“There’s another storm coming, so I’ve ordered the motion detectors and cameras to be shut down to protect them from damage. The house will be more vulnerable than usual.”
Evelyn frowned. Why didn’t they have water-proof outdoor security equipment? Maybe because it didn’t often rain in Coppell? “Sure.” She strode to the threshold of his study. “And since when have you started caring for my safety?”
Her father raised his eyebrows, likely shocked she would dare to suggest that. “There are valuable items in the house I wouldn’t want stolen or damaged.”
She should’ve known better than to ask. “Of course not.”
Her heels click-clacked against the wooden floor. Her throat tightened until swallowing hurt. These next few weeks would be torture—and how would she save up enough money to find her mom before the end of summer?
She opened the door to her room, and her high heels sank into the fuzzy purple rug. She kicked them off before grabbing her phone and earplugs from her purse and flopping onto the bed. As she rolled on her side, she caught a glimpse of herself in her vanity’s mirror.
She looked like a walking nightmare: her foundation discolored, her cheeks streaked with gray tear tracks, and around her eyes smeared with black eyeliner. Her crimson hair had fizzed around her head like a red cloud. Her eerily bright blue-green contacts itched, and veins laced her eyes like red spider webs.
She swiped the contact case from her purse and seated herself at the vanity. After a few tries and some rapid-fire blinking, she slipped one contact out. Then the other. She glanced back up at the mirror.
Pitiful. Unwanted. Unloved.
She jerked open a drawer, plucked a makeup wipe from its container, and scoured her face of makeup. Kimberly was wrong. Her father was wrong. Mason was wrong—especially about her mother.
In the mirror, her pale brown eyes brightened with tears. Where had she gone wrong with Mason? She’d done her best to be the picture-perfect girlfriend; she’d even tightened her diet after he’d commented on her weight.
She remembered how he’d always open doors for her with a bow and a flourish, their hours of watching silly YouTube parodies, and the way he’d cup a hand against her back when they walked together. Just thinking of his possessive touch was enough to cause a flush of heat.
It felt like she had to pay a price for every happy moment she’d spent with him. And the currency was pain.
She shimmied out of her wet dress and slipped into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She glanced at the mirror again, and a sigh tore past her lips.
She just wanted the day to end, for all the events of the past few hours to become distant memories. She held her arms out Titanic style and fell backward onto her bed. She jammed her earplugs in, settled back against her cushions, and selected her Lullaby playlist.
Her gaze slid to the purple jar on her nightstand, where she’d stuffed wads of cash to save for the Colorado trip. Even if she had enough, how would she pin down her mother’s exact location? And if she never found her mother, she’d be stuck in Colorado with a fast food job and a crummy apartment.
Maybe she should just get a loan, go to college, get a degree, and forget about the mother who’d left her. She didn’t have enough money and there was no way she could get enough before summer’s end.
She sat up, shoved a curtain of red hair out of her face. Or maybe there was. She’d stolen Kimberly’s car, dress, and invitation—what was one more thing?
But stealing was wrong. And she didn’t want to prove her father right—that she was a disloyal scumbag unworthy of the air she breathed. But surely he’d be willing to give her all the money she needed if it meant he didn’t have to see her again. She slid off the mattress, the metal bedframe squeaking. She could just ask him, but if he said no, she’d be sunk. Evelyn shoved her feet into a pair of slippers.
Better to ask for forgiveness than permission anyway, right?
Evelyn cracked open her door. The hallway was empty. She shut the door behind her, snuck to the stairwell at the end of the hallway, and ascended to the second floor. The red carpet cushioned her footfall. She stopped at the door on the right, praying Kimberly was still chugging that disgusting liquefied sugar.
Evelyn managed to twist the knob, despite her sweaty palms, and opened the door.
The smell of perfume, hairspray, and new paper made her eyes water. Kimberly was a strange hybrid of diva and book nerd, and the proof was in the smell of her room. Evelyn pressed her back to the door.
If it weren’t for the pink backlighting ghosting across the ceiling, the room would have been completely dark. While one wall was entirely mirrored, the rest of the walls were eggshell white. A sectional snow-white sofa sat snugly in the corner of the room. A massive flat screen dominated one wall, and Kimberly’s bed was flush against the opposite wall.
She suppressed a surge of jealousy as she searched through Kimberly’s bookshelf. It seemed her father could never give Kimberly enough pretty things. But that was okay. Evelyn didn’t need pretty things. She just needed a parent who would love her.
Prickles streaked across her skin, and she froze. She could’ve sworn she felt another presence in the room. Likely, she was just being paranoid, afraid someone would catch her in the middle of her snooping.
Evelyn turned slowly, just in time to see a hulking shadow rise from behind the sectional. She stumbled back, her head knocking against a shelf.
It seemed she wasn’t the only intruder in Kimberly’s room.
3
Captured
The man strode toward her with the ease of a predator cornering its prey. A breeze fluttered the curtains through the open window—likely where the burglar had entered. In the darkness, she could only make out his bulky frame and clenched fists.
She sucked in a breath to unfurl a scream.
“Kimberly, wait!”
