His Princess (A Royal Romance)(12)

The world goes eerily quiet.

Then, footsteps.

Each step is a dull, plodding thud. The blade pulls away from my cheek. I draw back, huddled up against Melissa.

Brad looks down the path.

“We’re all going to die,” he says, with the casual conviction of absolute certainty.

I blink. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. It looks like a man wearing a suit of armor. Not Kevlar and ceramic, black lacquered steel polished to a high mirror shine. He must be seven feet tall from the soles of his feet to the top of the heavy helmet he wears over his face.

The black-clad soldiers follow behind him. He raises a closed fist and they stop, falling back to the path.

All six resistance fighters raise their guns and open fire. The sound is deafening. The response is nothing. The man in the armor just walks forward, ignoring the bullets pinging off his suit.

The fighters turn and bolt.

Something that big shouldn’t be able to move that fast. He breaks into a run and crosses the distance in a blink, heavy metal feet thudding on the dusty ground. The fingers on his gleaming, segmented gauntlets end in sharp steel points, and they bite into one of the fighter’s back like claws. He screams as the armored man heaves him bodily from the ground and throws him like he weighs nothing. He hits the rock hard and falls, leaving a bloody smear.

I stop watching halfway through. When it’s over there are five bodies at the giant’s feet with broken limbs and crushed heads. I can hear him breathing, the sound amplified into a growl as though through some kind of microphone. He barks orders in Kosztylan and his men come rushing forward.

Brad stands up.

“Listen, I’m an American. I’m with the Central Intelligence Agency. I was planning an op against these men to rescue these women…”

The armored man backhands him across the face, casually, like he’s flicking away a bothersome insect. Brad topples to the ground and spits out a mouthful of blood and teeth.

“Fuck,” he snarls.

“He’s lying,” I say calmly. “He was selling us to them.”

“You dumb bitch,” Brad snarls through his bloody mouth. “Don’t you know who this is? He’s the crown prince. He’ll kill us all.”

The armored giant turns and looks down at Brad. When he moves, the armor makes little whirring noises, like it’s some kind of machine.

“You will be silent or I will tear your still-living heart from your chest and feed it to you.”

Brad’s mouth clamps shut.

The giant steps closer. I press against the rock. The clawed tip of his armored finger almost touches my cheek, but he pulls it away as if he just noticed the blood coating the steel up to his elbows.

“See to her wounds. Bring them back to the camp.”

“There’s another girl,” I say. “Her name is Danielle. They shot her in the chest.”

“We found her.”

He switches to Kosztylan to order his men. They remove the short shoulder capes they wear and wrap one around me and one around Melissa, and cut the bonds on our wrists. I clutch the garment around my body and hold on to it like a blanket. I start to hobble back down the path. I twisted my ankle and I don’t even remember when it happened.

“I will carry you,” the armored giant booms.

I stumble back when he takes a step closer, looming over me. I feel like I’m looking up at a mountain, shivering and clutching blankets and cloth to my naked body. Somehow he slips his arms under me without touching me with the sharp steel claws on his hands and lifts me up off the ground.

I have no choice but to curl up in his arms. He moves like I weigh nothing at all. One of his men picks up Melissa and carries her.

“Prince Charming,” Brad spits. “He’s going to kill you the same as me. I hope he’s making a good impression.”

“Be silent and I will grant you a clean death,” the giant thunders.

I shudder. His voice rumbles from the armor against my body as he speaks. I feel like a child carried in an adult’s arms.

It’s a shorter trip back to the camp than I remembered.

My God.

The tents are all down. It looks like a giant strode through the camp, taking no care where he put his feet. The canvas and poles are down around piles of bodies. The trucks and generators are burning. The big mess hall is the only structure still standing, if you can call it standing. The back half is smashed in, all splintered wood, torn metal, and shredded cloth.

I turn away and find myself studying the man’s armor. It’s barely noticeable from a distance but up close I can make out gold inlaid into the surface, somehow under the black enamel. It forms the shape of a heraldic phoenix, wings outstretched, with arrows and swords clutched in its claws.

I’m shocked to find women back at the camp, dressed the same as the men, and armed. The crown prince lowers me onto a stretcher and Melissa sits behind me.

They make me hold still as a nurse examines me, and stand in a circle around me to give me some meager privacy as I dress in a plain black uniform like the ones they wear. Melissa changes as well, and hugs me.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpers. “I’m so, so sorry—”

I shush her as the female guards give me a sharp look.

I can’t take my eyes off him. Two of his guards come from behind and clasp a cape to two points on his shoulders. It’s cloth of gold, so heavy it doesn’t swing or sway when he moves. They carry a heavy steel chair into the ruined mess hall, and he sits down.