The Secret Princess

by Beth Harbison

  The man laughed just like Santa Claus. “This is quite a special young lady,” he said to Will. “I hope you intend to keep her around for a while.”

  “I hope to,” Will said, then put an arm around Amy’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s look around a little more before night falls and the shops close. Gute nacht, Herr George.”

  The man raised a hand to them and said, “Gute nacht.”

  They stepped out into the night air, but this time Amy was so warmed by the experience that the cold didn’t bother her so much. Not that she would have objected to being snuggled against Will again, but short of burrowing in herself, she didn’t see how that was going to happen.

  Next he took her to a clockmaker, a younger woman, perhaps mid-forties, who didn’t seem to recognize Will or think Amy looked like anyone other than a customer. When he saw how captivated Amy was by a miniature cuckoo clock, he bought it for her on the spot, despite Amy’s objections.

  It was the same when she admired a watch in the jewelry shop, so she made a point of not saying a word about the beautiful sapphire ring in the front display case. But its workmanship was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and she kept on thinking how much the world was missing out on by not being able to import the works of these wonderful artisans.

  By the time they went back to the car, Amy was weighed down with several bags of various wares from the shops, and the strange sensation of three people commenting on her likeness to Princess Lily.

  When they were alone in the car, Will made it four. “You do look like her, you know.”

  “Princess Lily?”

  “Your mother, yes.” He drove forward through the night, lurching over snowdrifts and up the mountain, seemingly into the clouds.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you hired them to say those things.”

  “There was no need.”

  They drove in silence for several minutes.

  “What was it like growing up here?” Amy asked, looking out the window at the shapeless night.

  “You imagine it was ideal, I suppose,” he said. “A boy in a fairy-tale castle, but it was…different.”

  “How so?”

  “You have to understand that my family was not welcomed by the people. They came to power through a hostile overthrow.”

  “Of which you didn’t approve.”

  “Of which I understood very little,” he corrected her. “I was ten years old. Too young to understand the politics, but old enough to feel the hatred directed toward my family everywhere we went.” He slowed down at the guard’s gate.

  “Guten abend,” Gustav said, with a stiff salute.

  Will waved and entered the gate, continuing to Amy, “It wasn’t until I was older that I learned what had happened. By then, I had been given the crown and had no one to turn it over to in order to make things right. Until I found you, that is.”

  He drew to a halt outside the palace but didn’t make a move to get out.

  “Didn’t you like being a prince at all?” Amy asked, wondering how someone’s conscience could be so strong that it could even take away the fun of being royalty.

  “Of course I did,” he admitted, and she was glad to hear him say it. “I’m human. There are some very nice perks to this position.” He looked at her, his face only partially illuminated by the outdoor lights. “But it’s very difficult for a man to truly feel good about his place when he knows he’s come to it by unjust means.”

  Amy’s heart constricted. He was so beautiful, and so earnest, that part of her wanted to reach over and kiss him right now. “Is that why you haven’t married? So that you don’t continue a line you feel is illegitimate?”

  His eyes locked on hers. “You are perceptive.”

  “Not really. I’m just curious. It’s interesting to try to understand where people are coming from.” It was particularly interesting to try to understand Will, but she didn’t add that.

  “What about you? Why haven’t you stayed in a relationship for long?”

  “Haven’t found the right man.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “That’s an easy answer.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “All right. But what would make someone the right man?”

  She smiled. “Hard to say. He’d have to be honest. I mean really honest. That’s number one. And he’d have to have integrity. No losers trying to get a free ride in life. Ambition would be good and a sense of humor is a must. And I don’t care what he looks like as long as he makes my pulse race when I see him.” As soon as she’d spoken, she realized she’d described Will. She looked down, hoping he wouldn’t see it in her face. “That’s all. I’m not all that demanding.” She met his eyes. “What would you look for in a woman? If you dared to have a relationship, I mean.”

  He didn’t smile but kept his eyes on her steadily. “Inner beauty. That light in her eyes that comes from a happy and peaceful soul.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “Like that light in your eyes.”

  She caught her breath.

  “I also treasure honesty,” he went on, his voice low. “And intelligence. And the kind of integrity that would prevent her from taking a bag of gold if she thought she wasn’t entitled to it.”

  Silence lingered between them as he gently caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

  “So what’s stopping you?” she asked breathlessly. “I mean, from finding that woman and being with her?”

  He drew his hand back. “Many things. Not the least of which is the fact that I might not be the appropriate choice for someone like that.”

  She wanted the moment back, but it was slipping away like a waning tide. “Why wouldn’t you let her make that choice?”

  “Because I have to do what I know is right.” He nodded, more to himself than to her, then said, “No matter how difficult that might be.” He took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car.

  This time Amy didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. She got out herself and they walked in silence toward the palace steps.

