Take the Key and Lock Her Up

“Of course you do.”

“First, you clear Alexei’s name. He didn’t kill anyone. It’s not right that John Spencer’s murder has been blamed on him just because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t care what kind of story you have to spin or how many lies you have to tell. After this, Alexei stops being a wanted man. Okay?”

When the PM looks into my eyes, I can’t read the expression that lives there.

“Can you do it?” I ask, and she looks as if I might be joking—like no one could possibly be this naïve.

She tosses another handful of crumbs to the pigeons and says, “Yes. We can do it.”

She means it, I can tell. And at last I breathe a little easier, at least for Alexei’s sake.

“Second,” I say, because it feels like I’m on a roll, “my brother stays out of this.”

This time the PM stops laughing.

“Your brother is the rightful king of Adria, Ms. Blakely. He is very much in this.”

“And that fact almost killed him,” I shoot back. “You have me. You have the spare, so you don’t need the heir. I am expendable, so you can have me. And if I’m not good enough, then I will get off this bench and disappear and no one will ever see me again. Understood?”

For once, the PM looks at me as if I might be more than a reckless teenager, a liability. A girl. She’s looking at me as if I might actually be worth a sliver of her respect. And, grudgingly, she gives it.

“I understand.” She nods and tosses the last of the crumbs to the birds before turning back to me. “And your final condition, Grace?”

She smiles like maybe Alexandra Petrovic and I are becoming friends. Or maybe we’re just starting to not be enemies.

“My third requirement is the hardest, I’m afraid.”

“And that is?”

“Stop lying to me.”

I expect her to laugh again, to look at me like I’m playing dress-up inside my mother’s world. But the PM simply rises. For a second, I think she’s going to say no, to turn her back on me and all my drama.

But instead she raises one eyebrow and says, “Very well, then.”

She extends a hand, and I rise and take it. I know we’re sealing our deal—that we’re partners. Allies. But mostly, she’s just the devil I know.

I tell myself it’s going to be okay, and maybe I even let myself believe it. But then the PM glances behind me, gives a nod. “Go ahead.”

Before I can react, there’s a hand on my shoulder, a pinch in my neck. I turn to see a guard behind me holding a syringe.

He’s tall and broad, like Dominic. Like Dad. So I don’t try to fight. I just spin on Prime Minister Petrovic, staring daggers, feeling betrayed. I want to shout, but my tongue is too thick and the words are too heavy.

“It’s not personal, Ms. Blakely. But I can’t deny it’s fitting.”

I want to hit—to run—but my head is starting to swirl. My legs turn to rubber and the men take me by the arms. Eventually, it’s too hard to keep my eyes open. I’m just looking for a soft place to fall as they toss me into the backseat of a limousine. Soon, there’s nothing left but darkness and laughter.

When I wake, it feels like I’ve slept for weeks—years. And maybe I have.

Groggily, I push myself upright on the narrow sofa. My neck hurts. My throat aches. My legs almost refuse to move as I try to swing them to the floor. There’s barely any light, but my eyes are so used to the black by now that I can see the smooth walls that surround me, the bare bulb that swings by itself from the ceiling, dusty and dim. The room is small, maybe four by five. If not for the open, empty doorway, it would feel like a cell.

I tell myself that the light is electric—not gas. The floor beneath me is tile. I’m not in the tunnels beneath Adria; I know it in my gut. This room is dim and quiet and damp, but it is not the Society’s main headquarters, of that much I am certain. But that’s all I know for sure.

I should panic. If I were a normal girl, I’d be terrified and screaming, trying to claw my way out from this dark, dank place and the people who drugged me. But I’m not a normal girl. I haven’t been in ages. And when you add the whole “princess factor,” normal was always out of my reach.

“Hello there.”

I don’t know the woman who now stands in the arching doorway. She’s young, though. I can’t see her well, but I can tell from her voice and the way she moves that she’s not much older than I am.

“Where am I?” I ask. I try to stand, but the room spins, and I sink back to the little sofa. The girl comes forward, hands me a bottle of water.

“Here. Drink this.”

I eye the bottle skeptically. “Is it going to knock me out again?” I can’t exactly blame the PM. Some would say I had it coming.

“No. They want you awake.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound ominous …” I say, then take a sip of the water. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, so I guzzle it all down.

“Easy now,” the girl tells me as I start to gag and choke. The water sloshes in my too-empty stomach, and I know I wasn’t just out an hour or two. I haven’t eaten in a very long time.

“What day is it?” I ask as I rise to my feet.

The girl stands in the doorway, silent.

“Where am I?” I try again.

“Come. They’re waiting for you.”