The breath she’d been gathering died in her throat. Kimberly? Had he actually just called Kimberly? She combed the room, but Kimberly was just as absent as when Evelyn had entered.
He stopped a good four feet in front of her and knelt. “Forgive me for addressing you so informally, but as I’m sure your father has informed you, secrecy is of the utmost importance.” He glanced up, the faint pink lighting casting shadows on his cheekbones. “My apologies for frightening you.”
Evelyn brushed her hair back, her fingers catching on the red strands. Even though she’d scoured her face of makeup, her hair was still red, and in the dim light, this man probably couldn’t make out the rest of her coloring.
He remained kneeling, waiting to be addressed. In the pink light she wasn’t sure, but his hair gleamed palely. Probably a blond.
Who was he, why was he in Kimberly’s room, and what did he want with her? She should correct his assumption… but what was the harm in being Kimberly for a while longer? Maybe she could find out more about her father’s secretive work.
“Oh, that’s quite all right.” She flashed him her most charming smile. “So you’ve been expecting me?”
He nodded.
“And you’re some sort of bodyguard, right? Or secret service agent?”
He tilted his head. “I suppose I am, in a manner of speaking.”
“So I’m in danger?”
“You will be unless we make haste. We suspect there are Scorpio trailing us.”
“Scorpio?”
“Highly-trained assassins.” He frowned, darkening his face with shadow and confusion. “Have you not been expecting me? Has your father told you nothing?”
And now he was getting suspicious. Just great. “He did, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten. Would you mind giving me a brief refresher of… the plan?”
The man nodded. “Of course.” He shifted, taking the weight off his bent knee. “May I rise?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry.” What kind of a secret service agent knelt? Maybe he was from another country?
He rose to his feet so quickly and fluidly she s
tartled. After muttering another apology, he said, “I am Rokton, a Master Knight soon to be promoted to the Queen’s Guard.”
So… he was from England then? But why didn’t he have an accent?
“I’ve been charged with escorting you to Torva to wed the King.”
Wed the King? What country—or loony bin—was he from? Could her father have sent him to play a prank on her, knowing she was still dressed as Kimberly? Maybe to teach her a lesson and make sure she’d never steal Kimberly’s things again? Or maybe Kimberly was responsible for this?
“Don’t be afeared, my lady. There are several knights other than myself who will serve as your escort. We won’t allow any harm to befall you whilst you’re in our care.”
“Wed the King? And my father knows about this?”
“Of course. The King wouldn’t wed you without his consent.”
Her father had arranged a freaking marriage for Kimberly? To a king? But why? “So this is an arranged marriage?”
The furrow between his brows deepened. “Yes, my lady.”
“To the king of another country?”
He hesitated. “A group of countries rather.”
“Which countries?”
“The United Countries of Torva.”
She’d never seen that labeled on a map before, but then again, geography had never been her forte. Maybe the union was recently formed. “Where is it?”
“We must access it through the portal.”
She leveled an incredulous stare at him. “A portal?” Was this guy for real? Was this a joke? A prank? Maybe there were hidden cameras somewhere, and she’d end up on TV in a few weeks. That’d be pretty cool.
“So by portal, you mean some sort of gateway?” she asked. “Like to this Torva country?”
“Torva isn’t another country. It’s another world. There are a group of united countries within Torva.”
Another world? So he didn’t just mean some sort of entryway. He meant the magical variety of portals. This was definitely some sort of prank. She raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, you got me.”
He stared blankly.
Once he admitted this whole prank thing, she’d have to applaud his acting. “You really had me going for a while there, you know. So where are the cameras?”
His lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly. “Cameras? You require a camera?”
“No, I meant your—”
A bird’s whistle trilled outside the window, its melody sharper and sweeter than any she’d heard.
The man’s gaze snapped to the window, his jaw tightening. “Forgive me, but we must wait to continue this conversation until you’re safe.” In a blink, his hand curled around her wrist before he dragged her to the window.
She dug her heels in, but with the slick floor, it didn’t do much to slow him. “Let me go!”
His grip tightened in warning. “Keep your voice down or the Scorpio—”
“Look,” she jabbed his chest, “I’m sure this will make for good laughs later, but this has gone far enough. Let. Me. Go.”
“It’s not safe for you to remain here.” He lifted the window and peered at the ground.
“I’m not going with you anywhere, buster. A prank is fine, but what you’re doing is downright illegal.”
He still stared out the window, unfazed. “They’re moving into position. I’m going to hand you down to the next knight.”
He didn’t seem surprised or confused by her statement about the illegal nature of this… which meant he knew exactly what he was doing. This had to be some sort of kidnapping. Maybe they were trying to take Kimberly to ask for a ransom from her father. Or maybe this was a means of revenge against her father.
She parted her lips, preparing to reveal her identity, but a sudden thought held her tongue. What if they just killed her when they discovered she wasn’t Kimberly? After all, they didn’t need her, since her father wouldn’t care what happened to her. That would make her nothing more than an unnecessary witness.
