Page 35 of Guarding the Princess
“You should eat a sweet bun. That’s what my mom always says to my dad when he drinks that stuff.” She runs off before I can answer her or ask where her parents are.
I take another sip and find each sip a little easier to get down than the first.
“Here you go!”
The little girl is back, a sweet bun in her hand, held up in the air. She reminds me of Ryker, holding the cake I made him in his big hand, sharing the piece with me. This girl has dark curls, perhaps the kind of hair our daughter would have if we had any together. If he hadn’t left at the first sign of trouble.
“You are the sweetest. Thank you.” I take it from her and rip it in two. “Want to share?”
She grins, showing me a missing tooth, and nods her head. We move to the side and sit down on a bench, sharing the pastry and chatting about Christmas. When her parents call to her awhile later, she hops up and runs to them, giving me a wave over her shoulder. The mother does a double take, her head tilt and confused expression being the warning I need to get out of here.
I smile and wave at her before disappearing into the crowd and heading back to my Vespa. The festive sounds all around me make me happy, even if I can’t stay. Somehow, someway, I have to find a way to visit like this when I’m Queen. Casual Fridays and street fairs will be my first order of business.
The thought makes me chuckle out loud, even as the reminder of Ryker causes me pain.
I may be heartbroken over Ryker, but I’m not broken.
I will lead my country well, with him or without.
14
Ryker
I’ve never been on the receiving end of a chokehold after being hit from behind.
Guess I can cross that off my bucket list now.
A similar jet to the one I flew to Regora in with Charlotte, is now flying me back to the States. Against my will.
The lump on the back of my skull pulses with every slight bump of turbulence. While I’m glad they didn’t drug me, part of me wishes they had just so I didn’t feel the blinding headache or this feeling of dread pumping through every cell in my body.
Charlotte’s in danger and I’m not around to help her.
The danger is probably indirect, but real just the same. Someone wants me out of the picture and they’ll resort to violence to make it happen. If only the pounding in my head would stop, I could put my brain to work and figure out who’s behind this.
After excusing myself from dinner, I left the dining room and headed to my bedroom to grab my phone and call my family. The door handle was in my grasp when I got hit from behind and went down face-first to the ground. I must have blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing I knew I was being dragged by two men through a hallway and then out the door. I struggled once I came to, knowing instantly I needed to get away before they took me away from the palace, but to no avail. My hands were bound behind my back. A third guy had shown up and no amount of martial arts training can help you with a three-against-one fight when you’re fighting a concussion and don’t have your hands to help either.
They threw me into an SUV and then pushed me onto the jet where I’ve been buckled in and threatened with a gun to remain quiet and seated. I don’t recognize any of the men, but that makes sense given I’ve only been in Regora for two days. I wouldn’t recognize much of anyone. They have accents so I’m assuming they’re Regoran.
I’ve asked for my cell phone but they just glared at me, so either they don’t speak English or my request was denied. I’ve got nothing but time and my scrambled brain to keep me company on this long flight.
The hit could have come from the Queen. She obviously doesn’t like me and wants me gone, but this seems a bit extreme, even for her. She loves Charlotte, that much I can see. Sure, she’s far too stern and stuck in her ways, but I don’t think she’d have me leave in this way, knowing it will hurt Charlotte. Then again, I’ve never dealt with royalty before and the lengths they’ll go to protect their lineage.
And speaking of Charlotte, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking right now. Is she sick with worry over my disappearance? Or did whoever did this to me also fabricate some sort of story where I’m the jerk who broke her heart and left without a word? I’m not sure which scenario is worse, but one thing is for sure. They can put an ocean and a continent between Charlotte and me, but they can’t keep me in Los Angeles forever. I’ll find a way to get a message to her.
I must doze off, which I don’t think is very safe considering the concussion I most certainly have, but I doubt my captors care much about that. When I wake, the jet is just landing. Looking out the window, I see the same private airstrip in Burbank we left out of just a few days ago. Which only makes me think it’s the Queen behind all this.
When the jet comes to a stop, the men bind my hands again and drag me off, throwing me into another black SUV. What’s with bad guys and black SUVs anyway? They drive right to my condo and deposit me inside with a strongly worded warning.
“We’ll be watching you. If we find you back in Regora, we’ll make sure that bruise on your head is the last of your worries. Understand?”
I salute the three men, which is my one act of defiance. The lead guy’s eyes narrow, but they take off, leaving me alone with just my duffle bag and a house that seems far too empty to be home.
The stress of the last twelve hours hits like a sledgehammer, buckling my knees and forcing me to the couch. I sink down and lay my head back gingerly. I’ve got to figure out what just happened and how I can get back to Charlotte.
“I just need a phone…” I mumble as I begin to paw through my duffle bag.
Unfortunately, the men must have gone through it too as my phone and wallet are missing. Thankfully, I’m not your average citizen. I have a stash of burner cell phones in my closet I’ve used a few times with clients when we needed to travel undetected. I grab one and fire it up.
