Page 102 of Stolen Princess

“That’s the thing,” I whisper, gutted, my lungs shredding, making it hard to breathe. “I don’t know.”

33

DESTA

My head spins, and my muscles quiver, and oh fuck. Vomit spews from my lips straight into the toilet I’m somehow perched over. My body feels as though it’s attached to weights. What did they give me?

My shoulder aches. Why does my shoulder ache? And my head is miserable. Aching and painful, and I’m so dizzy I can hardly stand it. Looking at the toilet, this isn’t the first time I’ve thrown up. I strain to remember last night, but I’m only getting foggy pieces. Whatever they gave me is strong. Then I’m knocked sideways with it.

Ferrin. He was shot. We were trying to get to shore. Oh god, Ferrin. He died. His body…

I throw up again, only it’s nothing but dry heaves.

When that’s done, I collapse to the floor and lose time. I think I fall asleep or pass out again. Sven. He was there. It was him. But… I don’t remember anything after that. I remember him pulling me from the water. I remember seeing Ferrin’s body float up. But that's it. Nothing after that.

I’m not at the cottage. I don’t know where he took me.

I flush the toilet and pull myself up and off the floor to the sink. Holy shit, I look rough. The cut Ferrin bandaged the other day is open, I have bruises and a fresh cut on my other cheek, and my whole face is caked with dried blood and dirt. He didn’t clean me up at all. I have leaves and brush in my hair, and my clothes are filthy and still wet.

I check the door and see that it’s closed but not locked, which feels odd to me. I’m shocked he gave me privacy, but maybe I threw up, and he tossed me in there on the toilet? I wish I could remember. I lock the door, then go about washing my face and cleaning out my mouth. There’s nothing in here other than hand soap and a towel. That’s it.

The drawers are empty, and so is the shower. But the bathroom is… gross. It makes the inn where Ferrin and I stayed our first night look lavish.

Where the hell am I?

I wish this grogginess would clear. It feels as though I’m underwater. Again.

My cuts sting, and the large gash bleeds more, but I had to clean it out. I hold the towel to it, not sure what else to do. I’m trembling and seriously fucking scared.

I move over to the door and press my ear to it. I can just barely make out the faint sound of voices, but I can’t tell anything they’re saying or who they are. Sucking in a shaky breath, I slowly and as quietly as possible open the door.

It leads to a small, dingy bedroom, and I peer around. The door is closed, and when I test it, I find it locked. So that’s why he left me in the bathroom. I’m locked in and wasn’t locking them out. On the other side of the bedroom is a grimy, crust-covered window. It’s tough to see out of. The only thing I can tell for sure is that it’s still night. What time of night? I have no clue.

I don’t know if I’m in a house or a hotel or what.

I return to the door and press my ear against the wood, straining to catch anything. I can hear two women and a man talking, and I lower myself to the floor to listen at the crack beneath the door.

“He’s taken care of,” the man, whom I think is Sven, says.

“What does that mean?” my mother questions. I’d know her voice anywhere.

“He’s dead. I shot him a few times, and I saw his body in the water.”

“He better be dead. I don’t want him near her again. He’s the reason all this happened. She never would have left on her own.”

That’s true. I don’t know if I would have mustered the courage. I was closer to killing myself than I was to that, which is simply sad in retrospect. I was more afraid of what would happen if I tried to live and failed than I was of death. And that’s the most tragic thing of all. If I hadn’t tried, even with some of my failures and things that went wrong, I wouldn’t have had everything else. All the magic in between.

Life changes from moment to moment, and nothing is ever set in stone. I know that now, whereas I didn’t before. Despite it all, I’m so incredibly happy I left my cottage. That I found the courage to finally take that one step to change everything.

“He’s dead. Trust me,” Sven continues. “I gave the girl chloroform and Versed and brought her here. She’ll be out for a while.”

“Chloroform?” my mother exclaims. “That’s toxic.”

Now I know why I threw up so much. But he must not have given me as much as he thinks since I’m awake.

“It did the trick,” Sven states with no emotion.

Another woman makes a harsh noise. “I didn’t agree to this, Antonia. I don’t want to be here.”