Page 26 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

“All of that comes with trust, Princess,” he says. “And you haven’t earned it yet. You will stay in this room at all times unless I say otherwise.”

Hm. Guess on the day he lets me suck his dick, I’ll be able to move around freely. At least I have some kind of gauge. “You said three meals a day. What about snacks?”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, I don’t think?—”

“Are there any other questions, Sofia? Or are you trying to waste my time?”

Something in his voice makes my jaw slam shut. It rumbles with warning like a lion’s growl. “No,” I say. “No, Sir.”

He nods. “I’ll give you the day to recover,” he says. “So, shower, relax, rest. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

Start again. I’m equally afraid and excited for that prospect. He leaves at that point without so much as a goodbye. So… I stand in this room as he walks out and wait until I hear the locks engage.

Terms of my imprisonment, huh? I guess this could be worse in a lot of ways. It certainly would have been worse if I’d chosen not to fuck him. At least I’ll be able to shower. I walk over to the dresser and open it. There’s nothing in it. Guess I’ll have to wait for clothes…

But I don’t have to wait for a shower, and right now, I’m desperate for one. I kick off my shoes and let the soft carpet caress the bottoms of my feet.

I might sleep for days after this shower.

I’m barely watchingthis show. Not that I could focus if I wanted to. At this point, the television is just on for the noise.

The shower is one of those rain shower things with the shower head in the ceiling, which I always thought was a nice thing in theory—and a nice thing for me earlier since I hadn’t had a shower in days—but I’m really not interested in washing my hairevery day and not getting it wet is nearly impossible in one of those things.

Wish I could cut my hair. A wash and go style would be perfect for that kind of setup. As it stands now, I’m going to have to either lean awkwardly away from the water or get a swim cap.

Just the same, I checked maintaining my hygiene off Titus’s list. When I got out, there was a plush, white robe hanging on the back of my bathroom door, and thank goodness. Walking around in just a dress shirt and tennis shoes made me feel more exposed than if I had been naked this whole time. The soft material against my skin was more than welcome. When I walked out of the bathroom, Titus’s driver was standing in the middle of my room with a notebook in hand.

Turns out, heisTitus’s sovietnik. His name is Ignat, but mentally, I’ve been calling him Iggy or some other ridiculous moniker, something I know would piss a guy like him off. He’s got a face like a marble statue and stark blue eyes that seem to stare right through you. He has a conservative haircut and a light, but well-maintained beard along his jaw… and he isentirelyhumorless.

He took my clothing sizes and then left without a word. Within the next few hours, I was furnished with more clothes than I think I could ever know what to do with. My walk-in closet is practically overflowing and so are my dressers.

And now, it’s the dead of night and I’m sitting in pajamas letting the television watch me. I did sleep. I slept all morning and afternoon. And now I’m awake and plagued with my own thoughts.

Adam’s in the wind. Hopefully, he’s left town. After failing so miserably at this assassination attempt, I need that win. I need to know that he’s somewhere Titus can’t touch him.

A soft, mewling noise gets my attention. I pause the television show and listen.Does Titus have a cat…?

Oh. Oh, that’s not a cat. That’s a kid. I stand up and walk across the room, putting my ear to the door and listening.

It’s definitely a little kid crying. Whoever he is, he sounds nearby. Maybe in one of the other rooms we passed on the way up here. I glance around my room, looking for something to pick the lock with. Maybe this kid is in trouble. Maybe Titus has kidnapped some little boy for ransom or something.

Either way, I need to get to him. I don’t find anything in my immediate area, so I look through my closet. On the shelf, discarded in a small pile of disregarded items, are two medium-sized safety pins.

Crude, but it’ll work. I rush to the door with one of the safety pins and kneel down to get to work on the lock. The last time I did this, I was around thirteen or so. Papa was angry with me for sneaking out, so he locked my phone in his desk. I got it out while he was away on business.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take me long to get the lock to turn and I’m out in the hallway. The sound of the child’s crying echoes along this hallway, but it’s muffled and soft. I think it’s coming from the hallway across from me, so I softly pad across the cool marble floors toward it.

This hallway leads down into another short one off to the side with a single door. Just like mine. I guess these isolated hallwaysare where he keeps his ‘guests’. I walk up to the door and listen. The little voice is sniffling between sobs. Poor thing.

“Hello?” I whisper.

The sniffling stops suddenly. Then a soft, “H-Hello?”

“Hi,” I say. “I, uh, heard you crying. Are you okay?”

Sniffles. “Yes. I just had a bad dream, that’s all.”