It’s totally silent, save for a faint, slow dripping sound that echoes through the stone chambers. We’re in a wide hallway that’s lined with cells on either side. The first three all have rusty iron bars across the front, the doors slightly ajar.
The last two are just stone walls with heavy metal doors.
Something skitters behind us, the noise echoing, and we both turn but I’m nearly positive it’s just a rat, so we ignore it, still listening.
With every second, my heart sinks a little more.
“Bruno,” Dom finally whispers, his voice nearly swallowed by the strange silence of the dungeon. “I think we were—”
There’s a faint cry, barely audible, and even though I almost can’t hear it, I know it’s her.
Dom takes off like a shot, running down the cobblestoned hall, his feet slapping loudly against the stones.
“Hey!” I hiss. “What are you doing?”
He whirls and glares at me.
“What do you think—”
I hold up one hand, trying to calm him. He’s furious and wild-eyed, and even though I feel the exact same way, I’ve got a little more practice in subduing myself so I can make good tactical decisions.
“I think we should keep surprise on our side,” I say, keeping my voice as low as I can. “Sven always has all those guards around him, and now that he’s taken Katarina, I’m sure they’re still with him. It’ll be easier to handle them if they don’t know we’re coming.”
To be honest, I’m not completely sure we can handle them — there’s two of us, only one with real military training, and probably ten guards.
Dom closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods.
“You’re right,” he says. “Of course.”
We make our way down the wide stone hallway, quietly. The cells are creepy as hell, and even though I look into one of the doored-off cells, the inside is completely dark, of course.
Easy to let your imagination get out of control here, even if the place hasn’t been used for a long time. I’m sure plenty of people suffered and died here.
We come to an intersection, then wait until we hear another noise. This time it’s a grunt, like Katarina’s in a struggle, and we follow it to the left.
The passageways twist and turn. I think I’ve kept track of where we are, but I could be completely lost — I’ve got no idea. I just know we’re getting closer and closer to saving our princess, and that’s all that matters.
At last, we turn a corner and see a rectangle of illumination up ahead, a doorway spilling light out onto the hallway floor, and we stop.
“I said no!” Katarina’s voice echoes off the stone. She sounds like she’s speaking through her teeth, breathing hard.
Dom growls and starts, but I grab his shoulder with one hand, shaking my head quickly.
I want to run in there and punch everyone too, I think, and dear God do I want to punch everyone.
But that’s not likely to save our princess, that’s likely get us punched in return by several people at once, and we’re not going to be much use if we’re knocked unconscious, bleeding on the floor.
“Tell me!” we hear Sven’s voice command.
“I’m not saying it,” Katarina growls.
Despite myself, I smile at her spirit.
Fuck yes, that’s our princess.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Katarina
I didn’t even know until today that the palace dungeons had a chapel. Even though I grew up in this palace, I’ve only been down here a couple of times.
They’re creepy. People used to be tortured here. People died here, usually because my ancestors ordered it. I’m not particularly keen to think about that.
But somehow, Sven knew not only that we have dungeons, but that there’s a tiny chapel in them.
I guess it’s where condemned people used to come to pray one last time, and the thought sends a shiver down my back.
“You’re going to say it,” Sven says as he shoves me down the aisle. I nearly stumble onto my face, my hands still bound behind my back, my feet tied together by a length of rope that barely lets me walk.
“I’m not,” I hiss.
At the front of the chapel, behind a big stone slab that must be the altar, is a grave-looking older man in a priest’s uniform. His face is perfectly, completely somber, and his hands are folded in front of him. There are two flickering candelabras on either end of the altar, as if someone actually tried to make this romantic.
The room is dimly lit by a few lanterns Sven and his retinue of guards brought — a retinue that only includes four men, instead of the usual ten-or-twenty. I don’t know what happened to the rest.
Maybe they’re guarding the entrances. Maybe they’re revving the getaway car. I have no idea.
“Good,” Sven says, looking him up and down. “Glad you decided to cooperate, Father.”
The priest doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t even move.
“Are you ready to proceed?” he asks, his voice as stony and grave as the dungeons themselves.
“Yes!” Sven practically yelps. “Yes, God, of course I am, what the hell do you think we’re here for?”
The priest looks down at his bible. Slowly, he thumbs it open, taking his sweet time to flip the pages. Finally, he marks the page with one finger and closes the book around that finger, looking back at the six of us, gathered in this tiny, claustrophobic underground stone room.
“Dearly Beloved,” he intones, his voice a slow deadpan. “We gather here today to celebrate the union of two people, two important, ancient royal houses of Europe. This day truly marks...”
“We don’t need the sermon,” Sven snaps.
The priest blinks. Then he raises both eyebrows. Slowly.
“It was my understanding that you requested a formal marriage ceremony,” he says. “Traditionally, that does include a full mass, not to mention an outlining—”
“Okay, well, I guess I lied about that part,” Sven says. He’s still got one hand locked around my forearm, his guards leaning against stone walls a few feet away, part of the shadows. “I want to make sure that this girl is completely and totally married to me, and I want it to happen as quickly as possible.”
The priest considers this, and for just a moment, he catches my gaze, though his face doesn’t change.
I have no idea who he is, but I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: you legally can’t force someone to get married in Tomassia. A coerced marriage is completely invalid. My ancestors had reason to codify that into law long ago.
“Then I’ll skip the parts that normally makee a wedding a beautiful, life-altering moment of love and connection and get on with it,” the priest says. “Prince Sven of Norograv, please repeat after me. I, Prince Sven of Norograv...”
Sven starts repeating the priest’s words. For the millionth time, I flex my fists against their bonds, but it’s pointless.
I haven’t told Sven that no matter what I say, this marriage is completely null and void. I’m pretty sure that once he thinks I’m legally his bride, his plan is to toss me in his car and make for the border — maybe thinking that if we’re married, he’s got a legal right to do that.
I don’t think Sven is very smart, but he’s got force on his side. He’s got a lot of armed men, and from the screaming pain in my shoulders and back, it’s obvious that he doesn’t mind hurting me.
Right now, my best bet is to do anything I can to stay in the castle. It can’t be long now until someone realizes that I’m missing and comes looking for me.
But what if they don’t, I think. Your parents think he’s proposing, and they’re probably going to let him have several hours to get away with this before they realize that he’s not.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s nearly impossible not to panic, but I’m trying.
“Katarina!” Sven barks.
I glare at him.
“You may call me by my title,” I say, as haughtily as I can manage.
Sven smiles nastily.
“All right, Princess,” he says. “I’ll let you have that one last time before it’s Princess Consort. Or maybe I’ll demote you for un-princesslike behavior and you’ll have to live out the rest of your days as a duchess.”
“So you’re forcing me to marry you, only to threaten that it won’t last?” I say as coolly as I can manage, though my heart is pounding in my chest. “Why bother at all?”
“You KNOW why!” he snarls, getting in my face. “Because I will not have someone else taking what’s rightfully mine.”
He addresses the priest without looking at him.
“Continue,” Sven says.
“Princess Katarina, please repeat after me,” the priest intones. “I, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess of Tomassia...”
“I’m not saying it,” I tell them.
Sven nods at a guard, who comes over, stands behind me, and jerks on the bonds on my hands. My shoulders scream in pain, and my vision swims as he pulls me backward, off-balance, his arm the only thing keeping me up.
“Now,” Sven goes on.
“No,” I say, my teeth clenched, my eyes tearing up.
“Katarina,” Sven says, getting in my face, his breath terrible. “If you don’t say this—”