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“If anyone knows not to believe everything you hear, it should be you, Sir,” she says as she walks away. “Thank you for the ride, Warden.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Tremaine,” I murmur. My heart thuds so hard at her words, I rub my chest once she’s facing away again. Fuck me, I usually have time to look into the charges of everyone who comes through here, but Silla’s trial was very rushed.
It makes me wonder if any of it was fabricated.
SILLA
Warden?It’s just my luck that the man sent to collect me is the one running this place. Grayson flipped into his role so easily, it took me completely by surprise.
I keep my face impassive as I follow Tara through the room. There are huge windows throughout it, letting in a lot of light. I was groggy when the warden unceremoniously woke me up, but now I can see we must have driven for hours.
There aren’t any clocks in here, but I would have to guess it's maybe mid-morning.
“Okay, I’m here because I agreed to help today. It’s a little busy, so let’s get to it, okay?” Tara says.
There are people talking behind privacy screens to other men and women, so I nod. The room is divided on the other side with medical partitions, and I ignore the pinch of fear.
What’s a little physical if it means I stay out of jail, right?
Though, Grayson did call me an inmate, and the door we came through was made of steel.
“This is where you’ll do your intake paperwork,” Tara continues. “You look decent, and this process is overwhelming, so Isaac will do it since he’s free. Won’t you?”
A man with glasses looks up from his computer with a heavy sigh. “Tara, I was going to go get some breakfast,” he complains. Seeing me, he straightens, pushing his hand through his blond hair to get it out of his face.
I’m sure my hair is a mess and my clothing wrinkled, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Did you come in with the Warden?” Isaac asks. Nodding, I wait for him to decide if he’s going to do my paperwork or not. The first thing I notice when meeting his gray eyes for a moment is how soft and kind they seem to be.
I’m ninety percent sure today isn’t going to be fun, so I will take my wins where I can. I have no idea what I’m going to be walking into, so maybe I can gauge it a little better by overhearing things.
The warden didn’t seem pleased by my ignorance. Whatever this place is, one step above prison, may end up being an accurate description.
“Yeah, alright. Tara, tell a nurse I’ll be ready for someone to take her back in an hour. If you can ask Patricia, I’d appreciate it,” Isaac says hurriedly.
My eyes slide to Tara, and she looks knowingly at Isaac for a moment before walking away. I wonder if Patricia is a nice nurse, but asking would give away my discomfort, so I say nothing.
“Come sit at the desk across from me, and I’ll draw the privacy partition so we have a modicum of quiet for this,” Isaac murmurs, pointing to the desk across from him.
As if I’ve blocked out the noise, at his mentioning it, it all comes rushing in. Concealing my wince, I sit where he asks. A push of a button closes a partition, and my brow raises in surprise.
“The Warden always gives me the good desk when I work down here,” Isaac jokes as he taps on his computer. “So, let’s start with your name and some general information to get your file up, and then I’ll give you an assessment to do, okay? Be sure to answer as honestly as possible, because that’ll ensure you’re placed in the correct section of the reform camp. What is your name?”
I swear, everyone is insistent on honesty here. I only lie when it’s absolutely necessary.
“Drizella Tremaine,” I tell him, taking a deep breath. I’m a little claustrophobic, mostly because my mother enjoyed forcing me into a small storage closet in my room whenever I had big emotions as a child. I know I should be over it, but some trauma never gets resolved.
Isaac doesn’t recognize my name as he pulls up my file, and I’m grateful for it. “That’s an interesting name. Do you go by a nickname?” he asks.
I watch him carefully, wondering if he just has a really good poker face. “Silla,” I respond.
Still, there’s no outward signs of disgust for one of the most despised women in the realm, and I wonder if he lives under a rock. I really only get reactions from people who follow the royal family gossip magazines, or people close to the queen.
Deciding to stop being dramatic, I focus on his questions, though I’m still on edge.
“Pretty,” Isaac mutters under his breath, and I wonder if he means my name or me.
Crossing my legs, I hope this goes a little faster, because my bladder is starting to wake up. It’s a miracle it hasn’t before this.
