by Renna Peak
“I… I’ve heard from multiple sources that—”
“What sources, exactly?” She flicks a tear away from the corner of her eye.
“I don’t keep a mental catalog of where I’ve learned every bit of information,” I say, stiffening.
She still can’t seem to control herself. “Oh man, Your Highness. Thank you. I needed this.”
I straighten. “I still don’t see what’s so amusing about being cautious—”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but we’ve survived a plane crash and a night out in an awful storm. I think we’ll be fine taking our chances with whoever lives in that cabin.”
I’m not so certain, but I refuse to feed her amusement by saying so.
My body is on edge as we approach the cabin. Perhaps it’s my military training making me so wary, or perhaps it’s the exhaustion and dehydration. Either way, I’m ready to be back in civilization and get back to Montovia as soon as possible.
Fortunately, no one takes any shots at us as we approach. I don’t see any rifles poking out of windows or doorways. In fact, I see few signs of life at all. The cabin appears to have seen better days—it’s missing half its shutters and a couple of pieces of its roof. There’s a rusty truck out front, but it only has two tires and some sort of vine has grown across the bed.
“Do you think it’s abandoned?” Victoria asks.
“Only one way to find out.”
The wooden steps creak beneath my feet as I go up to the door. Spider webs hang overhead, and that same vine that has grown over the truck is also poking up through the slats of the porch. This entire place looks like it might fall apart at the next gust of wind—I’m surprised it survived the storm last night.
I raise my hand and rap my knuckles lightly at the door. “Hello?”
There’s no response.
I try again, this time knocking a little louder. “Is anyone home?”
Again, there’s no response.
I look back at Victoria, and she shrugs. “Looks like it might be empty.”
I walk over to one of the windows. Ratty-looking curtains hang on the other side, but they’re open just enough to let me see through. There’s some furniture inside, but judging by the state of it, it doesn’t see regular use.
Victoria comes up beside me, peering over my shoulder.
“Doesn’t look like we’ll find a phone here,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “But there might be running water.” I pull on the window, but it doesn’t budge. Unfortunately, whoever abandoned this place stopped to lock up first.
I go over to the door and turn the handle. It’s locked, too, as is the other window on the front of the cabin. I walk around the entire building, trying every window and door, but everything is locked tight. When I finally make it back to the front of the cabin, I lean over and grab a rock about the size of my fist.
Victoria’s eyes widen when she sees what I have in my hand. “What are you going to do with that, Your Highness?”
“Get us inside this cabin.”
She gives a wry smile and shakes her head. “Who’d have thought I’d see the day when Mr. Proper did something illegal?”
“First of all, I see no problem with bending the law where human life is concerned. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to die of thirst out here.” I tighten my grip on the rock as I step back up onto the porch. “Secondly, I have diplomatic immunity in your country, so this doesn’t really count.”
She must see this is our best option, because she steps out of the way as I raise the stone. Honestly, she’s right—I find the act of breaking into another person’s property quite distasteful and repulsive, but I see no other choice.
I hurl the rock at the window. The pane shatters on impact, sending shards of glass everywhere, but I’ve accomplished my purpose—I can now reach in and undo the latch locking the window. I reach down and try to pull open the window again.
This time it moves. Slowly, stiffly—it’s clearly been a long time since anyone has used this window—but the fact that it opens at all is good enough for me.
A third of the way up, however, it suddenly gets stuck.
I frown and give it another tug, but the window won’t budge. This cabin is old enough that the wooden window frame has warped over the years, making it impossible to open all the way anymore.
I curse and step back. “Damn it.”
“Can I help?” Victoria asks.
“Not unless you have superhuman strength,” I say. “I think this is as far as it will open.”
“Let’s try it together.”
We do, but even her added strength does little. The window won’t budge another centimeter.
I stand back and survey the opening. “It’s okay—I think I might still be able to fit through there.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Maybe you should let me go.”
“When you’re already injured?” I give a sharp shake of my head. “This place is already hazardous enough, and now there’s broken glass all over the floor inside. You can’t step on that when you only have a shirt to protect your foot. No, I’ll go. And I’ll unlock the door from the inside so you can come in, too.”
I don’t wait to hear if she agrees—I’m not about to let her climb through this window. I bend over and reach through the opening, pushing the curtains aside. Then I stick my head through.
It’s tighter than I thought it would be. But I press forward, sliding through as best I can. One arm is ahead of me, reaching out so I don’t fall right on my face, and the other is braced against the frame, helping me push the rest of myself through. Except—
Damn it. My pants are caught.
Or something. I try to push forward, but I’m stuck—and I have no idea where. All I know is I can’t move forward or backward. Fuck.
I try to shift my chest, then my hips, but the opening is too small to allow for such movement. I try to get my second arm through, thinking maybe I can pull myself forward, but I can’t accomplish that without bending my elbow at an extremely unnatural angle.
