Royal Mistake

by Renna Peak

And he was at least decent in giving me his shirt to wrap my foot with. I hadn’t wanted to tell him, but I think the cut is pretty bad. I couldn’t really see it, but the way it’s throbbing right now tells me it might be fairly difficult for me to walk on it by tomorrow.

  Hopefully, it isn’t going to matter. Our rescuers have to be on their way—it’s not like someone isn’t going to notice the Crown Prince of Montovia has suddenly going missing. And maybe whoever lives in that cabin saw the plane go down—someone might be out there searching for us right now.

  Thunder cracks loudly outside, and at the same time, the inside of our little cave is brilliantly illuminated for a moment. A tree must have been hit by a lightning strike just outside.

  I stiffen in Andrew’s arms at the sound and his embrace around me tightens.

  He doesn’t say anything, but he seems to notice he’s almost comforting me. God forbid. He clears his throat and forces himself to relax his grip on my back.

  And I have to ignore the lightning strike I feel in my body as his hands move over my wet blouse—the same way I’m trying to ignore how I can feel the hard outline of the well-defined muscles of his back, where my hands just happen to be resting as I’m lying in his arms.

  Damn it.

  This is not happening. I am not going to allow myself to feel the slightest bit attracted to this man—a man who has done nothing but show me over and over again how vile he finds me. Why would I do this to myself? It was one thing to have had a secret celebrity crush on him before I met him two weeks ago. But now, it’s something else. Now he knows me. Okay, he doesn’t really know me at all, but he knows who I am. And he thinks I’m disgusting—he’s said so on several occasions now. What the hell am I doing to myself? I hate that this is so typical of me—being attracted to guys who treat me like shit.

  I’m not doing this to myself anymore. It’s a promise I made myself after the last time, and it’s one I’m damned well going to keep.

  I move my hands away from his back, deciding instead to hold onto the thin fabric of his t-shirt. I ball my hands into fists to at least keep myself from touching him in any meaningful way.

  And I close my eyes and almost will myself to fall sleep.

  Daylight streams through the narrow entrance of our tiny cave when I finally wake up. It takes me a second to remember where I am—and to whom the hand belongs that is firmly gripping my ass.

  It might be fun to pretend I’m offended—to wake him up and embarrass the hell out of him. Watch him squirm. But I decide against it—he did keep me warm last night after all, and I’m grateful for that. Not that I’m going to let him know about my gratitude.

  I place my hand over his, only meaning to move it up to my back before he wakes up and finds out where he’s inadvertently touched me in his sleep, but he jolts awake, knocking my head into the side of the rock I’m nearly pinned against.

  He pulls his arms away from me, shrinking himself against his side of the tiny cavern. “What are you doing?”

  I glare at him for a moment, wriggling myself into a more upright position. “Nothing. Just trying to get your hand off my ass.”

  He sits up, holding his hand out in front of him like he’s been burned or something. “I would never—”

  “I know. You’d never willingly touch me. I got the gist of that last night. I’m sure it was accidental. I’m sorry your royal hand had to come anywhere near my filthy body.”

  “That isn’t…” He shakes his hand, probably trying to make sure I haven’t infected him with some incurable disease. “Never mind,” he mutters under his breath.

  He edges himself to the entrance of the rock formation and pulls his shoe inside—it’s overflowing with rainwater. He takes a sip before holding it out to me.

  I take a long drink from his shoe before handing it back to him. The shoe thing was pretty brilliant—I suppose I can add that to the list of things I’m grateful for that I’ll never admit to him. He probably thinks I’m taking notes about this whole thing anyway—he seems to think my job is the only thing I’m capable of doing, as disgusting as it might be to him.

  He takes another sip and sets the shoe down next to him before he motions toward me. “How is your foot?”

  I’m hesitant to look at it—the thing is throbbing like a motherfucker, and I know I’m going to have to force myself to walk on it at all. But I force a smile and meet his gaze. “It’s fine. Thanks for the shirt.”

  “You’re welcome.” His gaze narrows a little and he searches my face, almost as though he can tell I’m lying. But if he can tell, he doesn’t say anything.

  “We should see if the rescue crew is out there.” I’m forcing my voice to be cheerful—I mean, I’m praying they are out there. I have about a hundred reasons why I don’t want to spend another night in the woods, not the least of which is the man sitting across from me.

