Page 48 of Stolen Princess

“But you have killed people?”

I catch her eye. “Yes. I have. Three people. Two of them very violently.”

“See what I mean. Yet I’m letting your arm stay around me, and I’m not afraid of you. Clearly I’m a psycho, or something is very wrong with me.”

“I don’t think that makes you a psycho. I think that makes you desperate, and desperation might be the most dangerous of human conditions.”

She shrugs. “Perhaps. I’m simply saying I’m not as sweet and innocent as you think I am.”

I laugh lightly as we approach the car rental place. I stop us in front of the doors and hold her in front of me. “You are, though. That’s my point. You’re sweet and innocent. But you’ve also lost your fucks to give and are on the edge of something.”

She swallows thickly and flutters her eyelashes. “On the edge of what?”

“Flying or falling. There are only two options when you reach that point.”

“Have you ever been there? Is this speaking from experience or more of your psychology?”

“Experience. Wait out here but stay to the side of the building and don’t move or leave. Where’s your phone?”

Her brows twist at my sharp topic change, but she pulls it out of her bag and hands it to me. It’s a hundred fucking years old and utterly useless for anything other than calling, texting, or taking a picture. No internet. No maps. Her TV only showed violence that was made to look like the news or current events of the world outside her cottage.

Yeah, her mother is a sick, twisted bitch.

I program my number into her phone and text myself so I have hers. “Keep it ready and hit that button if anyone so much as looks at you.” I hand her back her phone. “Don’t ask about this.” I pull out some prosthetics from my bag and apply them along with fake teeth to my face, then head inside. Today I’m Mike Williams, and I get us a car easily enough. As it is, I’m running out of aliases. I have one left to get us by with, and I don’t like it. It takes months to procure passable IDs and real credit cards.

But if this plan works, I might finally be able to be Ferrin Morgan again.

We get our bags settled, and she climbs into the passenger side of the car. She struggles with the seatbelt, and it dawns on me she may have never been in a car before or at least not remember it. So wild.

After I help her buckle up, we’re off, following the GPS and listening to music. She’s quiet as she takes in the surrounding world, her hands resting gracefully on her lap, her body still but far from relaxed. I have a million questions to ask her. So many things I not only want to know but need to know for this to work.

I’m operating under the strong assumption that her life has been what it is because she’s actually the royal princess. It’s the only story that adds up all the pieces together and makes them fit. But I didn’t come to that conclusion on my own. It might have tickled some recess part of my thoughts. But I never would have taken the leap until she looked it up. Whether it was general curiosity about the curse or the family or whether she suspects it herself, I’m not sure yet. She’s been good at holding her cards close to her chest.

“Does your face hurt?” I ask.

“Not too bad.”

“Do you want to stop to get more ice or some pain medicine?”

She shakes her head, and that’s it. She’s silent for another few kilometers before she says, “I’m going to have to tell her something when I return home.”

I release a breath and turn down the volume on the music. “Are you sure that’s still what you want to do?”

“Why wouldn’t I? This real world isn’t all that great so far.”

“It’s called living, darlin’. Some days are better than others. Has to be better than being locked away all the time. Why does she leave you?” I question as I maneuver us around another car and back into the left lane.

She plays with the ends of her hair, twirling it around her fingers. “I don’t know. I have no idea where she goes. Where she lives. What she does to earn money. She never tells me. I’ve asked, and she dodged my questions and told me it’s not important or that when she comes to see me, she doesn’t want to talk or think about the outside world.”

My hand runs along the steering wheel. “So she keeps you there alone, won’t let you leave, tells you everyone is evil and the world is dangerous, doesn’t explain herself to you at all as she lives in the world and does what she wants, and you want to go back to her?”

She folds her arms defensively. “She’s keeping me safe.”

I catch the side of her pinched lips and furrowed brow. “Princess, you don’t actually still believe that bullshit, do you?”

“I was kidnapped.”

“Yeah. By her.”