Shadow of the Crown

Chapter 10: The Devil’s Ink

The Prime Minister didn’t join the roar of the crowd. He stepped onto the auction stage, his eyes like two pieces of flint. He signaled to a clerk, who brought forward a heavy, leather-bound folder.

"An Interpol deal?" the Prime Minister mused, his voice amplified by the room’s acoustics. "A bold claim, Miss Hayes. Or should I call you by your father’s code name? If what you say is true, then you won't mind validating the transfer of the Southern Port. As the witness to this transaction, your signature on the Eratas Accord will bind the London partners to our Crown."

He beckoned her forward. Xander’s hand on her back tightened for a fraction of a second—a warning. Or was it a plea?

Eleanor walked down the stairs, her midnight-blue silk dress whispering against the marble. Every eye was a weapon. Stephanie stood at the edge of the stage, a predatory smirk on her face. She knew Eleanor was a commoner. She was waiting for the moment the pen touched the paper and the ink revealed a lie.

"Sign it," the Prime Minister commanded, offering a fountain pen that looked like a silver needle. "Sign as the heir to the Hayes Shipping Empire, and the ledger is yours, Prince Xander."

Eleanor looked at the document. It was written in a complex legalese that essentially confessed to international smuggling. If she signed a name that wasn't hers, she was committing a felony. If she signed her own name, the Prime Minister would realize she was the missing girl from the resort, and they would be executed for treason.

She looked back at Xander. He was leaning against the railing of the balcony, a glass of bourbon in his hand, looking utterly unbothered. But his knuckles were white. He was betting his life on her ability to manipulate the room.

"I don't use silver pens," Eleanor said, her voice echoing with a haughty, aristocratic disdain she didn't know she possessed. She pushed the pen back toward the Prime Minister. "In my family, we sign our blood-compacts with the ink of the Eratas. Or have you forgotten the traditions of the syndicate you serve, Prime Minister?"

She turned toward Stephanie. "Stephanie, dear, you seem so eager to see me fail. Why don't you provide your own pen? Surely the daughter of the Logistics Chief carries the tools of the trade?"

The diversion was a gamble. Stephanie, caught off guard by the direct challenge, fumbled with her clutch. "I... I don't—"

"Enough theater," the Prime Minister snapped. He looked at Eleanor’s steady hand and the cold fire in her eyes. He was a man who lived by reading bluffs, and Eleanor was giving him the performance of a lifetime. "Sign the paper. Now."

Eleanor took the pen. She didn't sign "Eleanor Hayes." She scribbled a jagged, illegible mark—the kind of signature a person of immense power uses when they don't want to be traced. She slammed the folder shut before the ink could even dry.

"There. The port is yours. The ledger is his," she said, looking the Prime Minister dead in the eye. "Now, give us the book before I decide that London would rather deal with the Queen’s enemies than her puppets."

The Prime Minister stared at her for a long, agonizing beat. Then, he bowed his head slightly. "The ledger goes to the Prince."

Stephanie let out a muffled cry of rage, but Xander was already moving. He was down the stairs in seconds, his arm sweeping around Eleanor, pulling her back into his shadow.

"Let’s go," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, dark pride. "Before they realize that signature is nothing but a scribble of a girl who’s about to become the most wanted woman in the world."