Princess Thief: Stealing Your Heart

by Jennifer Enander

  “I don’t know,” Juliette said. “You let him off too easy in my book.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Guillermo disagreed. “His political career won’t survive this. Stopping the debate, pulling the bill from the floor, suspending Parliament mid-session — he was far too reckless. People have already begun asking questions. Within 24 hours, everyone will know he’s bankrupt. Well, everyone in Parliament will know he’s bankrupt; the country won’t find out for a while. In the meantime, he’ll be allowed to step down from his post with his reputation still intact.”

  “Is bankruptcy that big of a deal?”

  “For him? It’s huge. It’s absolutely a big deal. He’s a senior member of Parliament. See, the argument goes: how can he be trusted to manage the finances of an entire country when he can’t even manage the finances of his own house?”

  “Actually, that makes sense,” Juliette nodded.

  “I’m sure that’s why he’s been so desperate to hide his financial problems. And why he went to such extremes as to sell the Crown Jewels. Who knows what else he’s done?”

  “So he’s finished.”

  “In Parliament he is. Well,” Guillermo reconsidered, “for now, at least. After he retires, he can eventually go back to work as a lobbyist and probably make triple what he made as a senator. But the next few months are going to be pretty rocky for him. If he’s not careful, he could lose everything.”

  Juliette and Guillermo turned a corner; they were now facing a row of fruit trees; just beyond the hedge, the river babbled gently; the shadows of the mountains towered imposingly in the distance.

  “I’m curious,” Juliette broke the silence. “How long do you think the baron was planning this coup of his?”

  Guillermo drew in a long breath, then exhaled. “Honestly, I don’t think he planned it at all. I think it was a crime of opportunity. Remember, this is all just guesswork on my part, but here’s what I think happened: Three years ago, he lost all of his money in China. He panics and begins pawning the Crown Jewels that he borrowed to cover his expenses. And, realistically, I’ll bet he probably had to pawn or sell quite a lot of other stuff as well.

  “After three years of this, he’s probably getting pretty desperate. I mean, three years is a long time to maintain that sort of lifestyle when you’re secretly broke. Well, then, what do you know, out of the blue, my brother, the king, dies. When I couldn’t be located for 10 days after my brother’s death, I’m sure it popped into his head, ‘If I were to become king, I would have access to the royal treasury and my money troubles would be over.’ By the time I returned, I’m sure he had begun thinking of it as ‘his crown’ and ‘his fortune’ — and he acted to protect it.

  “If you think about it, the whole scheme wasn’t very well-thought-out. At first, he tries to get me to simply resign. Then he tries to get me to marry Olivia instead of you. Then, finally, he drafts up a piece of legislation at the last minute to try and drive me out using the Constitution. The entire plot — if you want to call it that — was pretty haphazard.”

  “And yet, it almost worked,” Juliette noted.

  “Ah, yeah, true,” Guillermo nodded in agreement. “That piece of legislation he introduced this morning would have been a lot of trouble to deal with.”

  You have no idea! Thank goodness there’s no “Article 8” any more!

  “You know, it’s ironic,” Guillermo continued, “but by introducing that legislation, the baron actually helped Sofia and I in a way.”

  “How?”

  “He inadvertently educated the country that a lot of the ancient traditions are just that: traditions, not laws. For example, now the country knows that the marriage requirement is not a law — it’s just a tradition. A lot of people believed that it was actually a law until today. By drawing so much attention to his Royal Traditions Bill, Baron Amsel actually cleared up a lot of misconceptions.” Guillermo chuckled. “If anything, his bumbling has made our lives easier in the end. Sophia and I are freer to be ourselves. Actually-” Guillermo took Juliette’s hand in his, “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  Juliette felt a thrill run up her arm. It felt so natural to hold his hand. She forced herself to calm down. “About what?”

  “About the marriage requirement,” Guillermo turned to face her. “About us.”

