The Gender Game 2

information even now. He gave me the current body count: The bombing had killed thirty-two people in the initial blast. Of the remaining survivors, most had been critically injured. Another ten had died from the severity of their wounds. The king, however, had escaped relatively unscathed.
The lad didn’t know why I was being detained, and as for Violet… he had no idea.
So, I had no choice but to wait, though it was excruciating. It was the not knowing that was the worst. I would almost rather learn that Violet was dead than sit there wondering, hoping. I had no idea where in the building she had been when the blast went off—if she was anywhere near the events hall, chances were that she didn’t make it. It was a wonder that the king got out alive, and that was with bodyguards assigned and trained to protect him—he rarely went anywhere without at least two of them.
A hollow feeling settled in the base of my stomach. The brief period that I’d known Violet had been a whirlwind. The evening Lee brought her to my cabin and requested for me to be her second guardian, I’d suspected I might be getting myself into more than I was willing. Violet was clearly a free-spirited and strong-minded young woman, but I never could have predicted that things would go so far so quickly, spiral so… out of control.
I still wasn’t sure how I could have let that kiss happen between us. I replayed that fateful night over in my head, as I had done dozens of times since. Her hair and clothes wet and clinging to her lithe body, she’d stood in my living room just a couple of feet in front of me. Her dusky eyes had flicked to my face and before I could react, her arms had slid over my shoulders, her soft lips locking with mine. Then she’d pulled herself against me—I relived every detail now: the way her chest pressed to mine; her harried breathing; her damp-pinewood scent; the quiet moan that had escaped her throat when I had closed my lips around hers, no longer physically capable of containing the passion coursing through my veins. Every part of me had burned for her that night, and if her husband hadn’t interrupted when he had, I knew that Violet and I would have done something we’d later regret.
That woman had awakened things in me I’d long thought I’d lost—emotions and impulses that I hadn’t felt since Miriam. She had reminded me what it was like to feel connected to another human being; to discover a kindred spirit in a world of meaningless interactions. Violet had made me break the single rule I was professionally trained to live by—never drop your guard.
As painful as it was, I’d done the right thing by telling her that we needed to cut things off after that night. I wasn’t one to make a cuckold out of any man—though I couldn’t deny that a part of me had still hoped I’d be able to see her from time to time, even if we couldn’t be alone together. Spotting her in the audience at a fight or visiting the lab with her husband would have done something to brighten my day, relive the few memories of what we’d once shared.
But now… now, in all likelihood, Violet was dead.
I wasn’t sure where that left me.
Hollow, yes. Hollow and numb. That was what I felt now. However else her death would manifest in me would be apparent soon enough, once the shock of the attack had worn off. My brain still felt shaken from the blast.
Finally, the door to my room opened and a flint-eyed warden stepped in. I didn’t recognize him, which likely meant he wasn’t going to answer my questions. He slipped a key in the door, keeping his eyes on me.
“Viggo Croft,” he said. “Come with me.”
“Where?” I asked, standing up. At my full height, I towered over the man.
He looked a touch intimidated as he eyed me over, but said nothing—he just held out his hand toward the door. Acquiescing, I strode forward.
The warden guided me along an empty hallway and into another room, which held a table and chair. He sat me down and released my cuffs, allowing me to rub my wrists and lean back.
“What is this about?” I demanded, my eyes trained on him. He still didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and left the room. But I was alone for only a few seconds before the door opened again.
By now, I felt ready to snap at whoever it was, but as the visitor stepped inside, my voice caught in my throat. It was King Maxen, clad in a deep burgundy suit. His jaw-length hair and goatee were singed, his skin perceptibly red. He gazing at me, his face contemplative and unreadable.
“Your Majesty,” I murmured.
He inclined his head, his gaze never leaving mine. “Mr. Croft.”
The last time I had seen the king face-to-face was when I had been brought before King Maxen and his father, King Patrick, for sentencing after my failed attempt to cover up Miriam’s crime. King Patrick had ordered me to work as a warden for four years without pay. I wasn’t sure why King Maxen had come to see me now; I couldn’t help but find his appearance ominous.
He moved over to the opposite chair and sat down, his posture betraying his exhaustion.
“The last twenty-four hours have been that of pure chaos, Mr. Croft,” the king said, placing a folder onto the table. I looked down at it, then back up at him.
“I saw the damage,” I replied hoarsely. “Who did this?”
The king tapped his fingers on the table. “Well, apparently, there are some who would have us believe that you are responsible.”
I stared at him, half-believing that I’d misheard. “What?”
The king waved his hand. “No need to be concerned—we know now that you weren’t. It just took us the better part of a day to realize