Death of a Prince | ✓

EP 13: A LOVER'S SUMMONS

EPISODE THIRTEEN

'a lover's summons'

    

      

WE DIDN'T WAKE up at the hotel room.

Instead, with a pounding headache that was both familiar and alien, I groaned awake.

"Whoa." I rested back down after I tried to sit up and vertigo tided over like a wave. "Good Christ." My throat felt parched, my body weak. It didn't help that the pounding in my head is bouncing around my skull like echoes.

Drugged. I was drugged. I could feel it in my head, in my weak body. It couldn't have been the alcohol since nothing tasted out of the ordinary.

Panic gets you nowhere. Asses your surroundings. Make a conclusion.

Deduce.

I breathed in first, smelling a nice, linen scent. A fresh room. Dominic's room smelled empty. Leon's house always smelled like dust and wood, antique things, sometimes mysterious cigarette ash and English tea. My house smelled more like baked goods and sharply-masked cleaning supplies.

So I opened my eyes. The ceiling was not the hotel. I sat up, slowly, and took in my surroundings. It appeared to be a room in light pink walls. A dresser, a bed, two doors. Behind me was a portrait of lines that made up a possible woman turning over her back.

Drugged. New room. Got it. I didn't have any enemies, but since I started this case I knew I ruffled a few feathers.

Weapon then. Just in case.

I pulled drawers until I got to the dresser and got out an actual knife. It was small and glistened, almost like it was unused. I certainly felt ridiculous of all of a sudden, being reminded of Dominic and his unusual love for throwing people into his plays.

I turned to the door, inhaled, and pulled.

A small hallway, pressed with more vague line paintings of what could be particularly romantic scenes or disturbing ones.

When I rounded the corner, a wide living room greeted me with floor length windows and an almost all white interior. The windows were open and welcomed a drizzling of gray clouds.

"I saw you waking up." I stopped. A woman came out of a door. She was tall; a lean and gorgeous brunette dressed in obviously expensive clothes; silky dress, a branded leather belt. Even her heels had the familiar red in the back. She looked refined, maybe in her mid thirties. Her eyes were a shifting shade of green and gray, deep set with a calm gaze. "Cameras in the room. You can keep the letter opener for defense, it's fine. After all, you were taken here without your consent."

She draped herself elegantly on one of the chairs, her spine straight, her ankles crossed. Something about her was so dignified, I felt ratty. It wasn't just physical difference - pajamas, I say, aren't the precise outfit you'd want to die in when faced with a kidnapper - but the way she carried herself. I felt frazzled, panic. She was calm as moving storms.

Which could just be the situation.

Kidnapper. Kidnapped.

Her eyes lifted to me. Not a hint of emotion. "Please. Sit."

There was really no other way. Playing by her rules meant I could at least gather information. So I sat, letter opener clenched tightly on my lap. She saw this and smiled.

"You're different." She shook her head. "You shouldn't be part of this."

I swallowed. "Where's Leon?"