His eyes fell on mine, burning with desire; I flushed. Cameras clicked and I had no doubt the image would be splattered on newspapers around the world. Q had become a hot commodity, and he’d married me—an ex-slave…a kidnapped woman.

I’d caught my own prince. My own dark wonderful prince.

Q tore up the scroll.

I blinked. “Q—what are you—?”

The room rippled with concern. The prime minster stepped forward, his forehead furrowed. “Um, Mr. Mercer, I don’t think…”

Q cut him off. “Please give me a moment. It’s not what it looks like.” He continued to rip up the thick parchment. I hadn’t even read what he’d been graced with and now never would—he’d turned it into confetti.

Shit, what is he doing?

My heart raced, not wanting to interfere, but terrified he was making things worse.

Keeping the shards in his hand, he stalked off the stage, heading to the first row where doctors, therapists, and police—all who’d been with Q from the beginning—stood.

With a hard smile, he gave them a piece of the scroll.

Once everyone had a scrap, Q returned to the stage. Dragging a hand through his hair, he simply said, “Now the award has been rightfully given. To the men and women who fought on a daily basis—before any recognition or benefit. They fought against evil—just as all the supporters and workers of Feathers of Hope do. Thank you. And now, I’m leaving. We have another engagement.”

Cameras flashed as Q grabbed my hand, yanking me off the stage.

We didn’t go back to our seats, instead, Q slammed through the double doors, leading me into the huge entrance of the town hall.

“Q—we should wait—” I didn’t like going anywhere without security. Ever since committing murder to avenge my master, I’d been ruthless inside. I pretended to maintain my innocence, but beneath it, I was vicious. I wouldn’t have any qualms of killing or hurting if our life’s were threatened. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t let others get their hands dirty, however.

Where’s Franco?

Cameramen and reporters swelled behind us like an unstoppable wave. They clicked and queried, staying at a respectful distance.

“Franco’s behind us. I just want to get to the interview and get it over with.” Q’s jaw ticked, guiding me fast toward the exit. He didn’t say a word as he smashed open the doors, striding into the street.

A roar.

A cresting of voices, cheers, gratefulness.

My eyes widened, unable to comprehend. Q’s fingers tightened around mine. He cursed, eyes looking frantically for freedom. “Goddammit.”

Women.

So many women—some with friends, others with families, but all linked by the same look of reverence in their eyes for Q.

Q.

My husband was beloved.

Franco appeared, flanking Q while Frederick and Angelique appeared by my side. “Wow,” Angelique murmured. “How is this possible?” Her long black hair was coiled into a bun; her white dress setting off her dusky skin.

A policeman in full mob gear climbed the steps. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mercer. We didn’t anticipate this.”

“What the hell happened here?” Q demanded.

The prime minster tapped Q’s shoulder. “The state invited some of the women you’ve had a hand in saving. I’m afraid we underestimated the response we would receive.” His wrinkled face and salt and pepper hair looked regal if not a little pompous. “It looks like you’re in for a long afternoon.”

Oh, my God. My heart went from thudding to whizzing. “Are these…”

Q’s face was stoic, but his pale eyes burned. “You did this without consulting me?”

So many women! So many risks. My instincts fanned out, seeking a threat. Q’s sacrifice to let Lynx hurt him had worked. No other death notes were delivered, no attempts on his life initiated.

But all it takes is one.

The prime minster looked at his shoes, abashed. “We wanted to show you just how honoured France is to have such an exemplary citizen. I’m sorry if it was the wrong thing to do.”

Q pursed his lips, scanning the crowd of women. His fingers twitched in mine, and I knew he recognised them—running through the catalogued condition they’d been in when they arrived—the environment in which he’d brought them from.

My stomach twisted with awe. Awe for how many lives he’d touched. I wished I could see his thoughts—follow his memories and understand.

“Q—this…it’s amazing. They came to thank you personally.” I clutched his arm, willing love through my fingertips. My chest cracked open with adoration for the man I called mine.

He looked at me, his face hard and unreadable. “This is extremely dangerous. Not just for me but for you. Don’t you think traffickers will be watching this? Waiting to see if they can pick off women who have already been prey?”

Panic shot through my system. I searched the crowd, relaxing a little, noticing the familiar bodyguards dotted in the swarm. We were protected. We had a team behind us now. A network of people we didn’t have before. No more attacks would be made.

I must stay confident.

“You have to say something…they need closure. Something, Q.”

Q’s face whitened. “What on earth can I say? Yes, I saved them, but I had no contact. I left them to Suzette to fix—I wasn’t there in their healing.”

I shook my head. “To them you’re the hero. The one who came for them when no one else did. You have to listen. You have to do something.”

The prime minster nodded. “Just a small speech, sir. Nothing big, then we can ask them to leave you in peace.”

Q dragged a hand over his face. His shoulders tightened, hiding his nerves. Letting his hand fall, his annoyance was veiled behind the stern, forcible nature I knew so well.

My core clenched. I wanted to tell him he may be my husband, and I was beside him every hour of every day, but he still made me wet—just by being him.

“Fine. Give me a damn microphone.”

A policeman appeared with a wireless one almost instantly. Q snatched it off him, never letting go of my hand. “If I’m doing this—so are you, Tess.”

He marched forward, giving me no choice but to follow in his footsteps. We stood at the top of the stairs, staring into the souls of victims who’d been saved. Clearing his throat, he said, “Bonjour.”