Princess in the Iron Mask by Victoria Parker Page A

run off some excess energy, throwing open the doors to the seventh floor a minute later.
    Three things happened simultaneously to punch the air from his lungs. The musical sound of children’s voices floated past his ears. The colourful images of cartoon characters painted on vast glass plates drew his eyes. And the scent of strong disinfectant speared up his nose to assault his mind.
    Stomach revolting, he stiffened his abs to prevent his six-egg omelette from making a reappearance. Twenty years vanished and he was back in the halls of hell.
    His hand shot out to grip the wooden ledge framing a window. His thoughts fractured. His vision blurred. Air was imprisoned in his chest. Get up, boy. I’m not done. Get the hell up! Glancing down at his hands, he grimaced as blood dripped from his fingers to splash into a dark red puddle at his feet.
    Get it together, Garcia. Stand to attention. Now!
    Breathe. He needed to breathe. Dragging in oxygen, he infused his spine with steel and reached for the plateau between consciousness and serenity. In and out, slow and even. His mind’s eyes gradually turned black, his heartbeat slowed, and a voice filtered through the murky haze.
    ‘...and then the brave dark knight took out his sword and fought the dragon with all his might. Past the castle walls, past fire and flame, through the walls of men he charged to find her. Up the stairs to the turret where she lay in a deep sleep waiting for his kiss...’
    Claudia?
    His eyes sprang open and Lucas scanned the hallway for the direction of her voice, moved stealthily towards an open door.
    ‘Oh, and she was so beautiful. With long golden hair, just like yours, and big blue eyes the colour of the Arunthian ocean...’
    ‘Like mine?’ a little voice asked.
    ‘Just like yours.’
    ‘No one would want to kiss me, ’ came the little voice.
    ‘Oh, the dark knight would want a kiss. But you’d have to be older. Like the Princess. And when you’re older your eyes won’t be sore any more and your wrists will be just like mine. See?’
    Lucas surveyed the small room, knowing he shouldn’t be intruding—that it was, as Claudia had said, private. And Bailey sounded very much like a young girl. Not a man. The rapid flush of relief was because she was safe, he was sure.
    Claudia was perched on the edge of a small bed, blocking his view of the patient. Her jacket was gone, the sleeves of her shirt rolled high as she twisted her arm this way and that, seemingly allowing the girl to inspect her wrists. He remembered all the times she’d tugged at her clothes, and earlier when he’d grabbed her.
    Stiffening his limbs, he fought the emotional throb of his body.
    ‘I wouldn’t want to kiss a boy anyway,’ Bailey said. ‘Clara in Bay Four said it’s like eating custard. I hate custard.’
    ‘Custard?’ Claudia repeated, and Lucas could hear the smile in her voice. He wished she wasn’t turned away from him so he could see the widening of her lush mouth for himself.
    ‘But maybe my dad would come...’
    ‘I know, darling,’ Claudia said softly, the affection in her voice strong, the rich, melodic tone unfamiliar to him. Yet somehow it had the power to unearth a long-buried memory and create a strange surge of longing. ‘I know,’ she repeated. ‘Look what I brought for you.’
    Claudia bent from the waist, reaching into her bag on the floor, and his attention snapped to the child. Dios...
    He stepped to the side in an instant, before she caught sight of him, unwilling to frighten her. His size tended to do just that and she was immensely frail. Frail? She was tiny.
    ‘Who’s that man, Claudia?’ the girl asked.
    Damn. Lucas schooled his features, flexed his neck and relaxed his big body in an attempt to become as unthreatening as he possibly could. Then he turned to the open doorway, almost filling the narrow gap.
    ‘Good morning,’ he said.
    The girl, Bailey, gaped openly, and Claudia shot to her feet. ‘Lucas. What are you doing