Page 183 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

“No, you don’t,” he calls out as I get herded toward a sleek, dark car with tinted windows.

I want to tell River everything, but the man behind me urges me to climb into the back seat of the car.

Once I’m in, he ducks his head into the cab. “Give me your phone.”

I cross my arms. “No way.”

“You’ll get it back,” he tells me in a tolerant tone. “We just need to make sure no one tracks where you’re going.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” I reply without moving to grab my phone.

As he continues to patiently wait, I finally give up, shove my hand into my pocket, and begrudgingly give him my phone. He closes the door then, and the car rolls forward. There’s a dark window blocking my view of who is driving.

The car ride feels like forever. Every time the vehicle comes to a stop, I contemplate jumping out, but then I worry that the bodyguard guys will do something to River and Finn. So, I stay put and stare out the window as the car drives me to the outskirts of the Royal City, where the most lavish and expensive houses are.

The scenery is mostly made of hills encompassing the city, and they also make up properties belonging to some of the most wealthy people. The house I end up at is settled on the edge of a hill that has a view of the city. The place has a lot of windows and definitely has a modern vibe, along with a gated entrance. Once the driver punches in a code, they drive through and park in front of the front door.

I wait, unsure what to do when the divider window cracks. “You can get out and go inside,” the driver instructs.

I can’t see their face, but their voice is feminine.

I want to ask if I just walk in, but they roll the window up.

Summoning a deep breath, I push the door open and get out. The night air is cool against my skin as I make my way up the brick path and to the front door. I decide to walk in, figuring I was forced to come here, so there isn’t any need for politeness.

On the other side of the doorway is a high-ceiling entryway, and the walls are a mixture of brick and blue paint. A massive light dangles above, and on my left is a doorway that leads to a living room. Inside is a fireplace and light blue velvet sofas. And sitting on one of these sofas is Grey.

He looks how I remember him—a middle-aged man with dark hair and eyes. He’s wearing slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he has a half-drunk drink in his hands as he sits with his arms resting on his legs while staring at the rug.

He must not hear me come in since he doesn’t glance my way, so I clear my throat.

He jolts, and his gaze lifts to mine.

“Shit, I didn’t hear you come in,” he mutters as he sets the glass down on the coffee table and quickly rises to his feet. “You can come in.”

“Can I?” I question without moving. “Or do you need your bodyguard dudes to come threaten me first?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for that, Maddison. It was just imperative that I get you here as discreetly as possible. No one would’ve hurt you, though. I promise.”

I eye him over. “What do you even want from me?”

He shifts his weight then gestures at the sofa across from him. “Will you please come sit down …? What I have to say is going to be a lot for you to process.”

I stubbornly stay where I am for a few seconds longer before doing what he asks.

He sits down as I do and reaches for his glass to down the rest of his drink. Then he studies me, staring at me in an uncomfortable way, just like he did in the grocery store.

“You look so much like her,” he tells me in an awed tone.

“I’m assuming you mean Aunt Ellie,” I reply, sinking back in the chair.

He nods, slanting forward. “Has she ever told you anything that seems, I don’t know, strange?”

I don’t respond immediately, and he must take my silence as a yes because he continues.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared.” It’s a lie. “But I’m annoyed.”

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