Page 8 of Reckless Royalty

Istep onto the jet, my legs feeling like jelly as I glance around the cabin. It’s sleek, modern—nothing like the cramped planes I’ve flown in before. The seats are arranged in plush, cream-colored leather, and the low hum of the engines buzzes in the background. I’ve barely taken two steps inside before I realize we’re not alone.

There are other people here.A lotof other people.

My breath catches in my throat as I take them in. Two guys and three girls are already settled in, looking up as I enter. The anxiety hits hard, tightening my chest, making everything feel too close, too fast. I freeze, my fingers clutching the strap of my bag so tight, my knuckles ache.

The first to approach is a tall guy with a sharp jawline and mussed-up blond hair. His green eyes soften as he moves toward me, and there’s something calming about the way he carries himself, like he’s used to putting people at ease.

“Easy, darlin’,” he says, his voice lilting with a slight Irish accent. There’s a warmth in his tone that pulls my attention, though I still can’t find my voice. “No need to worry, you’re safe now.”

I glance down, my lips pressing into a thin line. Safe? That word feels too foreign now, like it doesn’t belong in my world anymore.

Before I can even process what to say—or if I can say anything—the girls rush over. One of them is a petite blonde, her eyes wide and kind, but she doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she hangs back a little, like she’s waiting to see how I’ll react.

Another girl with dark, wavy hair and a bright, sunny smile steps forward, radiating energy like a human firework. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her face at all.

“Oh my God, you must be exhausted,” she says, reaching out to take my hand in hers. “Come sit down. You’ve had one hell of a ride, huh?”

She’s already pulling me toward one of the plush seats before I can resist, her grip firm but somehow comforting.

The third girl, the one with long brunette hair, watches me closely. She’s got this air about her—calm but sharp, like she notices everything.

“Don’t worry about them,” she says with a smirk. “They’re just excited. Sit down before you pass out on us.”

Her words don’t feel mean, but they’re blunt. Honest. And somehow, I appreciate that.

They lead me to a seat, and the one with the sunny smile—the dark-haired one—is already reaching into a bag and pulling out a bottle of water and some kind of pill.

“Here,” she says, handing them to me. “Take this. It’ll help with your nerves.”

I stare at the pill for a second, my mind spinning. I don’t know these people. I don’t even know their names. But the way they look at me… it’s not threatening. It’s not pity, either. It’s something in between—concern, maybe.

I take the pill from her hand and the water bottle, swallowing it down without a word. The brunette girl sits across from me,legs crossed and arms draped over the armrest, her gaze steady on me like she’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m Cat, by the way. Connor is my brother,” the shy blonde one says softly as she points to the blond guy who greeted me first. Her voice has a more American accent than Irish like him; gentle and careful, like she doesn’t want to overwhelm me.

“This is Marina, she’s Mihai’s twin sister,” she adds, nodding toward the girl who offered me the pill.

Oh. That’s why she looked familiar.

“And I’m Chiara,” the brunette girl says, her tone more playful than the others, but there’s still that sharpness to her. “Welcome to the chaos of the Crowns.”

The Crowns?

I offer a small nod in return, still not trusting myself to speak. The words feel stuck, lodged in my throat somewhere between fear and exhaustion.

“You don’t have to try and say anything,” Cat says quickly, like she’s trying to ease the tension. “We know what happened… well, kind of.”

My chest tightens at that, and I look down at my hands. They have no idea what really happened. No one does.

Marina leans forward, her eyes full of sympathy but without that annoying pity I’ve seen too much of.

“You’re safe now,” she says again, her voice softer this time. “And Mihai… well, he’s intense, but he’ll take care of you. We all will.”

At the mention of Mihai’s name, my gaze shifts across the cabin. He’s standing near the cockpit, talking in hushed tones with the Irish guy—Connor, I think—and another man I don’t recognize. The conversation is too low for me to hear clearly, but I catch snippets of Romanian mixed with English, Mihai’s tone is clipped and serious.

He’s not even looking at me, too focused on whatever mission or plan is in place. Part of me is relieved. The less attention I get, the better.

But another part—the part that used to be lively, that used to crave connection—feels… something. I don’t know what it is, but it sits uncomfortably in my chest, a mix of guilt, fear, and curiosity.

---