by Nikki Chase
What the hell is happening at home?
A big crowd has gathered just outside the fence, some of them carrying big black boxes. They’re all facing a couple of figures on the front lawn.
I can’t do this.
I mean, I know I was the one who told the prince that it’s bad to spy on people. But now that I’m standing in his secret surveillance room, looking closely at his monitors, I need to tell him to upgrade his stuff. Everything’s blurry and I can’t even recognize any of the faces.
Sometimes, when cars pass, my view of the house is completely blocked because this camera is placed across the street from it.
Here we go, another car. It’s a big white van, and… Is that the Channel Two logo on it?
Hold on.
Those big black boxes that people carry are cameras.
Oh god.
What has happened?
Willowdale is a quiet little town. We don’t have local TV stations.
If all those people have traveled from nearby cities just for some video footage of my ordinary home, something must’ve happened. Something big.
It’s not a robbery, is it? Or… a murder?
No, I’m being crazy. It’s probably just my family looking for me, right? Maybe they panicked, despite my phone call, and now they’ve involved the press.
“…here in Willowdale, where we’re joined by Mr. Graham Cox, the local policeman. Now, Mr. Cox, when did you first suspect something strange might be going on?”
I turn around to find the source of the female voice. It’s coming from a big TV screen that’s mounted on the wall opposite the monitors. James is standing a couple of feet away from it with his arms crossed over his chest, holding a remote control in his hand.
It’s Channel Two. Their van has just passed in front of the house.
And now Graham is on TV.
So he’s one of the figures standing on my front lawn. He’s being interviewed.
About what?
As if reading my mind, James turns up the volume.
On the screen, Graham takes the mic offered by the reporter, flashes a big smile into the camera, and says, “Thank you for this opportunity. I’m Graham Cox from Willowdale, and—”
I roll my eyes. It’s just like Graham to pander to the camera and try to stay on air for as long as he can.
“—at first it was when Rosemary Wilson came to the station and told me her father was missing,” Graham says.
“So Mr. Wilson was the one who was missing at first?” the reporter asks.
“Yes, that’s right. I told her he’d turn up. Sometimes when there’s a storm, people’s travels are delayed. And I was right; he came home not long after that. And then Miss Wilson went missing, and her father came to me for help.”
What is this circus? I told them not to make a big deal out of it. I told them I was fine.
But why would I, who’s just another missing person to the rest of the kingdom, get so much coverage on TV?
Something’s not right.
And I can see it too from the prince’s tense stance. His body is stiff, and his jaw is clenched. He’s worried.
“You were telling me earlier about the first time Prince James was mentioned. Can you tell the audience about that?” asks the reporter.
What?
Did she just say Prince James?
“Yes, of course,” Graham says, clearing his throat and putting on a serious expression to match the reporter’s. “Mr. Wilson indicated that someone powerful might’ve been involved in the disappearance of his daughter. He mentioned a castle at some point.”
“A castle? Here in Willowdale?”
“From what he told me, if this castle were to exist, it would be pretty close to Willowdale or Malvern,” Graham says.
“You don’t think it exists, Mr. Cox?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life, and my father before me, and his father before him. And nobody has ever heard of a castle in this area.”
“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Cox.” The blonde reporter turns to look straight at the camera and says, “We also have the missing Miss Wilson’s sisters here to tell their story. Please start whenever you’re ready.”
My sisters’ familiar faces appear on the screen. It’s so strange to see people I know on TV. It doesn’t feel real.
“Thank you,” my sisters say, almost in unison. They glance at each other competitively, then Clara says, “Yes, everything Graham has said is true. Our father came home and he didn’t want to say much about the identity of the man he met at first. But he did tell us about the storm…” Clara continues talking, but she’s not as loud as the voices screaming in my head.
What the hell is going on?
“What’s happening?” I ask James.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think they were going to find your family. I’m sorry.” He used to never apologize, even when he’s obviously in the wrong. He’s better at that now, but I wish he didn’t have to say it so much.
“Who are ‘they’? What are you talking about? What do you know about this? How do the people on TV know about you? Why is my family on TV in the first place?” A barrage of questions spill out as soon as I open my mouth.
“They saw us,” James says quietly, finally looking at me over his shoulder and meeting my eyes.
“Who?” Maybe if I keep my questions short and simple, he’ll give me an actual answer.
“The paparazzi. The papers. Does it matter? Someone saw us.” He strides toward me and puts his hands one my shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect them to recognize you, much less bother your family.”
“When did they see us?” I’m getting impatient with these apologies and half answers.
“When we were in the club at Malvern. They saw us in the store, buying some stuff. They snapped a few pictures and those pictures got published in some gossip tabloids.”
“Jesus,” I curse. “You already knew about this?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you didn’t think I’d want to know about my pictures being in tabloids?”
