"I'm gonna hate onions forever.", Eve muttered after rinsing her mouth with water. "I think I'm starting to have allergies with them."

She was about to meet the guests outside when her gut suddenly churned that made her run to the nearest toilet and boot. Good thing Ameliane was walking behind her.

"You may take this, Lieutenant.", she offered her a small foil.

"I don't like medicines."

"This is a herbal candy. It's good."

Eve accepted and plopped it inside her mouth. "It's kinda spicy."

"It'll ease your nausea.", she replied, then touched Eve's forehead. "Have you checked your doctor about it?"

"I'm fine, it's just a bug."

"It's not a normal bug to me, Lieutenant.", Ameliane tapped Eve's neck. "I can tell."

That made Eve froze in horror.

"I don't know if your husband knows about your condition, or even your team. But your reaction tells me that you're aware about it. You're not officially acknowledging it yet."

Ameliane could see her internal battles but didn't pry. Instead, she hugged her.

"You're a blessing, Lieutenant - someone that would do something selflessly for the sake of others. Even though you're risking your body, you're still playing this role not only for the sake of our Princess, but also for the dead. You're doing this not because it's your job, but because you wanted to spare our kingdom, our Royal Family from humiliation. You're like our Goddess."

She surprised her by kissing both of her cheeks. "That's why you don't have to be scared for blessings. You may not know whether it exists or not, but you could feel it, and your action tells me you're starting to love it."

It made Eve frown. "That was the weirdest comforting words I ever received in my entire life."

"I'll consider it as a compliment."

"You could see it in my neck? I thought – "

"Those who have the knowledge and experience would spot it. Unlike mine, yours is barely noticeable, even at this range. "

Eve wore her thin veil again in her head and clipped her transmitter she purposely turned-off. "You're the first person who knows about my condition. After the op, I'm going to tell Roarke."

"Your husband might choke to death."

"That's the plan."

As they went outside, Peabody and Afef were waiting at the entrance.

"Are you okay, Dallas? Still having an upset stomach?", Peabody asked, concerned.

"I'm fine. Go back to your position. Our entrapment will start in a few minutes."

Unbeknownst to them, Kyrios was staying at the hotel's lobby using the guise of an Indian paparazzo.

If only he concealed his image the last time he visited there, he wouldn't be tagged as one of NYPSD's prime suspect. Besides, he never thought a murder would take place there. More, it was connected to the Royal Highness.

Petun, he thought. How he wished he was there to protect her!

Well, he was indeed there, but in a different floor with a different agenda – stealing the building's blueprints.

They had agreed that the Offertory was a perfect chance for their elopement – not only the event would take place in a foreign land, but also a good ploy to have the borders be blamed about her loss.

Thus, he must kidnap her.

He hasn't told Petun about it yet, but a year ago, he learned the truth behind his grandparents' death, the abandonment of his father's American citizenship, and his possible claims and rights from the government. The discovery angered him at first, but then he saw the opportunity.

That's why he convinced Petun to accept Levinski's marriage proposal and go to US – because he's more stable outside Harmin.

Nobody paid an attention to Kyrios as he entered the venue. As a Harmin's street rat, he could sniff a cop to a non-cop, a danger to a non-danger. They might be in soft clothes but he knew their trained moves, their sharp eyes. He bet the whole building was wired with several surveillance cameras, and one of them must have caught his image.

That mere thought thrilled him to accept the challenge.

When the Princess stepped inside the podium, everybody paused and focused on her. She was wearing a red satin that highlighted her slim body, and a matched veil enough to tease the audience. The two swords she wielded were handled with expertise, with fluid movements that coordinated well with the live music.

He didn't expect her to do an Offertory Dance since she's more of a singer than a dancer. Oh well, he thought, it was one of Petun's aspects he hasn't explored yet.

But seeing Levinski's reverent expression only angered him. The dance's tradition was for the bride to declare her love and acceptance to her betrothal, and Levinski was sitting on a place which was supposed to be his'.

Then he saw his cue.

He had studied the blueprints and planted his traps to make everything perfect – and it did. The sudden power failure, the commotion, the blasts, the stampede, the fire...

With a dark robe, he wrapped the Princess.

"This is me, my love. I'm here to save you.", he muttered as he carried her away.

The cops and the royal guards marked him, but he's more cunning and faster than them.

He had dodged stunners and bullets all his life from cops and criminals alike, and this escapade was like a child's play for him.

While carrying her, Kyrios felt odd. There was no sound of acknowledgement, and even though it was his first time to have a physical contact with her, she seems different.

When he told her to cling at the harness for them to cross the other building, she didn't fuss at all.

Weird.

"Petun?", he called her.

The moment she turned around, he knew it was not his love.

He hasn't seen Petun's real face yet, but he knew her eyes. Hers was full of innocence and gay, but this woman, despite of having whiskey shades, it was loomed with sophistication and danger. They might have the same physical structure and facial resemblance, but the aura was different.

This woman tricked him.

She might have a good reflex, but he's better. Faster. He could disarm her easily, but before he could launch himself, a loud click sounded.

It was a Swiss handgun, Kyrios noted, and its cold noose was planted squarely on his left temple. The bearer was an Irish, with a coolly voice enough to make anybody tremble with fear.

"Try to touch my woman, my wife, or I'll blast your head."