Chapter 1 - The Wings of Retribution
The tall guard’s voice didn’t waver,
as he spoke the words that felt like a seismic shift under my feet.
“Commander,
the King has sent a private transport to take you to the capital,”
he said,
his hand gesturing toward the black vehicles idling on the curb.
My neighbors,
already peeking through their blinds,
must have thought I was being arrested by some foreign power,
but the look of absolute reverence in the guard's eyes suggested otherwise.
I looked down at my Navy dress whites,
the uniform Rachel had told me would look like a costume at her "elegant" event,
and felt a surge of cold,
hard iron in my spirit.
I didn't ask questions,
because a Commander doesn't hesitate when a mission is presented.
I grabbed my bag,
locked my door,
and stepped into the backseat of the lead SUV,
leaving the quiet streets of Norfolk behind as we sped toward a private military airfield.
The flight across the Atlantic was a blur of high-altitude clouds and the hum of a specialized royal jet,
a vessel draped in gold and mahogany that felt like a flying cathedral.
As the hours passed,
I sat in the silence of the cabin,
realizing that my sister hadn't just forgotten me;
she had tried to bury me.
She had told the royal family that our parents were deceased,
and that I was a troubled soul wandering the edges of society,
unfit for the bright lights of a palace.
But she had forgotten that Kings have long memories,
and even longer reaches.
King Leopold,
Alexander’s father,
was a man of high military honors,
a veteran of conflicts that shaped the modern world.
When he looked at the guest list and saw only Rachel’s hand-picked socialites,
he began to wonder why the bride had no blood on her side of the aisle.
His intelligence team didn't have to look far to find me,
decorated with three Commendation Medals and a record of service that spanned a decade.
The lie Rachel had built was a house of cards,
and the wind was finally beginning to blow.
By the time we descended toward the glowing lights of the European capital,
the wedding ceremony had ended,
and the grand reception was just beginning.
The guards provided me with a fresh pair of gloves and adjusted the ribbons on my chest,
their movements crisp and professional.
“The King is waiting,
Commander,”
May you like
the lead guard whispered as the plane touched down on the tarmac.
“And he is not a man who likes to be lied to.”
