The Prince's Bride (Part 1) - J.J. McAvoy Page 0,106
this was not how things went when things were okay. I squeezed her hand back, praying that she, somehow, was right, that being here in America had made things different and that this was only something small. But my mouth was drying, and my chest hurt. When we got into the car, and they rushed into the front seats, the dread became worse.
“Odette...” I whispered, staring outside the window. “I think it’s my father.”
“Gale, let’s not jump to conclusions. Okay?” she whispered back, kissing my knuckles.
Too late.
When my grandfather had passed, all the royals had to be “taken to safety.” It meant we needed to be protected until the line of succession was confirmed.
When was the last time I had even spoken to my father?
Dear God, please no.
Please.
He was pale.
His grip on me was stronger than steel.
Wolfgang looked like someone shot a puppy in his arms.
Iskandar...he looked almost like he always did; however, his jaw was tight, his gaze on the front. He was driving. No, he was speeding. Everything about the situation was terribly wrong, and I wanted to kick Wolfgang for taking my phone. Not knowing, not having the ability to find out, made everything worse. I did not argue because Gale needed more of my attention and support.
I was hoping we would get back to my place quickly, but twenty minutes into the drive, I noticed we were out of the city and on the freeway going toward the airport. And it was then that I was sure something horrible had happened.
When my father had died, I was at a spa. It was the first time I had gone in a year. Two years, maybe. I had put away my phone, and it was only an hour after when I walked out feeling all sparkly and new, that I turned on my phone to see all the messages coming in at once. As I drove, I saw the screens on billboards confirming his death. I heard it over the radio. I was screaming and confused and guilty. By the time I got the hospital, I had begged for them to tell me everyone was lying. Or that there was something wrong with me, and I was just seeing things. But it was true; my father was gone. And I was the last to know.
I guess that was why they had taken our phones, and the radio was off.
“Sir, ma’am, you both need to get out,” Wolfgang said, and it was only then that I noticed we were at the airport, but he was standing outside with the doors open.
The cold air didn’t even seem to faze Gale or me. I tried to let go of his hand to step out, but he wouldn’t let me. So, I hung out the door a bit.
“Gale, you can’t hide from it in here.” I knew he didn’t want to find out the truth. I had been there. But the world always had a way of letting it be known.
He exhaled once before moving, following me out.
Another sign that things were horribly wrong? They just left the car outside the airport.
When we walked inside, they did not give it a second thought, directing us to a section of security by Ersovian Airways.
Another sign something was wrong? A few people behind the counter had their heads down, and some were crying. Gale noticed, too, but before he or I could question anything, we were ushered through the airport again. This time, right through the TSA. No one stopped us; there was no time to. I was sure if they wanted, they could have thrown us onto a plane automatically.
The group around us began to grow from Iskandar and Wolfgang to airport security, to some other men in black. Soon, I couldn’t even see where we were headed. And all the while, no one let us know what was happening.
It felt like hours had gone by before they stopped and allowed us into some private lounge. No one else but a few men—older men, gray-haired, bad-news type of men—were standing inside all waiting. Upon seeing Gale, they stood taller.
“My father? The King...” Gale asked gently. “He is dead?”
They all looked around at each other, and when a man replied, Gale’s head rose, and his face bunched up in confusion. The man spoke and shook his head. God, I would give anything to know what was being said. When he spoke, there was only one word I understood.