Prince in Disguise

by Stephanie Kate Strohm

  “Glad that’s settled, then.” He smiled. “Would you like to see the hayloft? There are bigger windows up there. We can watch the snow fall.”

  “Sure.” I pulled my blanket a little tighter around me. “Bye, Wenceslas.” He snorted in response to my final nose pat.

  We climbed up a metal ladder to the hayloft. There was no floor in the center of the room, so we could see down to the stalls. Hay bales lined the walls on all four sides of the barn. Conveniently, there were a few stacked almost like risers beneath the large windows on the side. Jamie spread a blanket over the lower bales, and we settled in. I extended my corner to him, and he snuggled under, draping an arm around my shoulder as he wrapped us up in the blanket.

  We sat in silence, watching the snow drift down outside the window. The flakes were so large and fluffy, they seemed suspended in the sky, almost motionless. There was no sound except for the gentle snorts and stamps of the horses in their stalls below. I could smell the sweetness of the hay and the warm, earthy scent of the horses, both so strong they were almost tangible. Everything was so still it was one of those moments where time no longer seemed to have shape or logic; we had fallen through a moment and all I wanted to do was stay there, drifting like the snowflakes outside the windows. I had thought romance was fireworks and dancing, bright lights and big noises. Now I knew that romance could be perfect stillness.

  Because there was Jamie. His warmth. His long leg resting against mine. His cinnamon cookie smell. My knee bumping against his. And to just be with him, touching him seemingly accidentally although we both knew it wasn’t—that was perfect.

  “It sifts from Leaden Sieves,” he quoted as we watched the snow fall. “It powders all the Wood.”

  “Hmm?”

  “That’s one of yours. Emily Dickinson.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. “Amherst’s most glamorous shut-in. Sorry.” I covered my mouth as a yawn escaped.

  “Not the time for poetry, then.”

  “No, I mean, if you can’t handle a poem trapped in a barn during a midnight snowfall, when can you? Definitely the time for poetry. I’m just sleepy. A lunatic in a pajama suit woke me up in the middle of the night.”

  “According to the Pajama Amnesty Accord of Dunyvaig Castle, pajamas were no longer to be discussed.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I yawned again.

  “Close your eyes, Dylan,” he said softly.

  “My mom’ll kill us if we stay out all night.” And yet somehow, my eyes fluttered closed, and my head drifted to rest on Jamie’s shoulder.

  “We’ll be back before anyone wakes up,” he said confidently.

  “Jamie?”

  “Mmm?”

  “We were lucky this barn was so close. And warm.”

  “Yes, lucky indeed. Bit of a happy coincidence.”

  “Happy Coincidence.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Happy Coincidence. That’s what you should call your book. Forget The Premeditated Trapdoor.”

  “You never forget your first trapdoor, Dylan,” he said seriously.

  I knew I wouldn’t.

  Something was poking my back. No, a thousand somethings were poking my back. Little scratchy somethings. What was wrong with this bed? And there was something heavy on top of me, right across my middle. I shifted under its weight.

  It was an arm. Oh my God, it was a human arm. I screamed and flung it off me.

  “Argh!”

  THUMP.

  “Honestly, Dylan, are you trying to murder me?”

  I leaned over and saw Jamie on the floor. The floor made of weathered wooden planks and covered in stray bits of straw. Definitely not my bedroom.

  “I realize I may not be a particularly pleasant sight first thing in the morning, but I can’t possibly be as horrible as all that.”

  “Sorry.” I reached down and helped haul him back up onto the hay bale. Hay bale. Barn. Snowstorm. Kiss. Everything from last night came rushing back to me. I was still in the barn—it definitely hadn’t been a dream. It was real. Jamie had really kissed me. I could only hope I still looked okay in the light of day. In his rumpled pajamas, with bits of hay stuck in his dark hair, Jamie had never looked more adorable.

  “Good morning to you, too, darling.” He smirked, reaching one hand toward my face. I stiffened as he pulled a piece of straw out of my hair. “The rustic look suits you.”

  “I am a country girl, after all.”

