by Susan Stoker
“Cora, Cora, Cora,” he said, shaking his head. He suddenly moved fast in front of her and grasped her hair behind her head, giving it a yank, though not any harder than he would yank a lover’s hair in bed. Not any harder than he’d yanked hers earlier. Still, it scared her. Her lips quivered and another tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought you were going to be a good girl and tell me the truth.”
“Please. I did tell you the truth. Greg cheated on me, so I broke up with him. It was very unexpected. He’d recently asked me to move in with him, and I was thinking about it but hadn’t given him an answer yet. I thought he was ‘The One,’ but I didn’t want to ruin things by allowing our relationship to progress so quickly, so I was hesitant and—”
“Do you know who poisoned Greg?” he asked, cutting her off.
“What? I don’t know anything about that. When was he poisoned? Is he okay?”
Akeen released her hair and towered over her with his arms crossed, giving her the most intimidating glare he could muster. Seasoned criminals usually cowered at this look, but Cora lifted her chin in challenge and gave a frustrated sigh.
“This is ridiculous. I demand to speak with someone else. How can I answer your questions when I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about?” She struggled against the handcuffs. “At least take these off. You outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds. Surely, you’re not afraid of little ol’ me?”
“The cuffs stay on until you answer one more of my questions properly. Tell me who poisoned Greg, or why you conspired to assassinate the leader of Ismallia. Or tell me about the first person you met who introduced you to the CKP, or tell me about your connections to anyone in Ermastistan.”
“Every fucking question you’ve asked me sounds crazy. Can I talk to Malia? She will tell you what kind of person I am and that I would never try to kill anyone. What the fuck reason would I have to kill King Brenul, anyway?”
Fury was starting to replace her fear, and Akeen had to put a stop to it. The more frightened she was, the more likely she was to confess all her secrets about the CKP and the plot against the king. He unlocked the cell and stepped into the hallway, then locked it again.
When a prisoner got angry, it was time for a change of pace. Time to introduce a new threat in hopes of obtaining a confession.
“You should have answered my questions, Cora. You aren’t going to like what I return with. Not one bit.”
He strode away from her cell to the front area where the implements of torture were stored. He found a small worn leather riding crop and held it up for inspection. One of the commanding officers approached him.
“Any news?” Akeen asked.
“Your father is safe and the palace has been secured, sir, but there is no news yet. The investigators are still working to verify the Americans’ intel about Cora.” Commander Wornik eyed the riding crop. “I take it the prisoner isn’t being cooperative?”
“You could say that. She’s claiming complete innocence.”
“What if she is innocent, sir?” The officer looked uncomfortable as he once more glanced at the riding crop. “She is the first female I can recall being brought to the dungeon in these times. I understand you are following protocol by interrogating her until the investigation is complete; however, the Royal Guard and the king himself would likely understand if you wished to halt questioning until the investigation is finished.”
Akeen gripped the crop tighter and glared his displeasure at the man for daring to suggest they break from the conventional code of behavior. Both of them had sworn to uphold protocol and the king’s law.
“I don’t ever want to hear you speaking of leniency again, Commander Wornik, when it comes to a threat against the crown or the state. Is that understood?”
The officer paled. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”
“Good. Now, if there is any news about the investigation, you will come inform me. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Riding crop in hand, Akeen turned and strode back to Cora’s cell.
***
A whip. Akeen was holding a whip. She stared at the horrid looking implement. It wasn’t large, and she thought perhaps it was a riding crop. Would he really use it on her?
Fear clutched her heart and her mouth went dry. Her stomach twisted, and she started struggling in the handcuffs, whimpering and shaking her head as he approached.
This wasn’t how her trip to Ismallia was supposed to go. She was supposed to attend the fairytale wedding, see all the sights in this beautiful country, and then return home safe and sound. How the hell had this happened? Why did he think Greg had been poisoned, and why did he think she had conspired to kill the king?
None of this made sense, and not being able to answer any of his questions to his liking, Cora felt an utter sense of hopelessness spreading through her chest.
For a second, she considered lying and answering his questions the way he expected—admitting to having a part in a plot against the king, if only to prevent him from hurting her.
The steel in his dark eyes frightened her. How many people had he brought to this dungeon before? What would happen if she never gave him the confession he wanted? Cora had never been in trouble with the law, nor had she ever been held against her will. Feelings of fear, frustration, and anger churned in her gut.
She glanced down, unable to hold his gaze for a second longer, and gasped at the sight of her exposed breasts. The front of the robe had come undone during her struggles, and she hadn’t noticed until now. Her face heated and she hated the pervasive sense of helplessness she felt in this moment. She was completely at Akeen’s mercy.
He walked closer, and she flinched when he reached for her.
“Please don’t,” she said, fearing he would strike her with the crop.
But he didn’t hit her. When she met his stare, she noted a flash of compassion softening his eyes for an instant. He surprised her by closing her robe with gentle movements and then stepping back, the crop still in his hand. Relief filled her that he wouldn’t allow her to remain exposed. She hoped that meant he wouldn’t strip the borrowed robe off at any point during this interrogation.
