by Nikki Chase
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 watches 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.
When I reach my house, there’s still a crowd just outside the fence, although the people are a lot more spread out.
One young reporter widens his eyes when he spots me, pulls out his phone, and his gaze flicks between me and what I assume is a picture of me.
A couple other people start to do the same, and by the time I reach the gate, a handful of people have gathered around me.
“Oh my god!” I hear Irina’s shout from somewhere on the street. She’s got one hand over her mouth and another hand pointing at me.
Clara is beside her, talking to a woman I assume is a journalist. Are they doing an interview right now, when Father’s waiting alone inside?
“Rose!” Clara yells out when she finally follows the direction at which Irina is pointing and sees me. She gets up and dashes toward me, glancing around to check that the reporters are paying attention to her. She says, loudly, “Thank god you’re back. We’ve been so worried.”
The people around us pick up their cameras, mics, and lighting equipment, then point them at Clara and me. When she hugs me, clicks and flashes explode all around us. Irina joins us and more pictures of us are taken.
“Can you tell us where you’ve been, Rose?” asks a female reporter, who has sidled close to us. She looks like she’s in her forties.
“Yes, of course. I was living and working in Malvern temporarily. This has all been a big misunderstanding,” I say, telling the lie that James and I have come up with.
I can almost hear a collective, disappointed gasp from both the newspeople who have come here to gather the intel on my disappearance, and the townsfolk who have rushed over to watch the commotion.
“Are you aware of the pictures that are circulating on the Internet right now, of you and Prince James?” asks another reporter, a young man with a beard.
“I’m aware of the pictures you’re referring to,” I say, “but I’m not the person in those pictures.”
Again, the crowd murmurs. Then comes a barrage of questions from so many reporters I can’t even make out who’s asking which one anymore.
“You just stated that you were in Malvern, Rose. The pictures were taken there as well. Why are you so sure that it’s not you in those pictures?”
“I was in Malvern, yes, but I’ve never been to the club in the pictures,” I say. The only person in town who knows about my having gone to The Dungeon is Elizabeth, and she wouldn’t tell on me.
“What were you doing in Malvern?”
“I was working at an inn. My father had an accident while traveling for work a couple of weeks ago, so we needed some extra income.”
“What’s the name of the inn?”
“The Alcove. You’re welcome to call the inn and ask about my work there,” I say.
I hope the prince has already spoken to Wanda, the woman who runs the inn, to warn her about the incoming calls from the media. We only stayed there for a short time, but I remember her as a nice, friendly person. I hope we’re not cau
sing her too much trouble.
“Why didn’t you tell your family, Rose? Why did they think you’d gone missing?”
“When I got the call for an interview, I didn’t have much time, so I had to leave without telling my family. I regret that now, seeing the trouble that I’ve caused, but I wouldn’t have gotten the job had I not left immediately,” I say. “Actually, I called and spoke with my sister on my second day there and told her not to worry. But I should’ve made a bigger effort to communicate.”
“Rose! There you are!” Graham says as he pushes through the crowd, flashing his badge so people would give him way. “The police have been looking all over for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, “but as you can see, it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“I’m just glad you’re back,” Graham says as he pulls me into an awkward, forceful embrace in front of the cameras, which promptly go wild with activity.
I pat his back twice, hoping he’ll get the message that this hug is unwanted.
“The media was saying you were the new victim of the royal beast, and that got me worried,” Graham says as he glances at the cameras.
“That’s not true, as I was telling everyone.” I give him a polite smile and take one step away from him.
“That’s a relief.” He flashes the cameras a smile. “I thought, since your father mentioned Prince James…”
“Nope,” I say. “I’m sure that was a misunderstanding as well.”
“Have you ever met Prince James?” asks someone from the sea of reporters.
“No.” I huff a small laugh to show them what a ridiculous notion that is, then say, “Like many other people in the kingdom, I’d love to meet the royal family, though.”
I continue to field questions from the reporters. Luckily, the long walk home has given me a lot of time to think of every angle, and I have anticipated most of their questions.
Little by little, people disperse until the last reporter-and-cameraman team gets into a van and drives away.
“Where were you?” Irina asks accusingly.
“Like I said, I was in Malvern.”
“Liar,” Clara says. “You were with the prince. Father told us about the palace before you called home. We just didn’t think he was telling the truth.”
“Yeah,” Irina quips. “We thought he was just confused after having gotten lost in the woods.”
“So why do you think he was telling the truth now?” I challenge them, anger simmering beneath my skin. How dare they doubt our father like that, dismissing him as just a senile old man, after all he’s done for them?
“Well, you’re in those pictures with the prince,” Clara says.
“Yeah, and there are old rumors about a secret palace nearby,” adds Irina.
“I’ve never heard about those,” I say, genuinely surprised.
“It hasn’t come up for a long time, but now the older people are saying they’ve heard about a hidden palace,” Irina says.
“Where have you been?” Clara narrows her eyes at me and stares me down.
“I already told you. I was working in Malvern.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re wearing the designer dress that I just saw on the magazine last week?” Irina grabs the fabric of my dress and rolls it between her thumb and index finger.
“What are you talking about?” My heart races as I pull my dress away from Irina. At least they didn’t do this in front of the camera, but it’s still going to be really bad if they find out about the prince.