  “Ah, yes, the belle of Mississippi. Where is it, again? That you’re from?”

  “Tupelo.”

  “Too-puh-lo,” he enunciated carefully. “What a marvelous word. What does it mean?”

  “Um, not sure. I think it’s a kind of tree?”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Wait…Jamie…what are we doing? We can’t sit here talking about trees!”

  “I admit perhaps dendrology is not the most gripping topic, but I do enjoy learning more about your origins—”

  “No! Look!” I pointed out the window above the hay bales. Cheery golden beams of sun streaked through the glass—what a perfectly beautiful day to be murdered by my mother. “It’s morning. We have to go, like, now.”

  “It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear.”

  “What? Birds? You hear birds?”

  “Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”

  “Jamie, I seriously don’t hear anything.”

  “It’s Shakespeare, Dylan! Juliet!”

  “Yeah, okay, Juliet, let’s go.” I started pushing him toward the ladder. “Chop-chop. Off the balcony. Let’s move it.”

  “I worry you lack a poetic soul.”

  “Someone here has to be practical.” I followed him down the ladder at lightning speed, the metal cold against my hands. “Now wouldn’t it be convenient if there was a Gator stashed around back of this barn, too?”

  “I don’t think so.” He furrowed his brow. “However, we are quite literally surrounded by alternate means of transportation.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Horses, Dylan.”

  “Horses?”

  “Yes, horses. You sit on them and they take you places. For hundreds of years they were the primary means of rapid transport.”

  “Sure, eons ago. There’s a reason we moved on to cars. Cars aren’t alive. They don’t move around underneath you. They’re not wily and tricky.”

  “Have you never been on a horse before?” He seemed confused.

  “Yes.” I lifted my chin defiantly. “Once. On a pony ride. At a county fair. And that was enough.”

  “But you’re American.”

  “Yeah, so? Do you think I’m like a cowgirl or something, Jamie?”

  “You’re from Mississippi.”

  “That’s not exactly rodeo country. Do you know how to ride a horse?”

  “Of course,” he answered, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Of course,” I muttered. “Well, horseback riding wasn’t covered in gym class, so I’m going to get walking, and I’ll see you back at the castle.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Dylan.” He grabbed my arm, stopping me. “We’ll return to the castle much earlier if we go by horseback. We can ride together.”

  “Together?” I parroted.

  “Yes.” He grabbed a metal-and-leather contraption off a peg on the wall and started walking to the first stall. “It’s not an ideal situation for the horse, as it can cause kidney damage long term—”

  “Well, if it damages the kidneys, then we probably shouldn’t,” I interrupted.

  “But for a short period of time on a big enough horse it should be fine,” he assured me. Except I wasn’t exactly assured. “Hello again, Wenceslas.” He opened the first stall and approached the big brown horse, fitting the reins over his head and plunking the metal piece right in his mouth. Somehow, Wenceslas seemed a lot bigger today than he had last night. “Besides, you like horses, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I like
horses. I like patting their noses and feeding them carrots. I don’t like getting on them.”

  “I worry that you were taken to some horrific county fair that traumatized you for life. I promise you, it’s perfectly safe. All of the horses here are impeccably trained. They’re far better behaved than most of the humans.”

  He led Wenceslas out of his stall and into the aisle, right up to a wooden box-type thing that looked like a tiny set of stairs. Jamie hopped up onto the box, swung his leg over, and just like that he was on top of the horse, sitting like he was born to be there.

  “Don’t you need a saddle?” I asked in a shrill voice that sounded nothing like me. “Shouldn’t there be a seat there? Doesn’t that serve some kind of seat-belt function?”

  “I’ll be your seat belt. Come along. Up on the mounting block now.”

  Obediently, I took the first two steps up the mounting block. Much as I was nervous to get on the horse, I really wanted to get back to the castle. On the top step, I swung my leg over, until I was somehow sitting right behind Jamie.

