Constantine
Something about her was strange. Was it the way she looked at me—the way her eyes seemed to slightly wash over, almost as though she expected me to remember something? But I didn't know her.
Her good four eyes were familiar enough, though, but that was just about it.
Even now, the way she looked at me as I walked in with Ariana seemed as though I had betrayed her trust somehow. But maybe he wanted to drop Ariana's hand and ask what was wrong.
But that was beyond me—that was out of character. Who was I to do such a thing? No weakling, no less.
"There's the Minister of Defense," Ariana whispered into my ear, nudging me in the direction of the hulking figure of one of the few men in military garb. "But my father would like to talk to you very briefly," she said. "A representative from Greystoke is going to be here soon."
I met Ariana's sapphire blue eyes and slowly squinted.
"I think we've had this conversation before," I said. "No Whiteground. Not for now. Not after the dumping they did off our eastern coast."
"I'm sorry," she said, pulling me slightly until my ear was at her lip level.
Any other man, perhaps, would have lost his mind. Any other man would be glad to have his head nearly in the middle of a pretty blonde's cleavage—intoxicated by them. But somehow, as I had long suspected, perhaps I was nothing but a...
I felt nothing.
"You know there's a good reason for this," she said in a soft voice. "I can't... you just get this attraction. You don't have to be so..." She trailed off.
"Dense?" I leaned back, standing to my full height. "I know what they say. Lead the way."
She beamed, then led me towards her father, who was standing not so far from Uncle Serge.
"Your Majesty."
Ariana's father gave a swift nod. "Many thanks for allowing this historic occasion to come to light. As you know, there is..." her father said, pointing to the gentleman standing beside him.
Perhaps "gentleman" was wrong. This one had the eyes of a viper. They were green and would have almost had a slit down the middle. But that wasn't what made him viper-like. It was what he carried inside them.
He was shady, as he was all smiles—yet the smiles did not reach his eyes. It was giving rather as much uncanny valley as I knew it to be.
"Your Majesty."
He dipped his head in a rather deep bow, causing his dirty blonde hair to flop over his head. He waved it back with as much fanfare as I knew what sucking up looked like.
"Well?" I raised an eyebrow. "If you're not here for an apology, then don't bother. I'm not going to dishonor a treaty long since forged."
"Nothing of the sort, my King," he replied quickly. "Of course, yes, I do wish to tender an official apology on behalf of Whiteground. It is more than enough in our interest to be on good terms with you, my King."
"Still too much in care about gold? I would have halfway heard that you were interested in lowering its market value—business."
My voice was low, but I suppose he could hear it well enough. After all, he had no qualms getting paid.
Ariana squeezed my bicep a little harder, sinking her sharp nails deeper into my suit. I fought the urge to wince. Goosebumps covered the back of my neck, causing a small shiver down my spine.
Damn it, I hated when she did that. I thought to myself.
"Far be it from us," the viper said. "Only in so much as we wish to match the prices of the international market."
"And when are you going to clean the waste you dumped off our eastern coast?" I raised an eyebrow.
"They will, my King." Baldwin stepped in. Ariana's father was as much an ambassador as he was a businessman. While the two generally worked in a conflict of interest, he had secured himself a prime spot on my cabinet by simply being a wealthy son of a bitch.
"Conflict of interest much, Baldwin?"
"Ariana. Tell your father..." I slowly peeled her hand off my suit. "Remind your father precisely what it means to be an ambassador working out of our foreign interests. We already have enough of his schemes."
I walked over to Uncle Serge despite the few who had distastefully and intentionally inserted themselves in my path. Still, I started with good enough escape from him and the raven-haired woman from earlier.
"Retreating much?"
The elder raised an eyebrow. "You didn't strike me as the kind to run from adult conversations, boy."
A part of me wanted to watch the reaction of the woman—Grace Kelly.
"A man knows precisely when to retreat from certain conversations, old man. Don't tell me you've forgotten your own lessons. Or maybe age has weathered your memories."
Sergei laughed only briefly before turning to the raven-haired woman.
It didn't matter how long I tried to deny it, but there was something about her that rang as familiar.
"Who is she?" I had placed the question to Kendrick, my head of security, earlier.
"You've asked me that question over and over again, my King," he said. "Doesn't change the fact that her background checks out—with a few loopholes here and there—but I suppose everyone else is like that."
She was born in Britain, of course. The alias Grace Kelly is merely—and obviously—a false one.
He handed me the iPad with her file and her passport image smack dab on the screen. Still, there was something about those eyes, those full lips with a perfect cupid's bow on her upper lip. It was as though the lip was pouting, begging to be used, begging to be kissed.
I shot my eyes and opened them quickly, focusing just on her eyes this time.
"She reminds me of someone," I whispered. "Someone who was lost. Still, someone who struck rather as much anger in my heart as she should have."
"I hope you're not speaking on the incident of the Field Treaty," Kendrick mumbled.
"Isn't it best to simply just put it behind you?"
I wanted to bet that Greystoke had done the same. After all, I do hear that their representatives were going to be around tonight. But Grace Kelly generally had nothing against her. She was just as unremarkable as a potential spy. And there had been rather an obscene amount of them lately.
"But why wouldn't there be?"
We were riddled with debts that we had so terribly tried to pay off. Aside from the gold, aside from the oil, taxes were at an all-time high just to pay off what they said we owed.
The magnitude of it caused me to grit my teeth and clench my face until my knuckles went numb. Nothing hurt more than having no choice but to cause my own people unnecessary suffering.
"Are you listening?" I snapped back into the conversation.
"What?" I raised an eyebrow at Serge.
"Your fiancé is on her way. She doesn't look too pleased."
The raven-haired woman, however, seemed more interested in the viper that followed Ariana.
"Lucas?" She raised an eyebrow, muttering the unfamiliar name as the man drew closer.
A man with a connection to Whiteground, and the software engineer had no choice but to employ. No one had to tell me how to add two plus two together, but it was clear enough something more was here.
It was only, well, to be expected enough—but I was alone and surrounded by enemies, quite literally.