Page 48 of Deposed

“I’ll put you in my room,” said Blake.

My insides squirmed. Wasn’t that where the former Princess of Wales and her son and daughters had lived before they all died in the London bombing? Even if Blake hadn’t told his mother and stepfather that I’d leaked the video of him talking crap about becoming a prince upon the Prince of Wales’ death, I was still a foreigner entering a royal palace.

I shot him a worried look. Didn’t there need to be a protocol of some sort? Weeks of introductions, vetting, and letter writing? He couldn’t just sneak me in like it was just a regular home.

“I-I don’t know about this,” I whispered.

Blake kissed a spot just above my right eyebrow. “It’ll be fine. Mother’s up in Balmoral with my stepfather.”

“Where?”

“Scotland.”

A sigh slid from my swollen lips. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Besides, it wasn’t like I had any options. The abductors had taken my jacket, which had contained both phones, so I couldn’t contact Mom for help. I doubted she would respond, anyway.

Jackie had probably told Rudolph, who would be more interested in the story generated from my abduction than in my wellbeing. Sergei was somewhere in Europe on his tour, and I really didn’t want to bother Dad.

“Alright,” I said.

* * *

The doctor gave me a mild sedative for the journey, and the Asian nurse, who I learned was called Priya, accompanied us in an ambulance all the way to the palace. The morphine dulled my senses, but at some point, armed police detectives boarded the vehicle and inspected it for bombs and whatever else before letting us through the gates. There were a few more inspections, then the nurse moved me to a chair, and Blake wheeled me through hallways wider than those of any grand hotel or museum.

My mouth dried as I took in the crystal chandeliers, damask wallpaper, gilded paintings, and marble sculptures.

“Th-this is where you live?” I whispered.

“Not if I can help it,” Blake whispered back.

My gaze rose to a ceiling decorated with gold-leaf cornices and with frescos of patterns I couldn’t make out with my slightly blurred vision. The palace was breathtaking, and if I had paid for a tour, I would have been impressed, but this certainly wasn’t a home.

After traveling up an old-fashioned elevator with an intricate design etched onto its gold-colored doors and through another maze of corridors, we reached a thick, wooden door and entered a smaller hallway. Its interior reminded me of a regular apartment with cream-colored carpets, alabaster walls, and landscape paintings amidst family portraits. I

f I wasn’t so exhausted, I might have taken in more detail, but a combination of the sedative, painkillers, and adrenaline crash made my eyes droop.

Priya walked ahead of us and seemed to know her way to Blake’s room, a space larger than the hidden room at the Valentine’s party, also with a four-poster bed, but not nearly as cozy. I slumped in the chair, feeling the stirrings of several oncoming aches. Blake rummaged into a chest of drawers, pulled out a set of pajamas, which he left on the bed, and walked out of the room.

“May I change you out of your gown, Miss Hobson?” asked the nurse.

I hummed my agreement and let her move my heavy limbs about until she had removed the robe and gown and changed me into Blake’s silk pajamas. Then, with practiced efficiency, she helped me out of the wheelchair and tucked me into a bed that felt like I was floating on clouds. After giving me two pills, she placed my prescription bottles on the bedside table and walked to the doorway.

“I’ll return tomorrow to change your dressings.” She inclined her head and left the room.

Blake opened the door a couple of inches and knocked. “May I come in?”

A yawn slipped from my lips. “It’s your room.”

He padded inside, clasping his hands at his stomach. Gone were the usual smiles and confident posture, replaced by the vulnerable expression I’d only glimpsed last term during the times I had deliberately ignored him.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked. “Water, juice, something hot?”

I rubbed the front of my throat. “Water, please.”

He gave me a sharp nod and bolted out of the room. My shoulders sagged. After everything he had done for me, why did I make him so uncomfortable?

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when he returned with the glass of water, my eyelids felt so heavy, I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep for however long it would take my body to heal from Mr. Carbuncle’s attacks. Blake placed the glass to my lips, and I let the cool liquid spill onto my tongue and wash away the dry, bitter taste.

“I’m sorry for the part I played in…” He waved his hand at me. “This.”