Page 12 of Unholy Tsar

“Cece? Are you up? We need to start getting ready for our lesson with Uncle Maks,” Bree’s voice filters through the door, and just like that, everything comes rushing back to me.

Right. I’m in New York. In Bree’s fancy penthouse.

“I’m up!” I call back, then pause to clear the phlegm from my throat because my voice came out croaky. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Alright.” Bree’s footsteps recede from the doorway, and I slump back into the bed with a sigh. I squint at the ceiling, trying to grasp onto the remnants of the dream I just had, but it’s elusive. Oh well. At least it wasn’t a nightmare. If it were, I’d have woken up kicking and screaming.

Pushing myself off the bed, I pad to the ensuite bathroom to freshen up. After a quick wash and brush, I opt for comfort, slipping into a pair of well-worn black jeans and a loose-fitting shirt. With my hair hastily thrown into a messy bun, I’m good to go. Finally, I shove my sock-clad feet into my tattered Converse and leave my bedroom.

Bree is already in the dining room eating takeout. “Yours is over there.” She nods toward a plastic container on the table. We’re both useless in the kitchen, so we’ve been surviving on takeout and cereal.

“Thank you,” I mumble, sinking into the chair before digging into my meal. Hmm. Delicious. It’s not until I’m halfway through that Bree’s words come back to bite my ass. “Wait, did you say we have to get ready for a lesson with your uncle?”

She sighs dramatically. “I know, right? Two days in a row? I get that my cousin almost got herself killed last year, but that was because she ran away from home. I have no intention of doing that, so why do I have to go through this torture?”

I chuckle, shaking my head at her. “You have to go through the torture because, whether you run away or not, the Kilpatrick name is enough to get you kidnapped by anyone ambitious or hungry enough for power. You’re a valuable asset.”

Bree levels a glare at me, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Did you just call me an asset, Cecilia Rose Bianchi?”

“Shh!” I warn, glancing around the room to make sure we’re alone. We are, but even so, there could be hidden cameras in here or something. “You can’t call me that,” I remind her. Last year, in a moment of weakness, I broke and told Bree my real name. I trust the girl with my life, but damn, she’s never really alone. And we can’t afford to have anyone know my full name. If someone gets a hold of it, everything would come tumbling down.

Bree winces. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” But it’s not okay. Do the cameras here record? Fuck, I hope not. I haven’t spotted any yet, but I know they’re here. That’s likely the only reason we can be alone in the apartment. Her security detail must be monitoring us twenty-four-seven.

“Are you done with your food? We need to leave now if we’re going to make it on time,” Bree says, getting up and carrying her empty container to the trash can.

Oh, right. “I’m not coming with you.”

She pauses, “What? What do you mean? We agreed that we’d take the lessons together.”

And I wanted to. Not just because Bree’s security would be around keeping us safe, but also because I need those lessons to teach me how to protect myself. But fuck, I can’t go. How can I when the teacher is Maksim?

“Yes, I know. But something came up that I have to take care of today,” I lie, picking up my glass of water. My throat suddenly feels dry under her scrutiny.

Bree narrows her eyes. “Did something really come up, or are you trying to avoid my uncle?”

The water goes down the wrong pipe, and the room swims around me as I choke. “Ugh.” I hear Bree say as she rushes over and hits my back, but it only makes my coughing fit worse.

“N–no. D–don’t,” I gasp, staring up at her through watering eyes. She sighs and backs away. Slowly, the coughing subsides, and I’m able to breathe again. When my vision clears, Bree is watching me with her arms folded.

Sometimes, I forget just how smart she is. She pretends not to see, but those eagle eyes don’t miss a thing.

“Okay, fine, nothing came up. I’m just feeling a little sick. I didn’t want to tell you and make you worry,” I lie again. Dr. Cecilia, LLR.

She seems to buy that, because her arms drop and she moves closer to check on me, brows furrowed in concern. “I noticed you woke up a little later than usual today. Is it from the headache you had yesterday?”

I nod mutely, too guilt-ridden to think of another lie. Bree places her palm against my forehead. “You feel a little sweaty.”

Because I’m lying my ass off, Bree.

“You know what? Stay. I’ll go on my own. I’ll try to make it as quick as possible so you won’t be alone for long.”

“You don’t have to rush on my account,” I manage, but she brushes off my words, picking up my now-empty container and tossing it in the trash.

“I’ll order lunch so you don’t have to worry about anything. Take a warm bath and go back to bed,” she instructs. I get up slowly, milking the fake sickness. I even sway a little, and Bree has to grab my arm to steady me. She helps me back to my room, and I let her tuck me into bed.

“I’ll be quick,” she promises as she leaves my room.