I didn’t even know until today that the palace dungeons had a chapel. Even though I grew up in this palace, I’ve only been down here a couple of times.

They’re creepy. People used to be tortured here. People died here, usually because my ancestors ordered it. I’m not particularly keen to think about that.

But somehow, Sven knew not only that we have dungeons, but that there’s a tiny chapel in them.

I guess it’s where condemned people used to come to pray one last time, and the thought sends a shiver down my back.

“You’re going to say it,” Sven says as he shoves me down the aisle. I nearly stumble onto my face, my hands still bound behind my back, my feet tied together by a length of rope that barely lets me walk.

“I’m not,” I hiss.

At the front of the chapel, behind a big stone slab that must be the altar, is a grave-looking older man in a priest’s uniform. His face is perfectly, completely somber, and his hands are folded in front of him. There are two flickering candelabras on either end of the altar, as if someone actually tried to make this romantic.

The room is dimly lit by a few lanterns Sven and his retinue of guards brought — a retinue that only includes four men, instead of the usual ten-or-twenty. I don’t know what happened to the rest.

Maybe they’re guarding the entrances. Maybe they’re revving the getaway car. I have no idea.

“Good,” Sven says, looking him up and down. “Glad you decided to cooperate, Father.”

The priest doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t even move.

“Are you ready to proceed?” he asks, his voice as stony and grave as the dungeons themselves.

“Yes!” Sven practically yelps. “Yes, God, of course I am, what the hell do you think we’re here for?”

The priest looks down at his bible. Slowly, he thumbs it open, taking his sweet time to flip the pages. Finally, he marks the page with one finger and closes the book around that finger, looking back at the six of us, gathered in this tiny, claustrophobic underground stone room.

“Dearly Beloved,” he intones, his voice a slow deadpan. “We gather here today to celebrate the union of two people, two important, ancient royal houses of Europe. This day truly marks...”

“We don’t need the sermon,” Sven snaps.

The priest blinks. Then he raises both eyebrows. Slowly.

“It was my understanding that you requested a formal marriage ceremony,” he says. “Traditionally, that does include a full mass, not to mention an outlining—”

“Okay, well, I guess I lied about that part,” Sven says. He’s still got one hand locked around my forearm, his guards leaning against stone walls a few feet away, part of the shadows. “I want to make sure that this girl is completely and totally married to me, and I want it to happen as quickly as possible.”

The priest considers this, and for just a moment, he catches my gaze, though his face doesn’t change.

I have no idea who he is, but I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: you legally can’t force someone to get married in Tomassia. A coerced marriage is completely invalid. My ancestors had reason to codify that into law long ago.

“Then I’ll skip the parts that normally makee a wedding a beautiful, life-altering moment of love and connection and get on with it,” the priest says. “Prince Sven of Norograv, please repeat after me. I, Prince Sven of Norograv...”

Sven starts repeating the priest’s words. For the millionth time, I flex my fists against their bonds, but it’s pointless.

I haven’t told Sven that no matter what I say, this marriage is completely null and void. I’m pretty sure that once he thinks I’m legally his bride, his plan is to toss me in his car and make for the border — maybe thinking that if we’re married, he’s got a legal right to do that.

I don’t think Sven is very smart, but he’s got force on his side. He’s got a lot of armed men, and from the screaming pain in my shoulders and back, it’s obvious that he doesn’t mind hurting me.

Right now, my best bet is to do anything I can to stay in the castle. It can’t be long now until someone realizes that I’m missing and comes looking for me.

But what if they don’t, I think. Your parents think he’s proposing, and they’re probably going to let him have several hours to get away with this before they realize that he’s not.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s nearly impossible not to panic, but I’m trying.

“Katarina!” Sven barks.

I glare at him.

“You may call me by my title,” I say, as haughtily as I can manage.

Sven smiles nastily.

