Page 26 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

T he scent of coffee saturated my clothing. One of the things I loved most about spending hours in a cafe was the way it lingered. It was almost as if I could bring the cozy feelings with me. Which was necessary when I entered a cold, sterile place like my parents’ kitchen.

The bustling catering crew, who’d taken over the space, was a surprise. Typical. My mother hadn’t mentioned a party. She would expect me to show up, to smile, to charm her guests, but there’d been no notice.

I’m always an afterthought.

Shaking my head, I pushed into the foyer, listening for her shrill voice. I wanted a small heads up who I’d be seeing tonight. With the amount of hired help, it was likely to be a bigger party.

A sickening feeling began to churn in my gut. The throngs of people meant something other might soon be crawling around the house.

I’m going to be okay. The words were little comfort to my heart.

I proceeded slowly, seeking my mother out in the sitting room.

“Push the sofa to the left,” she clipped, pointing to where the staff worked to adjust the antique.

“What’s all this?” I asked cheerfully.

The dismissive look was laced with annoyance. “I’m very busy, Annaliese.”

“I can see that,” I hedged. “Should I go put on a dress or hide in my room tonight?”

My mother let out an exasperated breath. “I’ve already had Cheri lay one out. Where have you been?”

“Shopping,” I lied.

“Take a shower, you stink.” My mother waved her hand at me.

Thanks, Mom. “Okay, can do.” I wouldn’t. “Who’s all coming? The usual crowd? Or are we expecting the Pope and queen?”

“Annaliese, I don’t have time for your antics!” snapped the woman who birthed me then promptly handed me off to a nanny. “Go upstairs and make yourself presentable. I swear, between your father’s sudden demands and your inappropriate humor, I’m going to be ill.”

“Well, we certainly don’t want that,” I muttered.

“One would think you’d be here, helping , for your own engagement party. But no, spoilt, ungrateful child that you are, you leave it all to me.” My mother rounded on the staff. “Break that vase and I’ll sue.”

“My…engagement party?” I repeated.

The snap of my mother’s fingers signaled me to hurry.

The sickening feeling in my gut bubbled up my throat. He didn’t…he couldn’t….

No, the Tormentor wasn’t behind this. That would be ludicrous. There wasn’t a church that would bless such a union, and most civil servants wouldn’t agree to such a match. He might be twisted and think we were going to end up together, but that was his secret hope, confined to the letters he sent.

My parents might consider me a postscript, but even they wouldn’t celebrate such a thing.

Taking steadying breaths, I laughed off my mother’s comment. This wasn’t a party for me. Once in the safety of my room, however, the white dress begged to differ.

I frowned at the thing.

“What the hell is going on?” There was no one to respond to my query.

I pulled off my tee shirt, bunching it under my nose and taking a deep breath. “I write my own story.”

But this newest twist left me reeling.

It took minutes to adjust my ponytail and turn it into an elegant chignon at the nape of my neck. My makeup was minimal, and I didn’t bother adding more. Just a spritz of scent, which clashed with the smell of coffee beans, and then I slid into the dress and heels.

Dashing back downstairs, I went straight to my father’s office. He would give me an answer.

My rapid knock was answered by Uncle Jon opening the door. He smiled. “Ah, there she is.”

I returned the smile, but my own lacked warmth. “Can we talk?”

“Hi Annaliese,” my cousin called out from where he sat in an armchair.

I raised my hand in greeting. While he hid it well enough in public, Jonatan had a weak constitution.

His health was always troubling him, random flare-ups of inflammation that made him feel really shitty, no matter how many doctors he saw or how many health retreats he took.

By the looks of it, he wasn’t feeling well tonight either.

How my uncle and father thought he was the rightful heir to the media empire was beyond me.

“Annaliese, what did you need? We’re very busy.” Dad didn’t even look up from his laptop.

“Mom said something about a party?”

“Yes?” He flicked a glance at me.

I took a few steps into the room, wincing when Jon closed it behind me.

“She said it was an engagement party?” I struggled to get the words out. They sounded pathetic to my own ears.

