When we get inside, we meet up with two other tour groups. Each group is held by two more men, for a total of six terrorists.

I’m counting them and taking note of what kind of weapons they have―four submachine guns and two assault rifles. I don’t know why I’m doing it, maybe I’ve just read too many thrillers and watched too many movies? There’s no way I can think of to get out of the situation or do anything with any of the information I gather. Even if I could get one of their guns, I’ve never fired anything but a paintball gun. By the time I figured out where the safety was on one of those submachine guns, I’d probably have five terrorists emptying their magazines into me.

The hostages are mostly women, children, and out-of-shape men. If I somehow got them to all work together and try to rush one or two of the terrorists, we’d probably all just get killed.

Their leader, who calls himself Yuri, has been negotiating with the Nordians outside the castle. My best bet is probably that the Nordians give into the terrorists’ demands and let us all go.

All of the hostages have been forced to sit on the ground in the center of the old throne room. There is only one door leading out of the throne room, and it’s guarded by the two men with assault rifles. The other terrorists are spread out from the two guarding the door, so that if we tried to rush one, the others would have a good shot on us.

I’ve noticed that there is a type of catwalk―I don’t know what else to call it―running along the walls of the throne room. There are small windows above it, but I don’t see any stairway within the throne room that could get me or any other hostage up to that catwalk. It might lead to the castle walls, but even then, we’d drop down into the near freezing water in the moat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the light from one of the catwalk windows die out, and when I look up at it, I see a man’s shadow entering through.

I nearly gasp and point up at it, but then I realize it might be a Nordian commando of some kind. It might be our only hope of rescue. The worst thing I could do is call attention to him.

He slips through the window and dives down onto his stomach, dropping into a crawl. Once he’s down, I can only make out the very top of his body, and his movement is barely visible unless I’m really looking for it.

I look down and away from him as soon as I can. I can’t risk gaping at him―one of the terrorists might notice.

The hostages are pressed against the wall furthest from the door, and the man entered in through a window across from us. Each time I risk a glance up, I notice he’s crawled around and closer toward us.

It’s one man, so he’s likely not going to just open fire. He must be trying to join in with the hostages.

How the hell is he going to get down into our group without being noticed? Even if he did, at least one of the hostages will be dumb enough to make a noise or otherwise point him out to the terrorists.

I realize it’s somehow going to be up to me. I seem to be the only one who noticed him enter.

I wait until he’s just above us. I can’t even see him anymore unless I risk looking straight up, which I won’t do. He might not even know I spotted him, but I have to create a diversion for him. Right now.

I stand up and take a step toward the terrorist nearest me.

“Sit the fuck down!” he says, raising his gun toward me.

I stop walking and put my hands up, but I don’t sit down.

“I really need to pee,” I say.

“I don’t give a shit,” he says, keeping the gun trained on me.

My throat feels as dry as a desert, and I feel horribly tempted to just sit down and let it all go, but I know this is my best chance of getting out of this alive.

“Please,” I say. “I’m not the only one. How long do you want to keep us here like this? Imagine how it’s going to smell in here if you don’t let us relieve ourselves.”

He looks over toward Yuri, who is standing near the throne, clutching the phone.

“There’s a toilet,” Yuri says. “Just through the door there. I don’t want to clean up piss and shit. Vladimir and Mishka, you take her.”

One of the men looks at him. “I’m Mishka, right?”

Yuri hisses at him. “Yes, you fucking idiot.”

I knew they weren’t really Russians. If they were all Russians, why would they talk to each other in English?

I run toward “Mishka” and hug him. Squeezing him so hard my breasts push into him. Mishka does not hug me back, and I feel him trying to break free of me.

“What the hell are you doing?” Yuri shouts.

Just over Mishka’s shoulder, I see the commando drop down into the group of hostages. No one else was looking at him. They were all looking at me idiotically hugging a man with a machine gun.

“Let go of me!” Mishka says. “I’ll take you, fucking hell.”

* * *

When I get back from the bathroom, Mishka shoves me back into the group of hostages, which now has one extra man in it. He’s keeping his head down, trying to escape notice and blend in.

He looks at me, though, and my heart nearly melts. Not because I’m relieved that he made it in and that he could save our lives – though I am, of course – but because he is so drop-dead gorgeous. His jaw is stronger and more solid than the castle walls, and his eyes are a deep blue that pierces right into my soul. He has golden blonde hair that is just long enough to show how wavy it is—the golden curls wisp just right along his forehead. His wide shoulders and huge arms reveal his massive size and strength, but he’s crouched down as low as he can to avoid detection. His cheekbones are high and perfectly sculpted, and when he grins at me, his smile reveals perfect white teeth. Dimples form in his cheeks, and he raises a finger to his lips, indicating for me to be quiet.

I give the slightest of nods to him, wishing I could smile back and laugh like an idiot. I can’t believe I’m more worried about flirting with this guy than I am about getting out of the life-and-death situation we are in, but he’s so handsome that I can’t help it. My body longs for him more than it does for survival.

I wait in silence, trying not to look at him. When one of the women pulls her child onto her lap, he slides forward, closer toward me.

Then I hear his voice in my ear, and I feel his strong arm brush against mine.

His voice has a strong Nordian accent, which has always been my favorite accent on a man. It has almost the same refinement of a posh British accent, but it’s more rough around the edges, where it counts.

“Listen,” he says. “No one else is coming. It’s just me.”

Mmm, how I wish he’d say that to me in another context. Maybe by candlelight at a cozy little table in―”

“So,” he says, “I’ll need your help.”

I nod. Anything for him.

“Put these on,” he says.

I feel something hard pressed into my palm, and I look down to see a pair of glasses.

I put them on casually, as if they’ve been in my pocket all along.

His voice is barely a whisper, and all of the hostages’ sobs and whines create enough background noise that no one else can hear him.

As soon as I have the glasses on, I feel his finger brush against my ear. I wish he was going in to kiss me, or to lick and bite at my ear―

He presses against the glasses, and I hear a whirring sound as yellow outlines begin forming around everyone I look at.

“You paint the targets,” he says. “Tap on the left side of your glasses for a bad guy, tap on the right for a hostage.”

I look at Yuri, and I pretend to scratch my nose, then I tap the left side of the glasses.

The yellow outline around him turns red.

“Try to keep looking around,” he says. “If you lose sight of someone for too long, it will revert to yellow.”

He puts on his own pair of glasses. “With both of us together, it should keep them painted.”

The hostages become quieter, and the man stops talking.

I wait quietly and paint a few more of the terrorists red, while outlining dozens of hostages in green. Soon I have everyone covered.

I notice that when two of the terrorists cross paths, the red outlines both turn yellow. I see the gorgeous man look toward them and tap his glasses. When he taps, the terrorists turn red again.

“The software errs on the side of caution,” he says.

“Is this for some kind of SWAT team that is going to come in?” I ask.