Page 14 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

VIA

I’m staring at the velvet canopy of the bed, counting the individual tufts of fabric, because if I look at the walls for one more second, I’m going to start hyperventilating and I might just die like that.

This place is beautiful, sure. It’s got silk wallpaper and furniture that probably costs more than a suburban house, but it’s still a box. A windowless, oxygen-deprived box that smells like Ilya’s expensive tobacco and the lingering, humiliating heat of what he did to me last night.

Don’t think about last night. Think about literally anything else but that.

My skin feels too tight for my body. It’s a familiar prickling, restless energy that comes right before I lose my mind. I need to see the sky. Or a tree. Honestly, I’d settle for a patch of grey asphalt at this point.

The digital chirp of the door lock makes me bolt upright. I grab a silk pillow and clutch it to my chest, my heart doing that annoying hummingbird thing again.

The door swings open, and it’s not the giant, obsidian-eyed monster this time. It’s his sister. She’s carrying a tray with a silver cloche, looking a little bit like a conspirator in a heist movie.

"Hi,” she says sheepishly.

“Hi,” I whisper and run my hands through my hair. “How come you’re the one feeding the prisoner?”

“I-I told Sasha I’d bring it," she says, closing the door behind her. She sets the tray on the table and looks at me, her head tilted. "Are you okay? You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin."

"That’s because I am," I say, my voice sounding scratchy. I swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the plush carpet. "Ekaterina, right? Tell your brother I’m developing a very specific and very violent form of claustrophobia. If I don't get out of this room, I’m going to start eating the upholstery."

She giggles, and for a second, she looks like a normal fifteen-year-old instead of a Pakhan’s sister. "He’s in a mood today. Even Dimitri is staying out of his way. He said you’re 'restricted' until further notice."

"Restricted. Like a convicted felon?" I stand up, pacing the small length of the room. "I can’t be in here, Ekaterina. I’m serious. I’m starting to see the wallpaper move."

"He’s just worried," she says, sitting on the edge of a velvet armchair. "Our father... he kept us locked up too, before he died. Ilya says it’s the only way to keep the family safe. Especially now."

I stop pacing and look at her. She looks lonely. It’s a look I recognize because I’ve spent twenty years perfecting it in front of a mirror. "Safe isn't the same thing as living, honey. My father did the same thing. Gilded cage, silent guards, the whole bit. And look where it got me. I’m currently a 'repossession' in a windowless bedroom."

Ekaterina bites her lip. "He’s never brought anyone here before. Not like this."

"I’m special," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "I’m the only girl in the city who’s bitten him and told him his suit is cliché. Now, help me out. I just need a change of scenery. Five minutes. Ten.”

She looks at the door, then back at me. I can see the rebellion warring with the fear of her brother.

"Ilya is in the basement strategy room," she whispers. "He won't be up for a while. There’s a library on the third floor. It has skylights."

"Skylights?" I practically trip over my own feet. "Ekaterina, if you take me to a place where I can see the sun, I will be your best friend for life. I will teach you how to hack your brother’s Netflix account. I’ll even show you how to apply winged eyeliner without poking your eye out."

She laughs, standing up. "He’ll kill me. He really will."

"He won't kill you. He’ll just growl and look grumpy. I’m the one who’s in the line of fire. Come on. Live a little."

She hesitates for another heartbeat, then nods. “Okay… let’s go to the library? He rarely visits there.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Ekaterina,” I say with a grateful smile, and she giggles and uses her own biometric pass on the door, and the sound of it opening feels like a victory.

The walk through the stronghold is a blur of grey stone and silent, lethal-looking men in black suits who go rigid when they see us. Ekaterina walks with her head down, but I keep mine up. I want them to see me.

The library is a massive, two-story room filled with the scents of old paper and leather. And there, in the center of the ceiling, is a series of thick, reinforced glass panels.

I stand directly under them, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. The sun is pale, filtered through the morning clouds, but it’s there. It’s real. I can feel the weight of the building lifting off my chest.

"Better?" Ekaterina asks.

"Infinitely," I breathe. I look around the room. "This is quite a collection. Does Ilya actually read these, or are they just for show?"

"He reads military history," she says, pulling a heavy book from a shelf. "And maps. He loves maps. I like the stories. The ones where people go on adventures and don't end up in armored cars."