“You didn’t tell her?” Uncle Jon laughed in disbelief.

“Carole was supposed to.” The flicker of annoyance in my father’s voice told me his instructions hadn’t been followed. “Sit down, Annaliese.”

“I’d rather stand,” I began, but the look of warning in his eye had me collapsing in the armchair across from my cousin.

Shit…. This was bad.

“Your mother was supposed to tell you earlier this week,” Uncle Jon began.

“But you haven’t been home,” my father grumbled.

“We’ve arranged a match for you. You’ll like it.” My uncle’s smile was genuine.

I resisted flicking a glance to my cousin, who was muttering under his breath.

“To protect our interests in the company, we’re offering our competitor an alternative to his shares. Leonard Baldwin has agreed to our terms, and he’ll be here any minute to celebrate your impending union.”

I blinked at my father. The nausea ebbed. “Leonard…Baldwin?”

“You fancied him once,” my uncle encouraged me. “You two even dated for a few months?”

“Secretly dated,” my father said coldly. “But he’s willing to take you back.”

“Leonard Baldwin?” I repeated, scarcely able to believe this was happening.

“Quit saying his name,” Jonatan bit out. “It’s the dumbest business move in the books!”

I ignored him.

“He agreed?” I sat straighter, barely able to contain my eagerness.

I hadn’t seen the CEO all week. At first, it was because I avoided him, sticking to chain coffee shops in the suburbs. When I’d sufficiently licked my wounds and summoned enough courage to return downtown, I hadn’t run into the businessman in any of the usual haunts.

Maybe this was why.

“Of course, he agreed, the deal was too good to pass.” The gleam in my father’s eye was potent.

“You won’t fuss, will you, Annaliese?” Uncle Jon sat at the opposite end of the elongated desk, the place where he worked when he did business here with his brother.

“I’ll admit, a heads up would have been nice,” I managed to say.

“Blame your mother. She was supposed to talk to you,” my father said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s fine, that’s fine,” I said hurriedly. “I accept.”

“Good.” My uncle smiled and gave me a relieved look. “We knew you’d like the situation.”

Like it? I was still in shock, but later, when I had time to digest, I would be over the moon.

Rising quickly, I made an excuse about helping Mom and left the men to their business.

This was too good to be true. There was more to the story than a simple exchange of business shares.

I couldn’t help wondering if my sleuthing—and secret mailing—hadn’t helped the situation in some small way.

Whatever happened, it had to be magnanimous to flip the tables so quickly.

And how did Leo feel about this? He wouldn’t have agreed to it if he didn’t want to.

I battled down the delirious little sparkle of hope.

The angry, hurt mobster from the lake wasn’t going to agree to something like this without a large incentive.

Once I found out exactly what changed, I would see if a celebration was in order.

Until then, I would wait patiently for the cards to fall.

***

As it always did, my help turned into a scolding. So I spent the hour before the guests began to arrive hiding in the kitchen and stealing bites when the caterers weren’t looking.

Now, the hour was late, and the party was in full swing.

As I wandered through the rooms and the back patio, greeting the horde of guests and doing my best to answer their questions, I still found the situation hard to believe.

It would have been easier if the groom-to-be was actually here.

But it seemed my fiancé was held up with business and would be fashionably late.

Until Baldwin arrived, until he confirmed with his own words this was happening, I expected any minute for someone to pull the rug out from under me. ‘Just kidding, Annaliese! The man who you’re desperately in love with, who is cold and doesn’t love you back, has no intention of marrying you!’

Disengaging from a long Q&A with Monica about the situation—tired of her ribbing me for not saying anything at the speed-dating auction—I walked around the house to wait by the front door.

It made sense to the matronly socialite that the businessman would pay such an exorbitant amount for a date, since he was my secret fiancé.

“So secret that I didn’t even know,” I muttered.

Wandering through the lawn was tricky. I bent to pluck sod off my spikey kitten heel, wondering if I shouldn’t take the damn thing off.

There was no sound, no noise of warning. Slim fingers shoved me down.

I yelped, but the sound died on my lips as a gangly body tackled me. Fear, putrid and toxic, spiked in my veins.

