LITMIR.BIZ

      ONE

      His Royal Highness Prince Alexander of Lydia stood at attention in the palace courtyard, his back extra straight, his arms practically immobilized by the stiff sleeves of his dress uniform. The classic-cut olive-green suit was reserved for formal occasions, and Alec hadn’t realized until he’d squeezed into it for this evening’s state dinner just how long it had been since he’d last worn it.

       About fifteen pounds of muscle ago, judging by how tight the shirt felt around his neck. He couldn’t take a deep breath, and he felt a tingling sensation in his fingers every time he tried to bend his arms at the elbow. The warm weather of the June evening didn’t help, though Alec was at least accustomed to heat.

       His last deployment, a humanitarian mission in the deserts of North Africa, had required daily physical labor. Alec hadn’t appreciated how much the work had transformed him until he’d returned home to Sardis, Lydia’s capital city, the day before and found that none of his old clothes fit the same.

       The limousines began to line up for the motorcade, and Alec watched his parents descend the palace steps with the rustle of sashes and silk. His father, His Majesty King Philip, waved Alec away from the head car.

       “You’ll be sixth in line.” He pointed him farther down the queue.

       “Why sixth? Who’s in between us?” Though Alec didn’t want to sound presumptuous, he was, after all, heir apparent to the throne of Lydia. While that didn’t mean he had to ride in the front car, he certainly found it odd that he’d be placed so far down the line.

       “State officials. Regional dignitaries. Guards.”

       “Guards?”

       “Yes. Guards on motorcycles, guards in every car.” King Philip motioned to a group of gun-bearing men. “You’ll have one riding with you.”

       “A bodyguard?” Alec looked down at the young man who’d stepped forward. The kid wasn’t small, but Alec was considerably larger, and he guessed, more experienced. “Father, I’m a soldier. I can take care of myself.”

       The king was halfway to his car, but as he looked back, he seemed to notice for the first time that his son had grown, and he deflated a little. “Fine. You can ride alone. But stay close. Stay safe.” The king appeared as though he wanted to say more, but the cars and guards were waiting, and he ducked inside the limo after the queen.

       Alec watched the door close after his parents, and their car rolled forward.

       What was that all about? Stay close? Stay safe? Alec blinked at the abundance of men who filled the waiting vehicles and perched on their motorcycles, ready to go. Behind him, he spotted his sister Isabelle giving her bodyguard the cold shoulder as he held open the door to her waiting limousine. She’d told Alec that her request to have the guard removed had been turned down by their father.

       Something strange was going on. When he’d first arrived home, Alec had assumed everything felt foreign simply because he wasn’t used to it anymore. He’d acclimated to desert life, and no longer felt like he fit in with Lydia’s aristocratic circles. In fact, until the announcement at tonight’s dinner, when his father had promised he’d learn what his next assignment was, Alec didn’t figure he’d feel as though he fit in anywhere.

       But all the extra security, as well as his father’s odd behavior, left Alec questioning what was going on. Sure, he was used to men with guns—but there weren’t usually so many of them swarming the palace, were there? And whereas these events of state tended to be stressful for his father, today the king seemed downright jumpy.

       Alec slid into his car, but he couldn’t relax, in spite of the sumptuous leather seat of the limousine he was riding in. Too much about the situation bothered him.

       Besides that, in a seated position, he could hardly take a breath.

       His car crept forward, and Alec strained to see through the darkly tinted windows to the vehicles ahead of him. He hadn’t seen any officials or dignitaries in the courtyard—no one had entered the vehicles ahead of him except for a few guards.

       What was going on?

       The motorcade progressed down the narrow streets of Sardis. Alec watched warily out the window, trying to sort out what had made his father, usually a self-assured ruler, act so skittish.

       Crowds lined the sidewalks and people waved from balconies and open windows as the motorcade passed down the first few blocks. But the farther they went, the thinner the crowds became, and Alec craned his neck up ahead in time to spot uniformed men waving people inside.

       More guards? Alec strained to see, but between the distance and the dark glass, he couldn’t recognize their uniforms. Still, they looked like…

       Lydian soldiers?

       Alec lowered the window to get a better look. Without the sound of cheering crowds, he could hear the Lydian national anthem being projected from a low-fidelity speaker somewhere.

       The window glass was a third of the way down when suddenly, it started moving up again.

       Alec looked at the driver. Had he closed the window?

       Rather than hit the intercom button to ask, Alec opened the door and stuck his head outside. As he squinted at the soldiers, the car slowed to a stop. Now what?

       His father never allowed the royal motorcade to come to a complete stop. Had so much changed since Alec had been gone? Before he could sort it out, the uniformed men ahead of him shouted, leaping inside the nearest buildings.

       Alec didn’t have long to wonder at their actions. A dissonant, mechanical scream filled the air. Alec ducked behind the open door and pinched his eyes shut as a brilliant flash erupted in front of the motorcade’s head car, its searing light penetrating his closed eyelids with its red glare. The moment it passed, Alec snapped his eyes open, following the grenade’s trajectory upward to its source.

       Two blocks ahead, he spotted a soldier on a high balcony, his assault rifle equipped with an under-barrel grenade launcher.

       In the time it took the man to reload, Alec sized up the situation. Based on the sound and the blinding flash, he was nearly certain the soldier had shot a stun grenade—a sound- and light-emitting device designed to incapacitate targets by causing immediate but temporary deafness and flash-blindness. The weapon was technically classified as nonlethal, but only when used in an environment free of combustibles.

       Given the number of vehicles in the motorcade, and the likelihood they were all carrying full tanks of fuel, the diversion grenade could be plenty lethal. Immediately Alec feared for the safety of his sisters traveling in the limousines behind his.

       Before the soldier got his weapon raised again, Alec made his decision. The royal limousines were lightweight-armor plated. For budget reasons, King Philip had never deemed it necessary to commission defensive countermeasures or military-grade armor. The car would offer little protection against a stun grenade—and Alec had no guarantee that’s all the soldier would be shooting. If a fragmentation grenade struck the motorcade, it could kill everyone in a ten-meter radius.

       Rather than wait to find out what the soldier had used to reload, Alec sprinted for the cars behind him, where his sisters were. He had to reach them, to help them find cover before the blasts became deadly. Stun grenades were a tactical weapon, often used for clearing the way for the big guns. He might not have much time!

       A squeal rent the air above his head an instant before another stun grenade hit the rear of the motorcade, spewing thick smoke for dozens of meters in every direction. Was this what his father had been nervous about? Had the king somehow gotten wind that an attack was being planned? Had the royal family been specifically targeted?

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