The Fortress lived up to its name. It was a monolithic structure of glass, steel, and reinforced concrete perched on a jagged mountain ridge, overlooking a valley that was still shrouded in the grey mists of early spring. Inside, the air was filtered and silent, vibrating only with the humming of high-end security servers.
Roman's office at the Fortress was even more imposing than the one at the estate. It was a command center, dominated by a long slab of black obsidian that served as a desk and a panoramic view of the drop-off behind the building.
"Enter," Roman's voice boomed through the heavy oak doors.
Skye stepped inside, feeling small in the presence of the six men and women standing around the obsidian desk.
They were the apex predators of the legal world- Roman's "War Council." They were dressed in charcoal and navy suits so sharp they looked like armor, their faces set in expressions of grim, professional focus.
Roman was seated at the head of the table. He didn't rise, but his eyes locked onto hers the moment she crossed the threshold. The cold, calculating look he had been giving his lawyers softened for a fraction of a second- a flicker of warmth that was for her eyes only.
"Come here, Skye," he commanded, his voice a low, possessive rumble.
As she approached the desk, the lawyers shifted, their curious gazes raking over her. They knew her only as the "subject" of the most complex international litigation of their careers, but the way Roman looked at her told them she was far more than a case file.
Roman didn't point to a vacant chair. Instead, as she reached him, he reached out, his large hand anchoring firmly to her waist, and pulled her directly into his lap. Skye let out a soft, startled breath, her face flushing as she felt the eyes of the highest-paid legal minds in the country on her. She tried to shift to the side, to perch on the arm of the chair, but Roman's grip tightened, anchoring her squarely against his chest, her back to his front.
"Stay," he whispered against the shell of her ear, his breath a warm, steadying force. He looked up at the lead counsel, a silver-haired woman named Eleanor who looked like she could stare down a hurricane. "Proceed."
Eleanor didn't blink at the open display of PDA. She simply adjusted her spectacles and tapped a document on the desk.
"We've moved mountains in the last six hours, Roman. Given the diplomatic sensitivity and the threat of federal charges, we've secured a closed-session emergency hearing. It's a rushed court order. Tomorrow morning, 9:00 AM. We're bypassing the standard docket due to the 'imminent risk of international kidnapping'- a narrative we've flipped on the Prince."
Skye felt a jolt of ice in her veins. "Tomorrow? That's... that's so fast."
"The faster we move, the less time Frankie has to bribe the gallery or pull strings at the embassy," Roman said, his arms folding around her middle, caging her in safety. His chin rested on her shoulder, his presence a massive, immovable weight behind her.
A younger lawyer slid a single sheet of heavy cream paper across the obsidian surface toward Skye. "This is for you, Skye. We've outlined the probable line of questioning from the Prince's counsel. They are going to try to paint you as a flighty, unstable bride who got cold feet. They will focus on the 'validity' of the signature on the Forest Kingdom's scrolls."
Skye picked up the paper with trembling fingers. The questions were brutal:
Did you not willingly enter the carriage?
Is this not your signature on the dowry receipt?
Are you currently being held by Roman Thorne under duress?
"The responses are highlighted in blue," the lawyer continued. "They focus on the lack of informed consent and the financial nature of the 'auction' as a violation of the 13th Amendment and international human trafficking statutes."
Skye stared at the words until they blurred. "They're going to make me sound like I don't know my own mind. They're going to ask about the money. They're going to ask... why I didn't scream louder."
She felt Roman's hand move from her waist to her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, forcing her to look up slightly so he could catch her eye. "Look at me," he murmured, his voice cutting through the clinical atmosphere of the room.
"The truth is the truth, Skye. You don't need to be a world-class actress tomorrow. You just need to be the woman who shoved Ryder Vane out of a dressing room. You just need to tell them what happened in that auction hall. The truth is a weapon Frankie doesn't know how to defend against. Don't be nervous about speaking it."
"But he's a Prince, Roman," she whispered. "His truth has a crown on it."
"And mine has a Thorne," Roman countered, his eyes flashing with a lethal, protective light.
The meeting stretched on for hours. The lawyers dissected the day's itinerary with surgical precision. They discussed the motorcade route to the courthouse, the secondary security perimeter, and the "Order of Protection" that would be served the moment the judge stepped onto the bench.
They went over the interviews Miller had secured- the driver, the bidders, the evidence of the wire transfers.
As the legal jargon filled the room- habeas corpus, void ab initio, diplomatic immunity waivers, Skye found herself leaning back into Roman's heat. His hands never left her. One remained anchored on her hip, while the other occasionally toyed with the ends of her hair or rested flat against her stomach. He was a silent, vibrating engine of power beneath her, his body language making it clear to everyone in the room: This woman is mine. The law is simply the tool I am using to prove it.
"The judge is a man named Halloway," Eleanor said, closing her leather-bound folder. "He's old-school. He hates spectacle and he has a particular distaste for the 'excesses' of foreign nobility. If we keep the focus on the illegality of the auction, he'll lean our way. But Skye, you must remain calm. Frankie will be in the room. He will try to catch your eye. He will try to remind you that he 'owns' you."
Skye shivered, and she felt Roman's grip tighten until it was almost bruising.
"He won't get within ten feet of her," Roman growled. "If he even breathes in her direction, the court order will be the least of his problems."
"Roman," Eleanor warned gently. "The courtroom is a stage. Let Skye be the star. You be the silence behind her."
The lawyers finally began to pack their bags, the tension in the room easing only slightly. They had a plan. They had the evidence. Now, all they had was the night.
"Dismissed," Roman said, his voice weary but resolute.
As the heavy doors clicked shut behind the last lawyer, the silence of the Fortress rushed back in. Skye remained sitting on Roman's lap, the paper of questions still clutched in her hand. The sun had long since set, leaving the office in a cocoon of artificial light and shadows.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Tomorrow it ends."
Roman turned her in his lap so she was facing him, her legs straddling his. He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs wiping away the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"Tomorrow, the Songbird gets her sky back. And I get to find out what happens when a woman like you isn't afraid anymore."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. He didn't kiss her- he was still holding onto that final, agonizing shred of respect for the law he was about to dismantle, but his lips brushed against her brow.
"Get some sleep, Skye. I'll be right beside you. I'm not leaving your side until that ring is off your finger and his name is a curse the world has forgotten."
Skye nodded, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of the man who was willing to go to jail just to hear her sing one more time. The Fortress was strong, the lawyers were ready, and for the first time, she felt like the storm outside was finally, truly, running out of wind.