  “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said. “Hold on tight.”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist, reminded of Dusty’s old boyfriend Dyron with the motorcycle. Except, unlike Dyron’s motorcycle, Wenceslas had no flames painted on his sides. I could feel Jamie’s warmth through his dressing gown. Resting my cheek against his soft flannel back, I relaxed into him.

  “There we are,” he said softly. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  With no discernable “Hi-ya!” or “Tallyho!” or anything like that, Wenceslas started moving. I gripped Jamie even tighter. We trotted down the hallway, straight toward the barn doors. The very big, very solid, very closed barn doors.

  “Jamie,” I said suddenly, “the doors. How will we—”

  “Hold on!” he shouted, but instead of slowing down, we went faster and faster. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact.

  But no impact came. I felt the cold slap of the wind whistle past my cheeks. I cracked an eye open. We were outside. But how?

  I turned around just in time to see the huge barn doors swing shut behind us.

  “They’re automatic?!” I exclaimed, laughing with relief.

  “Motion sensor. I told you they spared no expense when it came to the horses!”

  We moved into an even faster pace, less bumpy than before. The snow was so deep it covered most of Wenceslas’s legs, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down at all. It was almost like he was swimming through snow. Now that it had stopped coming down, the castle was easily visible across the lawn. I narrowed my eyes against the blinding glare of sunlight reflecting off the drifts.

  “Bracing, isn’t it?” Jamie shouted. Something about being on horseback was making us both very loud. “I feel like an arctic explorer! On the way to the pole with Admiral Perry!”

  “Glad you’re having fun. I would be enjoying this a lot more if I knew my mom was still asleep.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure, Dylan? How often does one get stranded in a horse barn during a Scottish snowstorm?”

  “Never.”

  “Precisely. I’m sure there is some sort of exception clause for wonderful adventures that precludes one from getting in trouble. The Narnia bylaws or some such.”

  “My mom makes her own laws.” But honestly, now that we were rolling toward the castle, with my arms around Jamie, I felt a lot less scared of Mom. And also less scared of being on the horse. Turned out to be no big deal. Jamie hadn’t kissed me again this morning, but at the very least, things weren’t awkward. And he was still willing to make physical contact. “Where are your parents?”

  “Working,” he said vaguely. “They travel quite a bit. I’m on holiday from Eton at the moment, and I would much rather be here than in an empty house.”

  “Totally. Are they coming to the wedding?”

  “Probably.”

  “If they want to celebrate Christmas with you, they don’t really have much choice, do they? I still can’t believe Dusty’s getting married on Christmas Eve. She’s insane. Does she just expect everyone to abandon their families and celebrate her instead? I hope the camera crew’s getting paid overtime.”

  Jamie mumbled something that might have been “mmm” or “erm,” but definitely wasn’t a word.

  “Florence was asking about your dad on the first day, right? Are they friends or something?”

  “Somewhat, I suppose. Here we are!” he announced abruptly.

  I got the sense that Jamie wasn’t exactly keen to discuss his family. I understood, though. I hated when people asked me about my dad—knowing literally nothing about him, I had nothing to say. And the last thing I ever wanted to hear was any sweet “Bless your heart” of pity. Mom and Dusty and I had done just fine without him.

  Well, Wenceslas really did get us there quickly. I guess horses had something to recommend them as a mode of transportation after all. Jamie hopped off first, then helped me down, his hands on my waist. Somehow my sweatshirt rode up and his hands ended up on my bare skin. Blushing, I quickly pulled my shirt back down and decided to pretend it hadn’t happened.

  “Please let everyone be asleep,” I prayed fervently as Jamie pushed one of the enormous castle doors open.

  As per usual, my prayers went unanswered.

  “Well, well, well.”

  Dusty stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, wearing nothing but a minuscule hot-pink silk bathrobe, hair up in jumbo rollers on her head. Before this moment, I felt like I’d never really understood the phrase “the cat who got the canary.” Now I’d seen the textbook definition. Dusty was smiling like a tabby who’d just caught the biggest, fattest canary the world had ever seen.

  “Good morning, Dusty!” Jamie said cheerfully. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? Perfect for a constitutional! Dylan and I decided to take an early morning turn about the grounds.”

