“‘Hush, little princess …’”
“Karina!” I say, louder, sharper. I need her to turn, to focus, to think. “Karina, do you—”
“That’s peculiar,” she says when she stops singing.
Her gaze is locked on the filthy window, but I’m pretty sure Karina’s looking into the past.
“Posmotri na menya!” Alexei blurts.
His mother turns. Her words are so fast and so frantic that I can’t hope to follow.
“What?” I ask. “What did she say?”
Alexei shakes his head. “She’s talking crazy.”
“What did she say?” I have to know.
Alexei looks defeated, and for the first time I realize that I wasn’t the only one who had come here looking for answers. He just hadn’t realized it himself.
He takes a slow, deep breath, almost like the words hurt. “She said they’re going to storm the gates and kill the heir. She thinks it’s two hundred years ago, Gracie. And she thinks you’re your mom. We should go. She can’t help us.”
Alexei’s already turning, starting for the door, when it opens.
Viktor’s standing there, an orderly right behind him.
“She just got here,” I say. I can’t let him take Karina away, not when all we’ve gotten so far are more questions. “You can’t make us leave yet.”
Karina is still at the window, singing, “‘Hush, little princess …’”
“We’re not leaving,” I say again.
“I quite agree,” Viktor says. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Maybe I’m just too stressed—too tired—but what happens next happens in a flash, and yet it also feels like slow motion.
The man behind Viktor is massive. He wears dingy gray scrubs, and when he pushes past Viktor, toward me, it’s almost like a tornado bearing down. But he never reaches me. Alexei blasts across the room, leaping and catching the massive orderly in midair, the two of them crashing to the floor in what feels like a blur of hits and kicks.
The man is strong. He’s huge. But Alexei has something to fight for. And I realize with a start that the something is me.
I watch him twist, launching himself over the bigger man, and in a flash Alexei has his arms around his neck and he’s squeezing.
“Alexei!”
Just a few weeks ago, most of the world thought Alexei was a killer. I never thought it possible—never thought him capable—until now. Jamie told me once that Alexei’s father was some kind of Russian special forces—that Alexei was the only kid who could ever keep up with the son of an Army Ranger. Only now do I see what he meant. He’s not the perfect boy next door anymore. He’s the guy my grandfather warned me about as he staggers upright, the orderly’s head and neck gripped too tightly in his grasp.
“Alexei, no!” I snap. Alexei sees me, and a new terror fills his eyes as his gaze shifts.
“Gracie!” he shouts, and I turn to see Viktor behind me. There’s a syringe in his hand, and a new terror fills me.
I don’t know what drug it is, but my body can feel it long before the syringe touches my skin. I know the foggy haze that it will bring, the sense of floating, distant and free. And I know that it’s not right—not real. I know that whatever peace that syringe might bring me would be a lie—would be worse. I know that I don’t belong in a place like this. Not anymore. I may be crazy, but I’m not insane, so I lash out, kicking and clawing like a fiend.
Like a madwoman.
The orderly slumps as Alexei cuts off his air, but I can’t stop to think about that. Viktor swings his arm down, wielding the syringe like an ax. I throw my hands up, catching his wrist with both hands, pressing up as he presses down.
Viktor mutters something under his breath. I don’t speak the language, but I know what he’s saying. That I’m reckless. That I’m dangerous. That I should just shut up and be the meek little girl that would make the world so much more comfortable for the likes of him.
But I’m not that girl. And I never, ever will be.
I’m the lost freaking princess of Adria, and I’m not going to take it anymore.
The orderly’s on the ground, and Alexei’s jumping the man’s body, coming in my direction, but I don’t wait. Viktor lunges toward me, one last-ditch feat of strength, and I use his force and his weight against him, spinning like my father taught me long ago, twisting Viktor’s arm back until the syringe lands in his own leg. I hear his cry. I see the pain in his eyes. But I just reach for the plunger and push until that pain is erased by a mindless, empty bliss.
Slowly, he slumps, falling to the floor.
I look down but don’t have time to think about what’s just happened. Alexei grabs me, makes me look into his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks. I could ask him the same thing. There’s a scratch on his face, a growing bruise. But we’re both still here and we’re still breathing.
Then I remember the bad part: We’re still here.
“I told you they were storming the gates,” a voice says from the window, and I look at Karina.