Chapter 5 The high court

Katerina woke to the jolting rhythm of a moving vehicle. Her head pounded, a thick, woolly feeling clouding her thoughts. She was lying across a leather seat. The engine purred lowly as the sun rose...?...

How long has she been out?

She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced her down. The partition between the back seat and the driver was up, and she couldn't make out his face from the rearview mirror.

Panic cut through the drugged haze. She pushed herself upright, her muscles weak and uncoordinated. Peering out the window, she saw they were on a motorway, signs flashing by too fast to read.

Where were they?

She pounded on the partition. “Stop! Let me out!”

There was no response from the driver and the car didn’t slow.

Desperate, she fumbled for the door handle. It was locked, the child-safety mechanism engaged.

The car drove on through the night, an hour, then two. The urban glow faded completely, replaced by the deep black of what seemed like a private hill. Finally, the car slowed, turning off the main road onto a narrower, winding one. It crunched over gravel and grasses, then came to a smooth stop and the door locks clicked open.

The rear passenger door was wrenched open from the outside. Cold, damp night air rushed in as two large men in dark suits stood there. Their faces were impassive. One of them reached in and grabbed her arm firmly.

“Come,” he said, his voice rumbling.

They pulled her from the car. Her legs buckled, but the men held her upright, half-dragging, half-carrying her. They were on a vast, manicured estate. Ahead of them loomed a monstrously large house, a silhouette of dark stone and angles against sky even though the day was getting brighter by the minute. Lights blazed from many windows, but they did nothing to make it look welcoming. It looked like a fortress.

The heavy, ornate front door swung open as they approached and they dragged her across the threshold into a cavernous entrance hall. The last thing she saw before the door boomed shut behind her was the retreating taillights of the sedan that had brought her here, disappearing back into the night.

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The air in the hall was so cold it felt like ice, a very wide contrast to the drugged warmth still clinging to her veins. The two men who had dragged her from the car released her arms, with their presence as a wall behind them. Katerina swayed on her feet, her head swimming. The floor beneath her was polished marble, a vast, icy sea of black and white tiles that stretched towards a distant, shadowed staircase.

She finally took her eyes off the ground and took in her sorrounding, she was in the middle of... a group of people along the edges of the hall. Men and women, dressed in expensive clothing. Their faces were hard, but their eyes—every single pair of eyes—was fixed on her. There was no curiosity in those stares. Only assessment, surprise, judgment, and a deep, chilling animosity.

And the only sound came from her ragged breathing.

Her gaze was pulled to the far end of the hall. A raised dais held a row of high-backed chairs, like thrones. They were occupied by older men and women, their faces lined with the grim authority of those who had dispensed death for decades.

But the central chair, the largest and most ornate, was empty. As if noticing her curiosity, the door hidden in the paneling behind the dais opened almost immediately without a sound, and a man walked out.

He was younger than the others, maybe in his early thirties, but he moved with an absolute, unnerving authority that made the elders seem like mere attendants. He was tall, and perfectly built that on a good day, when she isn't kidnapped by a bunch of strangers, she'd appreciate his godly beauty. He wore a simple, impeccably tailored black suit that seemed to absorb the dim light. His hair was the color of crow’s wings, swept back from a face that was all sharp angles and beauty, with a faint, pale scar cutting through his lower lip.

But it was his eyes that stopped her heart.

Amber with flecks of gold that glowed under the light of the day. The effect was jarring, deeply unsettling. It made his gaze impossible to hold. And those eyes went directly to her, pinning her to the spot as effectively as a spear.

He walked down from the dais, his footsteps echoing in the profound silence. The crowd parted for him like water before a shark and he stopped directly in front of her, so close she could smell the faint, clean scent of soap and cold air on his skin. He was terrifyingly real, a wall of muscle and menace.

He looked her up and down with thorough inspection that felt violated. He reached out a hand and Katerina couldn't help but flinch, expecting a blow. But his fingers, surprisingly gentle, went under her chin, tilting her face up to his. His touch was ice-cold, yet it sent a jolt of electricity through her entire system.

“Welcome home, malyshka. I suppose London was good?” It was more of a guess than a question.

He caressed her chin with a small smile, and she knew it was genuine when his eyes lit up.

“Who—” She coughed to clear her throat. “Who are you?”

His smile slowly dropped, his grip on her chin tightening.

“You don't remember your husband, malyshka?” He asked, the word dripping with a condescending feel, “Now that's disheartening.”

She didn't know what prompted her to ask. Maybe it's the sudden change in his tone that reminded her of a certain person who came off as an angel at first and drugged her tea the next second. “Morozov? Ivan Morozov? Are you the man that bitch was talking about?”

“So you do remember.”