He held onto her hand but moved it to his thigh where he gripped it tight. “Now I know you’re all right.”
“What do you mean?”
“You must be feeling better if you’re arguing with me.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it close and the amusement faded from his lips. “We should talk.”
Words that never sounded very good, but it would be best to deal with their situation now. Then, he’d just be another person who’d left her, though this time it was by choice.
She’d deal with it. She’d get through it. Maybe, if she were lucky, he’d let her sleep a little longer before he got rid of her, because she was really quite tired—emotionally, physically, mentally—even after an apparent three days of sleep.
He squeezed her hand again. “First, let me get the medical notes out of the way. You’re generally fine. The threat was cleared a few hours after you passed out, at which point I took you to the hospital, where you underwent a head scan and tests. I then brought you back here since you were stable, just unconscious, and it was clear I could take care of you with the facilities I have here. I’m not technically your doctor—the Royal Physician is—but I have been looking after you. You’ll have some scarring, and you have a bruised rib which will take time to heal, so I’m going to recommend bed rest for a minimum of three weeks but resting for six weeks would be better. The rest of the bruises are probably tender, but just need time to improve.”
That didn’t sound so bad. It wasn’t anything worse than she’d really had before. “My head?”
“You didn’t have a concussion and your scans were clear, so everything looks good. No brain swelling or other head injuries. We discussed keeping you in the hospital, but you seemed more exhausted than anything else. We’ve been keeping a close eye on you, and haven’t seen any complications or other issues. How do you feel?”
She took stock of everything for the first time. She definitely felt the aches in the bruises, the pain of being punched repeatedly, but those would take a while to disappear. It would be a bitch until they did, but she’d deal with it, even if she was dealing with that alone.
She didn’t say any of that, though. “I feel decent, actually, and surprisingly clean.”
He chuckled. “I made sure you got a sponge bath at the hospital, and I gave you one here as well. Nothing untoward happened; I was in doctor mode when I did it.”
He paused and the laughter faded. “They didn’t…in that apartment, did they—”
“No,” she said immediately. “They groped me because they were piece of shit assholes, punched me, beat me, but they didn’t do anything else.”
“At the hospital, I asked them to check but they didn’t find anything. But your torn underwear was on the floor in that apartment where we found you, and your dress…”
She sighed. She’d really liked that dress, but there was no way it was repairable. “I know what it looked like, but it wasn’t that.” She’d think about that situation later with a therapist, but not now. “How did the situation get resolved so quickly, anyway?”
“It was you actually. That guy you put through the window was actually the mastermind of the whole plot.”
“Brutish Bastard Boris? Really?”
His eyes widened. “Yes. The ballroom was actually supposed to be phase one of their plan. They’d planned a domino-type series of coordinated attacks. They had a lot of computer equipment that they used to contact their teams in various locations—near the Royal Council chambers and other areas around the palace, and various spots in the city. When they failed to grab a royal after the first series of attacks, they halted the other bombs. We believe we found them all and the members of their teams, though we’re doing more sweeps around the country to be sure. They’re part of a splinter cell of the terrorist group called the Vallerian Patriots. Motherfuckers. As if they know what it means to be a patriot.”
Usually anything with the word ‘patriot’ in the title had nothing at all to do with actual patriotism and loyalty to one’s country. “I’ve heard of them. They hate the monarchy. What was their plan—grab the king, force him to dissolve the monarchy, and then what? Boris makes himself supreme leader?”
“Some bullshit like that. They never think these things through. The monarchy could never be dissolved so easily.”
“No chemical attack?”
“No. They’d planned to use a series of explosives only.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“Minor injuries, mostly from people at the ball who fell over or were hurt during the stampede to leave the building. My family’s safe. Other than the deaths of officers, you were the one injured most.”
Her eyes slid up to his forehead where she saw the remnants of the injury she’d given him. Her finger went towards it and brushed the skin at his temple. “Sorry about that.”
He leaned into it and sighed. “I deserved it. I should have just supported your plan from the start. You’ve always protected me, but I haven’t done nearly as good a job in return.”
“You found me though, didn’t you?” She tilted her head to the side. “How did you find me anyway?”
He straightened a little and held her hand in his lap. “I called Marcello. Told him I knew who you really were and I asked for his help.”
What? She’d just assumed that Ethan had found her on his own, that Marcello had probably followed Ethan to the building where she was being held and discovered them together. “You told him…about us? But he didn’t know you were an agent until you told everyone in the bunker.”