Swallowing hard, she met his eyes and decided to try reasoning with him again.
“Search my room and you’ll find no weapons. How-how do you think I was supposed to kill the king if I’m unarmed?”
“Your room has already been searched, Cora. Your other suitcase that got lost en route to Ismallia is on the way here, where the Royal Guard will give it a thorough search. I don’t know how you planned to kill King Brenul, but I suspect you planned to wait until your arrival in Ismallia before acquiring your weapon of choice, whatever that weapon may be. Poison, perhaps? That’s how Greg was finished, after all.”
She felt sick. “Greg is dead?” Her mind spun as she tried to organize her thoughts and figure out this frighteningly strange puzzle of events.
An exacerbated sigh escaped Akeen. “Of course he’s dead. Don’t act so surprised. Surely, your contacts at the CKP informed you of his demise. How do you maintain contact with them, Cora?” He stepped forward and placed the crop beneath her chin.
She shuddered and held her breath. She couldn’t decide whether to keep speaking the truth and maintain her innocence, or to start making up stories he might actually believe and hope that she eventually got ahold of someone in the American Embassy.
The prospective lies tasted bitter on her tongue.
No. She couldn’t confess to a crime she hadn’t actually committed.
Trembling, she closed her eyes and envisioned a protective shield around her, keeping her safe because she had truth on her side. Whatever was going on didn’t involve her, but somehow she’d been implicated. But the truth would eventually prevail. It had to.
She thought about Greg. What the hell could Mr. Cheaterpants have to do with a plot against the Ismallian king? She’d been with him for months. Think think think. There had to be something. A clue that he
’d had dealings with the CKP or another group of criminals.
“Greg traveled a lot,” she began, “usually to California for his hotel business. He wanted to open a chain of hotels overseas, but he was having a hard time securing the funding for such a venture. He hadn’t decided which countries he wanted to build in, though Ermastistan was a top choice of his; however, he’d run into some difficulties getting the proper building licenses in that country. The woman he cheated on me with, um, now that I think about it, holy shit, I can’t believe it!”
“Can’t believe what?”
“She had dark hair and skin as tan as yours. I ran out of there quickly and didn’t hear her speak or catch her name, but she could’ve been Ismallian or Ermastistanian. She could’ve been born and raised in America too, but perhaps it’s something you could look into.” Cora peered up at Akeen, trying to read his thoughts. Did he believe her?
He tossed the riding crop on the floor and forced her to her feet. Hope surged in her chest, as she considered he might let her go now. But he only removed her handcuffs, before urging her to sit down again. Still, she was grateful to have her wrists free, and she rubbed at her sore flesh. Akeen hadn’t put the cuffs on very tight, just snug enough that she couldn’t escape, and she probably wouldn’t be sore if she hadn’t struggled so much.
“For your sake, Cora, I hope you aren’t lying.” He removed the cell key from his pocket and approached the door, picking up the riding crop along the way. “I’m going to see if your suitcase has arrived yet.”
“I’ve told you nothing but the truth, Akeen. I’m actually a terrible liar. Just ask Malia. She’ll tell you.”
“I’ll return soon.” When he noted her continued shivering, he added, “And I’ll bring you a warm blanket and some slippers.”
Chapter Six
Akeen regretted bringing the riding crop. Despite telling himself he would follow protocol and interrogate her as he would any other prisoner, he wouldn’t have actually hit her. Once he’d entered her cell and seen the fear in her eyes, and witnessed her distressing vulnerability when her robe had come undone, he’d felt like the biggest fucking bastard in the world.
But she hadn’t known that he wouldn’t harm her. She hadn’t known it was all for show. She probably despised him and would run back to America the second he released her.
If she was innocent. God, let her be nothing but a pawn in her ex-boyfriend’s game.
The suitcase had arrived. It contained a formal gown, shoes, makeup, and seven pairs of panties and a few bras. The image of her naked bottom flashed in his mind. She hadn’t worn panties tonight because they’d been in her missing suitcase. She’d probably borrowed the dress she’d worn to the wedding from Malia or one of his half-sisters, he thought absently.
Setting the contents of the suitcase aside, he inspected every inch of her luggage for secret compartments or anything sewn inside. He ripped open all the seams and found nothing out of the ordinary.
“Commander Wornik.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Cora Meyers’ ex-boyfriend had a lover, possibly a woman of Ismallian or Ermastistanian descent. We need to learn the woman’s identity. She might be our connection.”
“You think Greg Keller named Cora to draw attention away from his lover?”
“Precisely. Unless of course, Cora is making the girlfriend up.”
“I’ll report this information at once, sir, and visit the situation room to see what progress has been made.” Commander Wornik spun and hurried in the direction of the elevator, relaying this new intel into the mic attached to his jacket.
Akeen called for an officer to bring him a warm blanket and a pair of slippers, and the items were provided within moments. Despite the dreary ambiance of the dungeon, there were well-stocked storage rooms in a nearby corridor that contained clothing, blankets, shoes, and other items that could be used to reward a prisoner after a confession was finally made.
