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“No, actually, I’m not,” he sneered. “My parents are still married and delightfully unaware that it’s our family who should be on the Elskov throne, but your lot dabbled in poison and voilà, the Dahl dynasty ended during a single dinner. One quick-witted Madsen took advantage of the power vacuum, and your ancestors stole the throne. I’ve just taken it back.”
“How is that even possible if all of the Dahls died?”
“Now you of all people should know that while it’s not easy, royalty can hide among the commoners. A new last name, a hiding of the evidence, and you’re all set. Of course, what my parents believe only to be an old family legend is in actuality truth. We are the lost Dahls, and the throne is ours; it is divine provenance,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction as a calmness settled over him.
Walther wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t greedy. He was a true believer. Bile rose in Elle’s throat. The urge to run as far away as fast as possible seized her by the throat. If she couldn’t find a way to escape, she’d forfeit her life. She jiggled her legs; they felt better. Maybe not 100 percent, but close. If she could piss him off just enough to get him to really go on a rant, she could make a break for it.
“Wow,” she said with just enough of the insolence she used to impress the snotty, spoiled, rich teenagers who came to Dylan’s showroom floor. “It must really gall you then to see my cousin Alton on it.”
The air sizzled around Walther. “He won’t be there for much longer. Whether you marry him or not, you will carry my heir, and a true-blood Dahl will inherit the throne, righting a wrong made hundreds of years ago.”
Her stomach lurched, and her mouth tasted of foulness. “It’s not going to happen,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not alone anymore.”
“Did you miss the”—he raised one finger, then a second, and then a final finger—“three explosions when we took off? There’s nothing left of your Resistance.”
She pictured Dom, his wide smile and broad shoulders as they sparred in the training room. The warmth of him as they’d snuggled watching Roman Holiday. The feel of his hands on her bare flesh. The look in his eyes when he’d come with her name on his lips.
Had it been love? Yes.
Dom had deserved more out of life than to die in her name. Grief twisted her heart until all that was left was fury and regret.
Walther reached into the pocket of his wool coat. He withdrew a needle and uncapped it. “So do I need to shoot you up again, or can I count on you to be a good little princess who will walk across the tarmac to the waiting car and not make a fuss?”
Clear liquid formed a drop that clung to the end of the needle. It had taken her fourteen hours to get back after he’d shot her up last time. There was no way she was going back under. She’d buy her time. He couldn’t have his eyes on her with the needle at the ready all of the time.
“Elskov is an island,” she said. “Where in the world would I go if I did manage to get away?”
“That is the smartest thing I’ve heard you say since you woke up.” He yanked a thick metal cuff from his other coat pocket and clapped it around her wrist, securing it in place with a thin chain. “Now this will ensure you stay with us. Part GPS tracker and part ticking time bomb, it will let us know where you are at all times, and if you try to take it off, this little bit here”—he pointed to what looked like a small diamond—“opens up and releases the same numbing agent you just enjoyed, but in a much more powerful dose. You’ll be on the ground before your head even processes what happened. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’d prefer the sure thing of knowing where you are or the fun of seeing you fight the toxin.” He held out his arm. “Now, shall we?”
It went against every instinct she had, but Elle slid her hand into the crook of his arm and they walked down the jet’s staircase. He wanted to take her to the castle? Good. No one knew it better than her. Once she figured out how to remove the damned cuff, she’d slip through Walther’s grasp like water.
Her foot had barely touched the tarmac when a blast of wind hit her, carrying the scent of salt water, old memories, and home. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized Dom had carried the scent as well. He hadn’t, not really. It would have been impossible to bottle Elskov’s scent, but somehow he’d smelled like home to her. Even though Dom hadn’t made it here with her, he’d brought her home all the same, and she’d do whatever it took to make sure Walther paid dearly for killing the man she loved.
Elle looked through the car’s windshield and caught her breath. The castle loomed ahead of them as the car passed through the ancient iron gates. The dark, almost ebony-colored stone castle stood in stark contrast to the cheery blue sky, each of the four turrets reaching upward as if the flagpole atop each could pierce the heavens. Her chest tightened at the sight, and the rush of unexpected tears made the tip of her nose tingle.
She’d grown up playing inside the castle’s walls, sneaking into the throne room, pestering the cooks in the kitchen for extra blueberry scones, and hiding among the topiaries in her father’s favorite garden. God, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. She’d fought against it, but she couldn’t deny that Elskov was woven into her DNA.
She was done running.
She was done hiding.
She was home.
Walther’s hard grip on her upper arm jolted her out of the bittersweet epiphany.
“Speak a single word once we’re inside, and I’ll make sure to leave the bruises where they won’t show but will hurt the most,” he said in a harsh whisper moments before the car pulled to a stop at the private, royal family entrance to the castle.
“Why, Walther.” Her smile was as fake as the sweetness in her voice. “You make it sound as if your hold on power isn’t as tight as you’d like the world to believe.”
He released her arm and grabbed her hair, winding it around his fist and yanking hard. “You better watch your mouth unless you want to end up like your father sooner rather than later.”
Retreat was the smart move, but even the idea grated against her skin. Her muscles tensed, wound up with b
arely repressed fury ready to be unleashed on the man who’d killed Dom and had very nearly done the same to her father. Tearing away layers of his skin with her nails would feel so good. She twisted in her seat enough to improve her angle as much as possible with the death grip Walther had on her hair.
Then the memory of Dom in the training room flashed in her head. Timing is everything. Don’t make a move just because you want to. Wait for your opening and then hold nothing back.
“Understood.” She was so keyed up from the adrenaline rushing through her system, the single word was all she could trust herself with.