  Juliette’s heart raced. “Guillermo, I-”

  “Hush,” he touched her lips softly with his forefinger. “Just listen. Now that I’m free of the marriage restriction — now that I no longer have to marry you — I’ve realized that I want to marry you. Two weeks ago, I didn’t know who you were. Now, I can’t imagine my life without you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “I love you, Juliette. Will you be my bride?”

  “Oh,” Juliette groaned in frustration. She looked down at her shoes, resting her forehead on his chest, unable to meet his eyes. “How am I supposed to answer that?!”

  Guillermo chuckled. “Say, ‘yes!’ Just one little word!”

  She glanced up at him — smiling, radiant, handsome — then quickly turned away. “You’re making this very hard.”

  “What’s so hard?” he asked.

  I made a promise to my uncle, that’s what! I have responsibilities to the orphanage, that’s what! But, God, he looks so adorable right now-

  She placed her hands squarely against his chest and pushed him away. “No, Guillermo, I-” she hesitated, “I need more time! You’re ambushing me here, with your charming smile and your Royal Garden-”

  Guillermo threw back his head and laughed. “So, you do feel the same way, then.”

  “Yes. No! Oh,” she moaned, “Just stop it! I haven’t slept in 36 hours and I had a glass of wine with dinner. I can’t answer you now. I can’t even think straight!” She clutched her fist to her chest, hoping to quell the pounding of her racing heart.

  Guillermo grinned and held up his hands, palms out. “All right. All right. We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow, then.”

  Juliette relaxed a bit. “Yes. Fine. Tomorrow will be fine.”

  But, wait — tomorrow, I’ll be gone, right?

  Guillermo slipped his right hand behind her back. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

  “Okay,” Juliette agreed. “But no funny stuff, got it?”

  He laughed. “No funny stuff. I promise.”

  “Hmmmm,” Juliette eyed him suspiciously, “You seem to be quite pleased with yourself tonight.”

  “Me?” Guillermo feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh. I’ll just bet!”

  Guillermo laughed. They walked side by side out of the Royal Garden and into the castle. As they reached the top of the stairs and slowly headed towards her bedroom, Juliette felt an unexpected pang of sadness. Thoughts swirled in her head:

  This is it, girl. This is really it! There’s nothing left for you to do. He doesn’t need to marry you to become king. He’s going to stay on the throne indefinitely. He’s going to be a good king. You should be happy! You can leave with a clear conscience.

  “Well, here we are,” Guillermo interrupted her runaway train of thoughts.

  “Yes, so we are.” Juliette reluctantly opened the door and stepped inside. She spun around to face him, to get one last look at him, before she closed the door on him forever. “Guillermo, I-”

  “Good night, Juliette,” he smiled and gazed at her lovingly with those gorgeous blue eyes.

  Juliette hesitated, then said simply, “Good night,” and shut the door. She immediately collapsed to the floor and began crying — she didn’t know why, but suddenly life felt very unfair to her just then.

  Very unfair.

  Chapter 17

  Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

  Juliette woke to the quiet chirping of the cell phone under her pillow; she silenced it quickly.

  3:00 AM. It’s time.

  She threw back the covers, swung her legs over the side of
the bed, and pulled on her robe. The tears had stopped hours ago; the time for sentimentality was over. She knew that she needed a clear head in order to pull this off. Instinct, or some kind of sense memory, took over; she was like an animal, a cheetah, a huntress out for her prey.

  She pulled the blue backpack out of the drawer and laid it on the bed. She unzipped it, found the false compartment, and yanked at the two sides with her bare hands. No, the stitches were too tight; Uncle François had done a good job. She glanced around the bedroom…

  There. On the nightstand: a shiny metal nail file.

  She grabbed the nail file and began meticulously working the tip in between the stitching. She found that if she applied pressure at just the right angle, the stitches would pop open. She continued until she had an opening of about 2 inches; then grabbed either side of the fabric and pulled with all of her strength.

  It gave.

