Free King and Kingdom by Danielle Bourdon

through the apartment like the force of nature she could sometimes be. Tossing down her keys on the table near the wall, Wynn dropped her purse on the floor and stared at the luggage—as well as the elegant dress Chey had changed out of in favor of candy-cane decorated pajamas—with no small amount of confusion. The luggage remained unpacked and the dress had been tossed over the back of the other couch. Very unChey-like.
    Blowing her nose for the hundredth time, Chey made a wayward gesture with her hand. “I have a lot to tell you.”
    “You bet your hiney you do. What in the world is going on? Chey Sinclair, crying? Did the apocalypse happen when I wasn't looking? Look at all those tissues! You've been at this for hours.” Apparently appalled, Wynn crossed the room and threw herself down among the layers of balled up tissues and stared at Chey.
    “You're not going to believe this,” Chey said, warning her friend of the impending story that she hardly believed herself.
    “Try me.” Wynn looped an arm behind Chey's shoulders and smoothed a palm reassuringly across her back.
    And so Chey began at the beginning. From the first visit of Allar and Hendrik and their offer to come photograph the Royal family. She explained in halting detail her flight over, the grand castle, and all the meetings with different members of the Ahtissari family. She didn't forget Natalia's spite, her mug throwing, or Viia's plot to have Chey removed from castle life.
    Wynn listened, sometimes gasping, other times struck for words. She blurted out questions when she wanted more detail and expressed shock at the attack in the old castle when Sander had come to Chey's rescue.
    Chey left nothing out. Not the nights she'd spent with Sander, nor their agreement to try and date despite the knowledge the King and Queen disapproved (to put it mildly).
    Wynn grew more wide-eyed as the story unfolded, until Chey reached the event of the day just past, when Sander had caught her with another man and sent her packing.
    Outraged, Wynn made her displeasure known. “What? Why would he have gone to that extreme? Sending you home without even a chance to explain?”
    “I guess finding me kissing that devil-man was too much. I mean, I wasn't kissing Damon, he was kissing me, but that doesn't matter. It's what it looked like that matters,” Chey said. She tossed another spent tissue onto the growing pile.
    “It just doesn't seem right. Are you positive that someone put something in your champagne?” Wynn asked, pressing the issue.
    “Pretty sure. I've never had any alcohol hit me like that. I was woozy, dizzy. It just sounds like a petty excuse, though. I have no proof.”
    “Do you really need proof after someone tried to take you out at the castle and the King and Queen's obvious disapproval of the relationship? Sounds to me like you were set up, especially if that guy gave you a look while you were being led away. What did that mean, anyway, if he hadn't been sent as a distraction?” Wynn crossed her arms over her thin chest.
    “That seems so far fetched, though. You know? Like I'm reaching for excuses.” Except Chey knew something had been in her drink. All these hours later, the signs were more recognizable. She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with another tissue.
    “Honey, all of it seems far fetched. Being whisked off to a far-away castle, meeting a Prince you thought was someone else. Think about it. It's like a modern day fairy-tale—except not.”
    “Yeah, it can't be a fairy-tale with an ending like this.”
    “The story isn't over yet,” Wynn insisted.
    “According to the King and Queen it is.” Chey shoved some of the tissues onto the floor. She just didn't care about the mess right now.
    “The Chey I know wouldn't sit back and take it. She would call this Sander fellow and explain. He owes you that and you know it.”
    “I can't just call him. They took my phone. The one--”
    “I know the one you mean. But I also know you, and