Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(81)

But another part of me never wants to close my eyes again.

So I ease forward slowly. I choke out the word “Hello.”

The woman on the bed is in a hospital-issued gown that gaps in the back. The sheets are stiff; I know without even touching them. They’ve been bleached so much and for so long that they’ll be raw against her skin. She’ll itch but she won’t be able to scratch. The leather restraints that bind her wrists are too tight—the shearling lining is no doubt stiff and tough and rancid after years of other people’s sweat and blood and anguish.

For a second, I just stand here, slightly out of reach, rubbing my own wrists, fighting the force inside me that is always there, like an undertow, threatening to pull me back in time.

But the voice from the bed keeps me here.

“Let me loose,” the woman snaps. She sounds imperial despite the burns that have scarred her skin, the wild look in her eyes, and the rough, jagged edges of her hastily chopped hair.

I ease into the chair near the bed, try to soften my tone. “You should be careful, you know. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

She jerks in her restraints. “I don’t belong here!” she is shouting as Ms. Chancellor steps closer. There’s a doctor at her side. The hospital is taking us very seriously, I know. This is a high-profile case.

“She appears to be overwrought,” Ms. Chancellor says to the doctor. “She may need something.”

The doctor nods and reaches into the pocket of his lab coat. “I agree.”

I don’t know what’s in the vial. I don’t care. They all feel the same on the inside. They’re supposed to feel like peace, like bliss. But to me they always felt like your heart was covered with frostbite. They made me so numb I actually burned.

I watch her face fill with terror as the doctor injects the drugs.

“What is that? No! No! Let me loose. Free me this instant. I’m the princess of Adria and I demand to be freed!”

Since the funeral, people all over the globe have been claiming a place as one of Amelia’s descendants. Lost princesses are a dime a dozen, and no one takes her seriously. The doctor never even bats an eye.

Ms. Chancellor’s mouth ticks up and she tries to smooth the woman’s hair. “Rest now, Karina. You’re in good hands.”

“My name is Ann!” the woman shouts. “I’m Princess Ann of Adria, and I command you to free me now!”

The doctor studies her, as if he’s starting to see the resemblance despite the burns that mar her face, but the scars are too much and we are all so sure. “She is clearly very troubled,” the man observes. But I must say, she and the princess do resemble one another. You say they were friends once?”

“Yes,” Alexei says. “As girls. Then they became estranged. My mother was always … spirited …”

Then the doctor leans down. “Your son has brought you to us and we’re going to take good care of you, Karina.”

Her eyes are wild. “Do you know who I am? My name is Ann! I’m Princess Ann and …”

The moment the drugs enter her system, the woman on the bed’s outrage starts to fade, replaced by an eerie, surreal kind of calm.

“Do you know who I am?” she asks again, and this time it’s really a question.

“Rest, Karina,” Ms. Chancellor says. Then she adds, too low for the doctor to hear, “You will never be able to hurt yourself or anyone else ever again.”

Her eyes are heavy. It’s like the drugs and the lies and the misery are trying to drag her under. Soon, she might even give up the fight and go, so Alexei leans down and looks into eyes that are nothing like his own.

“Good-bye, Karina. I think you’re exactly where you belong.”

The woman tries to fight again, to scream, but no sound comes and everyone shuffles quietly toward the door.

Everyone, that is, except me.

For a moment I’m alone inside a memory. A nightmare. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I’m a long way from being the girl on the bed.

“I didn’t do anything!” she yells to no one in particular. She struggles against her restraints, which is a mistake, I know. But she’ll learn for herself soon enough. “I didn’t do anything!” she yells again.

I ease close and lean down. My voice is a whisper.

“It’s okay, Ann,” I tell her. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

Then I turn and walk away.





When I was twelve years old, I broke my leg jumping off the wall between Canada and Germany. I had something to prove then, some competition with myself that I didn’t even know I wasn’t winning.

Now years have passed and I’m back up here, high atop a wall that my ancestors convinced their husbands to build. It has kept Adria safe for a thousand years, standing guard against whatever enemies might float in on the tide.

I built my walls higher. Thicker. Stronger. But as I sit here watching the sun dip on the far side of the Mediterranean, I can feel them start to crack.

For the first time in a long time, I’d be content to let them crumble altogether.

When I hear a noise, I turn.

And for the first time in a long time, I am not afraid.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Alexei says, but he doesn’t even have to say that, really. He just gives me a look, and I know he knows what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. He puts an arm around my shoulders, and I know he feels it, too.