A Princess for Hire Book

by Lindsey Leavitt

  “You know it’s tonight! This is the first time cameras have had access inside the palace, the first time the crown jewels have been on full display, the first time our royalty has exposed their daily life.”

  “You mean, their human side,” I said. I’d picked up on this theme in my manual research. In many cultures, royals are still considered to be almost godlike—certainly not like everyday people with everyday problems who just happen to be born into an extraordinary situation.

  Janin pretended she didn’t hear me. “Your younger brother may take that first step, and of course the country will want to see that!”

  “Wait. Rewind. So I have to do a back handspring and the baby just has to walk?” I tried to keep the panic from edging into my voice.

  “Please, Your Highness. Your time is limited.”

  “But, seriously. I’m good at so many other things. Lock picking! Here, give me a bobby pin and about an hour, and I can maybe unlock something.”

  “You chose to do gymnastics yourself. The film crew has already blocked out the space. There is no changing your activity now.”

  She led me away from the fountain, across an arched bridge over a lily-covered pond. As I stumbled ahead in Vanna’s practical-but-not-for-ancient-stone heels, I scrambled to come up with a plan, because how things looked now…I was in royal doo-doo.

  A back handspring. I couldn’t even do a cartwheel. The second I got into that gymnasium, the instructor would figure me out. And then…a film crew? What if they wanted me to do karate, too? Why hadn’t they given me more time to prepare? It would be physically impossible to get out of Vanna’s tight schedule today.

  I stopped walking. Wait. Unless I made it physically possible.

  An injury would mean Vanna would be laid up, then I would be laid up, which would save me from being caught, or sub spotted, if I failed to do a simple somersault. A sub spotting would mean the end of my job, the end of my magical research. My magic would be just another vial on Ye Ol’ Wall of MP.

  I surveyed the landscape. Back near the fountain, the trees were dense—I could run into something there, but we were too far now. The inner gardens were just a few yards away, and once I reached those, the pathway would be smooth and obstacle-free. My only chance of making something happen was here on the old bridge. Maybe the pond…No, I couldn’t just flop into a pond. What if it wasn’t deep enough?

  I would have to trip. Really trip, face-plant trip, so I would definitely get hurt. Unlike athletic feats, tripping was something I could do. Unfortunately, I would be the one hurt, not Vanna. Even after the rouge wore off and I was back to Desi, that injury would stay.

  I knew this gig was going to cause me physical harm. But there wasn’t any other option. I would lose much more then my dignity and health if that film crew documented my attempt at gymnastics. I had just a few more steps on the bridge. I had to do a fall. Now.

  I faked an unconvincing stumble, but when I did, my heel really did catch on a stone, sending my weight sideways. My knee slammed into the low stone wall before I catapulted over the bridge and into the lily pond, which, it turned out, was shallow enough that the pond floor knocked the wind out of me. I pushed some sludge out of my eyes and looked up at an ashen-faced Janin. My knee and ankle were already throbbing.

  Mission…accomplished. I guess.

  * * *

  A flurry of nurses hoisted me onto a stretcher and into the palace. My tour of the beautiful building was minimal, since all I saw was ceiling. I was brought into Vanna’s lavender-and-gray room, where attendants helped bathe me and dress me in a silk kimono, before a doctor analyzed my injuries. I had a large contusion on my knee and a small ankle sprain. As far as intentional wounds go, I’d done pretty well—I’d be laid up at least until next week, and I would probably be gone before that. I was propped up onto pillows, given almond cookies and green tea, and left to rest.

  Why hadn’t I thought of injuring myself before? When I was Floressa Chase, I had to roller skate around a yacht—one slip could have bought me days of R & R. And if I stocked up on some fake blood, every sub job would be a breeze.

  There was a quick rap on the door.

  “Uh, you may enter!” I called.

  A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, hurried in, wheeling a cart filled with all sorts of cleaning supplies. Even in her frumpy maid uniform, she was ethereal—lean frame, glowing skin, and brown almond-shaped eyes. So this was Vanna’s friend Sora. I thought maid meant something like maiden or lady-in-waiting, but nope. Maid meant maid.

