Page 73 of A Royal Mistake

They split up, Henry and Gabriel slipping into the hedgerow, heading opposite directions as they circled around the fountain. With any luck, Pippa could slip in from the back, grab the flag and put an end to the whole damn thing. If not, they’d go down fighting. One way or another, the game would be over in the next three minutes.

Henry took up his position on the north side of the fountain and counted to thirty.

Plenty of time for Gabriel to get into position.

He sucked in a deep breath, raised his weapon, and stepped out of the bushes, crouching low to make himself as small a target as possible. It wasn’t an easy feat given his six-foot-one frame, but he’d had all morning to practice. He swung his marker from left to right, keeping his eyes and ears sharp.

At first, there was nothing. No sound. No movement. Not even a cooling breeze.

Scheisse. Had he misread the situation? Was it possible the other team had completely abandoned their own flag to ambush the gazebo again?

No. If they’d rushed the gazebo, the game would be over already and Sarah would’ve blown the air horn. Maybe—

Whoomp! Whoomp! Whoomp!

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Paintballs rained down around him, peppering the lawn and turning the emerald green grass unnatural shades of red, blue, and yellow.

He pivoted, raising his weapon as he turned toward the source and returned fire.

From the other side of the fountain, Gabriel joined him, laying down additional cover. Paint rained down from all directions, pelting the ground and the stone fountain. There were so many markers firing, it was impossible to tell how many opponents they faced.

Just stick to the plan.

He dodged and ducked, trusting Gabriel to have his back as he fired a stream of paintballs into the bushes. He was rewarded with a loud curse.

One down.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He spun, weapon raised. Pippa was halfway to the fountain, running in a weaving line to avoid getting tagged by the player firing on her from the perimeter. He aimed, but before he could pull the trigger, Gabriel let loose a string of paintballs, eliminating the other player.

“Go! Go! Go!” Gabriel roared.

Henry stood transfixed. He’d known Gabriel was competitive, but this was something else altogether. The guy was so caught up in the game—in winning—that nothing else seemed to matter.

Pippa leapt up onto the edge of the fountain and hurled herself into the basin, splashing through the streams of water that arced overhead.

She was so close. Nearly there.

A paintball exploded at his feet. He jerked to the right and opened fire, laying down cover for Pippa even as a paintball slammed into his left shoulder, eliminating him from the game.

Fuck.

It was up to Gabriel and Pippa now.

He watched, not daring to breathe, as Pippa climbed onto the lowest tier of the fountain and hoisted herself up, reaching for the flag tied to the ornamental spire at the top.

A blue paintball splattered against the stone at her feet, bleeding into the water.

Gabriel let out a ferocious roar and began indiscriminately spraying the courtyard with paintballs. Undeterred, Pippa reached for the flag, whooping as she grabbed it and waved it above her head in victory.

Then all hell broke loose.

A dark-haired man entered the courtyard from the main path, wearing an expensive grey suit. No, not a man. The king.

Scheisse. What the hell was he doing in the gardens?

Henry dropped his marker to the ground, but it was too late. Gabriel had the king in his sights. He loosed a stream of paintballs in the king’s direction. The first shot hit him square in the gut, exploding and staining his suit with red paint.