  He opened the door for her and helped her out of her coat, but didn’t say anything more than a few polite words about having enjoyed the evening with her and hoping she slept well.

  She returned the courtesy, and by the time they parted ways, they felt like two complete strangers.

  She went to her room alone, feeling far emptier than a girl who had just been offered the role of princess had any right to, and she lay in the dark until finally, close to dawn, she fell asleep.

  Will could not sleep. He kept replaying his conversation with Amé in his head. She’d asked what his ideal woman was, and he’d described her. He hadn’t meant to, it had just come out that way. The more he’d said, the more he’d realized that the woman he was describing as the one person he could share his life with was the one person he could absolutely not get too close to.

  If he wanted a woman, there was a fairly large field of choices out there for him. Yet ever since he’d gotten back from the United States with Amé, she was the only woman on his mind. It didn’t matter what he was thinking about, his thoughts kept trailing back to her. He kept recalling the softness of her lips under his, the satin touch of her skin and the feeling of running his fingers through her hair. It wasn’t enough. The memories of a few scant kisses were wearing thin. He wanted more.

  This was dangerous.

  And he knew exactly what he had to do.

  When he was younger, Will had spent several years in the Lufthanian military. One thing he’d learned, not just from his own experiences but from those of the men around him, was that it was nearly impossible to be effective in executing a task if you were distracted by something you perceived as better or more interesting. This was why they tended to take the men into the mountains for boot camp and training—they had to get them away from their women and families, and all the comforts of home.

  So it made sense that Will should take a page from that book and remove himself from his own object of dis
traction. He had to distance himself from Amé so he could regain his sense of purpose.

  It was the only way he could do what he knew was right.

  Chapter Seven

  The next afternoon, after hearing nothing from Will all morning, Amy was surprised when he came to her as she was leaving lunch.

  “I understand you’ve been inquiring about airline flights back to the United States,” he said, without preamble.

  “Yes, I have. I have to be realistic about what might happen next. You might get those test results and kick me right out of the palace.”

  “You know that isn’t so.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  He looked at her in silence for a moment, then took her arm. “Come with me.”

  “Wait—where?” she asked, being dragged helplessly along with him.

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He led her to a wide hallway she had not yet seen, and stopped in front of one of at least twenty-five oil portraits.

  “You see this?” he asked, gesturing toward the painting of an old man with a long gray beard that made him look exactly like Father Time. “That is your great-great grandfather, King Leopold II. He was a hero during the Great War, and is still remembered for his humanitarian policies.”

  “I—”

  “And this…” Will said, his voice terse. He indicated another painting, this one of a young woman with glossy dark hair piled high on her head and delicate ringlets framing her blue-eyed beauty. She held a baby in her arms, and had the sweetest expression of serenity. “This is your great-grandmother. She died during World War I while smuggling refugees out of France, when the train they were on was bombed. She left behind a toddler, your grandfather.” He pointed at the baby.

  Amy’s breath caught in her chest. It was hard to imagine that kind of courage and heroism, but it was the baby who touched her most. A child left alone in such tumultuous times. It broke her heart.

  Will led her farther down the hall. “This,” he said, pointing at a painting of a young boy with a white pony, “is your uncle Frederick. Or it would have been. He died a year after this portrait was painted, when he lost his life to childhood leukemia.”

  Amy swallowed hard, looking at the sweet-faced boy who had died so young. She couldn’t even imagine the toll it must have taken on his parents.

  Will didn’t wait for a response. He pulled her farther down the hall and stopped in front of a portrait of a middle-aged couple. The portrait was different, in that the paint was scarred in places and the frame looked new. “These are your grandparents,” he said solemnly. “Look at your grandmother’s face. Look at her eyes.” He pointed, then looked at Amy. “Are those not the eyes you look at in the mirror every morning when you wash your face, and every evening when you brush your teeth?”

  “I don’t know!” She was on the verge of losing her composure. “I’m so afraid.”

  “Afraid? What on earth do you have to fear? Is the prospect of your Lufthanian heritage so terrible?”

  “No, that’s not it at all.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “What’s terrifying is to come all this way, to begin to believe and to feel at home here, only to find out it’s all been a mistake. Where would I be then?” She couldn’t even bear to think of coming so close to finding her real parents, even if only in the memory of others, only to have it slip through her fingers.

  “Amé.” Will took her by the shoulders, his grip hard against her skin. “There is no mistake. I don’t understand why you’re so reluctant to accept this.”

  “Because I’m not the type of person that this kind of thing happens to,” she said. “It’s not that I’m jinxed or anything, but my life tends to have a lot of close calls without ever really…I don’t know…I’m just not particularly lucky.”

  Will looked at her steadily before saying, “Your luck is about to change.”

  “You don’t know how much I hope you’re right,” she said quietly.