  “You alone?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  She grabbed my knee and squeezed.

  I yowled in pain. Who did this girl think she was?

  She flopped down next to me on the bed. “Just making sure you weren’t faking.”

  “No, I’m not faking. That really hurt!”

  “I can’t believe you hurt your knee. This will put your training back weeks.”

  I leaned back on the pillow, the pain still hot in my leg. “It was an accident.”

  “Rule number four fifty-three. Accidents can kill.”

  I tried to keep the annoyance off my face. No duh, accidents kill. What was rule number four thirty-two? Brush your teeth?

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “Since your stunt training is canceled, we’ll have to shift our focus to mental strengthening exercises. And security systems. You’ve been falling behind there. And for how much you’re paying me, I want you to be fully prepared.” She stood, and in one fluid motion, ripped off her dress. The garment fell to the floor. Underneath, Sora had on a black Lycra catsuit, complete with zippers and mini computer doohickeys and wires. She looked like she was about to rob an art museum. She kicked the dress into a corner. “Of all my covers, this maid job has been the worst. I really wish you’d let me go for gardener instead. I like those sun hats.”

  I didn’t answer, just stared at Sora in her sleek outfit. Security systems? Her cover. Was Sora…Was she a spy? If she was, what did that make Vanna?

  Sora reached into her cart and pulled out a thin silver laptop. Within seconds, she’d plugged cords from inside the mop into the computer and converted the Windex bottle into a camera, creating a complex technological hub. “No offense, Van, but you tripped on a bridge? How are you going to qualify for the most elite covert government organization in all of Asia when you can’t even walk around your own palace?”

  “I said—”

  “It was an accident. Yeah, yeah.”

  Sora busied herself with her spy gear. I wasn’t as dumb as I looked. In the last hour, I’d avoided a sub spotting, blown Sora’s cover, and figured out why Vanna left. She wanted to work for the government, but not as a princess. And all her extracurriculars doubled as prep for her dream job.

  Despite the pain, I couldn’t help but be giddy. Forget karate princess. Spy princess was going to be perfect Façade prep.

  “So.” I smiled at Sora. “Learning to crack security systems sounds like a perfect lesson for today.”

  Sora was worth every penny Vanna was paying her, because not only did we cover security systems, but also how to pick locks (seriously, I was getting good at this one), how to turn a cell phone into a mobile bug, how to dodge alarm lasers, and how to watch facial cues for signs of deceit. And she managed to wax the floor and dust the furniture, all within a few hours.

  “Now I want to see you use some of the lesson on manipulation we had last week.” Sora helped me hop back into bed. Janin would be in soon to wake me up from my “nap.” “Good spies don’t show authentic emotion, unless it’s part of their cover. The part you need to work on playing is that of a contented daughter, not a princess jealous of her little brother.”

  “Who says I’m jealous?” I asked.

  “You do, every time you look at him or your parents. It’s spelled out on your face. And your parents are worried, and if they worry, they’ll focus more attention on you, and the last thing a spy needs—”

&nb
sp; “Is attention,” I finished. Of course. This is the same thing Ferdinand said—stay off the radar; don’t make yourself a suspect. “So I will play the part of the happy injured princess.”

  “But not injured too long. We only have two weeks to complete your application project, although I’m starting to wonder if you should wait a year.”

  I didn’t know what this application project was, but my guess was it had something to do with the government agency Vanna wanted to work for. Of course, I couldn’t ask, especially someone as sharp as Sora, so I just nodded. Besides, I’d probably be gone in two weeks, and Vanna would be miraculously recovered as soon as she got back.

  Sora threw her maid costume on and grabbed her feather duster. “I can smell Janin’s perfume. She’s around the corner, down the hall, advancing…” Sora sniffed again. “Six-point-three seconds away. I’m gone. Remember your cover!” Sora gave me a jaunty little bow and scuttled out of the room. I lay back on my pillows and closed my eyes. Janin knocked softly on the door.

