Gods, she was horrible at hand-to-hand.
Lunging again, Lila grasped at the man’s wrist and jerked, finally recalling at least one hold she’d learned in training. She quickly curled herself into an arm lock, twisting her legs on either side of his arm, pushing her ass into his neck and folding her ankles across his opposite shoulder.
The intruder flailed, pumping his torso off the ground, trying to break free. Seams ripped in her dress, but the lock held.
So did Lila.
She turned a frantic eye around the ballroom, waiting for someone to charge across the room and help her hold down the stranger. It wouldn’t be Olivia LeBeau, for it appeared that Lila’s first misfire had struck the woman. One little black dart had lodged itself between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
The heirs and senators weren’t much help, either. Several hundred heads had jerked at the first shot, their eyes latching on to the struggling pair. Some watched with detached interest, assuming Lila would deal with the man, just as blackcoats and workborn always dealt with anything unpleasant in their lives. Others had frozen, refusing to flee out of shock or fear they’d be captured on film looking like an idiot. A quarter of the crowd had no such qualms. They’d run screaming to the exits, shoving one another out of the way in a bid to escape first.
The rest of their peers held up their palms, filming the panic for leverage.
Then there was Oskar Kruger. He trembled on stage, two holes buried in the wood beside his boots. He did nothing at all. He’d been left alone and unregarded when the auctioneer dove off the stage. Oskar hadn’t even hidden behind the useless podium. He’d merely closed his eyes while the shots rang out, ready or willing or hoping to die.
Perhaps all three.
The two blackcoats guarding him wouldn’t help, either. They’d changed priorities at the first shot and rushed to the prime minister’s side, dragging him toward an exit. Her father fought against the pair, his arms sweeping against the blackcoats. “That’s my daughter,” he shouted, his voice booming amid the high-pitched screams. “Let me go!”
Only her mother had walked toward her. She looked down and calmly pointed at Lila’s chest. “Your left breast is hanging out of your
dress, Elizabeth.”
“Thanks.” Lila panted as the intruder continued to flail underneath her. “Could you at least be useful and sit on him?”
“It would be undignified. Fix your dress. There are cameras.”
“Fuck my boob and fuck the cameras. No one can publish the damn photos anyway.”
“Fix your—”
“Damn it, Mother, I’m a little busy!”
“Watch your language.” Her mother’s gaze slipped from her breast to her legs. “You are wearing something underneath that dress, aren’t you?”
The intruder’s muscles finally went limp. Lila swiveled on the wooden floor, twisting the man’s arm in another lock, just to be safe.
“Elizabeth, your breast is still—”
“Shut up, Mother.”
The gunman tried to bat Lila away as she flipped him on his back and patted down his coat. Finding nothing, she turned out his trouser pockets.
“Is that supposed to happen?” her mother asked, pointing at the man’s face.
White foam trickled from his mouth. The small river turned into a flood, little bubbles spewing out onto the floor. A tremor passed over the man, and he began to twitch and shake.
“No, it’s not.” Lila slid away from the growing puddle, unsure whether it was safe. Adjusting her bodice at last, she turned toward the blackcoats who still struggled against her father. “Fetch a doctor.”
One of the blackcoats reluctantly let go of the prime minister and reached for the radio perched on her shoulder.
The other couldn’t hold Lemaire back. He sprinted toward his daughter, his boots clomping loudly in the quiet room.
By the time he arrived, the shooter no longer moved.
Everyone else in the room did, though. Now that the prime minister had gotten involved, the heirs considered the matter dealt with. The buzz started up again.
Lila turned back to the gunman and crouched over him. She smacked his cheek, jerking back when foam flew from his mouth and landed on her skin. Wiping it off quickly with her hem, she checked the man’s pulse.