30. Rory Preston

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                  RORY HAD WOKEN UP TO FIND PARIS GONE.

                  Dressed in only a white silk covering, she had limped through the palace. The morning after Christmas—it was always quiet, solemn.

                  When Ophelia grabbed her arm, her nails long and sharp with bronze acrylic nails, Rory had flinched at the cool touch.

                  Rory had asked, "Do you know where Paris is?"

                  "I'd suggest checking the throne room."

                  Ophelia was still smiling as Rory yanked her arm away. 

                  It hadn't taken her long to get to the throne room.

                  Have you tamed her yet?

                  The words were ringing in her ears as Rory pushed open the grand doors. She could hear shouting from inside, and Paris's voice—blurry with tears.

                 Rory was going to kill her father if he had done anything to her.

                 She was going to kill him.

                 And she might really take up Dhonielle's offer to borrow a shovel.

                 But then her father's smooth, fluid voice had said something about an offer. And Rory's heart had stopped entirely.

                It's not true. It can't be true. 

               And then Paris had said, Take back your stupid offer. 

               That was when Rory's father finally saw her, and he smiled then. He smiled at her, as Rory held one hand against the door to keep herself from sliding to the ground.

               Too late. 

               Too late.

               An offer.

               Tame her. 

               Tame her—tame Rory. 

               The king had said something about breaking hearts. It was all Rory needed to hear. She was gone before Paris even turned around.

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                THE MOMENT THE PLANE TOUCHED GROUND IN VANCOUVER, RORY was already in the black sedan with Simon.

                She had already ordered him to tell Paris that Rory would be leaving.

                Rory didn't care where she went, even if it meant going back home to the palace. Even if it meant being under the care of Dr. Chevy, and getting bombarded by the paparazzi every day of the week. She didn't care. 

                Maybe she wasn't thinking straight.

               Not that Rory would exactly call her thoughts entirely straight on any given day—but with that offer . . . that stupid offer . . . 

               Money. It had been about money.

               "Rory, I know it's not my place to say this," Simon said. "But I think you should—"

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