When vengeance strikes in the form of a bullet out for the princess's blood, Princess Aleia VonAuclair must flee the heart of her country in order to protect the people she loves and take back the pieces of her soul she'd lost to the girl she once l...
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I squinted at the paragraph on my laptop screen. I read it three more times, and with an annoyed groan, I pressed delete.
I slumped back into my seat and rubbed my fingers over the bridge of my brow bones, an oncoming headache throbbing behind my eyes. Sighing, I decided to take a well undeserved break and ventured down to the kitchen for a snack.
When I entered, Greta was behind the island preparing dinner, a knife in hand and a chopping board of all sorts of ingredients spread out before her. The news anchor's voice floated through the air and as I meandered into the pantry, her words trailed me everywhere I went as I scoured for a snack.
When nothing in the pantry seemed to pique my interest, I rounded to the fridge instead and snatched a basket of strawberries and blueberries. I spotted a container of Greta's signature carrot cake and snagged those, too.
Greta glanced down to the fruits and cake and raised a brow.
"Stress?"
"You have no idea," I grumbled and stuffed my mouth with a slice of the sweet, moist cake.
Greta chuckled and grabbed a glass from off the shelf to pour a cup of homemade iced tea. When she held it out to me, I grinned and took a generous sip.
"Stress is not good for young girl like you," Greta scolded, her unique South-East Asian accent spilling into her every syllable and enunciating in her every word. I'd always found her accent endearing. It was like a comforting hug after an endless, tiresome day.
"Tell that to the university. Actually, better yet, tell that to my parents."
Greta tsked and began chopping copious amounts of onions. "Your parents do this for your future as princess. People will respect you more if you have good education."
I sighed but didn't bother arguing. There was nothing I could even think to say to refute her statement anyway.
"So, what's for dinner? Tacos? Pot roast? Pasta?"
Greta pointed her knife to the oven. "Nate wants baked chicken. He has another game next week and wants a lot of protein."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course, he does."
When Greta began soaking the chicken into a bowl of marinate, the female news anchor's voice caught my attention, and I flitted my eyes over to the TV mounted on the wall in front of the island. My brows shot high up my forehead when she read the recent reports on Asrea's daily account, specifically the ones on the recent killings.
Derek, the Chief Commander of the palace guards and my ex personal bodyguard, appeared on screen in his familiar uniform and gruff features. A fierce yearning stabbed at my chest. I missed him and all the others back home.
The news anchor greeted him with a brilliant smile.
"Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview. We owe the palace our genuine gratitude for handling this current situation and would like to ask you a few questions. I hear you're the Chief Commander, yes?"
