It was almost, Chey thought, like being in an upscale hotel.
“Very good,” Ingel said, walking over to pick up a duster off the dresser. “If you need anything else, please ring down.”
“I will. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, darling.” Ingel shooed the younger woman out ahead of her and closed the door in her wake.
Left alone with her thoughts, Chey exhaled. What a long, complicated day. The staff and the Royals functioned as if there hadn't been an unknown shooter in the woods—maybe the perpetrator had been caught, or someone came forth to admit they'd been shooting when they weren't supposed to be. It drove Chey a little crazy to be just enough out of the loop that she wouldn't be told that kind of information. And why should she? She was a stranger here, brought in to work, not get embroiled into Royal affairs.
And yet that's exactly where she found herself after the confrontation with Natalia in the Queen's garden.
Catching sight of her equipment by the door, Chey remembered the text she'd sent to Sander earlier. Walking over, she crouched down and fished her phone from one of the bags. Set to vibrate so it wouldn't disturb her session, she turned it on and checked her messages.
There, as promised, was a text from Sander: Day after tomorrow. Meet me at the lake. 6 a.m. sharp.
Chey didn't have a session that day at all, as far as she knew. Getting her fingers on the screen, she typed in a reply: Perfect. See you then. C.
Ready to call it a day, suffering another bout of jet lag, Chey slipped the phone away and got ready for bed.
Tomorrow was a private photo shoot with the King and Queen. She wanted to be well rested and prepared for anything.
. . .
The only warning Chey had for the impending attack was a prickle at the back of her mind. That faint inner alert that kicked in as if the subconscious knew that danger was imminent. Caught in a dream, it took her too long to rise out of the haze and respond to the threat.
Two things happened simultaneously; a knee jammed itself into her diaphragm and a strong pair of hands pinned her head to the pillow with a blindfold stretched between them. The pressure of the knee made it difficult to breathe, much less scream.
“Listen,” a voice whispered near Chey's cheek. It was rough, like the person spoke through a mask or some other muffling device.
Chey grabbed the intruder's gloved wrists and yanked to no avail. The attacker had the advantage of leverage, which they used with merciless precision.
“Stop moving and listen or you won't like what happens next.”
Unable to make out whether the voice was male or female, Chey ceased struggling. Breath short in her throat, she could do nothing but what the attacker wanted. The knee in her stomach made every respiration burn.
“There will be no more midnight forays through the castle taking pictures. No more clandestine visits to the garden. That is not a part of your job.”
Chey wanted to argue that it was her job to wander the castle at any hour, the walled garden excluded, to take as many pictures as she deemed fit.
“Do you understand?” the voice hissed, applying more pressure with their knee.
Chey wheezed, squirming uncomfortably on the mattress. “Yes, yes.”
“And there will be no more dallying with the Royal heir, Mattias, when you think no one else is watching. Someone here is always watching.”
“All right, all right.” Was this Natalia? Viia? Chey couldn't see the latter woman going to this extreme to press a point home. Then again, desperate people did desperate things and if she thought her position was threatened by a mere photographer, then there was no guarantee she wouldn't stoop to this.
“It would be most unfortunate for Allar or Urmas or someone else to find a precious artifact belonging to the Royals tucked away in your room.”
“I would never steal--”
“And if that is not enough incentive, then you should realize how easy it is to fall from the top of the stairs or a balcony to your death. It's happened before in this house.” The intruder grated out their threats with eerie confidence.
Had it really come to this in a matter of three days? Was her presence so threatening, so unwanted? She believed every word the attacker said. This was no random show of petulance or irritation. They would follow through if she did not do as they asked.
“I understand.” Chey, forced