  “Come with me.” He led her into the nearest room and took her to the window. A broad sweep of snowy valley lay before them, dotted with barns and little farmhouses with smoke rising from their chimneys. “This is your land. Your country. This is where you were born. This is where your family worked the soil, fought for their freedoms, died for their country.” His eyes softened. “Amé, this…” He let go of her and gestured at their surroundings. “Right here, where we stand, this building is where you were born. Your first breath still lingers in the air here.”

  Her eyes burned, and her throat felt as if it had swelled shut.

  “You know this is the truth,” Will went on. “I can see it in your eyes. I saw it the moment you laid eyes on the castle.”

  It was true, as soon as she’d seen the castle of Lufthania, it was as if someone had struck a haunting minor chord of familiarity. But she had attributed that to the fact that the castle looked like the fairy tale abode she’d imagined in every story her mother had read to her as a child. She’d imagined it a thousand times or more, with its snow-peaked spires and shadowy eaves.

  And here was Will, looking every inch the part of the handsome prince.

  “Last night when I was trying to go to sleep,” she said, “you know that feeling when you’re halfway between being asleep and awake?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, I kept hearing snippets of conversations. Voices I couldn’t identify, yet I felt like I knew them. I don’t know if it was a dream, or my imagination or actual memories, but for the first time I really believed that maybe you were right about who I am.” She shrugged, so full of emotion she thought she might burst. “If it’s all a mistake, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” Will told her tenderly. “I promise you that. You will truly live happily ever after.”

  “Excuse me, sir.” An elderly gentleman entered, holding a newspaper. “I’m sorry to interrupt but I’ve been looking for you.”

  Will turned and looked surprised. “Yes, Franz?”

  “Franz?” Amy repeated, sniffing and trying to regain her composure.

  Will cleared his throat. “Yes, Amelia, this is Franz Burgess. My private secretary.”

  “Franz Burgess.” She gave Will a look, glad for a little levity, and held her hand out to the older man. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  Franz looked at her extended hand for a moment, then took it awkwardly and gave a bow. “Thank you, Miss Scott.” He turned his attention back to Will. “If I may have a private word with you, sir…?”

  Will looked put out. “Is privacy absolutely necessary?”

  “Perhaps you can decide for yourself.” He handed the newspaper to Will.

  He opened it and even from a couple of feet away, Amy couldn’t help but notice the large picture of herself on the front page. “Hey, what’s that?” She reached for the paper and read the headline.

  De Verlorene Prinzessin von Lufthania ist zurückge kommen.

  Not for the first time since she’d arrived, she wished she’d taken German in high school instead of French.

  “What does it say?”

  Will’s face was still with concentration as he read. “That the lost princess of Lufthania has returned. That a palace insider has confirmed this.” He folded the paper and handed it back to Franz. “Who is responsible for this?”

  “I do not know, sir.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “No, sir.” Franz’s face betrayed nothing. Amy guessed he would make a great poker player.

  Will sighed. “Was it not made clear to the staff that Amelia’s presence here was to remain confidential until the test results were final?”

  “It was made clear,” Franz confirmed. “But the media can be very determined. Sometimes it isn’t possible to hide the truth from them.”

  Amy watched this exchange curiously. Was Will accusing Franz of leaki
ng the news? Was Franz setting up his own defense by saying the media could get what they wanted no matter what?

  It didn’t occur to her that it could have any implications for her until Will dismissed Franz and turned to her with an apology. “I don’t know who would have done this. I assure you that this kind of breach of privacy doesn’t usually occur here.”

  She shrugged. “Does it really matter that much? Surely you can call the paper and have them set the story straight for tomorrow’s edition.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. For twenty-five years a good number of people in this country have been hungry for your family’s return to the throne. Now that the story is out, I’m afraid it won’t be easy to hide. Particularly since it’s the truth.”

  She sighed. She wasn’t going to argue about that again. “Surely you were prepared for the possibility the press would find out I was here. I still don’t see why this is such a huge deal.”

  “Because now you are expected. Now your people want to see you, to hear from you. They want to know that you’re staying.”

  “But I’m probably not!”

  He splayed his arms. “Then you see the problem.”

  She did. “Do you think the reporter who wrote this might take some kind of quote from you, or even from me, about how this is a mistake?”

  “I’m not going to say that this is a mistake.” He walked to the window. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, and I’ll take full credit for all of them, but not this. This is no mistake.”

  Already she knew him well enough to believe him. He wasn’t about to make a public announcement that she was not Princess Amelia.

  She could even see the problem with doing that before the test results proved or disproved it conclusively. There was a possibility—even she was prepared to admit it—that the results would be positive.

  In that case…Well, in that case she didn’t know what she would do. She couldn’t even allow herself to think about it yet. She wanted—no, she needed—to be prepared for the worst. And the worst would be if she found out, after all of this, that she didn’t belong. That she was still, underneath it all, an anonymous orphan.