Virgin Bride(190)

I wasn’t going to do that again. I wanted Bryce, and I was going to get her back. It didn’t matter if the democrats sent their entire force against me to keep her; I was going to cut them all down one after the other.

I wasn’t letting Bryce go. I could do everything possible for the country and still make some mistake. I had an entire force of ministers who wanted to steer the ship. It was time to listen to advisors and do what I needed to do.

I was going to go after Bryce. I was possibly making some mistake, but I didn’t care either way. The only thing I cared about was getting Bryce back and making her mine.

“The decision is easy, Richter,” I said, standing. He stood along with me. “I’m going to get my woman back.”

He grinned at me. “Well said, Your Highness.”

“I just hope I don’t burn the country down in the process.”

“Oh, I doubt that. The country has survived worse, sir.”

I smiled, nodded, and left the room. Richter saluted as I went.

I felt good as I moved down the halls toward my private rooms. For some reason, I really craved a shower. The idea of hot water rinsing away my hesitations appealed to me.

But in the end, I had made my choice. I was choosing Bryce, and I wasn’t looking back.





33





Bryce





I woke back up in the room, my head swimming.

I was alone. The light was out and I could see my surroundings better, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate. I was still tied and bound to the chair, and there was no wiggle room as I flexed my arms and my legs.

I tried to scream. This time, I had a gag in my mouth.

I bit down on the damp-tasting rag and tried to breathe deeply through my nose. I couldn’t give in to my fears and panic too hard. I wasn’t hurt, or at least not badly hurt. I probably had a ton of bruises from where Corvin had hit me and where my body was pressed up against the hard frame of the vehicle they transported me in, but really, that stuff was minor.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I gathered myself.

Trip was going to come for me. I had no doubt in my mind that Trip was going to come and rescue me sooner or later. All I had to do was survive until he got here, and then I knew I’d be okay.

Survival seemed like a problem, though. I wasn’t ready for this, couldn’t handle it. I was a regular person from a normal family. I never imagined I’d be a political prisoner and that I might get tortured. I had no clue if I could even stand up to that, or what they wanted from me.

It wasn’t like I knew anything. Trip never shared any state secrets with me during pillow talk or anything like that. Hell, I couldn’t even speak their language. Even if I wanted to learn something, they mostly spoke Starklandian around me, so I couldn’t follow it anyway.

I opened my eyes and looked around the room. A single, large light floated up above me, a lot like in the movies. The walls were bare steel with beams at regular intervals, and the ceiling was at least twelve feet high. Otherwise, there was a drain in the floor below me and nothing else.

What the hell was this place? From what I could tell, it was built for torture. Everything about it screamed industrial body horror or something like that. I couldn’t believe a place like this could exist.

Just then, the only door in the room opened and then shut. It must have been behind me, because I couldn’t see it.

Prickles ran down my spine as footsteps echoed on the ground.

“Hello?” I asked, though it came out muffled.

“Hello.” The voice was right in my ear. The breath was hot on my neck. A hand yanked the gag from my mouth.

I flinched and swallowed a scream.

Corvin laughed and walked around me. “You’re awake. Good.”

“What do you want from me, Corvin?”

“Straight to business. I like that.”

“I can’t tell you secrets. Trip never told me any.”

“Oh, I know that. Our king may not be known for his brilliance, but he’s actually much smarter than the people realize. No, I know Trip would never reveal something important to you.”

“So what do you want?”

He smiled at me, his hands behind his back. Corvin wore a denim button-down shirt left open over the top of a white undershirt. His jeans were faded and fraying at the base, and he was wearing work boots.

“I want you to say some things for me,” he said.

“What things?”

“I want you to denounce the king on camera. I want you to tell Starkland how much of a tyrant he is and how he needs to be deposed.”

“Why?” I asked, barely a whisper.

“Because if the king’s own foreign whore denounces him, he must be pretty shitty. At least we hope that’s what people will think.”