”Still wary, Gwenllian allowed herself to be led into an opulent lounge area which was completely devoid of other passengers. The contrast with the bustle of a busy airport in the summer was startling.“This isn’t the lounge we used last time, when we went to Spain,” Gwenllian hissed to her daughter.“Mam, trust me. It’s OK,” whispered Nicola, remembering the scene at Heathrow, and the whipping of the ground hostess during her previous flight to Kobekistan.A trim olive-skinned hostess came forward and said, ~Your wishes are my command, Highnesses, ~ then, seeing the blank looks, switched to slightly stilted English, “Good morning, Highnesses. Would you wish take some refreshment, or to go aboard the aircraft immediately?”“I’d love a cup of tea, if there’s time,” said Gwenllian.“Of course, Highness,” and the hostess sped away, only to return almost immediately with a trolley on which sat a two silver teapots, a silver coffee pot, some beautiful bone china cups and saucers, milk, cream,. A knife-blade of realization going straight through her mind as her heart leapt into her throat. Baz had warned her not to go this way! Her arms were already behind her back – painfully being bound at the wrists. A tight cord with what felt like frayed edges cutting into the soft flesh of her wrists. She struggled madly – knowing this could be her only chance to break free, but it seemed already too late. A hawkish chuckling was starting, and weight started to adjust onto her hips and her thighs, as more concentrated effort went into binding her hands. She screamed out again, aimlessly and wordlessly, from inside the confines of the sack around her head. But a heavy hand cuffed her on the back of her head and she just started crying. She knew it was useless as she felt and heard the cry coming back at her already. The bindings finished on her wrists, then went to her elbows – again behind her back. Fast and effective. Her shoulders immediately felt stretched and her breasts jutted.
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