  He nods. “You’re right. They’re probably working to extract the plane from the lake now. We should get out there, lest the news of my untimely death should leak to the public.”

  I can only nod in return, keeping the same dumb smile on my face as I motion him out.

  Andrew grabs his shoe, taking another long drink before he holds it out to me. “Have the rest.”

  I take it and drink what’s left inside as he climbs out of the cave. I crawl over after I’m done drinking and hand his shoe to him as I scoot myself to the edge of the entrance.

  The shirt I tied around my foot last night has come a little loose and I rewrap it as best as I can, tying it around my foot as tightly as I’m able. I ignore the spot on the bottom where the blood has soaked through several layers, and I stand.

  I have to literally bite my tongue to keep from crying out too loudly from the shock of pain radiating up my leg when I put weight on my foot.

  But Andrew is already several feet away, having already started on his way back to the lake after putting his shoe back on his foot. I don’t think he heard anything—I’m pretty sure I did cry out, at least a little when I first stepped on my injured foot—but he doesn’t turn back to check on me. I know I’m not going to be able to run this time. I gingerly try to walk as best I can, and the more steps I take, the easier it is to ignore the pain. I’m finally almost able to catch up to him by the time we reach the edge of the forest, though I can see he’s walking a lot slower than he probably wants to.

  His shoulders drop a little when he reaches the clearing, but he doesn’t turn around. I have to take another ten steps or so to catch up to him before I can finally see what he does.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but the same lake we crashed into yesterday. There are definitely no rescuers here—no one trying to salvage the plane from the water. No one looking for a missing prince.

  There are, however, some things floating on the lake that weren’t there yesterday. The storm must have stirred up the water enough to shake some things loose from the wreckage. There’s nothing I recognize, but the way Andrew almost runs to the edge of the lake, there’s obviously something he’s excited about.

  He wades in about knee-deep and grabs what looks like a tiny toolbox before he comes back out of the water.

  We meet about halfway between the woods and the lake, and he’s smiling—more than I’ve ever seen. More than I thought he was capable of, honestly.

  He kneels down in the grass, setting the box in front of him. “It’s the first aid kit. It’s small, but there are some medical supplies.”

  I sit down across from him as he opens it up, pulling out the supplies. There’s nothing that’s going to do a thing for what’s going on with my foot—particularly since it’s obvious we’re going to have to hike quite a long way to get to the cabin he saw as we were crashing. But there is one thing in there that will help.

  I grab the roll of white medical tape without a word and start peel back the edge.

  “Your foot, Victoria. I should dress it—”

  I shake my head, interrupting him. I look up into his ey
es with a frown. “Believe me. It’s beyond a Band-Aid at this point, Andrew.” I lift the tape up for a second before I start to wind it around the shirt covering my foot. “This is the only thing that’s going to help right now. And we need to get started toward that cabin while we’re still hydrated a little. While it’s still cool outside from the rain last night. If it gets hot today…” I don’t want to finish the sentence. I don’t want to let myself think about what’s going to happen if we’re out in the middle of what might as well be the desert since we have no water.

  “We’ll bring the kit with us, then. As soon as we get to the cabin, you’ll let me at least clean the wound. I would hate for it to become infected—”

  “It’s the least of our problems right now. Really. And I’m doing okay as long as I keep moving. If you start messing with it, I can’t promise you’re not going to have to carry me.” I finish winding the tape around my foot, making myself something of a padded shoe. The pressure from the tape is helping with the pain, too.

  I look up at him and smile, climbing to my feet. “Shall we?”

  He looks up at me and nods. I can’t read exactly what it is in his eyes, but it’s not the same disgust he’s had for me before. It’s almost respect, I think. Almost.

  He takes what’s left of the tape from me and gathers the other things he’s pulled from the little box and puts it all back inside, closing it up before he stands up next to me. He points in the distance. “The cabin is that way.” He turns to me with a frown. “I can’t say for certain how far it might be. It may have been two kilometers or it may have been ten.”

  I glance down at my foot before I look up into his eyes. “Well, I guess we’d better get going, then.”

  Andrew

  She’s scrappy, I’ll give her that.

