Royal Mistake: The Complete Series

by Ember Casey

  “Then we should press on.” I force another smile. “I wouldn’t want you to have to suffer through another night with me.”

  His mouth falls open as though he’s about to say something, but he clamps it closed almost as quickly. He stands without another word, lifting the watering can and motioning for me to join him.

  We walk for another three or four miles before we find the end of the dirt road, but as Andrew feared, the paved road that intersects it seems almost as poorly traveled as the one we were just on.

  We look at each other—I can see he’s just as worried as I am. But he nods and motions with his head in the direction of the town we saw yesterday when we were looking for the cabin.

  I nod in silence, following beside him and trying to keep up with his pace as best I can. I know he’s going a lot slower than he wants, but he probably has no idea I’m probably moving about three times as fast as I want. The pain in my foot is almost unbearable, and I’m doing everything I can to not limp too much and show how much I’m hurting.

  We walk for several more miles, stopping every once in a while to take a drink from the now nearly empty watering can. We haven’t seen anything—no cars have passed and we haven’t seen any houses. It’s almost like it’s a road to nowhere.

  I have no idea how much ground we’ve covered, only that the sun is dipping low in the sky and I know we’ve been out here most of the day. And we’ve seen exactly nothing. And I’m pretty sure if we stop, I’m not going to be able to get going again in the morning. If we even make it to morning with no more water.

  He seems to sense the same thing, but he hasn’t said much to me all day. And Andrew is impossible to read, even when we aren’t in the middle of nowhere.

  “What do you want to do?” I decide I need to break the silence, if only for my own sense of wellbeing. “Do you want to try to find a place to make camp for the night? I don’t think we have much daylight left—”

  “We’ll continue on. We have another hour of daylight, at least—”

  He stops talking, turning to look behind him.

  It takes me a second, but then I hear what he does. The unmistakable rumble of an engine. There’s a car—maybe a truck—far off in the distance behind us.

  The vehicle is probably at least half a mile away, but Andrew begins waving his arms. After a few minutes, when the truck is in full view, I wave my arms, too.

  The truck passes us, not even slowing down.

  I have to blink back the tears that sting at my eyes. And Andrew’s mouth has fallen open and he stares at the truck that has sped off into the distance.

  He finally turns to me. “If we were in Montovia, that person would have stopped. If we were in Montovia, that person would have helped. If we were in Montovia—”

  “Well, we aren’t in Montovia, Your Highness, as you may have noticed.” Tears sting at my eyes again. I don’t want to be embarrassed about the people who also happen to live in my country—not that all three hundred million or so of them are assholes like the one who just passed us without a single thought, but still… It’s a little hard to argue with him, especially after what’s just happened. After someone ignored two people who are clearly in need of assistance. Who so obviously don’t belong—

  My thoughts are interrupted by the same sound we heard before. We both turn to look down the road and see another truck, coming from the same direction.

  Both Andrew and I start to jump up and down, waving our arms as soon as the truck is close enough to see us on the side of the road.

  And this time, the truck stops.

  Two young men get out of the cab, though they are still a short distance from us. Andrew takes me by the arm and we walk quickly over to meet them.

  I stop in my tracks, though, only a second later. My eyes widen and I suck in a breath a breath when I see what the man who had been sitting in the passenger seat has in his hands.

  It’s a rifle. And he’s pointing it at us.

  Andrew

  I knew I was right to be wary. And now, the moment I’ve let my guard down, we have a gun pointed at us.

  I push Victoria behind me. This needs to be handled carefully.

  “We don’t mean you any harm,” I say. “We were simply stranded and trying to find a way into town.”

  The men look at each other, then back at me.

  “That’s a funny accent,” says the one with the gun. “You British or something?”

  Here is my dilemma: if I tell them the truth about who I am, they might be more easily persuaded to help us—or they might see it as an opportunity to take advantage of our current situation. Considering there is a gun pointed at me, I’m inclined to be cautious.

  Unfortunately, before I can say anything, the driver leans forward, squinting. “Hey—aren’t you that prince guy?”

  The guy with the gun frowns. “Why would he be out here?”

  It seems like there’s no way around it.

  “If you’re referring to Prince Andrew of Montovia, I am he,” I say. “My plane crashed in a lake a day’s walk from here. Now, if you would—”

  “Who’s the girl?” asks the driver.

  I press my hand against Victoria’s arm, indicating she should let me handle this, but she ignores me.

  “I’m Victoria Simpson,” she says. “I’m a reporter for Celebrity Spark Magazine. We were hoping for a ride into town.”

  I hardly think getting into a truck with a couple of armed men is the best course of action. It would be far safer to ask them to send local law enforcement back here to us. Or for us to flag down another car—one where the passenger doesn’t have a gun to point at us.

  To my surprise, though, the man actually seems to relax his grip on the rifle.

  “Got any proof you are who you say you are?” he asks. “We can’t be too careful, picking up hitchhikers.”

