A Fierce Princess: The Poisoned Pawn Duet Part I

by S. E. Rose

  “I can’t,” I finally reply.

  “Try,” he says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Finding it wouldn’t bring her back.”

  “I know that,” I say.

  “Then let it go,” he says. I know Auggie suspects that I’m looking for it, but I would never let on that his guess is correct.

  “I have a little over five months,” I say to him.

  “What?” he asks, stepping back to look down at me.

  “I have almost six months to do what I want, and then Dad expects me to take on my duties,” I say dryly.

  “Well, beats having to do it now,” he says. Auggie had a brief stint in the military after graduating from university. He works with some wounded warrior projects, but he’s also an assistant to my father’s military advisor. Basically, Auggie gets paid to play. He plays with military aircraft and vehicles and talks to veterans and reports back. In between all of that, he plays video games with his ex-military friends. He did see some action while in the military, but he doesn’t talk about it.

  He’s seven years older than me. Chris is a whole decade older than me. I was…a surprise. But a welcomed one, as my dad always says.

  “Why did you come in here?” I ask Auggie.

  “Looking for you,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I need a copilot,” he says with a smirk.

  I roll my eyes because “copilot” is Auggie-speak for an accomplice.

  “For?” I prod.

  “Care to get out of here tonight?” he asks.

  I laugh.

  “You know there are about a hundred cameras and microphones in here, right?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, but no one actually checks them,” he says with a laugh.

  He has me on that. I broke into them once, and they hadn’t been viewed in two months.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  “Well, damn, don’t be so enthusiastic. You’d think I asked you to help me bury a dead body,” he says.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “I just need a normal night, I swear,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air.

  “Normal?” I say.

  “Normalish,” he adds.

  “Well, then, my dear brother, please tell me all about this ‘normalish’ night we are about to have,” I say as I link arms with him after closing the cabinet. We walk back to Auggie’s apartment in the west wing of the palace to plan our escape after dinner. By the time we are summoned for food, we have our escape route planned, a club picked out, and friends notified. Now if we can just keep Chris and Dad in the dark for about six hours.

  Chapter 3

  There is a secret passage that leads to the outer wall of the palace. It’s usually guarded and is also monitored with a camera. However, yours truly hacked the camera and has it playing on a loop. And that guard, his assignment somehow got changed for tonight, thanks again to a little error in the system. Someone will catch it, but I bet they won’t catch it for at least four more hours.

  I’ve put on discotheque clothes. When I get to the entrance to the passage, Auggie is leaning against the wall. I admire him for a moment. He really is very handsome. I can see why all the ladies fawn over him. If only they knew, he’s a royal pain in the ass.

  “Ready?” he asks with a smirk.

  “Yes,” I answer with my own smirk. Auggie’s always been my partner in crime. Our father likes to say he’s a bad influence on me. Christian, on the other hand, is the rule follower, the responsible one.

  I use the flashlight on my phone as we meander the lesser-traveled passages beneath the palace. There are literally dozens of them. They run between walls, underground, between rooms, and then there’s my secret one, the only one no one living knows exists. The one that I will visit later tonight when the palace is quiet and everyone is asleep.

  We reach the exit, and Auggie looks at me.

  “You sure your plan worked?” he asks.

  I wink at him. “Yes, ye of little faith,” I say as I slowly open the door, which doesn’t sound an alarm because…I hacked it too.

  “How long do we have?” he asks as we look both ways and make a break for it.

  “About four hours until shift change,” I whisper to him as we make our way from the palace grounds.

  We are about two blocks from the palace when a car rolls up. The window goes down.

  “You two gonna catch a taxi?” I hear Sonya’s voice. I laugh and open the door to get in the back of the car. Auggie piles in after me. Hugo is driving. Hugo is Sonya’s cousin and the way I met her. He was university friends with Auggie, and Auggie dragged me to a party one night when I was visiting. Sonya was there, and we became fast friends.

