Invasion: A Sequel to The Last Princess (6 page)

Mary and I held tight to the upper deck railing, watching the water go by at breathtaking speed. We had been held captive on Demkoe’s ship for only a night, but it seemed like an eternity.

By mid-morning, the English shore came into view. Even from afar I could make out a sea of handheld lanterns, flickering with fire. In the watery sunlight they appeared almost purple.

Mary closed her eyes and shook her head. “As I requested, everyone has gathered to welcome our new ‘friends.’”

“Mary,” I said, trying to take her hand. “You did what you needed to do to save my life.”

I would have died, though
, I thought, but didn’t say. Had Mary done the right thing, risking the safety of a whole country just to save me?

Mary continued staring forward, gripping the railing, as we grew nearer to the coast with each passing second.

“He would have probably killed both of us if I didn’t make the announcement,” Mary said. “And then still set out to conquer England.”

“What do you think will happen when we arrive?” I asked. “How long before everyone realizes that he isn’t coming in peace?”

Mary’s long blonde hair whipped around her face in the wind. Her pale skin was flushed. “I have a feeling it will only take as long as Demkoe wants it to,” she said ominously.

When we were close enough to make out the crowd waiting for us, I was relieved to see our military—meager as it was—standing alongside the onlookers lining the shore.

Not that it would matter. The Rykers’ weaponry was much more sophisticated.

As the tanker slowed alongside the shore, Demkoe shouted to us, “Don’t forget to smile and wave, ladies. Looks like we’ve got quite the welcoming committee.”

I looked down at the water, assessing my chances of survival if I jumped from the railing right now. They were slim, but at least my action would alert the general that
something was wrong—that we weren’t on the tanker of our own free will. Maybe one of our soldiers could shoot Demkoe before this ship was even docked.

I leaned out over the railing. Far below, waves crashed deafeningly against the tanker’s hard metal exterior. My hair fell to the side of my face as I pitched forward, readying myself to leap. Mary was looking away, scanning the crowd.
I’m sorry
, I thought to her. But this was my chance.

And then strong arms had wrapped around me from behind, pulling me back, away from the railing.

“Are you crazy?” Tanner hissed, glancing around. No one else had seen what I did, though, and he quickly stepped back, dropping my hands.

“You’ll die if you hit that water,” he said, his voice low. “It’s too far to jump. Trust me.”

I stared back at him. “So what if I do? You’re about to invade my country. I have to do
something
.”

“Eliza,” he said, and for some reason the sound of my name on his lips startled me. “You won’t do your country any good by being dead.” He shook his head, his gaze unreadable. “And trust me, if you did survive that fall, Demkoe would make sure you regretted it. He kills anyone who doesn’t do what he says—and he won’t do it quickly. He’ll make it so that you
wish
you were dead first, in so much pain that you beg for death.”

The tanker suddenly came to a short stop, sending me stumbling slightly forward into Tanner’s arms. He righted me, but I shoved him away, angry that he had dared to stop me earlier. He had no right.

Demkoe stepped between Mary and me, putting on a smile for the crowd. As we disembarked from the tanker onto the coast, I could feel the eyes of the British people examining us. For a few seconds a silent confusion descended over everyone. The general’s small army appeared unsure whether they were supposed to cheer or fight. The looks of some of the pirates filing off the tanker behind us obviously frightened them.

“Remind them this is a celebration,” Demkoe whispered, his hands low on both our backs. Then he pinched Mary, causing her to jump.

“Good citizens of Great Britain,” she called out. “Please welcome our new friends.”

Demkoe raised his hands up to the sky then, to the cheers of the people. “Let us give thanks and praise!” he cried out, and I could see the hint of maniacal tears forming in his eyes. “Let us celebrate a Ryker-British alliance!”

His pirates whooped and hollered. Our British military led the way toward the palace, while the crowd clapped their hands, some of them crying tears of joy.

I prayed that Polly and her parents, Clara and George, had kept their promise to me—that they’d taken the boys to Scotland at the first sign of trouble last night. None of them were visible in the crowd, which I took for a good sign.

Then I caught sight of Eoghan. He was standing beside General Wallace and his eyes were locked with Mary’s. I knew without a doubt that he understood what was really happening. He and Mary had never really needed words. Mary was telling him everything with her expression alone.

He must have noticed Wesley wasn’t with us, because he shifted his eyes left and right and then set them upon me. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze full of sorrow.