  “So that’s how you’re gonna play it?” One of Dusty’s eyebrows rose dramatically. God, could everyone do that except for me? “The early-morning-walk routine? That’s real amateur-hour stuff, children. Especially as y’all are still in your pajamas. And what pajamas they are.” She shook her head. “Real sexy, Dylan.”

  “These were a gift from Meemaw! And I wasn’t trying to be sexy!”

  “She doesn’t have to try. It’s effortless,” Jamie said loyally, although that was of course the exact wrong thing to say, as Dusty’s smile curved up into Cheshire cat proportions.

  “This is an extraordinarily interesting turn of events for a Sunday morning,” she drawled delightedly.

  “Is Mom up?”

  “Could be. Couldn’t be. All I know is she hasn’t come out of her room yet, so y’all appear to be in the clear. For now.”

  The relief that washed over me was palpable, like I was planted in the icy-cool wave pool at Geyser Falls on the hottest day in July. I exhaled so loudly it startled Jamie.

  “Thing is, I haven’t decided if I’m gonna tell her ’bout all y’all’s midnight adventures yet.”

  “Dusty!” I exclaimed. “How could you?”

  “I am simply looking out for the virtue of my baby sister,” she said, placing an arm protectively around my shoulders. “It is my sisterly duty to inform Mama if y’all have stepped outta line. For your own good.”

  “I can assure you, her virtue is perfectly intact,” Jamie piped up.

  “Please don’t use the word ‘intact’ when discussing my virtue.” I shuddered. “I’m not Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”

  “Was she in your grade?” Dusty cocked her head, thinking. “That trashy blond who worked at the Dairy Kream?”

  “Tess of the d’Urbervilles is the protagonist of a Thomas Hardy novel,” Jamie said. “Ran into a bit of an unfortunate situation after falling asleep on a coat.”

  “Well. Maybe I should tell Mama so y’all don’t end up like Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”

  “She was a victim of her times!” I protested.


  “Or Tess of the Dairy Kream,” Dusty added ominously. “Maybe I should tell.”

  “You wouldn’t.” I narrowed my eyes.

  She raised an eyebrow again, as if to say, Try me.

  “After all I’ve done for you?” Okay, now I was seriously pissed. “I hid all those empty bottles of Southern Comfort under my bed for you after your junior prom. I was ten. That was messed up, Dusty. You shouldn’t have asked me to do that.”

  “Shut it.” Her eyes nervously darted to the left.

  “What are you looking at? I…Oh.” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. I couldn’t believe I had let myself relax for one moment, and forgotten, and somehow thought I could have a private conversation. There was a cameraman in the doorway, partially obscured so I hadn’t seen him right away, but there. He’d clearly caught the entire conversation. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore,” I said dully.

  “What doesn’t matter?” Dusty asked.

  “You telling Mom. She’ll see it on TV in, like, however many months.” I gestured to the camera.

  “Don’t look at it,” Dusty hissed sharply between clenched teeth. “Pretend it’s not there.”

  “How can I pretend it’s not there? More importantly, how can you pretend it’s not there? How can you be so fake, just like this stupid fake show?” I gulped some air in, trying to calm down, and failing. “I’m not okay with all my private moments being broadcast for the world to see! I can’t live my life in front of the cameras like you can! It’s weird, Dusty! It’s not natural.” I hated how emotional I sounded. I hated that I could hear the catch of tears in my throat. “I just wanted this one thing to myself. I just wanted this me-and-Jamie…thing…whatever it is…just to be between me and Jamie. Not TRC. You know?”

  Jamie squeezed my hand. Hurriedly, I brushed a tear off my face. I couldn’t have been more embarrassed if I’d peed on the rug.

  “That’s not what you signed up for, Dylan.” Clipboard Pamela slid past the cameraman and into the room with the silent tread and menacing air of a dementor. “Or what your family signed up for. For the next couple weeks, everything that happens, happens in front of us. Just keep living your life normally. We’ll simply be here to record it.”