Page 30 of Stolen Princess

Rhys curses under his breath and drags a hand up through his hair.

“Every bottle in here has been watered down.”

I turn to Rhys. “Did you already know that? Is that why you got a beer?”

“I suspected as much.”

I return to the bartender. “Do you have anything that isn’t watered down?”

“I have a bottle of Natterjack.”

I scrunch my nose, my eyebrows dipping in.

“It’s whiskey, and it’s strong, and no,” Rhys tells me, but he’s kind of my captive, isn’t he? My bodyguard in a way, since he can’t let anything bad happen to me or he won’t get his necklace.

I beam at the bartender. “That sounds great. I’ll have one of those, but first I want to try this.”

I lift the French 75 and take a sip. It’s fruity and delicious and not strong at all. “I like that. I’ll have this too.”

Rhys mutters something I can’t make out, but I don’t care that much either. I spin on my stool and look around before I note the prime minister’s face on a board with several holes poked into it.

“What’s that?” I ask and point so Rhys knows what I’m talking about.

“That’s the twat former prime minister on my dartboard,” Masters tells us. “He used to live outside town.”

I spin back to him. “Really?”

“The town was booming, and business was great. Everyone loved him, you see, and tourists came here as a show of support and to hopefully see him. Then he tried to kill the king and the new queen, and since then, no one comes here. Our town has dried up.”

I frown. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”

“It’s all part of the curse.”

Everyone in the bar tenses, but I have to ask, “What curse?”

Shock registers all over Master’s face, and a man on my right says, “What curse? Have you been living under a rock?”

Pretty much. Embarrassment hits me, and I take a pull of my pink drink instead of replying.

“She’s not from here,” Rhys tells the man.

“It’s the ancient Messalinian curse on the royal family,” Master’s explains. “Over the centuries, at least one person from each generation has died, gotten very ill, or had some strange tragedy befall them. But the current royal family has had the worst of it. Princess Desta was stolen from her crib, and the former king was murdered when he tried to stop it. The baby sister, Princess Brea, was born very ill, and no one has ever seen her. The current king’s first wife died in a helicopter incident, but it was the prime minster”—he points at the picture on the dartboard—“who tinkered with the helicopter and killed her. Then eight months or so ago, he tried to kill the king and his fiancée.”

I gasp, my hand covering my mouth. No wonder my mother kept me in the tower. I was kidnapped too, but thankfully, she tracked me down and found me. “What happened to the princess who was kidnapped?”

“No one’s seen her since. It’s assumed she’s dead.”

A shudder rolls through me, and when he slides the glass of whiskey at me, I pick it up and drink most of it down. A cough bursts from my chest, and I sputter, drawing another aggravated curse from Rhys, but I can’t help it. It feels like fire going down my chest.

“Can I see your phone?” I ask him.

“Why?” he asks suspiciously as he sips his beer. I steal it from him and take a swig, anxious to try everything. All I’ve ever had was wine.

My face scrunches up. “Gross.”

“Stick to your pretty drink then.” He grabs it back from me and takes a chug, but I realize what I just did. I drank from his bottle after he did, and he drank after I did. He must realize this too, because that flirty look is back, but now his eyes are darker. “Like swapping spit with me, princess?”

I scowl. “No, and don’t call me that.” Especially after what I heard about the royal family. “Can I see your phone?”