  I straighten my shoulders. “All of our things were lost in the plane crash. But I assure you, gentlemen, we are exactly who we say you are. You have my word.”

  The man with the gun laughs. “Your word? That don’t mean much out here.”

  The driver is still squinting at me. “Nah, that’s definitely him. Susan buys all those magazines with the movie stars. He needs a bath, but that’s him.”

  The one with the rifle looks me up and down before shifting his gaze over my shoulder to Victoria. My hand tightens on her arm.

  “Where’d you say you were going?” asks the driver.

  “Just the closest town,” Victoria says. “Somewhere we can call the people who are looking for us. And get some food and water.”

  Then men look at each other again. Finally, the driver nods.

  “Get in the bed,” he says, jerking his thumb. “I can take you into Cartersville.”

  Truthfully, I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about the idea of climbing into a truck with these men—it is still incredibly risky, and I’m not convinced they mean us no harm. But I hear Victoria release a long breath behind me, and when I look back at her, I see relief in her eyes.

  Her foot, I think. Her limp has only become worse over the last few kilometers, and I can only imagine the sort of pain she might be enduring right now.

  “All right,” I say, though I keep my eyes on the man with the gun as I help Victoria around the back of the truck. I’m afraid to feel any relief myself—I won’t trust anything until we’re safely in a town with food in our bellies and help on the way.

  I can’t believe my life has come to this, I think as I help her up into the bed. The heir to the throne of Montovia, riding in the back of a truck. But I have to admit I am grateful to be able to sit for a time—it’s been some years since I’ve walked for so long at a stretch. Considering how little we’ve had to eat and drink, I’m surprised neither Victoria nor I collapsed from physical exhaustion long ago.

  We sit down on the hard surface of the truck bed, our backs against the cab. When I turn and glance through the little window, the man with the gun is watc
hing us.

  Instinctively, I put my arm around Victoria and pull her against my side. She stiffens at first, and then relaxes against me.

  I should have asked these men’s names, I think as the truck starts moving. In case anything happens. Then again, if they plan to cause me or Victoria harm in some way, they probably wouldn’t give me their real names anyway.

  I should have searched that cabin for weapons. I still have the tiny pair of scissors, of course, which could work as a stabbing tool in a pinch, but I would have preferred something a little bigger or more powerful. Not, I imagine, that many weapons would protect us against a rifle—but it would be better than being completely unarmed.

  I try to stay calm, to focus on the trees passing by as the truck speeds down the road. They’re taking you in the right direction, at least.

  After a few minutes, Victoria’s head falls down on my shoulder. My chest tightens, and I’m secretly pleased she feels comfortable enough with me to fall asleep against me. But for her sake, I gently shake her.

  “Try to stay awake,” I say into her ear. “We’ll be there soon.” I want both of us alert for as long as we are at the mercy of these men.

  But that’s not the only thing that concerns me. Her skin feels warm, and I know that can’t be entirely attributed to the long hours we’ve spent out in the sun today. We’ll need to get her to a physician as soon as possible.

  I twist around and rap my knuckles against the tiny window into the cab. The man with the gun slides it open. “What? You need somethin’?”

  “I don’t suppose this town has a hospital?” I ask.

  The man gives a shake of his head. “Nearest hospital’s in Sibley. We can drop you at Doctor Barrett’s place, though.”

  “I think that would be best,” I say. And then, “Thank you.”

  The man gives a nod and looks back at the road.

  “I’m fine,” Victoria insists when I look down at her again.

  “You most certainly are not fine, as you well know,” I say. “We need to get you some antibiotics for your foot as soon as possible.”

  “Look at you, Prince Andrew,” she says, a hint amusement breaking through the exhaustion in her voice. “Thinking about someone besides yourself.”

  “I think of other people,” I say, before realizing she must be joking. “Of course, if you succumb to your injuries the whole world will blame me for it, and that would hardly be good for my reputation.”

  She laughs. “Well, at least you’re starting to see the importance of your public persona.”

  It’s a good sign she’s laughing, though she still feels far too warm. I glance again at the trees as we pass—surely we must be getting close to town? The sun is sinking quickly.

  Finally, just when I’m thinking I might tap on the little window again, we start to see signs that we’re nearing town. At first it’s just a handful of farms and houses, but soon it’s billboards and petrol stations and even a couple of restaurants. My stomach rumbles when I catch a hint of something in the air as we pass—steak, perhaps?—but there will be time for food later. Getting Victoria to a doctor is the first priority.

  There are more cars on the road now, but no one seems to look twice at the couple of people sitting in the bed of a truck, even if one of them is a prince.

  Victoria’s head falls on my shoulder again. Her skin is burning up now—but she still shivers when I tighten my arm around her. I pray we aren’t far from the physician—and that these two men are indeed taking us there, and not to some place where they might attempt to hold me for ransom. Or worse.