Behind me, I hear a laugh. “Need some help, Your Highness?”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, though it’s obvious I’m not. I’m stuck. Stuck in the bloody window of a bloody cabin in the middle of bloody nowhere in America.
I feel a touch at the waist of my pants, and it makes me jump.
Now is not the time to be thinking about that, I tell myself. Of course, that’s difficult when Victoria’s hand is sliding around my waistband, trying to determine where I’m caught.
Fuck it, I tell myself. These pants are already ruined. Just tear them and be done with it.
Just as I’m about to do that, though, there’s suddenly a shout from behind us.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Victoria
Oh my God, it’s so hard not to laugh—a belt loop of Andrew’s pants is caught on the window latch. If he had let me slide through, we’d already be inside by now.
His body stiffens. “Who’s there?”
I look behind me, but see no one. I reach out again to try to help him, but his body flinches away. I sigh, shaking my head—not that he can see me. “Your Highness, if you’ll allow me, I can get you unstuck. I know having me touch you is repulsive and all—”
“Who… Who’s there?”
I turn my head to look behind me again—but there’s no one here. This place has been long abandoned, and I’m not sure what it is he thinks he hears.
“Is there someone inside, Andrew?” I crane my head to listen, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the rustle of the leaves on the nearby trees and the crowing of some birds.
“We…we’re unarmed. I swear it.”
It takes me a second to realize he must be hallucinating. It’s hotter than hell and we’ve been walking for far too long without any water. He has to be dehydrated—apparently more than I am, or at least it’s affecting him right now more than it is me.
He stands up and looks back out the window, raising his hands over his head. “Please, I beg you, for the sake of the lady—”
“Andrew.” I stop laughing, realizing the situation is more dire than I thought. “Go over to the door and open it. There’s no one here. You’re hallucinating.”
He looks at me for a moment, a line forming between his brows before he finally nods at me. It doesn’t stop him from searching over my shoulder, though, before he finally walks over to the door and unlatches it from inside.
Please, please, please let there be running water in there.
I rush in, edging myself around him—he’s still looking outside, searching for whoever it is he thinks he heard while he was stuck in the window. His eyes are wide with terror—I can only hope he’s not actually seeing something out there, though. It would mean his dehydration is worse than I thought.
There’s not much to this place—it was probably a hunting cabin at one time, but it hasn’t been used in years. But there is a small kitchen area with a sink. I walk over, saying another little prayer to myself as I lift the handle of the faucet.
Water starts to sputter out, and I close my eyes for a second, almost unable to believe our good fortune. I let the water run for a few seconds until it turns a little more clear—it’s probably coming from a well, and I’m sure it’s been sitting unused for a long time. I open the cupboard next to the sink and find a few cups, filling one with water before I take it over to Andrew.
I hold it out to him and he takes it, guzzling the contents down greedily before he hands the cup back to me.
Good thing there’s more where that came from. I guess whatever gentlemanliness he might have shown me yesterday with the shoe is over now—but he barely seems to even realize I’m here at all.
I force him to meet my gaze—his eyes are still far too wild with whatever it is he’s feeling. “I’ll get you some more water, Andrew. But you should probably sip it this time.”
I walk back to the still running faucet and refill his cup before I fill a second one for myself. I turn off the now clear water and take both cups back over to where he’s still standing by the door.
“There was someone out there. I swear it. He has a gun, Victoria.” His eyes dart between the door and me. “We need to take cover. See if we can find something to defend ourselves.”
I hold a cup of water out to him and he takes it from me. I touch his elbow gently and look up into his eyes. “I promise, Andrew, there’s no one out there. I know it seems real. But you have to believe me—there’s no one here but me and you.”
“I… I saw him, though. I heard his voice. He… He threatened us. He threatened to shoot.”
I nod and motion for him to take a drink of his water, which he does after he stares at me again for a long moment. I pull gently on his elbow, guiding him to the tiny seating area in the corner of the room. There’s a dust cover over the chair, and I pull it away, dropping it to the floor before I guide him to sit down on the overstuffed chair.
He sits, blinking at me a few times as he lifts the cup of water to his lips again. His hands are trembling—it’s hard to tell if it’s from fear or from the extreme dehydration he was doing so well to hide from me earlier.
Not that I’m not feeling dehydrated myself. I lift my own cup to my lips as I sit down at his feet. I definitely remember feeling thirsty when we were walking earlier, but that feeling had stopped at some point and I hadn’t thought about it again until now. Maybe it was the same for him—neither of us have probably ever been without water this long in these conditions, and I can’t say I’m sure what the right treatment is, other than getting water into us in whatever way we can.
He’s staring out the window again, probably searching for the man he was so certain was real.
I fill our cups several times after that, returning to sit on the floor next to him each time. After the fifth or six cup, he rests his head against the back of the chair and closes his eyes.
