Page 149 of To Catch A Rogue

"No, I did not see anything wrong with the pistol. It was on a tray, and I paid no attention to the bullets within it,"he said, many times. "I don't know what was wrong with the bullet!"

"Yes, we were enemies, but I did not plan to kill him. I wanted to beat him. I wanted to win his stupid game."

"It was not my idea! Sergey was the one who challenged me! How could I have planned such a thing?"

"Are we done here?"Barrons finally asked."My man has answered your questions many times, and unless you wish to bring charges of murder against him, I'll remind you that youarequestioning a servant of the British Empire. You had best be very certain of his guilt before you cast such an aspersion upon one of my queen's subjects."

With that, the courtiers exchanged a long glance. Barrons gave them a chilling smile that dared them to mess with him.

When they finally released him, Obsidian rubbed at his wrists. "Thanks."

"It's what I'm here for. Go upstairs and clean yourself up," Barrons told him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I've got to return to the court and see what rumors are circulating."

They separated and Obsidian made his way directly upstairs to wash the blood from his shirt and check the fading wound where Sergey's own bullet had struck him in the left pectoral. Someone had fished it out before they questioned him.

He didn't make it that far, however. Balfour was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, hands clasped on his silver-handled cane, his top fingers drumming against his bottom. Two guards waited beside him.

Obsidian's steps paused.

"You're like a vulture, circling around the dead—or near dead," he said.

Balfour stepped forward sharply. "May I have a word with you?"

"Somewhere private?"

"My study."

It suited him perfectly. "And the guards?"

Balfour's eyes flickered toward him. "For my protection, you understand?"

Obsidian smiled. "Of course."

They said not a word as they strode through the empty hallways. It was as if half the palace was either in mourning or in shock. And the other half most likely plotting how to take advantage of this sudden string of affairs.

The death of the Prince of Tsaritsyn opened up the line of succession, for though his young wife, Elisabeta, was powerful and dangerous of her own accord, her alliance with Sergey made her formidable. The tsarina might still name her heir, but to be able to hold such a position until the tsarina greeted the long dawn would be... difficult.

Everyone who wanted a chance at the throne would attempt to take it.

The door closed behind them, leaving the guards as a threat in the hallway. Obsidian leaned back against the door, hands clasped in front of him as Balfour seated himself behind his desk. There was a small brass device smashed into a hundred pieces on the middle of the desk, and Balfour sneered as Obsidian recognized it.

They'd suspected the listening device might have been compromised, but there'd been no way of checking until now.

"Just so you don't get any ideas about framing me." Balfour wasted no time. "I said to make Sergey's death look like an accident. I didn't ask you to murder him in front of the entire court."

"I thought you'd enjoy the show. All your little plots coming home to hatch.... Wouldn't you rather watch it all unfold?"

Balfour scowled. "You almost gave me a bloody heart seizure. What the hell was in that pistol?"

Blue bloods, after all, were nearly impossible to kill.

"Not a normal bullet. A little design of my own."

Balfour scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "Well, he's dead now." A shudder seemed to run through him. "And this mess is... controllable. I can control this."

The last few words were almost a whisper, and Obsidian slowly realized Balfour did not react well to events he didn't control.

The man sat here in his study, pulling strings like a master puppeteer, trying to control events down to the last movement. No doubt he thought he’d accounted for everything.