Twisted-Games

BRIDGET
RHYS AND I DIDN’T TALK AGAIN ON THE PLANE, BUT HE’D TAKEN MY MIND
off my grandfather’s situation enough I crashed after he left. I hadn’t slept a
wink the night before, and I was out like a light for most of the flight.
When we landed, though, all my nerves came rushing back, and it was all
I could do not to snap at the driver to go faster as we sped through downtown
toward the hospital. Every second we spent at a red light felt like a second I
was losing with my grandfather.
What if I missed seeing him alive by a minute, or two, or three?
A wave of lightheadedness hit me, and I had to close my eyes and force
myself to take deep breaths so I didn’t drown beneath my anxiety.
When we finally arrived at the hospital, we found Markus, my
grandfather’s Private Secretary and right-hand man, waiting for us by the
secret entrance they used for high-profile patients. I’d spotted the crush of
reporters outside the main entrance from the car, and the sight made my
anxiety triple.
“His Majesty is fine,” Markus said when he saw me. He looked more
disheveled than usual, which in Markus’s world meant one of his hairs was
out of place and there was a small, barely noticeable crease in his shirt. “He
woke up just before I came down.”
“Oh, thank God.” I breathed a sigh of relief. If my grandfather was
awake, things couldn’t be too bad. Right?
We took the elevator to my grandfather’s private suite, where I found
Nikolai pacing the hall outside with a frown.
“He kicked me out,” he said by way of explanation. “He said I was
hovering too much.”