  “Your Highness? It’s time.” She pushed a wheelchair into the room, and I pretended to wake up. “His Majesty, your father, understands that gymnastics are impossible, so they’ve changed your schedule.”

  I let her help me into the wheelchair. “Good. So we just have to watch my brother be a baby.”

  “Well, yes, that, but His Majesty didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to showcase your talents, and the purpose of this documentary is to highlight the skills of the royal family, after all.” She pushed me into the hallway, where three more women waited to help escort me to the dining hall. “Escorting” involved them shuffling behind us, heads bowed. It amazed me all the stupid jobs royalty created.

  “But I’m practically immobile,” I said.

  “Which is why they’re setting up in the studio.”

  “Studio?” Spy or no spy, I could not help the worry that crept into my voice.

  “Of course. Your art is of great interest to your people. I’m sure they’d love to see what you create using raw clay.”

  I leaned back in my wheelchair and sighed. Tumbling out and breaking my wrist probably wasn’t an option. Which meant I’d have to rely on my next asset if I was going to display Vanna’s “talent” for sculpture to her whole country.

  Magic time.

  While the camera crew set up, another team got to work fixing my hair and applying my makeup. I was changed into a high-necked floral blouse paired with slim jeans. A burly man in the camera crew scooped me up and arranged me on a sculptor’s stool, in front of a slab of muddy clay. The studio had finished pieces lined up against the wall. Vanna’s work consisted of birds of prey—sharp angles, fierce poses, all lifelike. These were museum-worthy, not something I could whip up on the spot. Not something I could whip up with years of training.

  The director bowed at me from behind the camera. “So this first shot will be basic. I want to get a glimpse of your creative process. Then we’ll show some art you’ve already done, add some music and voice-over as you work. We’ll save interview questions for later.”

  “So I just need to make something with this clay,” I said.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Pretend we aren’t even here. Let your creativity guide you.”

  I stared at the clay and bit my lip. T-shirts. T-shirts were my artistic medium. The best I could make out of this clay was a ball, maybe a snowman if I got really inspired.

  I stuck my fingers into the clay. A cameraman stepped closer in anticipation. I shot a look at Janin, who mouthed, “Create.”

  Create. Gah. Sub spotting here I come.

  I unstuck a piece of clay and rolled it into a tube, like I used to do with my Play-Doh. When I was, oh, five. I stared at the tube, hoping it would transform into something resembling art. Maybe a scary snake?

  I was saved by a quick rustling. Everyone dropped to the ground in a flurry of low bows. I glanced up to see the crown prince—a somber man with a penetrating gaze that probably inspired Vanna’s sculptures. He gave my shoulder a quick but firm squeeze.

  “Daughter, I came as soon as I was able. I’m so sorry about your injury.” His forehead wrinkled in concern as he looked down at my ankle. “It’s not like you to stumble, given your athletic training.”

  “I know,” I said. “Bad luck.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be equally impressive displaying your art.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I know how you feel about the press, but”—he lowered his voice—“this documentary is important for our family, and thus, important for the country, important to me—” He looked past me and his eyes lit up. “Aha! There’s my little prince. Come, come. It’s been ages since I’ve seen my boy.”

  His wife, the crown princess, laughed as she entered the room and handed her son to his father. They didn’t seem aware of anyone else in the room or of the cameras turned to capture this moment.

  I sat there on my stool, poking the clay. The wave of empathy, of magic, was instant and natural. Oh, Vanna. Perfect little brother, perfect family, and here she was trying to prove that she was something—someone—besides a princess. I knew that feeling so well, that twisted mix of love and jealousy and confusion. I’d lived that when Gracie was born. Not to mention, I knew what it was like to be different—I had a beauty queen mother who loved me, but often didn’t understand me. Which is different than wanting to be a spy instead of a royal, but the emotions were the same.