I’d be concerned—I probably should be more concerned—but I’m barely able to keep my eyes open myself. I rest my head against the arm of the chair, still sitting right in front of him. And I only mean to close my eyes for a second—I know I need to keep a close watch on Andrew and make sure he’s drinking every few minutes, at least. But my eyelids are so heavy. I need to close my eyes for a second and I think I’ll be fine.
But when I open my eyes again, the sunlight that had been streaming through the window is fading—I had to have slept for at least six hours. And my head—throbbing though it still is—has somehow fallen into Andrew’s lap.
And his hand is stroking my hair.
My breath catches in my chest for a second. This means nothing. And besides, the last time I spoke to him—however long ago that was—he was out of his mind with dehydration. Literally. He was hallucinating about some man with a gun and he was walking the edge of insanity. There’s a pretty good chance he’s still asleep, anyway, and that he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.
I just wish it didn’t feel like heaven when his fingers brush over the skin on my neck.
Damn it. This man hates me. I mean, he hates me hates me. I’m still not sure why he asked me to come with him to Montovia in the first place, particularly after discovering how revolting he really finds me.
What he’s doing with his fingers right now—touching me like this—makes absolutely no sense.
I jerk upright, sure I must be having some sort of dream—hallucination, more likely—myself. I turn to look up at him, blinking a few times as my eyes adjust to the dimming light.
Whatever disgust might have been there before isn’t there now. The corners of his mouth turn up into the smallest of smiles—something I had been sure he had been incapable of doing only this morning.
He stares at me for a moment before he finally speaks. “You saved my life.”
I shake my head, pulling away from him. “We saved each other.” My heart is thrashing in my chest, though, the way he said the words. Without a hint of condescension. Without a trace of revulsion. I scoot myself away, just enough to be too far for him to touch me—I’m not sure what the fuck that was, anyway—and I catch my foot on a loose floorboard, sending a jolt of pain up my leg.
I bite my lip, trying to stop myself from crying out, but it’s too late.
Andrew’s mouth drops open. “Your foot. I need to look at it before we lose light, Victoria. I can’t believe I forgot. I should have taken care of it as soon as I woke up—”
I interrupt with a shake of my head, sliding myself across the floor until I’m against the wall. “I’m fine. I don’t… I don’t want you to look at it.”
He stands—he’s a little wobbly at first, but he rights himself quickly. “I must. Here…” He walks over to where he dropped the first aid kit when he first tossed it through the broken window. He picks it up and walks the few steps over to where I’m sitting before he kneels in front of me. “Please. It’s the least I can—”
I grab his arm as he reaches to unwrap my foot. I’m a little breathless—I’m sure it’s from the pain and not from remembering how Prince fucking Andrew was stroking my hair—but I shake my head again. “It’s bad. There’s nothing in that little kit that’s going to help it, okay? I’d rather you just leave it alone until we can find help.”
He tilts his head and searches my eyes for a second before he pulls my hand into his, giving it a small squeeze. “I can at least clean it, Victoria. We have water now, and there’s some antibiotic ointment in here.” He motions toward the little box.
“I don’t think you understand. It’s a deep cut. I saw it l
ast night. Believe me, I wouldn’t have wrapped it at all if it wasn’t this bad—”
I give a little cry as he drops my hand and begins to unwind what’s left of the tape that still encircles the shirt covering my foot. I close my eyes when he finally gets the makeshift shoe bandage off—I saw enough of the cut last night to know I don’t want to see any more. There’s a deep triangle-shaped gouge on the sole of my foot—so deep, I saw the white layer that I know is underneath the thick skin.
Andrew pulls my foot onto his lap. He doesn’t say anything, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from screaming as he starts fiddling with my wound.
He sets my leg down for a second and I hear the water running from the sink a few feet from where I’m sitting. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes—I have them squeezed shut so tightly, I shouldn’t be able to cry—but it isn’t stopping the tears from trailing down my cheeks.
I hear him walk back over and he sits in front of me again, pulling my foot back onto his lap. I’m not sure what he’s doing—I don’t want to look. But whatever it is doesn’t hurt as much this time and I finally open my eyes.
He’s focused on what he’s doing, but he glances up at me every few seconds. When he sees my eyes have opened, his expression softens a little and I think he might almost give me something of a comforting smile. “Almost done.” He nods to himself and grabs something else from the first aid kit.
He puts something cold on my foot—it only burns for about half a second. I can see by the way he presses his lips together he’s concerned about my injury, too, but he doesn’t acknowledge what I already know—I’m going to need way more than whatever salve he’s just put on me. He wraps some gauze around my foot and pats the finished product, looking up at me with a forced smile. “That should do until morning. Surely we’ll be able to get help by then.”
Right. I’m not about to be the one to point out that help should have already been here by now. That something has gone terribly wrong if they haven’t been able to find us already. Prince Andrew is not stupid—I know he already knows all of this. I just don’t want to say it out loud. And it seems like he doesn’t either.