  I’m beginning to consider the best way to get the rifle away from that man when the truck suddenly slows, then turns into a parking lot.

  I sit up, looking around. We’re in front of a building with a sign that says, “Carterville Clinic and Emergency Services.”

  Thank God. Even before the truck has come to a full stop, I’m sitting up, stirring Victoria.

  “We’ve reached the physician,” I tell her.

  Now that I can see her clearly, I notice how pale she is. Stubborn girl—I never should have agreed to let her come with me today. She should have stayed off that foot. On the other hand, if this is indeed an infection, it might have come to this anyway—and she would still be back there at the cabin, alone.

  She’s conscious, but she seems dazed. I practically carry her off of the truck.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” I tell the two men. One of them—the one who’d had the gun—has rushed before me toward the door to the building. He holds it open for me—which is just as well, because I’ve lifted Victoria entirely into my arms.

  “I can walk,” she insists, but she sounds half asleep.

  “I hope the miss is okay,” says the man holding the door. He looks genuinely concerned—perhaps I was too quick to judge these men. After this is over I will have to track them down and offer them some sort of reward for their service.

  The next few moments happen in a blur—the woman behind the desk jumps up when she sees me and Victoria, and soon there are a number of people rushing about. They take Victoria, and they try to usher me into another room, but I refuse. Especially when I glance up at the television in the waiting room and see the news flashing across the screen.

  Shit.

  Somehow, with all of this survival business, I’d forgotten about what else was at stake.

  I dart over to the desk. “I need a phone. Now.”

  The woman behind the desk still looks a little flustered. “Sir, I—”

  “Now!” I demand.

  Her eyes go wide, but she quickly pushes the desk phone over to me.

  I grab it, dialing quickly. Please pick up, please pick up…

  As it rings, my eyes drift back up to the television. I’d known this was a possibility, but I’d hoped the media and the world would do their due diligence before jumping to any sensationalist conclusions.

  But it’s too late. In a matter of hours, everything could be out in the open. My stomach sinks as I read the words flashing in all caps across the bottom of the screen:

  “BREAKING NEWS: PLANE LOCATED. PRINCE ANDREW DECLARED DEAD AFTER APPARENT SUICIDE.”

  They believe I’ve committed suicide?

  Whatever crisis I thought might occur if my country thought me dead, I fear, deep in my gut, it is about to become far worse.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: February, 2017

  Victoria

  I open my eyes and blink a few times as I adjust to the bright sunlight coming through the nearby window. It takes me a few moments to remember where I am and what’s happened. We were in a plane crash. And I’m pretty sure the room I’m in now is some sort of hospital. It only takes me another moment to realize I’m in bed. And that I’m not alone.

  I shift a little onto my side, trying to see who it is lying next to me, not that I really have any question. I can smell him—he must have showered since the last time we were this close, but there’s no question the arm underneath me belongs to Prince Andrew.

  Of course, this makes zero sense unless I’m hallucinating. Or maybe dreaming. But I don’t get a chance to rack my brain for the last thing I remember before he speaks.

  “You’re awake.” His voice sounds almost as groggy as I feel.

  I turn my head to meet his gaze. “I…guess.”

  His lips tick up into the smallest of smiles. “Do you know where you are?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
/>
  He chuckles. “I suppose that was a terrible question. I’m not certain I know where we are, and I’m not the one who’s been medicated for the better part of a day.” He pauses, his smile widening ever so slightly. “Do you know who I am?”

  I give him a single nod. “Yes, but I—”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” His smile falls and his eyebrows draw together. “Do you remember coming here? To the hospital?”

  I glance around as much as I can—the bed we’re on seems to be some sort of hospital-type bed, but it’s hard to be sure. Wherever we are, it’s a hell of a lot cleaner than the little cabin we were in last night—if that was even last night.

  I give my head a small shake. “I don’t remember. Coming to the hospital, I mean. I remember the cabin. I remember sleeping on the floor. I remember…” The kiss. Holy shit, do I remember the kiss.

  He nods. “Do you remember leaving?” He lets out a small breath that almost sounds like exasperation. “Do you remember the gun?”

  I nod again. “I remember that. It was a long ride, worrying about the guy with the rifle.” I pause, trying to think of what came after that, but there’s nothing. My memory seems to be gone after that point. “I assume we made it into town or the two of us wouldn’t be talking now.”

  He gazes into my eyes, almost like he’s searching for something. “We did.”

  “So that’s where we are now?”

  He shakes his head. “There was no hospital there. We’d only been there a few minutes—I wasn’t even able to use their telephone—before they were rushing you out to their ambulance. They didn’t want to allow me to come along, but I insisted—”

  “You would.” I smile before the reality of what is actually going on starts to sink in for me. “Did you at least let your family know you’re alive? Have you spoken to the press?” My heart starts to race and I lift my head off his arm. “Are they parked outside the door? Did you at least—?”