  “Christoff and Kayla are waiting at the club,” Hugo says as he steers us through the city. He pulls up to a back alley, and a door opens. Christoff waves at us. We scamper out of the car, which Hugo parks illegally. Hugo probably doesn’t give two shits about his car getting towed. Hell, his father would probably just buy him a new one. His father controls one of the largest gas and oil exploration companies in the world. He inherited it from Sonya and Hugo’s grandfather.

  We walk through a dark back hallway, and then up a set of steps. There’s room there and it’s private. We shut the door and look down at the dance floor beneath us through a double-sided mirror. Everyone has on face paint. Sonya opens her bag and lays out a variety of face paints.

  “Go at it,” she adds as she begins smearing shimmery gold paint on her face. She also produces wigs for each of us. By the time we finish, we look hilarious, but no one in their right mind would think we are royalty.

  “Let’s party,” Hugo says, as he opens the door, and we proceed down the stairs to join the crowd on the dance floor.

  The beat of the music penetrates my bones, and after three glasses of whatever Christoff keeps bringing me, I’m not feeling a thing. I lose myself to the bass and the dancing. We dance and dance and dance some more until my watch tells me it’s time to get back to the palace.

  I pull Auggie down, so I can whisper in his ear. “The clock strikes midnight,” I say to him. He nods, knowing that our time is nearly up, and we have to return.

  The others nod to us. Everyone has been drinking, so I call a cab and have it drop us off about three blocks from the palace at an apartment complex which we always use as our “home base” for such trips. We get to the wall and make sure the coast is clear. Fortunately, this passage opens by a row of high bushes on a side of the palace grounds that abut a dead-end lane, so there’s usually not many people milling around here.

  We open the secret door and scurry inside past the cameras, and straight into Chris. We both pause and look up at our big brother. His face tells me that we are in majorly big trouble.

  “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” he says.

  Auggie glares at Chris. “None of your fucking business is what we are doing,” he snarls as he pushes past Chris.

  “The fuck it’s not. Get your ass back here,” Chris growls before his gaze comes to rest on me. I shiver under the anger I see behind his eyes.

  “Explain yourself,” he snarls to me.

  “Leave her the fuck alone, Christian. It wasn’t even her idea. She’s twenty-one years old. She’s supposed to be having fun, enjoying life, not caged up in here like some exotic bird,” Auggie says as he stops halfway down the dimly lit corridor.

  “Aug,” Chris starts with a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, “you can’t just go out. You aren’t normal people.”

  Auggie rolls his eyes. “No fucking shit,” he groans. “What the hell do you care? It’s not like we got caught.”

  Chris gives him a hard stare. “I caught you,” he confirms.

  “So? You gonna run and tell Dad?” Auggie asks.

  “Aug, don’t be an arse. I’m not going to tell Dad because he would go ballistic,” Chris says.

  “Well, then, shut the hell up, and let us get to bed,” Auggie says as he star
ts walking again toward the exit.

  Chris turns back to me. “I expect better from you,” he says, shaking his head. He turns and follows Auggie out into the palace’s east wing.

  I head to my apartment, shower, and change into my favorite t-shirt and sweatpants. Then, I silently head up to the tower. The tower in the west wing of the palace has two of my favorite rooms. The first one that I enter on the top floor is a two-story circular library. It’s not our largest library, the main library on the ground level is enormous and is part of the palace that is open to the public for special occasions. This library is our family library. It is filled with giant leather chairs and ornate mahogany writing tables. The walls are completely covered in bookshelves. A ladder that moves lets you climb the shelves to the second story. On the second story, there’s a narrow walkway, and at the end of it, it appears as though the shelves end to reveal a few feet of wall on which a portrait of my mother hangs. Only the end of the bookshelf holds a secret passage that can only be opened by pulling down what looks to be a first edition of Gulliver’s Travels while pressing in on a fleur-de-lis that’s carved on the shelf. The end of the bookshelf pops open and allows just enough space for a person to slide inside. A narrow set of stairs leads up in a circle behind the shelves. At the top of the stairs, is a small room. It has no real windows, although it has a few faux stones that can be moved to allow sun into the room. My mother had somehow run a power strip in from the library behind the shelves. It’s the only source of power in the room, which still has wall sconces for candles every few feet. The floors are stone, the walls are stone, and there is only an old chair, a desk, and a shelf. I also brought up some bean bag chairs, so I could be comfortable. One single lamp is lit by the power strip, and my secret computer sits on the desk. This room has been held as a secret for the women of the family for six generations. It’s believed to have been built for my great-great-great-great-grandmother by her father as a place to hide from her annoying little brothers. There are always rumors of the secret room. My brothers had told me about it as a young girl. But it wasn’t until my mother brought me here, just a few weeks before her death, that I became privy to one of the closest-guarded palace secrets.