“I didn’t think you’d be involved at all. I didn’t think they’d be able to identify you.” His bewildered eyes tell me he’s being honest.
Okay. So some people saw us the The Dungeon, and now the news is all over the kingdom.
Oh god.
Prince James. His reputation.
My father must be worried about me being with the royal beast. Maybe he’s been worried all along, and the pictures have only confirmed his concerns. He probably thinks I’m being abused and tortured by the prince.
And what do my sisters, Graham, and the rest of the town think? They seem to be treating this like a missing person’s case. Graham did mention that I’d gone missing, right?
Okay.
Okay, okay, okay.
So this is not super horrible. At least they’re not blaming me.
If I go there now, they might listen to me. Maybe I can come up with some kind of a cover story.
But I need to be there to fix things.
“I’m going home,” I say, staring straight into James’ eyes. I’m not asking for his permission this time. I’m just informing him of my decision that I’ve already made.
He was supposed to keep an eye on the situation. But I wouldn’t have found out about this, had I not randomly asked to see how my family was doing.
Why does he even have all this expensive surveillance stuff if he doesn’t even use it?
“I’m going with you,” James says.
“No!” I exclaim.
“I can’t let you face those people on your own.” His blue eyes fill with worry, and I realize he doesn’t want this to happen either.
“You being there is only going to make things worse.” I pause as my words seem to sink in. “You know your presence will only confirm the gossip they’re spreading on TV.”
We both glance at the screen, where my sister, Irina, is saying, “Our father is resting inside. He doesn�
��t wish to talk to anyone, but we’re happy to answer any questions on his behalf.”
So Father doesn’t want these people prying into our private lives either, and my sisters are encouraging them.
I can’t believe they’d act that selfishly, even at a moment like this. They should be trying to help Father feel better—not feed the media stories that he’s not willing to share.
But I’m not one to talk. I’m all the way here, while Father’s at home, probably worried sick about me.
“I’m going home,” I repeat.
“Okay,” James says, “but if you’re going on your own, you’re going to need something so you won’t get lost in the woods.”
He approaches the wall with the monitors and pulls out a drawer from a desk. I hear some rattling as he fumbles inside, looking for something. He grabs a small, flat plastic thing and holds it up.
“A compact?” I ask, staring incredulously at the round, pink compact on Prince James’ palm. It looks just like the ones I’ve seen on the make-up floor of the department store in Malvern.
“It’s not just a regular compact.” He opens the little round thing to reveal what appears like a regular compact, with a mirror on one side and compact powder on the other side.
Then, he lifts the compact powder compartment up and shows me a secret button underneath. He says, “Press it.”
When my index finger pushes the little round button down, the mirror disappears, to be replaced by a screen with a map.
Pointing at a flashing red dot on the map, James says, “That’s where you are.” He drags his finger over the screen, widening the scope of the map. He points to a black dot and says, “That’s Willowdale. Just follow this map and you’ll get home.”
“This is…” I let my sentence hang in the air. I’ve never seen anything like this, except in spy movies.
“This was my mother’s. She used to take long walks in the woods. She’d pretend to be a tourist when she met people. She was really bad with directions and she could never remember the way home,” James explains. “It still works great. Just don’t try to use the powder, because it’s really old and it’ll probably do bad things to your skin.”
I smile at his attempt at a joke.
“You can also use it to come back here.” His blue eyes darken and he adds, “If you want to.”
There are so many things I want to say to him.
I want to tell him of course I want to come back here. I can’t not see him again.
But at the same time, I don’t know if I can trust myself right now. What if I go home and suddenly the fog clears, only to reveal that everything between us has just been a product of my captivity?
“Thanks.” I take the compact without addressing his request.
Hurt registers in his eyes, and I almost pull him into a reassuring hug and tell him I’ll definitely come back to him.
But I stay strong. I have to think of my family—and myself.
I turn to leave, but the prince gently takes my hand. “Do you know what you’re going to tell them?”
“Yeah. I’ll say it wasn’t me, and I was working in Malvern.”
“That’s a good idea,” he says.
Something tells me he doesn’t care what I’ll tell them. He knows I can handle this; he just wants to keep me here a little longer.
“Yeah. I’ll come up with the details on my way to Willowdale.”
“Tell them you were working at The Alcove. I’ll call Wanda, the owner, and give her a heads up.”
“That would be great.”
We stare into each other’s eyes.
There’s so much to say, and no time to say it.
I don’t know if I’m ever going to see him again. He may say that he wants me by his side now, but maybe he’s been living under the same spell I’ve been.
As much as I succumb to him because he’s my prison warden, maybe he feels responsible for me because I’m his captive.
There’s only one way to find out if we have something worth fighting for.
