Rachel woke up to the sound of rain pattering against a window.
Her head throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. The room was dimly lit, with thick curtains drawn across the windows and only a single lamp burning on a wooden table. The air smelled of damp earth and pine — they were deep in the forest, far from the palace. She was lying on a large, soft bed with clean sheets. Her shoulder still burned from the silver bullet wound, but someone had bandaged it carefully.
She sat up slowly, one hand instinctively moving to her rounded belly. The baby kicked gently, as if sensing her fear. Relief washed over her for a brief second — the child was safe.
Then the memories crashed back.
Chase.
He had knocked her out. He had taken her.
The door opened quietly.
Chase stepped inside, carrying a tray
