Page 88 of Gilded Shackles
"Thanks. Feel like spending some?"
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Shopping?"
"I need out of the house before I start climbing walls."
"Does Nikolai know?"
"He knows. Guards are coming. Nobody's getting shot today."
She studies me, then smiles slow. "Nikolai must be thrilled about the baby news if he's letting you out."
I force a laugh that comes out wrong. "Yeah. About that."
Her face falls. "Oh no."
"I didn't get to tell him. He got called away. Just left."
She makes a sympathetic noise. "Men. They could have a goddess standing naked in front of them holding world-altering news, and they'd still pick up the phone."
"Sounds about right."
"Don't worry," she says, grabbing her bag. "You'll get another chance. And when you do, make him work for it."
"Come on." She slings the bag over her shoulder. "Let's go spend his money."
I laugh for real this time, and together we step out into the morning sun.
By late afternoon,we're sitting at a café with outdoor tables, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and half a dozen shopping bags. It feels normal. Easy.
Natalia lifts her wine glass. "To freedom. Even if it's temporary."
I clink my water against hers. "To pretending we're normal."
We laugh, and for a moment, the world outside this tiny bubble doesn't exist.
Until it does.
The first sound is a pop. Sharp. Distant. Like someone cracking a whip against the sky.
My brain doesn't process it. Not right away. It takes the screaming to wake me up.
Natalia's wine glass shatters on the table as she grabs my arm and ducks, pulling me with her. "Get down!"
The second pop is closer. I watch from under our table as one of our guards jerks backward, a dark bloom spreading across his chest. The other pulls his weapon, shouting something lost in the chaos.
"Elle, move!" he yells.
But there's nowhere to go. The world detonates around me. People screaming, chairs overturning, glass shattering underfoot. Someone crashes into me and I stumble, catching myself on a table that's already tipping. The air smells like smoke and copper, sharp and metallic, filling my mouth until I can taste it.
Then the hands.
Rough. Grabbing. Shoving.
I try to scream but a hood is yanked over my head before the sound makes it out. Everything goes black. My ownbreathing fills the fabric, deafening, too loud, too fast, too uneven.
"Let go!" I try to shout, but my voice comes out broken. My wrists are wrenched behind me, something plastic biting deep into the skin until it burns.
Laughter. Low, male, gleeful. They're enjoying this.
