Captive. Aimee Carter
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The door opened, and I broke away from Knox, trying my best to look embarrassed. “If you don’t mind, we’re sort of busy—”
I stopped, and all the air left my lungs. Even after two months of coming face-to-face with him on nearly a daily basis, Prime Minister Daxton Hart never failed to make my heart skip a beat. And not in a good way.
He loomed in the doorway, his bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. They were slowly going salt-and-pepper, matching his dark hair that was graying at the temples. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said in a smooth voice. “Lila, darling, your guests are anxiously awaiting your return.”
I held his stare. His dark eyes met mine, and for several seconds, neither of us blinked. Knox had no idea that the Prime Minister knew who I was. Daxton had kept his own secret masterfully, only tipping his hand at Augusta’s funeral in order to scare me into compliance. It hadn’t worked. This was our own private game of chicken, and I wasn’t going to be the first to blink.
“We’ll be along in a minute, sir,” said Knox. For a moment, I almost felt bad for him. He was the only one in the room who didn’t know what was really going on. I should’ve told him Daxton remembered everything—that should’ve been my first conversation after the funeral. But no matter how much I trusted him more than the others, I didn’t trust him completely, and I’d hesitated, focusing on rallying the people for the Blackcoats instead. Eventually time had passed, and I knew the fallout would be bad—the kind we would never recover from. So instead I’d selfishly held on to the truth as a trump card, to play when I needed it most. Or to never play at all.
Knox did know one thing, though: the secret that I had given up at the funeral, when I had brushed my fingertips against the VII on the back of Daxton’s neck and felt the V underneath. I wasn’t the only Hart who had been Masked. The only difference between us was that I still had my handler breathing down my neck. Now that Augusta was dead, the man pretending to be Prime Minister Daxton Hart had no one to stop him from doing whatever he wanted—including killing anyone who dared to step in his way. When everyone I cared about happened to be doing exactly that, it made things personal.
“One minute.” Daxton raised a finger in emphasis. “I would hate for you to miss your birthday surprise, Lila.”
I shuddered to think what he might have cooked up for me, but I forced a smile. “One minute.”
As soon as he shut the door, I leaned in to Knox’s ear and whispered, “How are we getting away for the meeting? He’s not going to let me out of his sight.”
“Leave that to me,” whispered Knox, and he winked. Backing away, he ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed his black shirt and trousers. I tugged on my short purple dress. Three months ago, I would have never believed I’d be allowed to touch silk, let alone wear silk dress after silk dress custom made for me. As nice as the wardrobe was—and the shoes, and the food, and the luxuries I could have never dreamed of as a III—it wasn’t worth risking my life pretending to be Lila, and it definitely wasn’t worth risking Benjy’s by dragging him along.
I swore. He was still waiting for me. “I’m supposed to meet Benjy for a minute—”
“You’ll see him after the meeting.” Knox tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “No matter how bad tonight is shaping up to be, don’t do anything stupid, Kitty. I mean it. Whatever brief flash of joy you get out of it won’t be worth being sent Elsewhere, and you know it.”
Yes, I did. “Benjy and I. All night in your suite.”
“All night, as long as I don’t have to hear you.” Knox smirked and opened the door. A round of applause met us as we walked arm in arm back into the throng of VIs, and several people I didn’t recognize descended upon us, drinks in hand. I steeled myself for another round of pointless small talk. I’d long since stopped trying to remember names. Lila wouldn’t have bothered, and I wasn’t about to make the effort when all they wanted out of me was the power behind my VII. If only they knew what lay underneath it.
“Do you want another drink?” said Knox, even though I still held my full champagne flute. I shook my head.
“But if you can get me one of those puff pastry things—”
Bang.
A shot rang out, and in an instant, my mind went blank. All I could see was crimson against white, a stark contrast that wouldn’t go away no matter how much I tried to block it out.
Bang.
The sight of Augusta’s body going limp, and blood pooling around her on the carpet.
Bang.
The cold metal of a gun in my hands as I squeezed the trigger again and again, knowing that if I didn’t, Augusta would kill Benjy.
Bang.
“Lila—Lila.”
Knox’s voice filtered through the haze toward me. I cracked open my eyes. Even though he hovered only a few inches away from me, he seemed far off, and his face was blurry. I sensed others lurking nearby, but the dull roar in my ears made it impossible for me to hear what they were saying.
“They’re just fireworks,” said Knox, his breath warm against my cheek as his hands gripped my shoulders. Cold seeped through my dress from the marble underneath me, and it took me a moment to realize I was on the floor. “See? Look over there.”
I twisted around as another bang went off. Reflexively I ducked again, but Knox’s hands remained steady. Bright bursts of color filled the grand ballroom, and I had to blink several times before my vision cleared enough for me to make out each one through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Fireworks. Just fireworks. Not gunshots. No one was in any danger, except for Knox if he didn’t get his hands off me.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, shoving him away. He took a step back, and it was then that I noticed the group of people who had formed a tight circle around us. Each of them stared openly, ignoring the display and instead paying attention to me. Terrific. Not only had I broken down, but I’d done so in front of the country’s highest and mightiest. “I—” I began, wracking my muddled mind for an excuse, but a familiar voice rang through the crowd, cutting me off.
“Lila!”
Benjy burst out from between Minister Bradley and his slack-jawed daughter, and he slid across the floor, kneeling beside me. As soon as I felt his warmth, the knot in my chest began to loosen.
“Are you all right? You were screaming.” His blue eyes were wide and anxious, and his short red hair was disheveled. He reached out to touch my face the same way Knox had, but his hand stopped an inch away. Too many people were staring at us, and no matter how concerned he was, he couldn’t give me away. He couldn’t give us away.
“I’m fine, I promise,” I said again. My cheeks burned, and I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the way my knees shook. Birthday party or not, I had to get out of here. “I just—I just forgot to eat, that’s all.”
“Back up,” said Knox to the crowd, and he began to corral them away. “Give her some air. Benjy, take her to my suite. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Benjy tucked his arm around me, and I shot Knox a grateful look. Aware of everyone staring at us, I allowed Benjy to lead me to the exit as the bang of fireworks echoed from the garden. Each one sent a shiver down my spine.
This wasn’t normal. I’d never reacted this way before, and it’d been weeks since I’d killed Augusta. It wasn’t as if I’d done it in cold blood. She’d had it coming, after what she’d done to me and Benjy—after what she’d done to her own family, trying to kill her daughter and granddaughter—but apparently my conscience wasn’t interested in listening to reason.
Nor did I have any ends to justify my means. Killing Augusta hadn’t done me any favors—it had