And then it hit me all over again.

Wesley hadn’t made it. There must have been some part of me, some small and determinedly optimistic part of me, that had been thinking maybe, just maybe, Wesley could have made it back. That he was with Eoghan, ready to fight these new invaders. But it was just like Tanner said: there was no surviving a fall of that height. Eoghan’s understanding, the sympathy in his gaze, made it real.

I won’t let them see me cry
, I promised myself, as Mary and I were piled in a carriage and the doors shut behind us.

* * *

“Tell your palace guards to stand down,” Demkoe ordered Mary as we pulled up to the gates of Buckingham Palace. “Tell them you want to give us a tour of the palace yourself.”

“They’ll never believe that,” Mary whispered back.

At Demkoe’s nod, another Ryker held a knife to my throat. “Mary—” I breathed, knowing what would happen and feeling powerless to stop it. But the Ryker just pressed the knife further into my skin, drawing a bead of blood on my neck. My choker for the wedding will cover it, I thought dazedly, suddenly lightheaded. The flow of oxygen to my brain was rapidly being cut off.

“I would like to welcome our guests to the palace alone,” Mary said, looking directly at Eoghan and the general, who were standing guard outside. “Please, wait for us out here.”

The general nodded at his men, and Eoghan led the charge for us. But Demkoe’s pirates were ready. They surrounded me and Mary in a tight group, shoving us inside the palace doorway with Demkoe and quickly forming a barricade outside. The sounds of gunfire echoed in the palace courtyard.

“Not bad,” Demkoe said, turning in a circle, while staring up at the gilded ceiling of the foyer. Some of his pirates had run ahead and were killing or enslaving all the palace servants as we spoke. Others were manning the doors and windows, shooting at the general’s soldiers outside. “Not bad at all,” Demkoe went on, smiling wickedly.

Mary and I looked at each other, our expressions stricken. We were trapped.

Mary and I were free to move about our old bedrooms, and even around the palace grounds, but under constant guard. Demkoe’s men were around every corner, watching us like hawks. Someone was always with us, watching us. It was house arrest.

“We have to keep doing as we’re told,” Mary whispered in my bedroom, a few days after our arrival. Mary was sitting upon the bed while I stood at the window, scratching my fingers at the chipped paint on the sill. Armed pirates lined the perimeter of the entire palace. “At least until we figure out our next move. After what happened outside the palace, we can be sure that Eoghan and the general are plotting our rescue as we speak. We just need to make sure we stay alive until then.”

I nodded, but all I could think about was Wesley. What would he have done in this situation? Escape, probably, or die trying. My heart broke all over again every time I thought of him. I had been trying not to think of him if I could help it.

The sound of footsteps grew nearer, and we both came to attention. I feared they belonged to Demkoe, but then I heard two female voices. The door opened to reveal the two women who had dressed us on the tanker, Ami and Tindra.

“Hello, Queen Mary and Princess Eliza,” Tindra said. Her passive smile and high-pitched airy tone struck me as even stranger under the new circumstances. “We have orders from the Master. He would like to see both of you in the throne room.”

“But first we must get you ready,” Ami said.

I wanted to slap them, see if I could make them realize how stupid they were for following the “Master’s” orders.

They led us upstairs to the top floor of the palace, to the old servants’ quarters. Dozens of small bedroom doors opened off the narrow hallway, revealing turreted windows and slanted ceilings. Each bedroom looked the same: a single bed, neatly made, a closet, bedside table, and lamp. The bathrooms had claw-footed baths and black-and-white tiled floors, and sinks with mirrored medicine cabinets hanging above them. These rooms used to be full of the young maids who worked for our family, but now they were claimed by strange young women, all of whom were dressed similarly to Ami and Tindra.

“Where’s the old palace staff?” Mary asked.

Ami answered matter-of-factly, “Gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” I said.

“Gone,” Tindra repeated. She led us into the largest of the rooms, which had been converted to a walk-in closet and was now filled with dozens of those handmade dresses that I recognized from the tanker. They were all nearly identical, but two were set apart from the rest, hanging neatly pressed, waiting for our arrival.

Ami and Tindra helped us get ready. Ami focused her attention on Mary, brushing her hair, and then braiding it. I watched her fingers working nimbly. On her left hand she wore a gold band on her ring finger. Tindra was brushing my hair. I noticed she also wore a ring, though hers was slightly different in color.