He hoped Cora had told him everything she knew concerning Greg, and he prayed she truly didn’t have any involvement in the assassination plot. Arresting her had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, not to mention cuffing her and bringing her to the dungeon. The look of fright on her face when she’d awoken to a room filled with a dozen Royal Guard officers called up his protective instincts, but he hadn’t been able to offer her a single word of comfort at the time.
He wished he could release her from the cell, carry her back to his bedroom, and hold her all night. Stroke her hair. Rub her back. Murmur into her ear.
But fuck, his hands were tied until the Royal Guard cleared her of wrongdoing.
Frustrated, he returned to her cell, opened the door, and immediately went to her with the blanket. He draped it over her shoulders and then knelt before her with the slippers. Despite the seriousness of the situation and the fear that was probably still pumping through her veins, her lips quirked in a small smile.
He massaged her cold toes for a brief instant in an effort to warm her up before he placed the slippers on her feet.
“Thanks, Akeen. Does this mean you believe me? Will I be free to go soon?” There was a heavy note of hurt in her voice.
Still kneeling before her, he said, “The Royal Guard is working to verify the existence of Greg’s lover, and if she indeed is real, I am sure it won’t take them long to learn her identity. As for believing you, when it comes to my duties with the Royal Guard, I must always err on the side of caution. I must follow protocol. Suspects under arrest on the palace grounds are always kept in the dungeon until the Royal Guard proves their innocence or guilt.”
“At least I can cross getting arrested in a foreign country off my bucket list,” she said, a tentative smile tugging at her lips. She sighed, then took a couple of deep breaths, as if she was trying to calm herself down further.
“I’m glad you’re not shaking anymore, Cora. I am sorry if I frightened you.” He stood up but remained close to her. For a moment, he considered taking her in his arms to warm her up more, but he doubted she would be receptive to his touch. She’d allowed him to rub the cold out of her toes, but he hadn’t touched them for more than a few seconds.
She lifted her chin and shot him a challenging look. “I’m trying to decide whether to give you a hard time and make you feel worse, or to tell you I understand that you were only doing your job.”
God, she had spirit.
He glanced over his shoulder, realizing he hadn’t yet closed her cell door, but he wasn’t particularly worried she might attempt escape. He crouched down in front of her again and stared into her eyes, thankful that she wasn’t weeping or having an anxiety attack from all the fear and stress of her predicament.
“First of all, Cora, let me say that I admire your composure right now. I’ve seen men break down in tears the moment they walk through the entryway of the dungeon. Second of all, when Commander Wornik returns and tells me of your innocence, I am going to feel so fucking bad I might have to buy you one of the small islands off the coast of Ismallia.”
“I’d rather you pay off my student loans, but hey, a girl can’t be choosy. I think I’ll call my island, ‘No Men Named Akeen Allowed.’ ”
“Then I shall change my name and come sailing to you,” he joked, reaching for her hands.
She swallowed hard, her expression growing serious. Finally, she accepted his touch, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing. “I knew you wouldn’t really hurt me. I mean, I pull my hair harder than that when I’m brushing it.”
“When you get out of here, I’ll let you pull my hair for revenge.”
“It’s a deal.” Her eyes shone with humor, and her smile lit up the darkened room. “But I’m warning you, I am going to pull very, very hard.”
***
Though Cora still harbored the fear that the Royal Guard would mistakenly find her guilty, she took comfort in Akeen’s kindness. He’d promised to wait with her in the cell until the news of her innocence, or guilt, arrived. She
didn’t know much about the judicial system in Ismallia, but she recalled something about the Royal Guard having the power to pass judgments without a trial. Punishments were handed down by an independent judge though.
She breathed deep and tried to calm her inner storm, telling herself that she had nothing to worry about because she had truth on her side.
“Are you warm enough? I can get another blanket if you’d like.” Akeen’s soothing deep voice was a balm to her anxieties.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She peeked under her blanket at the robe. “I can’t help but notice, this isn’t yours.” The robe fit her perfectly. If it had belonged to him, she would be swimming in it.
He had the grace to look sheepish for an instant. “The woman who used to wear it is long gone. Don’t worry.”
“Tell me about her.” Cora was eager to talk about anything if it helped take her mind off the agonizing wait.
“She was a tour guide from the neighboring kingdom of Heratima. We met while I was on a diplomatic mission there. To make a long story short, I brought her home with me and, after a few months, I was about to propose marriage to her, but she betrayed me and my family.” He frowned and gazed at a spot on the wall beyond her, his eyes distant.
“What did she do?”
“She left the palace, supposedly to go on a shopping trip, but she never returned. I tried to find her and soon discovered she had hopped a flight back to Heratima. Two days later, I saw a tabloid with the headline Secrets of the Palace Revealed. A few days later, Bastard Prince Likes It Rough In Bed. The headlines kept coming for weeks, accompanied by pictures she must have taken when I wasn’t looking, including several pictures of me sleeping naked. If not for the pictures, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was difficult to deny the truth behind the stories, despite the exaggerations in some of them, when never-before-seen pictures were published. I learned she made millions of dollars off the stories.”
“I’m so sorry, Akeen. How long ago did this happen?”