Rise of a Queen (Kingdom Duet #2) by Rina Kent

“What evidence?” I laugh with a bitter edge. “I testified against my own fucking father. I brought him to you the day I lost my sister. If you have something against me, show it, but I know you don’t. All of you are playing into his hands.”

“Then why did you escape the Witness Protection Program?”

“I didn’t trust the police. They were aggressive and careless, and I didn’t feel safe in their company.”

“Or you wanted to run and hide.”

“If I wanted to run and hide, why would I come here of my own volition?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door cuts him off. Before he can stand up, it barges open, and in comes a man looking to be in his early fifties. He’s slim and short, wearing an elegant striped suit and carrying a leather briefcase.

“Who are you?” Joffrey asks.

“Alan Sheldon. I’m Ms Harper’s solicitor. The voluntary questioning is over, effective immediately, Dale.”

Wait. I have a solicitor? When did that happen?

“Ms. Harper was ready to answer more questions.” Joffrey doesn’t hide the irritation in his tone, but he also stands his ground.

“Not anymore. My client needs to rest before the trial.” Alan motions at me and I rise.

I was done anyway. I came here to urge them to investigate the other victims and to warn them of Dad’s manipulative nature, but if they’d rather play into his hands, then it’s all on them.

“Ms Harper,” the prosecutor calls when I’m standing beside Alan. “Mr Griffin said you were never innocent. What’s your reply to that?”

“You don’t have to answer that question,” Alan tells me.

“It’s okay. He should know that Dad doesn’t even know the meaning of innocence. He spent his entire life tarnishing it.”

And with that, I’m out of the room. Alan walks closely beside me. We’re about the same height, but since I’m wearing heels, I’m a bit taller than him.

“Don’t show up for any voluntary questionings anymore, and if it somehow happens, please call me beforehand, Miss.”

“I’m sorry, but who hired you?”

“Mr King.”

“Oh.” Of course, it’s Jonathan. Did I mention that he’s always one step ahead?

“Word got out that you were here.” Alan’s voice turns critical. “The press is just outside.”

Shit. Fuck.

Sweat trickles down my spine at the thought of facing them. I’m sure the victims’ families are there, too. Despite my pep talk, I can’t handle restarting the nightmare all over again.

“We can wait, then go through the back,” Alan suggests.

“Running away would mean I admit to doing something wrong. I haven’t.”

“Remember, you don’t have to answer anything.”

I nod, but I’m not in the right headspace. My feet hesitate at the revolving doors as dark memories of the trial rush back in.

It’s okay. I can do this. I’m not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore.

Snapping my spine into a straight position, I march right outside.

As Alan had forewarned, the press is waiting. As soon as I come out, a horde of people rush towards me. Cameras flash in my eyes as phones and microphones are shoved in my face.

It’s a complete shitshow and I’m caught right in the middle of it. Alan tries to shield me, but he alone can’t ward them all off. Bodies bump into me, and eager, slightly judgemental eyes bore into mine.

The questions rain on me from all directions.

“Ms. Harper, is it true you escaped?”

“Why change to Aurora Harper? Did you erase your family history along with Clarissa Griffin?”

“Is it true you picked the victims for your father?”

“Why have you come to questioning?”

“Is it true that you escaped the Witness Protection Program to join an extremist jihadist group?”

“What’s your comment on your father’s accusations?”

“Will you stick to your initial statement or are you going to change it?”

“Were you diagnosed with an antisocial disorder when you were young?”

Their words muffle into each other, and it takes everything in me to stay in the present. The flashing of cameras keep throwing me back to eleven years ago.

“Murderer! Murderer!” A group of people protest at the side of the road. They’re holding pictures of the women who lost their lives because of Dad.

I recognise their faces, even though it’s been a long time ago. The families. The people left behind.

Sarah stands with them, carrying the toddler I saw her with at the charity event. She’s glaring at me and screaming with the others. “Murderer! We want justice!”

One of them throws rotten tomatoes at me and I close my eyes, letting them hit my face. I retrieve a napkin from my bag and try to wipe it away, but they hit me with another one.

Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them out and I force myself to remain completely still.

I force myself into a numb state. That’s the only way to get through such scenes.

On the third tomato, a few buff men dressed in black surround me and Alan. We’re in such a small circle that their heights and developed physiques block the press and the victims’ families.