The raw emotions bundled in the terrifying sound of her scream frightened him more than the gunshot that echoed inside the small space. His ears were still ringing and his brain was absorbing the reality that the bullet was neither meant for him nor did it find him. For a second, a thought crossed his mind that Rhiane was shot, that the assassins had succeeded. But Tobias was standing a step away from the door frame. His cold emotionless eyes stared back at the prince, before seeking after the face he came for. 

Luke saw it, the slight widening of his cousin’s eyes and the tight leash he placed around his emotions if only to stop him from shoving the heir to the throne aside to get to the woman and tell her that everything was alright. The rumors had a few bits of truth in it. If he had not heard the female guards talking about it, Luke might have missed the subtle change in attitude of his cousin where Rhiane was involved. For some unknown reason, it annoyed the prince. 

“Tobias, take her. We’re leaving,” he ordered. 

If it had been just the two of them – Luke and Rhiane – he might have given into the tiny voice at the back of his head telling him that his arms should comfort her and not his cousin’s, that whispered words looking to calm her should be his and not the guard’s. But the decisions he easily made, the consequences he easily damned, seemed uncomplicated when it was just him and her. Having other pairs of eyes trained on him, waiting for his next mistake, made it difficult. Turning into the callous, stuck-up, royal was easier. 

He walked over the corpse of the rebel and knelt on one knee. Tobias took the opportunity and went to the princess elect. Luke could have watched the two from the corner of his eyes, but he purposefully trained them elsewhere. The rifle, for instance, was interesting. “Nolan,” he raised his voice. “There is a doctor somewhere in the building. Take him with us.”

“You mean this one?” The older bodyguard followed the doctor into the bathroom. A bruise was starting to show on his jaw as well as his cheek. The rebels may have spared him, but they did not pass the opportunity to hurt him in order for him to yield to their demands. Luke raised his head from the rifle he was examining, then nodded once. 

“There are more than two, correct?” 

The doctor nodded. “I do not encourage violence in my clinic. Especially when high profile people are involved. There are at least five of them. I would appreciate if the fighting will be taken elsewhere.”

Luke got to his feet with the help of the sink. There was evidence that the exertion did no good to the gash on his thigh, the fresh adhesive bandage had blotches of red, while the side of his torso was starting to feel the pain when breathing. “There will be no fighting if we can help it.” The rifle was slung over his shoulder as he limped towards the exit. “We’re leaving. Treat Rhiane while inside the vehicle.” He would not risk staying longer knowing that the two that they had dispatched had allies out there who probably heard the gunshot. 

Nolan obeyed without question, keeping his weapon drawn as he led them out the building. If the royal guard had anything to say about the prince’s injuries, his mismatched pants, and his seeming protectiveness over the princess elect, he held her tongue for later. Yet his eyes wandered to the rifle slung over the prince’s shoulder. Luke also noticed it, that the piece of equipment was not an ordinary rifle. It was not inexpensive to be owned by peasants who supported the rebellion. “Give me your earpiece, Nolan. I need to make calls.”