  Inside, the night vision goggles and a note. She unfolded the note. Two words: Aunt Abigail. She crumpled the paper, stuffed it into her backpack, then shoved the backpack under her bed.

  She was sweating. She picked up her cell phone: 3:15 AM.

  Shit! I’m already behind schedule.

  She muted her cell phone, then sent her Uncle François a message:

  Can’t sleep. Missing u. Tell Aunt Abigail I said hi.

  Without waiting for a reply, she tossed the phone onto her bed and picked up the night vision goggles.

  She inspected her robe. No pockets.

  She pulled her robe closed and tied the belt, then carefully slipped the night vision goggles inside. She would have to casually press the goggles between her elbow and her left side and hope that, if she ran into anyone, they didn’t notice the bulge.

  She paused just inside the door:

  Remember: you’re sleepy and need some chamomile tea.

  She stepped out into the hall; it was deserted. She went downstairs, rounded the corner.

  Perfect. No guard.

  She suppressed a smile. As she approached the gem room, she glanced quickly to her left, then right, then silently turned the knob and stepped inside.

  She closed the door and leaned against it. It was pitch black; the thick red curtains were closed tonight; only the faintest hint of starlight penetrated the spaces around the curtains, framing them in a gentle halo.

  She waited patiently, listening for any sound — anything at all: a rustling, a breath, a scratch, a movement.

  There was nothing.

  She reached inside of her robe and retrieved the night vision goggles. She flipped the switch and peered through the lenses, the familiar green picture making all of the objects in the room appear eerie and otherworldly. Everything was as she remembered it from a week ago: the ridiculously expensive jewelry was safely ensconced beneath pillars of heavy, thick glass; in the far corner were the less-pricey pieces, laid out side-by-side on the bookcase.

  She carefully surveyed every inch of the room before taking a step. She didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time she was in this room. Crouching figures ready to pounce? Lazy sleeping guards hiding out for a quick nap? A mischievous prince looking to trap a bride?

  There was no one. She was alone.

  She swiftly tiptoed over to the bookcase. Without any ambient light to reflect, the emerald necklace seemed lifeless tonight; just another green object in a sea of green objects that she spied through the night vision goggles.

  She cautiously pulled back one of the curtains and inspected the window. It was well camouflaged, but her trained eye caught it: two tiny magnets positioned adjacent to each other, one on each window; thin wires attached to the magnets ran along the base of the windows and into the walls.

  She sighed.

  It’s wired. Well, I expected as much. Nothing else to do here, then.

  She grabbed the necklace and headed for the exit. She paused at the door, switched off the goggles and wrapped the necklace around them, then stuffed them inside of her robe, under her left arm.

  Noiselessly, she cracked the door open and peeked out.

  No one.

  She swiveled her head and peered down the other hall.

  Nothing.

  She opened the door fully, stepped out, and pulled the door closed behind her. She walked down the hall, rapidly ascended the stairs, walked down another hall, and entered her bedroom.

  Her heart was thumping.

  She opened her robe, tossed the necklace and goggles onto the bed, then picked up her cell phone.

  One New Message

  She opened it. From Uncle François:

  Missing u 2. Aunt Abigail says u can visit anytime.

  She smiled.

  Good.

  She retrieved the backpack from underneath the bed, stuffed the goggles, necklace, and cell phone inside, then zipped it up tight.

  She quickly changed into her workout clothes — spandex top, shorts, and running shoes — then tied her hair back into a ponytail.

  She stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection.

  It’s time to go.

  She took one last look around the bedroom — her bedroom — and sighed. Even though she told herself, “no emotion,” tears welled up in her eyes. She whispered, “thank you,” to no one in particular, then quickly wiped her eyes.

  She snatched the backpack off the bed and cranked opened the window. She cautiously poked her head outside; the path to the west was clear; to the east, the courtyard lights had been dimmed to their normal nighttime brightness. She knew that two royal guardsmen would be stationed near the front door but from her vantage point, she was unable to see them.

  She hopped up onto the window ledge and eased outside.