My curiosity grew as I watched them. Who were these girls? They had probably been on the tanker since they were as young as nine or ten years old. What had happened to their families?

“Your rings are pretty,” I said to Tindra, in the mirror.

“Thank you,” she answered. She gazed down lovingly at the gold band embedded with small rubies. “The Master gave it to me on our wedding day.”

Ami looked up from Mary’s braid. “He gave me mine on our wedding day, as well,” she said.

“You’re both his wives?” Mary asked.

“Yes,” they said in unison. And from the plain tone of their voices it seemed as though they thought this was completely normal.

“How many wives does he have?” Mary asked, clearly concerned for the girls.

Ami shrugged. “All the women on the tanker are his property. But he chooses which ones he wants to marry. We were lucky enough to be chosen.”

The two of them stepped back from us in a way that almost seemed choreographed. “You’re now ready to meet with the Master,” Tindra said.

* * *

The throne room had always been one of my favorite rooms in the palace, with its gilt ceiling and its walls covered in Italian marble. There was hardly any furniture cluttering the vast space besides the throne at the room’s center—the throne that used to belong to our father.

Demkoe sat comfortably upon its red velvet cushion. He was dressed in different clothes today, not the battle gear I had last seen him in on the boat, but in a traditional British military uniform. The general’s uniform.

I realized with a wave of revulsion that he must have stolen it right from General Wallace—or his body. Wallace was shorter than Demkoe. His shirtsleeves fell just shy of Demkoe’s wrists but were bulky in the shoulders.

“Welcome, Queen Mary and Princess Eliza,” he said, leaning back in his throne. He seemed to enjoy the general’s medals and ribbons as decoration, as accessories. “As you can see, your general is gone.”

Mary and I scanned the room. Stern-faced pirates, now wearing standard-issue British cadet uniforms, guarded every exit. They carried their newly plundered British military rifles across their chests.

Demkoe grinned. “I have grown quite fond of Buckingham Palace.” He ran his long fingernails over the ornate armrests of the throne, which were intricately carved in the shape of lions. “It really does feel like home.”

He stood up and walked slowly toward Mary. She looked down, averting her eyes from his despicable gaze, but he reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to look directly at him.

“But do you know what this country needs?” he said. “Peace.”

Mary’s body stiffened as Demkoe knelt before her, still with his fingers gripping her chin. “A union,” he said. “In the truest sense. Between the new king and
his
new queen.”

Mary gasped for breath, from the shock and repulsion of what she had just heard. She shook her head violently. “I’m engaged to be married.”

The room filled with an eerie silence. Then Demkoe stood upright and signaled to one of his guards.

Instantly, the side door of the throne room swung open, and two more uniformed pirates appeared. They were dragging in a struggling prisoner who was bound and gagged.

“We caught this gentleman trying to sneak into the palace,” Demkoe said to Mary. “I believe you may know him.”

Mary and I stood still as statues. Their prisoner was Eoghan.

Mary opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

At the sight of her, Eoghan struggled even more furiously to free himself, but the thick ropes wound around his arms and neck were tightly knotted. I noticed his fingers had turned blue from lack of circulation.

Demkoe put out his hand and one of his soldiers carried over a weapon. It was a multibarreled pistol, embedded with jewels. Its lock and trigger glistened beneath the throne room’s embellishing lights.

“No,” Mary said, finally finding her voice. “Please.”

Demkoe extended the gun straight at Eoghan’s head. “Fear not, dear queen,” he said, closing one eye to better his aim. “I won’t make a mess in our lovely palace.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Demkoe pulled the trigger.

The bullet seemed to slice through the air in slow motion, striking Eoghan at the center of his forehead and passing cleanly through the back of his skull.

Eoghan dropped immediately to the floor, a pool of red spreading outward from his body. I thought of my father, how his body had looked the night of the Roses Ball massacre, a similar pool of blood behind his head.

Mary collapsed to her knees, shocked into silence. “Eoghan,” she whispered, almost too quietly for me to hear.

Demkoe kneeled down to her. “Sorry to take your fiancé,” he said. “But I promise to make it up to you.”

He gripped her trembling chin in his thin fingers again. “I’ll take good care of you, my dear bride.”

“I’d rather die than marry you!” Mary screamed out. “I’d rather
die
!”