I shriek as the top of my dress is pulled up. From behind me, Clara says, “Yep. This is a real Armani dress.”
She’s checking the tag on my dress!
“Stop it!” I yell out. “I was working in Malvern, okay? Leave me alone. Now, I want to see Father. All those reporters just outside our home must’ve been stressful for him.”
As I stomp toward our front door, the breeze carries a bone-chilling message from my sisters.
“This is not over,” I hear Clara say.
James
Well, that’s it. She has betrayed me.
I should’ve known she would, but I trusted her like an idiot.
I watch the flashing red dot on the map move from Willowdale toward the palace, and the cameras are picking up not one, not two, but tens of people.
Who the fuck are they? And why are they so interested in something that doesn’t concern them at all?
No matter where I go, they follow. They’re fucking everywhere.
And it turns out Rosemary is just one of them.
She put on a good performance right after she got home. She told the press the story that we’d agreed on. I thought it was just a matter of time until the story died down.
Sure, my father and his advisors are going to grill me about getting caught doing something so compromising, but it was going to blow over eventually, if I could blame the whole thing on a bad case of mistaken identities.
But now, they’ve apparently found my mother’s compact, and they’re using it to find this palace.
I grip the glass of whiskey in my hand harder and harder until it finally shatters in my hand, the broken pieces of crystal scattered all over the floor of this surveillance room.
Damn, that felt good.
I get up to my feet and find another breakable item.
A glass vase with some flowers in it.
That will do.
I pick up the vase, grabbing it by the neck, and throw it against the wall, where it breaks and falls onto the floor in pieces.
My mother would’ve hated knowing that it’s her mirror that’s going to finally lead people to this palace.
She also would’ve been disappointed in me. I wasn’t supposed to get involved in yet another scandal and tarnish her name—as if it hasn’t already been dragged through enough dirt.
Sometimes, the limits that have been placed on me feel stifling. But it turns out I’m too dangerous for my own good.
If they just let me loose, I’d destroy the royal family’s reputation in no time. Maybe even discredit the entire monarchy system.
I couldn’t care less what the kingdom thinks about my father, but my poor mother must be turning in her grave right now. She can’t get a break—not even in death.
When my father started seeing another woman on the side, he sent my mother and me to Ardglass Palace, claiming that the countryside air would be better for my growing body. It was really so he’d have more freedom to meet with his mistress.
Still, my mother lived here like he wanted her to, staffing the forgotten palace with decent people and bringing it back to life. It was hard for her. Unlike me, she was a social person.
She couldn’t be friends with the staff because the fact that she was the queen intimidated them too much.
And she couldn’t be friends with the locals in Willowdale or Malvern because she couldn’t even reveal her identity.
I have no doubt that my father was trying to make her life as unpleasant as possible so she’d ask for a divorce. The fucking coward didn’t have the balls to do the job himself because he didn’t want the whole kingdom blaming him for the marriage falling apart. Maybe he also thought it would draw too much attention to his affair.
So my mother consoled herself with secret parties, occasionally inviting her old friends from the capital. She put so much thought into those parties, concocting various schemes to prevent her guests from discovering the location of the palace.
But one night, someone turned up with the group of guests my mother had invited. Someone she didn’t expect.
It was her husband’s mistress.
In contrast to her normally sweet demeanor, she went berserk. She screamed at the woman and threw the china all over the ballroom. Not knowing about the affair, the other guests were gasping and clutching their pearls, shocked by the queen’s behavior.
The guards and the rest of the palace staff managed to calm my mother down and bring the guests home without compromising the loc
ation of the palace. But it was too late.
When they got to the capital, my mother’s so-called friends blabbed to the media, talking about how the queen had gone crazy.
The press started speculating about mental illness being the reason why my mother was hidden away from the public.
My father’s mistress further fanned the flames by doing an exclusive interview about how mean my mother was to her.
This was all great news to my father, apparently. Because now the people were on his side, admiring how strong and devoted he was to stay with a crazy wife, despite his power and position.
The rumors destroyed my mother. She was hurt by the betrayal of the people she’d considered her friends. When my father banned parties from Ardglass Palace, it didn’t even matter anymore to her, even though she used to find those parties to be so exciting.
Her health got progressively worse from the depression. And the following year, when Cheryl came out with the lie about my abuse, it was almost like she’d given up all hope.
I still remember what she said the day before she finally exhaled her last breath.
“I know I don’t have much time anymore,” the words slid out through her dry, cracked lips. “When I die, your father is going to take that woman as his queen,” she said bitterly.
“She’s going to want her own son to be the next king, but you’re the crown prince. Don’t let them take away your inheritance. If you become the king, all my suffering will have paid off.”
At the time, I promised my mother I’d keep my reputation squeaky clean and become the king. I’ve even been keeping myself sequestered in Ardglass Palace to avoid scandal.
But I’ve been careless. Now I’ve caused another uproar and reminded the people of my mother’s wrongdoing. It’s possible my father will use this opportunity to take my crown away.
And it’s all because of a girl.
A girl I shouldn’t have trusted.
I should’ve known she’d betray me.
Maybe she stuck to our story at first, which was commendable.
But I bet everything changed when she talked to her family.