The Gender End Bella Forrest (best mystery novels of all time TXT) 📖

“Your rooms are here. Everyone has their own except for Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft. I understand that they are married.”

“We are,” Viggo said, and she nodded and pushed open a door.

“This will be your room. Mr. Bates,” she said, addressing Tim. “You are across the hall, and everyone else can pick their own room. I’ll give you an hour to shower and change, but the queen will only be speaking with Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft.”

“Why?” Amber demanded. “You’ve locked us in here for three days. We deserve answers.”

“And you’ll have them,” Edi replied acerbically. “Now, go rest in some nice rooms with much better food than what you were getting in the prison, and be patient for just a little bit longer. We don’t want to stress the queen with too many visitors at once. Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft will fill you in.”

Owen was the first to accept her decision—he simply lumbered silently by, heading to a room down the hall and stepping into it. He shut it with a click, leaving us all standing in the hall.

“Let it go, Amber,” I said softly. “Let’s just see what happens.”

“I can stay with you,” Logan added, a slow smile tugging on his lips. “Make sure you’re safe.”

Amber looked up at him, her answer evident in the fact that she said nothing at all, and then moved down the hall, past Owen’s door and into the next room, shutting the door as well. Logan watched her go, bemused, and then went to the room across the hall.

“Good luck,” he called as he stepped into it, leaving the four of us alone.

“More sleep,” Tim yawned as he opened the door, wincing a little as his neck stretched. He shut the door with a click, and I looked at Viggo, who shrugged.

“See you in an hour,” I informed Edi, and she gave me a wry grin.

One hasty lovemaking session in the shower and a hurried breakfast coupled with frantically getting dressed later, we were five minutes late getting out the door, and I was completely okay with that. Viggo had made love to me like the world were caving in around us, as if I were his only safe place. And in those minutes, he was mine. We took shelter in each other’s arms and solace in each other’s touch, and for a brief moment, I felt a spark of hope that maybe things were going to get better—and clung to it, for the both of us.

Still, I could tell Edi was perturbed at our tardiness as she led us down the hall, grumbling under her breath. I didn’t care. They had locked a pair of newlyweds apart for several days. It was really their own fault.

The door she led us to was nondescript, and she pushed it open and stepped inside. I went in first and immediately saw Morgan lying in a hospital bed, Sierra sitting next to her. She looked at me curiously when I stepped in, and then reached over to gently touch Morgan’s shoulder.

“They’re here,” she whispered, and Morgan’s eyes opened. Her face was horribly bruised, her left eye almost swollen shut, and I could tell when she tried to sit upright that more than a few of her ribs were broken.

“Hey, guys,” she whispered harshly, her voice coming out raw, and Sierra grabbed a small plastic cup from the table next to the bed and handed it to her. Morgan took a sip and then handed it back, groaning.

“Morgan!” I said, taking a step toward her, relieved to see her alive, when Edi loudly rapped her knuckles across the door.

“You will address her as ‘Queen Morgana,’” she said primly. “Of Matrus, of course.”

“Edi, you old windbag, lay off them.” Morgan coughed and then shuddered, her hands going to her sides. “I’m really tired, Edi, and I just want to let them know what’s going on. So back off—they aren’t enemies or subjects. They’re friends.”

Edi sighed and nodded.

“A queen should have friends… I just wish they weren’t the same people who killed the last queen.” She shut herself on the other side of the door as she spoke, ensuring her words were the final ones in the conversation, and I smiled.

“She’s interesting,” I said, and Morgan gave a half-hearted chuckle.

“Don’t make me laugh,” she wheezed in pain. “I broke six ribs. One of them punctured a lung and I had to have surgery. It’s why you guys were in prison for so long.”

“Morgan was sleeping for a long time,” Sierra added, her voice high and whisper-soft —the first time I’d heard her speak since she’d been in the safe room with Elena’s gun at her temple. “I was very scared for her. I told the tribunal about your brother and his… friends helping me. But it wasn’t enough to let you all go.”

“Sierra, you should let me fill in the blanks,” Morgan chided, but there was a fond look in her eyes when she looked at her little sister. “Suffice it to say, a lot has happened. I technically couldn’t pardon you because, while I am the heir apparent, you can’t legally crown someone while they are unconscious, and you certainly can’t act on orders from them, so… it was a bit of a legal snafu.”

She rolled her eyes, and I smiled. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

“This too shall pass,” she said, leaning into her pillows. “Seriously though, I don’t have a lot of time before these painkillers kick in, so I want you to listen. An inquiry was led by Edi and Alyssa into the entire thing. Evidence was logged, testimony was given—not by you, of course, because Alyssa was speaking as your advocate—and the investigation has been ruled upon, signed by me, and sealed. Elena was found guilty of war crimes, despite being dead. Our government is willing to give reparations to Patrus, to help stabilize them. Everyone—you, Viggo, Amber, Owen… everyone