Well, tuteno. She couldn’t keep this Kimberly charade up forever which meant that unless she escaped, they’d kill her sooner or later. And the farther they took her from the house, the less likely it was she’d be able to escape.
When the man turned toward her, she already had her fist raised and ready. She swung her clenched hand toward him and clipped his jaw. Pain shot up her knuckles. He staggered backward, grip loosening.
Though she’d only seen punches thrown in movies—and one high school basketball game—that had worked surprisingly well.
Evelyn yanked away from him and dashed across Kimberly’s room. A weight crashed into her back, knocking her to the ground. She flipped over, and her would-be kidnapper straddled her waist.
She sucked in a breath to scream, but he clapped a hand over her mouth so firmly the back of her skull bounced against the floor. As tears filled her eyes and a copper tang filled her mouth, the corners of his eyes softened.
“Forgive me, my lady. This is for the best.”
He pressed a damp cloth to her nose, its spicy scent stinging her nostrils. Some type of chloroform. But she hadn’t expected it to have such a unique smell.
She held her breath and arched her back, trying to buck him off. But his muscular frame was heavy, and he seemed unaffected by her struggles. She tried to twist her head away, but his grip on her mouth and nose was relentless.
Her lungs ached, her struggles growing weaker with each passing second. The need to breathe felt like a physical weight crushing her chest.
Despite herself, she sucked in a sharp breath through her nose.
The effect was immediate. Instead of darkening, the world blurred. Then dimmed. A dizzy euphoria filled her head and lungs, and her thoughts felt like they were wading through molasses.
Before her consciousness flickered out, she heard: “Sleep well, my queen.”
4
His Captive
Evelyn awakened slowly, as she usually did during summer vacation. It was a rather luxurious feeling—knowing that you could spend the whole day in bed, watching Netflix and making brownies in a mug. She breathed deeply and caught the scent of firewood. Firewood? Her room didn’t have a fireplace.
Her last memories came rushing back to her, and panic squeezed her chest. She forced her eyes to remain closed, though she desperately wanted to see where her captors had taken her. But if her captors were around, she couldn’t let them know she was awake. Not until she had a plan.
Whatever was beneath her was soft—no, plush. She was on a mattress. The knuckles in her right hand still ached, likely from punching that guy who’d said he was a knight. Could he be somewhere nearby, waiting for her to wake up? Evelyn held her breath, trying to sense if someone else was in the room. Except for the snap of fire and the pinging of rain, everything was silent.
She opened her eyes and glanced down at her lower body. The bed was better dressed than she was, its black silky blanket shimmering with golden firelight. And here she was, still wearing her short shorts and a t-shirt.
But what if they’d taken her necklace? Her breath stalled as her hand flew to her neck. Once she felt the chain of her necklace, she breathed a bit easier. At least they hadn’t taken it from her—whoever they were.
What had her kidnapper said about where he’d be bringing her?
I’ve been charged with escorting you to Torva to wed the King.
So what did that mean? Had he been telling the truth about everything—even that Torva was in another world? Did that mean she was in another world?
Hinges squeaked nearby, the sound of a door opening. She closed her eyes and held still, waiting for footsteps. Which never came. Only the whisper of rain filled the room, tempting her to open her eyes once more.
Who was inside the room? The King? Did he know she was awake? Was he just going to rape her in bed? How did marriage work here?
“So you’re awake.”
Despite her attempt to hold still, a startle jolted her
body, from her tensing shoulders to her curling toes. She opened her eyes and drew her gaze upward.
A man loomed above her, his figure tall and muscular. A pair of green dragon wings extended from behind his shoulders. Her eyes paused on the wings. Though she would have liked to believe they were fake, they moved slightly on their own, the webbing rustling against itself. How could they possibly be real?
Her question was whisked away as the golden crown atop his black hair caught her eye. So this was the King. His clothing affirmed her assessment. His pants were black, his velvet shirt a vivid green. Gold thread glimmered at the edges and seams of his clothing. The firelight edged his angular face in bronze. His nose and prominent cheekbones cast shadows on his skin. His eyes were an even deeper green than his wings or shirt—the green of pine trees and bottomless lakes. Captivating enough for her to linger. Intense enough for her to finish her perusal.
His crown proved he was the King. His wings proved this was truly another world.
The realization so muddled her thoughts that when the King spoke she didn’t initially understand him.
“Strange.”
He thought this was strange?
He lowered himself, pressed his forearms to the side of the bed. The mattress sank beneath the added weight, and she stiffened to stop herself from rolling toward him. “In the pictures, you had blue eyes, verging on green.”
Stalker. Evelyn suppressed a shiver. If she revealed herself, would he return her to her home? Or imprison her? Or kill her? For whatever reason, the King specifically wanted Kimberly here. If the King realized he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted, she doubted the consequences would be pleasant.
So instead she summoned up the best smile she had and sat up slightly, propping her elbows against the bed. “I wore colored contacts.” Which was true—she had worn colored contacts. Just not for any pictures.
A low hmm rumbled in his chest. “For cosmetic purposes?”
She nodded. “Blue eyes have always struck me as prettier than brown.”
Captive and Crowned Page 3
