No one else would hear her except them, she suspected.
“Think, think,” she muttered. She needed to stay centered, calm. She wasn’t harmed, not really. She wasn’t bound. She wasn’t naked. All of that meant these were not men who planned to assault her, at least not right away.
She didn’t think theywouldassault her either, and she clung to that thought, that shred of rational understanding, as the minutes dragged by and the screams built up in her throat. Screams that no amount of logic could quite chase away. Stuffing her fist into her mouth, Fran forced her hiccupping breaths to slow, her mind to detach. Detach the way she’d helped others detach. Others who’d gone through much worse than this, so much worse. She could handle this, look at it rationally, dispassionately. She’d been thrown into a room, her elbows skinned. She hadn’t been hurt.
You’re all right. You’re okay.
The shaking wouldn’t stop though, couldn’t stop, not yet.
But there was still something she could do. Move. She could move.
It took another few minutes for Fran to act on what her brain was urging, but at length she blew out a deep breath. She leaned over to brace herself on the concrete floor, then worked herself up against the wall. Standing was better, standing was stronger. She could stand. She would stand. She didn’t have to cower in the dark. She would stand.
And the room wasn’t completely dark either, she realized. There was a thin line of light at the base of the door, though—it wasn’t full light. Her guards didn’t have the lights on in the hallway. That meant once again, they must still be close to the ballroom. That was good, that had to be good.
Fran couldn’t hear voices but she knew—she knew she wasn’t alone. Someone was standing watch.
Think, think.
She wasn’t an unplanned abduction. That bag. The chloroform. Someone had watched her, had seen her leave the ballroom. Had seen her and followed her and—
Thatbag, she thought again. Thechloroform. Enough to knock her out, but not keep her out. They’d left her awake. That had to mean something. They’d left her awake. Awake and dressed andnot.Hurt.
You’re all right. You’re okay.
With halting steps, Fran explored the concrete room. There was nothing in it. Not a chair, not a bed, not storage boxes. Nothing she could use as a weapon, nothing that could be used against her. They’d bring their own weapons though. The stories…the stories Fran had heard, the haunted eyes of the service men and women. The stories.
But those weren’t her stories. Wouldn’t be her stories.
You’re all right. You’re okay.
The door opened and Fran whirled, fear and adrenaline jacking as she opened her mouth to scream, to shout, to blurt and cry. But the flashlight was so bright—so bright! And her scream died in her throat as an overhead light flooded the room. She crouched back at the sound of heavy feet stomping onto the concrete floor, then straightened and forced her eyes open.
She registered two men standing on either side of the door…then a third stalked into the room. A third man so perfectly, so impeccably dressed—a man she’dseenbefore—that Fran’s mouth couldn’t form the words at first.
Finally, she blurted. “Mr. Saleri?”
“CountSaleri,” the old man snapped, and he gestured to the two guards to leave. They did, silently, shutting the door behind them as Fran gaped at him. This man…he was old! He was rich! What was shedoinghere?
“Count Saleri,” she managed, hating the way her voice sounded, thin and pitiful and weak. She sounded like she had when she was a little girl. A little girl who’d gotten backed into one too many corners, a little girl afraid. A little girl who’d finally came out swinging though, who’d finally learned how to fight.
Fran straightened a little further, holding onto that thought.
“That’s right,” Saleri said coldly. “Names are important here in Garronia. Names mean something.Ranksmean something. Which you clearly don’t understand. None of you do.”
Fran’s brains were scrambling, trying to understand. This was an old man, or old enough. Easily close to sixty. Edeena’s father. A royal. A count, related to the queen. They’d never even spoken to each other, so how…
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“To leave and never come back would be a good start,” Silas sneered. “I’ve given up on Ari marrying my daughter. But we can’t have the Andris line sulliedtwicewith American whores.”
Fran’s eyes flew wide, her fear suddenly shoved back by the powerful punch of anger. There’d been the bag, yes. The bag and the darkness, the drug, the concrete room—but now this man, this ridiculously-dressed man with ribbons and silk and gleaming shoes was calling her and Emmalinewhores?On what grounds!
Saleri’s face twisted as he regarded Fran with disdain. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re all trying to do. The Andris family was weak, broken, desperately trying to recover from their son’s death. Hisdeath!” Silas balled his hands into fists. “He should havestayeddead if all he was going to do was come back and complete the ruin of his life he’d started by rejecting my Edeena.”
“Edeena?” Fran’s hands flailed, as if they could grasp some sense from the thin air. “But what—”
Moving was the wrong thing to do. Silas reacted instantly, pulling out a gun so fast that Fran blurted a cry.
