Page 11 of Claimed by the Bastard Prince
He motioned for the officers who’d accompanied them in the elevator to return to the entryway. The men nodded, understanding that he sought privacy with his little captive.
When Akeen had been thinking of ways to get Cora to remain in Ismallia longer, this hadn’t been one of them. She continued trembling and whimpering as they moved through the narrow walkways between the cells. Electric torches lit the dungeon, and the lights were not only dim, but also placed far apart, leaving many corners completely darkened.
There was a sharp chill in the air, too, and Akeen felt a stab of guilt, knowing Cora was probably shivering from the cold as well, in addition to her visible fear. She also wasn’t wearing shoes, and the stone floors were undoubtedly icy. If she was indeed guilty, hopefully she would confess straight away. If she told the truth, he could justify making her more comfortable. But until she confessed to her crimes, or until the Royal Guard’s investigation exonerated her, he would have no choice but to be a complete bastard toward her.
At the end of the corridor, he pushed open the door of a cell and brought her inside, making a show of closing and locking the door. He always kept a key to the dungeon cells in his pocket. He tucked the key away and pushed Cora onto a wooden chair that rested in the center of the cell.
She sat awkwardly shifted forward on the chair, with her hands still cuffed behind her back, and her gaze down. A lone tear had trickled down her cheek, and his fingers burned with the urge to wipe it away.
Damn and blast, but he couldn’t.
He couldn’t fucking comfort her. She was the enemy. Or at least, intel said she was. Until an investigation proved otherwise, palace protocol dictated she be treated as a criminal. He glanced around at the cells beyond this one. How many times had he beat men to a pulp while trying to get them to confess? In the years since he’d started working for the crown, at least a hundred.
Akeen always got a confession.
Always.
He was brutal in his methods of persuasion too. But he couldn’t imagine inflicting the same tortures he normally used against a traitorous scum on Cora.
Fuck. The taste of her pussy still lingered on his tongue. Not even an hour had passed since he’d been ready to impale her and make her his. He turned fully around, staring down the narrow walkway from which they’d just come, to gather his thoughts. If he was going to do a sufficient job interrogating her, he had to put himself in the mindset that she wasn’t an innocent.
Finally, he spun around and glared down at Cora.
To get himself in the proper frame of mind, he told himself she was a criminal, a would-be murderer of the king, his own father, and, no matter what, he must extract the truth from her.
Even if he must make her scream the confession.
He also told himself she wasn’t the same woman he’d been a second away from bedding. That woman didn’t exist. That woman was a fake, and her interest in him had probably been nothing more than an act. His approaching her might have been chance, but she had probably viewed him as an opportunity to get closer to the king once she realized his identity. Assassins were good, as well as difficult to track and defeat. Cora had probably known his true identity the moment he’d passed her the champagne, but had faked innocence for as long as it pleased her. She had probably memorized the faces of each member, legitimate and illegitimate, of the royal family.
He pushed down the sudden hurt that surged in his chest. He hated the feeling of betrayal that swarmed him in this moment.
Be firm. Acquire her secrets. Get her confession. Then wash your hands of her and allow the legal system to handle her.
Lifetime in prison.
That was the typical sentence for plotting against the king.
At least she hadn’t actually made an attempt on his father’s life, as the sentence for such a crime was death.
“You will not leave this cell until you tell me every detail of your plot against the king. I don’t want to hurt you, Cora, but if you prove uncooperative, then I will not hesitate to use more unpleasant methods of interrogation.”
Chapter 5
“My name is Cora Meyers. I’m twenty-seven years old. I was born and raised in Lexington, Kentucky. I went to college in New York and made Manhattan my home after graduation. I work for the public relations firm The Harold-Finks Company. I usually work sixty hours a week. Outside of work, I have a few friends I’ll have drinks with now and then, colleagues from work or friends from college. None of my friends have a criminal record that I know of. I have no connections to anyone who might want to harm King Brenul, let alone any other world leaders. Does that answer all your questions so far?”
Cora had stopped shaking, but she still appeared fearful. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and Akeen hoped she didn’t start crying. He hated his job in this moment, but he wouldn’t shirk his duties to the crown. Assassins and spies were typically good actors. Capable of telling lies as if they spoke the truth, and capable of blending in as real tourists or Ismallian citizens.
He couldn’t go soft on her. What if there was a continued threat to this father or other members of the royal family? What if she had an accomplice, even one from another country, waiting nearby?
“So far,” he finally said. “Now let’s get to the point.”
Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip. She blinked rapidly then in an effort to keep her tears from falling.Fuck. One of them rolled down her cheek, on the opposite side as the first tear, and it left Akeen gutted. His arms ached to wrap around her. He longed to comfort her, tell her everything would be okay, and that he believed in her innocence.
But he couldn’t do any of that. He needed the truth, no matter how dark.
“Tell me about your reason for breaking up with Greg.”
Confusion danced across her face and she straightened. “I caught him cheating on me. I was out of town and came back early, showed up at his apartment with his favorite Chinese takeout to surprise him and found him in bed with another woman. So, I broke up with him. Why are you asking me about this?”
