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the seats, she pressed the button and the thing shot open, causing the passenger to fall back against the dashboard. Using the sharp little ends, Chey caught some on the driver's face and pulled.
    Lights flashed through the back windshield as the SUV closed in. This time, the SUV pulled alongside in the other lane and rammed the van on the driver's side.
    Chey yelped and dropped the umbrella.
    The next thing she knew, she was wedged between the front seats, console digging into her ribs. Disoriented, she felt around for a hold on something. Anything.
    What had just happened? The van was no longer moving. She heard a hiss, and ticking, and a buzz that replaced it in her ears. Chey felt like she was underwater, moving much slower than she thought she was.
    The side door of the van opened with a screech of metal. Two men in suits reached in to extract Chey from the seats, hands gentle yet firm. One of the men fished a phone out of the driver's pocket before they were through.
    “What happened? Sander?” Chey sought their faces as they pulled her free of the van and got her feet on the ground. Woozy, she stumbled. A hand shot out to wrap her waist and provide something sturdy to lean on. She saw the van had crashed into a lamp post, the entire hood crumpled in over the engine. The driver and passenger were slumped against airbags, unconscious.
    Guiding her forward to the SUV that had sustained minimal damage thanks to the grill guard, the suited men loaded her into the back seat with all due haste. One climbed into the front seat, another behind.
    Chey glanced across the seat.
    Instead of Sander, she found herself staring at Mattias.
     
    . . .
     
    Gone was the aloof man who had appeared so indifferent in the hotel room. This Mattias wore concern in his dark eyes and a vague frown on his brow. Chey stared at him, head swimming from the impact of the van with the lamppost. She didn't even remember the crash.
    “Are you all right?” Mattias asked. “We have a lot to discuss. Things, obviously, are not what they appear to be.”
    “Obviously,” Chey said. She didn't know if she was all right or not. Her body was numb, her thoughts scattered. She didn't know who to trust or whether she should be trying to escape yet again.
    “It's a long story, one I will fill you in on when we meet up with Sander.”
    “We're meeting up with Sander? Was he in on this, too? I don't understand.” Nothing made sense to Chey. It was too complicated, too perverse. One brother pitted against the other, a King with murder on his mind, an heir headed for exile.
    “No, he knew nothing. It had to be this way. I needed the men in the hotel room to report back to the King—and for the King to believe them. It had to be real, at least in the moment.” Mattias paused to touch her shoulder, a gentle splay of masculine fingers. “I had men waiting to intercept Sander before he left the hotel. We're meeting up at another hotel not far.”
    “Someone could have gotten killed,” she snapped, patience at an end. She didn't brush off Mattias's hand, even if she wasn't sure she could trust him.
    “Yes. Any one of us, should the King have discovered my duplicity. We'll be there shortly.” Mattias removed his touch and engaged the driver in their mother tongue.
    Chey didn't know what to think. She stared out the window, rubbing her ribs with a palm. There would be bruises, no doubt. Otherwise, a spot on her leg hurt, and one of her shoulders, but that was all. No blood that she could see. The seats had spared her the worst of it.
    Brooding, she crossed her arms over her middle and watched the glittering city of Dubai fly by out the windows. She couldn't appreciate the glamor or the beauty after a night like tonight. And it wasn't just tonight. It was the entire thing. The whole shebang.
    Was this really what it was like to be a part of Royalty? Did these extremes go on all the time? She recalled reading about this chase or that kidnapping or other horrors