“How dare you!” the Tormentor seethed. “You little slut, you’ve been unfaithful!”

“Get off me!” I struggled, giving him a hard shove.

“Ssshhh, shhh, Pookie, I’m not mad. I’ll forgive you,” he murmured, wrestling me to the ground. His lanky frame shouldn’t have that much strength. But he’d studied grappling martial arts and effectively pinned me down.

I gagged. “Stop that. Get the fuck away from me!”

Those clammy fingers brushed over my cheek. “So pretty. You’ve always been such a pretty child.”

And just like that, I froze.

The self-defense tactics were no match for the soul-crushing terror, the gut-wrenching fear, the panic that was embedded in me after endless days and nights of his pursuit, his torment.

Years of his grooming and assaults left me feeling powerless.

I tried to move, to fight back, but the sickening dread had me paralyzed.

He’d never raped me—he had some sick, twisted notion about waiting until our wedding night to complete our destined union—but it was just as bad.

The constant torment, the unwanted caresses, the terrifying kisses—it all lingered like a rotten stench, threatening to suffocate me.

I was a mess, a spineless, cowardly, anxious mess. He made me that way.

While I could stay strong in public, while I could pretend it wasn’t my reality and live my life, he was always there, lurking.

A single encounter with him, a single moment of being caught in his trap, laid me bare.

It unraveled the pretense, shredded my defenses and left me helpless.

How could a man who was nothing but sweat and bone have such power over me?

How could he reduce me to this? It was disgusting. It was so wrong.

And yet, it was happening again.

Full-fledged panic gripped me as he shifted his weight, pinning me further.

I whimpered.

“Get off,” I tried again. The words were weak. I was weak.

“Pookie, don’t be like that.”

“Leave me alone. This isn’t right,” I insisted, but the words came out as a plea.

A car drove up the drive. The lights flickered over the grass, just beyond us.

“They’ll see you,” I warned, summoning courage from the presence of the lights to fight back.

“It will all be over soon, Pookie Bear.” The Tormentor pressed a sloppy kiss on my forehead. “I’ll save you. That’s what you want. Say it.”

His fingers dug into my flesh.

“You’re hurting me,” I choked.

“Nooo, you’re hurting yourself. Just say the word, and this will be over.”

Heaven forgive me, I couldn’t fight him. So I told the sick, twisted motherfucker what he wanted to hear. “Save me.”

His laugh of delight was a demented cackle. But he sprang off me with the agility of youth and took off running into the dark.

My knees, weak and shaking, pulled inward and close to my chest. I hugged them for comfort. It was over, the worst was over. He was gone, but his presence lingered like an old nightmare. Which was exactly what he was.

His words festered in my ears, his touch alive on my skin.

I clung desperately to my own limbs, trying to steady my breath, embracing myself as though I could hold all the madness at bay.

They would find me like this, alone, scared.

I tucked my legs further under me, trying to protect my fragile self.

The Tormentor wouldn't come back, not tonight.

I hoped. I whispered the lie to myself. It was over.

He’s gone. I trembled. I couldn’t stop the fear trickling through me. “This has to stop.”

But I hadn’t found a way to make that happen. Part of me, the part that was ready to give up, almost convinced me yet again that it never would.

“It has to.” I forced out the words. “It has to stop.”

I sat up, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Once I was out of this house, away from the circle of acquaintances, he couldn’t touch me. While death was a more sure ending to his torture, that had never been an option to escape him. That would require me admitting what he was.

And no one would believe that.

His poison ran so deep that it triggered my self-defense mechanism: Tell no one. Shame welled inside me. There was no one in my corner to defend me. They would all side with him, say that my stories were lies.

It was how men like him got away with hurting their victims.

I remained silent, dying slowly on the inside while knowing a demon like him was popular with society, friends, neighbors, and our own family.

No, my only option was to escape, to make myself unreachable. Then he would watch from the sewer that was his existence as I lived a happily ever after in direct defiance to his torment. That was how I would beat him at this game! And I was so very, very close to it being over.