Page 8 of The Bodyguard

Chapter Four

Sophia

I’m so mad I might burst a blood vessel. I can barely contain the fury filling my body and growing exponentially with every breath I take.

Still, I can’t believe this is actually happening to me. What did I do so catastrophically wrong to deserve this punishment? And for my personal tormentor to be him?

How dare my father, the man I love and respect, above all else, force me to marry a man I have zero feelings for.

I have met Roger Thompson before, on numerous occasions. He was kind and sweet and a true gentleman, but he evokes absolutely no other feeling in me at all. But that isn’t the point of this union.

I fully expect that marrying for love is not something guaranteed in a royal’s life. But to have to marry just so my country can have a ruling king, while I wear the title of queen for nothing more than ornamental purposes, is something I won’t abide by.

But despite my father being set in his archaic ways, I’m not entirely blind to the worry lines marring his face which has grown more distinct in the last few months.

I know Strohamden has a large external debt. It’s also the thing stopping Strohamden from fully prospering as a country for its people. But I’ve worked day in and day out to strengthen our coffers. We have the markings to be a great tourist destination. With a bit more education at ground level, in schools and community, we could become a purely self-sufficient country, half of it run solely on solar power.

We have mines that have been long since closed off, yet I’ve read geological and exploration reports that look promising. Mining is an expensive endeavor, but the result could save us from this debt we have to other countries hanging over us.

My father had listened to my ideas, which I presented with clear and precise steps to get us to where we want to be. He agreed they were good, but I know he would just pass them on to the new king, a stranger on our throne, once he retires.

And now I have to go to war with my father’s most prized possession, his favorite secret weapon.

I might never have had to deal with him firsthand, but I had gotten rare glimpses of him when he was in attendance with my father.

But the six-foot-four, icy-cool, blue-eyed blond had never seemed to notice me. He always appears as if he were looking right through me, whether I offer him a pleasant smile or a verbal salutation, it’s as if I don't exist.

His profoundly ruggedly sculptured face, all angles and planes of male perfection, seemingly set in marble, haunts me and keeps me awake at night. Not in longing but in curiosity. I hate that he makes me curious about him.

I hate that I have to listen to almost every female who comes my way gush about the enigmatic man who is the king’s bodyguard. How obsessed they are about him. How they would pay millions for a night with the dark-blond, godlike man.

Lady Meralda Olsen did just that. The sleek, forty-year-old widow, with her ageless skin and stunning hair, wrote out a check for five million dollars, with her address scribbled on the back. She then gave me the check at a ball and told me to give it to the king’s bodyguard.

I don’t know why that slip of paper made me so mad, and I only just barely stopped myself from ripping it into five million tiny pieces, then throwing it at Lady Meralda, like fuck you confetti.

I had a headache that entire night, thanks to him and his ultra-good looks that made perfectly fine and capable women turn into helpless, giggling teenage girls.

I may have purposefully misplaced the check anyway.

I hate when I’m asked how much I personally know him. It wasn't for lack of trying to know him better. I did, and he ignored me. The truth is that during the ten years of him working for my father, this was the most he has ever spoken to me, and by most, I mean a handful of words. And it was to tell me he was kidnapping me. Well, not verbatim, but the gist was there—loud and clear.

Well, I don’t care whether he exists or not either. It wasn’t as if I were struck speechless when I saw him properly for the first time after returning from school, five years ago, at eighteen.

I would never admit my whole body had gone into some sort of unexplained trancelike mode for the split second I had glanced at him. I didn’t lose my breath, and my nerves had remained cool and calm at the effect he didn’t seem to have on me.

But I put aside the ridiculous sensations he evoked in me and approached him in a congenial and friendly manner. He nodded in answer to my greeting. And he had ignored me. Well, he did murmur "princess" before he escaped as if I were some sort of pariah… in my own palace while there was a tiara on my head.

Two whole weeks alone with him? Not going to happen.

I stop my power walk as I near the cabin, then glance at the awful excuse for a lakeside abode and shiver. I didn’t even know on which side of the lake we were, had never ventured this far into Strohamden’s wilderness before.

My heart starts thumping to a different beat. This is my chance to escape. I may not know which side of the lake I’m on, but I know if I follow the Strohamden mountain range, toward the peak that looks like a heart, I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way into the city.

I offer myself a surreptitious glance around the darkness of the woods surrounding me.

How had night turned into dawn already? Had we been driving for that long away from the city? Five hours, maybe more. Yes, it makes sense because I was taken from the club at around eleven the night before.

I have to act now. Once he takes me into the cabin and locks me in, my chances of escaping are back to zero.

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