he launched into a description of the new amenities. My heart pounded, and blood rushed in my ears as the world outside my mind grew noiseless. One twitch of the finger. That was all it would take.

Under the guise of getting a better look at the manor, I shifted my stance, giving me a clear shot. I was only a couple feet from Daxton—even without aiming, it would be hard to miss him. Guards surrounded us just off camera, ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble, but none of them were watching me. Despite Daxton’s abundance of caution, none of them seemed to expect an inside job.

At last I screwed up my courage and moved the gun in the right position. At the edge of my vision, I could see Greyson watching me, and as our eyes met, he gave the slightest hint of a nod.

With my expression as impassive as I could manage, I took a breath, steadied my hand, and pulled the trigger.

Bang.

Daxton cried out and collapsed. A chorus of shrieks rose up from the crowd, and several people ducked. At the last second, I remembered to duck as well, and I twisted around wildly, pretending to search for the shooter. But I didn’t have to fake my pounding pulse or the fear in my eyes.

In an instant, the guards turned toward us, and several flung themselves over Daxton protectively, but it was too late. He lay still while the rest of us remained close to the ground.

All of us...except Minister Bradley.

“Is he—?” Bradley’s eyes widened, and rather than backing away, he stepped closer to the pile of guards. Even as close to the ground as I was, I could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

Idiot. Idiot.

But there was nothing I could do in the chaos of the moment without giving myself away. I replaced the gun in the lining of my coat and, as the remaining guards rushed to protect us and guide us safely back to the car, I looked over my shoulder at Daxton. He lay motionless on the grass, and though I could already hear sirens in the distance, it was too late.

I’d done it. I’d pulled the trigger.

And now it was over.





XIV

Room of Horrors

The car sped back to Creed Manor with Greyson, Benjy, and me in the back. Two guards had come with us, squeezing in on either side of Greyson, and no one said a word throughout the journey. I didn’t trust myself to speak without giving the game away, but mostly I was shocked I’d managed to do it. Greyson and Benjy looked equally stunned, as if they, too, hadn’t been sure this would happen.

Good. Better to fool the guards, then. And when the truth came out—when I confessed to killing Daxton in the memory of the Blackcoats and for the good of the country—Greyson would have the power to pardon me.

Everything would be fine.

Except, as the three of us were rushed inside Creed Manor, the slightest suspicion began to bloom in the back of my mind. I heard our protectors’ earpieces crackle, and one gave a grunt in reply. Something wasn’t right—not that anything could be right for the men who had just failed to protect their charge from being assassinated, but it was something more than that. Benjy was ushered off to Daxton’s office, while the pair of guards joined Greyson and me upstairs.

“You’re to remain in separate rooms,” said a gruff man with cropped hair who reminded me far too much of Strand, and he stepped in front of me, blocking my way into Greyson’s suite.

“On whose orders?” demanded Greyson, standing up straight and radiating confidence. Maybe he was faking it, or maybe power suited him—either way, he was right. They should have been listening to him, not anyone else.