Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(114)

Bridget and I made it halfway to the door before he said, “Arranged marriages aren’t only for royals, Mr. Larsen. People have been forced into loveless marriages long before Her Highness was born.”

I paused and looked back, my eyes locking with Erhall’s. I glimpsed another flash of regret, but it wasn’t enough. Not for what he did to Deidre, and not for what he did to me. There was no excuse for how he’d handled the situation.

Instead of responding, I closed the remaining distance to the exit and left him there, sputtering and alone in his cold, oversized office.

Bridget waited until we entered the elevator, away from the prying ears and eyes of Erhall’s assistant, before she spoke. “We should make our rounds on the speech circuit,” she said. “We’d make a killing.”

A laugh rumbled in my throat. A heavy weight had lifted off my chest, allowing my laughter to flow more freely.

“Hard pass for me. I’m not typically a speech kinda guy.”

“You did good in there.” Bridget squeezed my arm, the movement conveying more than any words could, before a glint of mischief lit up her eyes. “I thought Erhall would rupture an artery. Imagine if we’d mentioned Andreas too.”

Andreas had been adamant about never letting Erhall know the truth about him. He had more to lose than any of us if the truth about his parentage came to light, and I had no problem keeping the secret—partly because I respected his choice, and partly because it kept him in line. Even if he didn’t want the crown, he was still on my watch list. Anyone who could possibly threaten Bridget was.

“So. Battle number one won,” I said as the elevator stopped on the ground floor of the Parliament building. “What’s next?”

Bridget’s mischief gave way to determination. “Next, we win the war.”

“Damn right we will.”

I held out my hand, and she took it, her small, soft palm nestling perfectly in my bigger, rougher one.

The doors whooshed open, and we stepped out to a frenzy of camera flashes and reporters shouting questions over each other.

Out of the shadows and into the spotlight.

I’d never expected global recognition, but I meant it when I said I would follow Bridget anywhere—including into the middle of a media firestorm.

You ready, Mr. Larsen?

Born ready, princess.

Bridget and I kept our hands clasped together as we walked through the storm.

One battle down, one war to win.

Good thing I was, and always will be, a soldier for one queen.





48





Bridget





For the next month, I launched into campaign mode to woo, or threaten, enough ministers into voting yes on a repeal. Some were an easy sell, others not so much. But one hundred phone calls, eleven in-person visits, twenty-three media interviews, and countless public appearances—both scheduled and “candid”—of me and Rhys later, the big day finally arrived.

Rhys and I sat in my suite, watching the vote play out on TV. I’d stress-ate my way through two packs of Oreos while he sat next to me, his face impassive but his body vibrating with the same restless energy tunneling through my veins.

The current vote count: ninety yay, thirty nay, and two abstentions, with fifty-eight more votes to go. We needed one hundred thirty-five yays for a repeal. It looked good, but I wasn’t counting my chickens until they hatched.

“Lady Jensen.” Erhall’s sour voice rang through the mahogany-paneled chamber on-screen.

“Yay.”

“Lord Orskov.”

“Yay.”

I squeezed Rhys’s hand, my heart thumping. I’d slotted Orskov into the maybe column, so his vote was a big win.

“They’ll pass it.” Rhys’s quiet confidence soothed the frayed edges of my nerves. “If they don’t, we have our backup plan.”

“Which is?”

“Burn down Parliament.”

I huffed out a laugh. “How’s that supposed to help?”

“I don’t know, but it’d be damn satisfying.”

Another laugh, another easing of nerves.

Fifty-seven down. Fifty-six. Fifty-five.

The vote continued until only two ministers were left and we were one yay short of a repeal. If either of them voted yes, we were home free.

I squeezed Rhys’s hand again as Erhall called on the next minister.

“Lord Koppel.”

“Nay.”

I deflated while Rhys let out a stream of curses. I hadn’t expected Koppel to vote yes, but it was disappointing nonetheless.

Regret rose in my throat. I should’ve dug out the blackmail file on Koppel. I’d tried to keep my campaign aboveboard, never outright threatening any of the ministers except Erhall, but perhaps I’d miscalculated. I wouldn’t be the first person in history who’d gotten screwed over by their conscience.

You did what was right.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I straightened and looked around my suite, but it was empty save for Rhys and me. Still, I could’ve sworn I heard a soft female voice whisper to me…a voice that sounded suspiciously like my mother’s, based on the old tapes I’d watched of her.

This is what I get for staying up late. I’d been too wired to sleep much last night, and I was clearly delirious from exhaustion.