I’m not naïve enough to believe that we can just be together—not when things have become this complicated. If we want to give this a go, it’s going to be an uphill battle.
But first…
“I have to go,” I say softly.
Tears sting my eyes. I try to blink them away, but they just escape down my cheeks.
James reaches up to wipe the salty liquid off my face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Nobody has to go anywhere. I can issue a decree to end this madness.”
I chuckle wryly. “If you had any kind of control over the press, you wouldn’t have been known as the ‘royal beast.’”
“I can fight this battle for the both of us, Rosemary. Let me handle it. I’ll think of something.”
I’ll think of something?
That’s what Father says when he’s stumped.
The prince and my father may not be so different after all.
I put my hand on James’ cheek, the pads of my fingers brushing against his rough stubble. Our eyes meet.
The kiss is almost inevitable. It’s like I’m on a little boat on a gentle river, letting the tide pull me closer and closer to him.
When our lips interlock, it’s sweet, gentle, violent, sad, angry, loving, and real.
I’d kiss this man forever, but this moment has to end.
With a heavy heart, I pull away and whisper, “I have to go.”
“Let me take you to the door.”
A ringing sound from the adjacent office startles us both.
A phone call. Right on time.
“I’ll go by myself,” I say softly. “Someone’s calling you. It may be important.”
I don’t know if I can stick with my plan if this conversation goes on any longer.
“Probably just the Press Secretary. He can wait,” James says.
“No.” I shake my head. “We need to deal with things now. Separately. There’s no other way.”
The light in his eyes dims. He clenches his jaw with determination and slowly nods in agreement.
We both know what has to be done.
“I’ll be here if you need me,” he says.
Rosemary
The big door is heavy. I have to put all my body weight into it, but I finally manage to push it open. A sliver of afternoon sunlight spills in through the small gap, illuminating the dark entrance.
“Need help?” asks a male voice behind me.
When I turn around, Albert is standing on half-landing of the grand staircase behind me. To his sides, the staircase splits into two and leads to the second floor.
“That would be great,” I say.
Albert walks down the carpeted steps of the stairs. When his shiny leather shoes reach the marble ground floor, they echo with every footfall.
Albert takes his place by my side and we start to push.
Prince James would’ve been able to open this door, no problem. But he’s at his office right now, fielding calls that are no doubt pouring in from all over the kingdom.
But why am I thinking about him now? I can’t get dependent on him. I’ve always known that we have an expiry date. I should learn to rely on myself again.
“This door hasn’t been opened much, ever since the queen passed away ten years ago,” Albert says suddenly. “The staff usually takes a different door when it’s time to go home, the one closest to the secret airport. The royal family lets us fly home on their private jets, which is really generous of them.”
I nod and give Albert a smile. This is hardly the time to have a chat about the history of this palace, although I’ll admit those tidbits are pretty interesting.
“This door is the closest one to Willowdale,” Albert says as we give the door a final push and get it open enough for me to slip through.
“Thank you, Albert,” I say as I step outside.
“Be careful and take care of yourself, Rose.” Albert wa
tches me with kind eyes from the doorway. A small smile plays on his wry, wrinkled face. “And maybe come visit Master again someday. He’s not very good at saying what’s on his mind, but I can tell he has really enjoyed having you here. I haven’t seen him smile this much since before the queen died.”
Again, I’d love to hear all about this, but there are more pressing matters screaming for my attention. I want to listen to Albert’s stories, and see this palace again, and most of all, meet Prince James again.
But I don’t know if I can promise any of those things.
Staying here has been really hard for me, in ways that I didn’t expect it to be. I can’t be near James without desiring him, and I can’t want him like that without also caring about him.
Someone like me has no business having feelings for a prince.
“Thanks, Albert. I’ve really enjoyed being here, too,” I finally say. “It’s been a pleasure.”
As I turn around to leave, I hear the heavy door dragging against the stone floor. This entrance is not as well hidden as the secret tunnel I came through the first time. But I’m about 100 feet above the ground and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to see this door from all the way down there.
As I walk down the endless stone steps that have been carved into the rock, I open the compact from the prince and turn on the map.
This is closer to Willowdale than I expected. The palace is located quite a long way from the footpath, though, and there are a few little streams to cross through. Some areas are difficult to get through because of the mud.
Luckily, I have my sturdy leather boots on, although I’m also wearing yet another dress because my jeans have apparently been incinerated by the palace staff for being so old and worn.
By following the map, I manage to reach Willowdale before sundown. Even having followed the simplest route, though, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t be able to find the palace again without the map.
As I walk down the main street, people start pointing at me and whispering among themselves. Some of them even call out my name.
But I don’t have time for idle chit-chat. If I couldn’t spare a minute to listen to Albert’s old stories, I sure can’t afford to help Mrs. Tisdale identify what insects have been attacking her tulips.
