Page 24 of Thrones We Steal

“Are they going to handle that too?” He points to my forehead.

I raise my hand and find the gash he’s referring to. The blood has already dried. “I’m fine. It’s nothing serious.”

“Regardless, you look like Frankenstein. Let’s get it cleaned up.” He leads me to a nearby chair and pushes me into it.

“Frankenstein was the creator of the monster, not the monster himself.”

“You’re delirious. I’ll be right back with a first aid kit.”

I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the chair. It’s all creeping up on me, and my nerves are heightened to an almost-pain, a tingling that both tickles and hurts. What I wouldn’t give to undo everything that’s happened since Friday.

I startle awake when Henry comes back with the first aid kit from the front desk.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he says and pulls out an antiseptic wipe.

“Last night,” I say, but it’s a lie. I remember seeing 2:27 on my alarm clock before closing my eyes. I haven’t slept more than five consecutive hours for years.

“Hold still,” he says, then leans over and gently wipes away the blood on my face.

“Ouch!” I squirm under his touch. “That stings.”

“Don’t be a baby. I’m almost done.” He tosses the wipe aside, sticks a bandage over the cut, and carefully rubs his thumb over it, causing a million goosebumps to rise on my skin. “There. As good as new.” He gives me a hand out of the chair. “Come on, I want to introduce you to your new personal protection officers.”

Two men, whose suits can’t hide their muscles and who must have aced the class “25 Ways to Hide Your Emotions,” wait for Henry to snap his fingers and command them into action. “This is Davies and Lane. They’ve been assigned to your security detail,” he says.

I shoot them a forced smile before turning back to Henry. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“That’s what we are doing.”

“I mean in private. Without the security.”

Henry narrows his eyes then leads me several paces away. “What?”

“I don’t need bodyguards.”

“Today proves otherwise.”

“Fine. I don’t want bodyguards.”

“Too bad. You’ve got some now.”

“You don’t get to make decisions like that for me. I’ll just dismiss them.” I march past him to do just that, but he grabs my arm, restraining me with ease.

“You can’t. They’ve been hired by the Crown. They answer to me, not you.”

“You have no right interfering with my life.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you became a matter of great importance to this country when that diary was leaked this morning. So whether you like it or not, you will be accompanied by personal protection officers whenever you leave your home. Got it?” He moves toward the two PPOs, dragging me with him. “Escort her to the car, please.”

I freeze as he releases my arm and makes a move to go. The image of the protesters parades across my vision. It sucks at me, yanking me down into the swarming black vortex of grappling hands and horror and hate.

I’ve never felt hatred like that before. It was a writhing beast, eyes glowing like Wint-O-Green Lifesavers against the wheezing dark. Those people—the ones I had been cranking out plans to help—they want me silenced, gone.

A strong hand envelopes my elbow, a lifesaver of a different sort.

I meet Henry’s gaze. “They hate me.”

“They don’t know you. They wouldn’t be able to if they did.”

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