  The ledge was smooth concrete; a full six inches wide — two inches wider than a standard balance beam; easily manageable. She shuffled westward, gripping the bricks with her fingertips. Her movements were careful and deliberate; the bushes below her were decorative, only a couple of feet high; not nearly enough to break a fall from this height.

  In less than 30 seconds, she had reached the end of the ledge.

  Now for the hard part.

  She reached out with her right hand and grabbed the metal drainpipe that ran from the base of the castle up to the roof. She took a deep breath.

  If this doesn’t work, it’s over…

  She yanked on the drainpipe.

  It didn’t move! Not so much as a wiggle!

  She exhaled, relieved.

  Thank goodness!

  She hooked her right arm around the pipe, then planted the toes of her right foot on the opposite side of the drainpipe in a crevice between two bricks. She then swung her body over, hooked her left arm behind the pipe, then quickly fit her left toes into a space in the wall.

  Carefully, painstakingly, she began to descend, her feet crawling down the side, her arms hooked behind the drainpipe for stability. She tested each foothold before she put her full weight on it; taking her time; patiently making her way down.

  As she placed her right foot on the ground, she smelled it: cigarette smoke.

  Shit!

  She hopped off the drainpipe and threw herself on the ground behind the bushes. She waited, her heart pounding in her ears, the smell of cigarette smoke growing steadily stronger in her nostrils.

  The ground was cold and wet from the automatic sprinklers. She felt a tickle in her nose; she was about to sneeze! She pinched the bridge of her nose and concentrated all of her willpower on stifling that urge.

  Suddenly, a royal guardsman appeared, shuffling casually around the corner of the castle. Obviously bored, he walked a few steps, paused, took a drag off of his cigarette, exhaled, then repeated the process.

  Juliette lay there, cold and dirty, watching the guardsman for what seemed like an eternity. Between drags, he would half-mumble, half-sing some song or other, then wistfully gaze up at the sky.

  Juliette’s mind raced wildly. She had passed the point of no return; there would be no e
xplaining this, no way to justify hiding in the mud with a pair of night vision goggles and a hundred thousand dollar necklace stuffed in her backpack. There was no way to turn back now.

  Finally, the guardsman took one final pull on his cigarette, dropped the butt into the grass, and mashed it with his boot. He straightened his hat, exhaled loudly, then trudged back towards the courtyard.

  Juliette felt like she could breathe again. She blinked her eyes and slowly eased up onto all fours.

  God, that was close.

  She sat next to the castle, resting her head against the wall, waiting for the shaking in her legs and arms to die down.

  After several moments, she gathered her courage and crawled on all fours over to the edge of the castle. She peered around the corner.

  No one.

  She fixed her eyes on her target: a hundred yards to the west, the ruins of the old castle; specifically, the second brick wall. She took a deep breath, cleared her mind, then bolted out from behind the bushes, down the path at full speed, sprinting towards the ruins. As she approached her destination, she veered off of the dirt path and waded quickly through the tall grass.

  She crouched behind the second wall and felt around in the darkness.

  There it is!

  She dragged out an olive green duffel bag: the emergency kit that she had stashed in these old ruins in the days leading up to the Royal Ball, back when she was just a simple flower girl, back when she was just Juliette.

  She unzipped the duffel bag and laid the contents on the grass: penlight, insulated black wetsuit, scuba cap, mask, regulator, flippers, and oxygen tank. She cupped her hand around the penlight, held it over the oxygen tank, and inspected the gauge. It was still full.

  Holding the penlight in her teeth, she cradled the oxygen tank in her arms, then unscrewed the false bottom at the base of the tank. Uncle François had this tank made for her by a craftsman in Portugal; he smuggled it into San Morrando hidden underneath the straw of a tiger cage.

  She unzipped the backpack, placed her cell phone and the delicate emerald necklace into the false bottom, then carefully reattached the base to the oxygen tank, giving the end piece a forceful extra twist to make sure that the necklace was sealed in air tight.