  The tingling worked down into my fingers as I molded the clay. I closed my eyes, not listening to anyone else, just tuning into the intensity of the moment. I don’t know how much time passed, but when I opened my eyes, I had the beginnings of a bird. A crane, actually, with impossibly skinny legs and a graceful neck. It didn’t have the same sharp angles as Vanna’s work, but this was just a start, and…it worked. This was better than anything I could have created on my own. My magic worked to help a princess. I did exactly what I’d wanted to do.

  “Perfect, Your Highness!” the director called out. “We’ll speed up the frames, add some music, have you talk about your work…Just perfect. Even better than the gymnastics bit would have been.”

  I didn’t even notice that the crown prince was standing right behind me. He looked down at me with pride. “Everything my daughter touches turns to gold. She’s a magical girl.”

  You have no idea.

  The camera crew began to pack up, and Janin stepped in to wheel me over to the sink to wash my hands.

  Prince Kaito started to kick in his mother’s arms. “No, Kaito. This studio is dirty.”

  He squirmed some more, and she finally sighed and set him down. He popped right up into a standing position.

  “Oh, he’s going to do it,” Janin whispered. “This couldn’t be any more perfect.”

  Kaito flashed a smile at the crew, already fumbling for the cameras. It was like he knew to wait, knew what his duty was. The crown prince held out his arms in delight. Kaito lifted a chubby thigh and took one step. We beamed, not wanting to cheer just yet, but all aware how big this moment was. The whole country would get to witness his first step.

  But before the prince could walk any more, an alarm blared. We covered our ears. Kaito flopped onto the ground and started to bawl. His mother scooped him up.

  A guard rushed in. “The crown jewels! Your Majesty, someone has stolen the crown jewels!”

  And then the smoke bomb went off.

  The room erupted into chaos. Men in black suits spilled into the studio, circling around each royal and rushing us out. Janin kept her hands firmly on my wheelchair, insisting that she push me through the smoke-filled hallways. We coughed our way through corridor after corridor, following the set escape route. The grand front hall was a mass of people—military, police, paramedics, and more men in black suits. So many people crowded in to “help” that the end result was disorder.

  Janin leaned down and whispered, “I know an easier way out to the garden that’ll be safer.”

  S
he took a quick right down another hall and then another, until I could hardly hear the sirens. At first, I was grateful just to be away from the crowd—my leg had been bumped twice already. But after the fourth turn, I was starting to get worried. “This doesn’t look like there’s an exit,” I said. “Maybe we should go back.”

  “Don’t worry, Desi, Your job is just about done.”

  I turned around in the chair as much as I could. Desi? HOW DID JANIN KNOW MY NAME? “What are you talking…Who are you?”

  Janin stopped at a door and knocked four times. She wheeled me into the darkened space. I tried to stand up, but she pushed me back down in my seat.

  “Took you long enough,” said a voice that was obviously trying to sound deeper than it was. A flashlight went on, right in my face, so I couldn’t see who was shining it. What I did see, though, was the shiner’s pants. Black, tight. A cat-suit just like the one Sora had on earlier.

  Traitor.

  “Did she put the makeup on yet?”

  “Didn’t have time,” Janin said. “We’re lucky I got her away from security.”

  “I think she’ll change on her own now that I’m here,” the voice said again.

  “Did you get the jewels?” Janin asked.

  “They’re in my backpack.”

  “Sora!” I shouted. “This is illegal! I command you to, uh, unhand me. Take me back to my parents before they arrest you.”

  There was laughter. Eerily familiar laughter. The lights flicked on to reveal a messy office, perhaps belonging to someone on the staff. There was a futon to my right and a mini-fridge. Sitting on the desk was a girl in a catsuit, and she looked nothing like Sora.

  The girl looked like Vanna. Sort of. She was a little taller, her nose a little pointier, her hair shorter…It’s like someone took each of Vanna’s features and smudged them with a rubber eraser.

  The girl smiled. “Sorry to drop in like this, but when you twisted your ankle, it kind of put a damper on things.”

  “Who are you?”