“All right, Princess,” he says. “I’ll let you have that one last time before it’s Princess Consort. Or maybe I’ll demote you for un-princesslike behavior and you’ll have to live out the rest of your days as a duchess.”

“So you’re forcing me to marry you, only to threaten that it won’t last?” I say as coolly as I can manage, though my heart is pounding in my chest. “Why bother at all?”

“You KNOW why!” he snarls, getting in my face. “Because I will not have someone else taking what’s rightfully mine.”

He addresses the priest without looking at him.

“Continue,” Sven says.

“Princess Katarina, please repeat after me,” the priest intones. “I, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess of Tomassia...”

“I’m not saying it,” I tell them.

Sven nods at a guard, who comes over, stands behind me, and jerks on the bonds on my hands. My shoulders scream in pain, and my vision swims as he pulls me backward, off-balance, his arm the only thing keeping me up.

“Now,” Sven goes on.

“No,” I say, my teeth clenched, my eyes tearing up.

“Katarina,” Sven says, getting in my face, his breath terrible. “If you don’t say this—”

Behind us, two loud thunks break the silence of the chapel, followed by a grunt. Sven whirls around, and I crane my head around, ignoring the pain, trying to see what’s behind me.

It’s Dom and Bruno, holding a shovel and a rake, just inside the door to the chapel, two unconscious guards in front of them.

My heart leaps, but right away the other guard, who was lurking in the shadows, attacks Bruno. He’s got a stun gun or something, a device that sparks dangerously, and Bruno backs away a bit, swinging the rake.

I make a desperate grab at the guy holding me as he turns toward them. All I can grab with my arms tied like this is his thumb, but I grit my teeth together and squeeze that one digit as hard as I can, thinking that maybe I can dislocate it or bruise it or something.

He just grunts, pulls it, then jerks it out of my grip, yanking me off-balance, and I stumble and fall to my side, hitting the stone floor hard and flopping like a fish.

“Watch out!” I shout, like they don’t know.

The guy who was holding me roars, and I see him raise his arm, swinging something at Dom and Bruno, and I can’t see them at all.

I curl into a ball, my hands still behind my back. It’s about the only thing I can do right now, and the sounds of chaos and fighting fill the small, echoing room.

I can’t see well enough to follow what’s going on, but the guy with the stun gun is going after Bruno, who’s fending him off with the rake, and Dom is swinging the shovel at the enormous guy who was holding me a moment ago. They’re getting backed into a corner, step by step, as the trained professionals advance.

Then Sven grabs me by the hands. He pulls me up, excruciating pain whipping through me. It hurts so bad I scream and fall back to my knees, but his face is an unchanging, contorted mask of rage.

“You will marry me or you won’t marry anyone!” he shouts.

Then he closes a hand around my throat and lifts. I have no choice but to stand, unsteadily, my vision going gray at the edges, my throat constricting. I can’t even beg him not to, only try to keep breathing, try to keep my heart beating.

Don’t let me die like this, I think. Please no. Please no.

There’s another, louder, fleshy thunk right in front of me, and my eyes fly open, heart hammering so fast I’m afraid it’ll just give up.

Then Sven’s eyes roll back, the whites showing. His hand relaxes on my neck, and he lurches forward onto me. I scream again, and something behind him clatters to the ground as I stumble into the pews, falling backward onto one as Sven topples over.

At the last second, he stops, hangs in the air for a moment, and then sort of rolls off to the side, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

The priest is behind him, gasping for breath, a heavy candelabra on the floor next to him.

“Princess,” he manages to wheeze.

But before he can say anything else there’s a loud, snapping, crackling sound to one side. I nearly fall off the pew with surprise, but the huge guard’s body jerks a few times, then goes limp, and he falls to the floor as well, revealing Bruno, stun gun out.

The other guard’s unconscious at Dom’s feet.

Everything is totally still for a moment, and we all look around, like there’s more coming, but nothing happens. No one else comes.

I’m still bound hand and foot, and I’m in a dungeon, but I think it’s over.