Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(36)

My anger at Viggo took a backseat to my concern over Bridget as we crowded into the mini clinic, where Bridget sat on the hospital bed. She didn’t look happy to see Nikolai, who stood next to her with a tight expression.

The doctor informed us Bridget did, indeed, have a concussion, but she should recover in ten to fourteen days. She also had a mild wrist sprain and the beginnings of a nasty cold. Nothing life-threatening, but she would be uncomfortable for the next few weeks.

I glared at Viggo, who shrank behind Nikolai like a coward.

I stayed after everyone else left, and the doctor took one look at my face before murmuring an excuse and slipping out the door, leaving me and Bridget alone.

“I’m fine,” Bridget said before I could open my mouth. “A few weeks of rest and I’ll be good as new.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, unconvinced. “What the hell happened? Nikolai said you ran off after you two got in an argument.”

Her face shut down. “Sibling squabble. It was nothing.”

“Bullshit. You don’t run off in anger.”

Not to mention, Bridget hadn’t spoken to him once while he was in the room, which was telling. She would never ignore her brother unless he’d really pissed her off.

“There’s a first time for everything,” she said.

A frustrated growl rose in my throat. “Dammit, princess, you need to be more careful. If something happened to you, I—” I broke off abruptly, swallowing the rest of my words. I don’t know what I’d do.

Bridget’s face softened. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Too fuckin’ late.”

She hesitated, seeming to debate something before she said, “Because it’s your job.”

The question hung in the air, loaded with a deeper meaning.

My jaw flexed. “Yes,” I finally said, my heart doing an odd little twist again. “Because it’s my job.”





13





Bridget





The next few weeks were miserable, not only because I was sick and healing from my injuries, but because the lull in my public schedule gave me plenty of time to freak out about Nikolai’s abdication.

I was going to be queen. Maybe not tomorrow or a month from now, but one day, and one day was far too soon.

I lifted my wineglass to my lips and stared up at the night sky. It was three weeks to the day since my conversation with Nikolai.

My concussion had healed, and I’d long since recovered from my cold. I still had to be careful with my wrist, but otherwise, I was up and running again, which meant I had to attend meeting after meeting about how and when to announce the abdication, how to handle the fallout, plans for my permanent move back to Eldorra, and a million other things that made my head spin.

That morning, my family, Markus, and I agreed on an official announcement a month from now. Or rather, everyone else agreed, and I went along with it because I didn’t have a choice.

One month. One more month of freedom, and that was it.

I was about to take another drink when the door to the rooftop creaked open. I straightened, my mouth falling open when I saw Rhys step outside. Judging by the way his eyebrows shot up, he was as surprised to see me as I was him.

“What are you doing here?” we asked at the same time.

I huffed out a small laugh. “Mr. Larsen, this is my house. I should be the only one asking that question.”

“I didn’t think anyone came out here.” He took the seat next to me, and I tried not to notice how good he smelled, like soap and something indescribably Rhys. Clean, simple, masculine.

We were on the rooftop of one of the palace’s north towers, which could only be accessed via the service hallway near the kitchen. Compared to the palace’s actual, terraced rooftop garden, it was nothing, barely big enough for the chairs I’d bribed a staff member to help me bring up. But that was why I liked it. It was my secret haven, the place I escaped to when I needed to think and be away from prying eyes.

I drained the rest of my wine and reached for the bottle at my feet, only to realize it was empty. I rarely drank so much, but I needed something to ease the anxiety following me around like a black cloud these days.

“Just me. Most people don’t know about this place,” I said. “How did you find it?”

“I find everything.” Rhys smirked when I scrunched my nose at his arrogance. “I have the palace blueprints, princess. I know every nook and cranny of this place. It’s my—”

“Job,” I finished. “I know. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

He’d said the same thing in Dr. Hausen’s office. I wasn’t sure why it annoyed me so much. Maybe because, for a second, I could’ve sworn his worry for me went beyond his professional obligations. And maybe, for a second, I could’ve sworn I wanted it to. I wanted him to care about me as me, not as his client.

Rhys’s lips quirked before his gaze traveled to my forehead. “How’s the bruise?”

“Fading, thank the Lord.” It was now a pale yellowish green. Still unsightly, but better than the glaring purple it used to be. “And it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

“Good.” He brushed his fingers gently over the bruise, and my breath stuttered. Rhys never touched me unless he had to, but at that moment, he didn’t have to. Which meant he wanted to. “You gotta be more careful, princess.”