  It’s lonely having it to myself now, but it also allows me a place to go that is all mine. And that is priceless.

  I look at my computer, the one I painstakingly built. It’s perfect. It’s powerful. And it’s my secret. I pull up the program I had running all day. I curse as I see no hits. My secret obsession has become a bit of a problem. When my mother first died, I remember worrying about my mother’s crown. It was a slim crown, a tiara with diamonds and sapphires, and a fleur-de-lis. It is made of silver. My mother inherited it from her mother-in-law who inherited it from her mother-in-law, who was gifted it by her husband, the king. I was to be the fourth generation to have that crown someday. My mother wasn’t much for pomp and circumstance, but she did wear that crown as much as possible. The night of her death, she stayed later than my father who was called back to the palace to attend to a political issue in parliament. She had presented an award at the gala for her most favorite charity, a charity that still exists and helps children survivors of war who need medical assistance.

  I obsessed over the missing crown until it merged with my love of hacking. Now, I scan the dark web daily to see if I can locate it. I know it has to be somewhere out there, hidden in a private collection of some underworld billionaire. I know I won’t rest until I find it.

  I sigh as I look over the findings of my search today. Sometimes, I come across something that I may anonymously bring to the attention of the authorities. Call it my inverse Robin Hood secret. I steal from the evil rich and return to the rightful rich.

  I scan and scan. I sip the tea that is now cold. Helga makes the best tea. I contemplate it as I read code on my screen. And then I see something, something very strange. It’s a bounty on a man. This is not unusual to see, but it’s the details that have me stopping.

  Call me crazy, but I love a good mystery. The bounty is for a man named Logan Edvard Hansen, age twenty-six. My mind wraps around the names “Edvard” and “Hansen.” They are not uncommon names, but together they strike too close to home. I close the window on my search and begin a separate one.

  It takes me the better part of an hour to piece together the story, but at three in the morning, I freeze as my mind sees the pieces begin to form a picture. It’s the stuff of legend, of lore.

  I sit down and scan the information that I have found.

  In researching, Logan Edvard Hansen, I came across something interesting about his mother. King Edvard paid for all the funeral expenses of a woman who was killed in a fiery car crash on a small island in the Bahamas. This was almost a decade ago. King Edvard has never married. Some say he had a mistress, but due to rules in the country, they could not be married. So he chose to rule alone. His brother, Sten, is next in line for the throne. Sten spends most of his time womanizing in the Mediterranean. Sten is younger than his brother. He’s close in age to my aunt Lara. I’ve met them both a number of times, but Edvard to me is my godfather, my Uncle Eddie, my father’s very closest friend. He also is the ruling king of a small country nestled in northern Europe called Montelandia, which happens to border my own country, Norddale. Both countries are classified as principalities by today’s standards, although our citizens are fiercely proud and love to argue about that classification.

  I keep scanning. I find pictures of the woman killed in the crash. Leah Winters was a journalist. She was gorgeous. She spent five years living in Europe before she abruptly moved back to the United States and then later to the Bahamas. Her parents are still alive and live in Pittsburgh. She was an only child. Funeral services were held at a church near their home. I re-read the last few lines five times.

