Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“Charming,” Takken said, though his tone suggested he found them anything but. My husband had never shown much interest in women beyond their political utility. “Georgy, I wonder if we might discuss the energy proposal somewhere more private? I’ve been eager to hear your thoughts on the eastern pipeline routes.”
“Of course.” Horakovsky’s hand moved to Mila’s lower back, and I saw her suppress a shiver. “Girls, wait for me by the terrace doors. Do not move from that spot.”
“Yes, Master,” they said in unison, their voices soft but clear.
Master. Not sir, not Mr. Horakovsky. Master. The word sent an unwelcome echo through my body, a much-too-vivid sense memory of me calling my mysterious tormentor Herra the previous night, of the word tearing itself from my throat. I watched them walk to their assigned position, their movements somehow synchronized while still seeming natural. They took up poses that looked casual but were clearly prescribed—weight evenly distributed, hands clasped, eyes forward but not making contact with anyone.
“Lorna,” Takken said sharply, and I realized the men were waiting for me. “You’ll excuse us?”
It wasn’t really a question. I was being dismissed like a child while the men discussed carving up my country’s resources. The familiar anger stirred, but beneath it, something else. Pay close attention, my Herra had said.
“Actually,” I heard myself say, “I’d love to hear more about the proposal. After all, as you said, I understand the importance of progress.”
Takken’s jaw tightened. “This is rather technical—”
“Nonsense,” Horakovsky interrupted, his scarred face splitting into what might have been a smile on someone else, but looked predatory on him. “A woman of Fru Norquist’s intelligence should certainly be included. Besides, we may benefit from a… feminine perspective.”
The way he said ‘feminine’ made my skin crawl, but I smiled as if I’d been complimented. “How thoughtful.”
We moved toward a side door that led to one of the building’s private conference rooms. As we walked, I caught a glimpse of Katya and Mila at their post by the terrace doors. They hadn’t moved a millimeter, standing like beautiful statues despite the crowd flowing around them. A waiter approached with a tray of champagne, and I watched Mila’s eyes track the movement before snapping back to their fixed point. She wanted it—I could see the thirst in the subtle shift of her throat—but she didn’t even consider reaching for a glass.
At the last moment, I saw Horakovsky glance over at them and raise his hand, his fingers curling slightly. Instantly they began to glide toward us. The ease of their master’s control of these gorgeous young women sent a shiver up my spine—one that I had absolutely no desire to interrogate.
The conference room featured much dark wood and leather, obviously designed to make billion-kroner deals feel intimate. Horakovsky settled into a chair that groaned under his bulk, while Takken took the seat across from him. I perched on a smaller chair to the side, the positioning making it clear I was meant to observe, not participate. My heart fluttered nervously as Katya and Mila also entered, then went to stand unobtrusively by the wall.
“The eastern routes are problematic,” Horakovsky began without preamble. “Too much local interference. But if we run the primary conduits through the Nordvik corridor…” He pulled out a tablet, swiping to reveal a map covered in red lines that carved through Jagland like surgical incisions.
I studied the map, my stomach sinking. The Nordvik corridor ran through three protected nature reserves and at least a dozen traditional fishing villages. The environmental impact would be catastrophic, but worse, it would give foreign entities direct access to infrastructure that controlled power to half our population.
“The locals will resist,” Takken said, though his tone suggested this was a minor inconvenience rather than a legitimate concern.
“Locals always resist,” Horakovsky replied with a dismissive wave. “That’s why we have… incentive programs.”
The door opened suddenly, and Brenteuil entered with two more men I didn’t recognize. One was thin and nervous-looking, constantly adjusting his glasses. The other had the dead eyes of a professional mercenary.
“Ah, excellent timing,” Horakovsky said. “Dmitri here handles the technical aspects. And Kristoff… well, Kristoff handles problems.”
Kristoff’s gaze swept the room, lingering on me in a way that made my skin prickle. I forced myself to remain still, to play the decorative wife, even as my mind raced. This wasn’t just about energy contracts. This was about something much darker.
Takken leaned back in his chair, that familiar smugness settling over his features. “I think the matter is in good hands,” he said, his tone suggesting the deal was already done. “You have my word that Jagland will honor whatever agreement we reach here.”
“Excellent,” Horakovsky said, but his gray eyes remained calculating. “Tell me, Prime Minister, do you have enough loyalists in the Nordvik corridor’s police force? The locals can be… excitable when they feel their traditions are threatened.”