  “Leah is survived by her parents, Ned and Joy Winters, and her son, Logan Winters, along with aunts, uncles, and cousins. Donations may be made to ‘Hansen Foundation’ in lieu of flowers.”

  The Hansen Foundation is a famous foundation set up by King Edvard Anders Leopold of the House of Hansen. I find this to be a very curious coincidence.

  My next stop is breaking into the birth records of Montelandia. This, I have to say, is much easier than one would have guessed it to be. One hour later, I find what I have been searching for: the birth certificate for one, Logan Edvard Winters Hansen, born twenty-six years ago to a Leah Winters and a father, Edvard Hansen. It gives no other information about the father. The birth was at a hospital in the capital of Montelandia, a very posh hospital.

  It’s almost five in the morning, but my adrenaline is pumping now. There will be no sleep for me tonight. I head toward the kitchens to get a full pot of tea. Helga is already there, prepping for the day with the few kitchen staff that come in early and a few that handle the night shift.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” she says cheerfully. I walk over and give her a hug. Helga has been here since my father was young. She and her husband, Clause, live in a small cottage on our property. Clause tends our horses. They have sons, Pete and Lucas, who are ironically, my personal security. They had been assigned to general duties, but I talked my father into assigning them to me. One, because I trust them since we grew up playing together, and two, I may take advantage of their brotherly affections to…uh, circumvent the system at times. Daddy just sees two strapping young lads who would die for their good friend, so it works.

  “Can I get a pot of tea, please?” I ask her as I sit and pull a cookie out of the cookie jar she keeps just for me on the giant kitchen island.

  “Anna, you’ll ruin your breakfast!” she exclaims. I giggle because she says this every time, I steal a cookie. Her use of my mother’s nickname for me still warms my heart. Where my brothers adopted Suzy Q after we all spent several summers at a camp in the States, only she, my father, and a few others still use the nickname Anna for me. I have taken to using it when I don’t want to draw attention to myself.

>   She carries on with her duties while getting me a pot of tea. She tells me that a horse is pregnant, and we chat about possible names for it. It’s a descendant of my mother’s favorite horse. She asks if she can have the tea sent to my room. I shake my head and ask for a tray. I take the pot of tea up to my secret room. I have three hours left before I’ll be due at breakfast. I know that won’t be enough time to figure this out. I also know that a man’s life now hangs in the balance. The bounty is high, and it will be picked up by an assassin by breakfast time. I wonder who…I also wonder when…but mostly, I wonder why.

  Chapter 4

  My brothers and Sonya have always said my love of hacking would get me in big trouble someday. I highly doubt that they would have predicted that the trouble would be trying to stop a bounty on the head of who I think may be a secret heir to the throne of our neighboring country.

  I pour my tea into my favorite mug. Chris bought it for me for my sixteenth birthday. It says, “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” It is my favorite quote from my favorite William Shakespeare play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. My brothers have always said this about me. Mostly, I think it’s because I was raised by a household of men, much to my aunt Lara’s dismay. My auntie is my father’s younger sister. Rumor has it she was once betrothed to King Edvard, but no one speaks of that. Of course, she is now happily married to my uncle, Hans Jacobs, a wealthy entrepreneur. They sadly were unable to have children, which probably explains her extra interest in the upbringing of my brothers and me.

  My mind spins around the factoids and memories. My brothers let me tag along to their karate classes, their archery practices, the shooting range, and a dozen other activities fit for princes but not princesses by royalty standards. My father, whom I had wrapped around my finger since birth, allowed me to be with my brothers. He said it made me stronger, and I would need to be stronger to survive in our world. I once heard Auntie Lara arguing with him that I should be learning ladylike things. After that, I was forced to learn art history, English literature, and even a class on fashion. I hated it all. But Auggie and Chris still let me train with them. Auggie even taught me stunts in his car. In retrospect, it was reckless of him to teach a fifteen-year-old kid maneuvering skills meant for a stunt driver, but that’s Auggie, always pushing the boundaries.