  It worries me that she refuses to show me her foot, but I have no intention of wasting the morning arguing with her. We need to find help—and food and water—as soon as possible. We should have been arriving in Montovia right about now, and if I don’t make contact with my family soon, this might become a national crisis. Our country is already in a tenuous position politically. The loss of the heir—or the temporary perceived loss—could complicate things even more. And that’s not even considering the emotional stress to my family or even the citizens I’ll one day rule. For a moment, I consider suggesting that Victoria stay behind at the lake while I set off in search of the cabin. This would accomplish two things—first, keep her off her injured foot, and secondly, mean there will be someone there in case a rescue team should finally appear at the lake. But since we don’t know how far it is to the cabin, that plan is too risky—it might take me all day to find the cabin and return, and in that time she’d have no water or food or shelter. Not to mention that in survival situations, it’s usually much safer when the entire party stays together.

  She never would have agreed to it, anyway, I tell myself as we set off in what I hope is the correct direction. And I suppose right now I’d prefer a companion who’s stubborn and determined to one who’s helpless and panicky.

  Still, it takes some effort not to show any annoyance as we trek through the woods. Though she’s assured me she’s fine, it’s clear her foot is causing her some pain, and our pace is much slower than I’d like. At this rate, it might take us days to find the cabin.

  At least it isn’t raining anymore, I tell myself. On the other hand, the rain did at least give us a source of fresh water. As we march through the trees and the sun gets higher and higher overhead, my thirst grows more and more unbearable. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, and there’s a sharp, pounding ache in my skull, but there’s nothing to do but press on.

  After a couple of hours, I call for a break. I’d much prefer to keep going, but Victoria needs it. The stubborn girl refuses to say anything, but I’ve been watching her closely, and her limp has gotten slowly worse over the last kilometer or so.

  “You should sit down on that log,” I tell her. “I’m going to climb that rise over there and see if I can spot anything.”

  I don’t wait to see if she follows my suggestion. I stride over to where the ground rises and hike up the hill, muttering a prayer under my breath that we’re close to help.

  When I get to the top, I have a decent view of the surrounding land. Back in the direction from whence we came, I can see the field and the shimmer of the lake. We’ve come farther than I thought.

  In the other direction, though, I see nothing but trees. The entire landscape appears to be nothing but forest for as far as I can see.

  “Did we go the wrong way?”

  Victoria’s voice makes me jump. I spin around.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” I tell her.

  She gives a small shrug and a shake of her head. “If I sit down, I’m going to have a hell of a time convincing myself to get back up again. Better not to risk it.”

  I frown, thinking now might be a good time to suggest I should go on by myself to find help, but she pushes around me and places her hand at her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks out into the distance.

  “Are you sure it was this direction?” she asks me.

  I try not to prickle at her words, though she’s essentially accusing me of not knowing what I’m doing.

  “We’re following the path we flew,” I assure her. “Just in the opposite direction.” I squint, looking for anything that might suggest the existence of the cabin—a break in the trees, a curl of smoke…anything.

  “There’s something over there,” Victoria says, pointing.

  I follow her finger. In the distance, nearly on the horizon, I see some shapes that might be buildings.

  “That town has to be at least fifty kilometers away,” I say. We’ll collapse from thirst long before we ever make it there.

  “Not the town,” she says. “There’s a road coming this direction—look at the pattern of the trees. See, it runs from the town and cuts through the woods in that direction.” Her finger follows its path. “If there’s a cabin, there has to be a way for someone to get to the cabin. I bet that road leads right to it.”

  Amazingly, she might actually be right—if that pattern in the trees does actually indicate a road, it appears to be coming right toward us. Perhaps I should look into this Girl Scouts training Ms. Simpson spoke of and see about bringing the program to Montovia.

  “We can’t be far,” I say. “Even if we can’t find the cabin, then we may be able to flag down someone on the road.” I look down at her. “If you’d like to remain here and rest your foot, I can—”

  “Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m coming with you. I can make it, I promise.”

  “I can go more quickly without—”

  “I’m coming. And don’t try to stop me, Your Highness. You might be faster than me right now, but you won’t be able to lose me, no matter how hard you try.”

  “You reporters always take great pride in your ability to stalk people,” I say wryly.

  “One day, you might be grateful for that skill,” she says. “In fact, I bet if the media had gotten wind of the plane crash, we would have been out of here hours ago. I personally know of a bunch of reporters and paparazzi who would have hunted us down in the middle of that storm. They don’t fuck around.”

  Maybe it’s my extreme dehydration, or the pounding in my head, or maybe it’s just the ridiculousness of our current situation—either way, my mind must be halfway gone because I suddenly find myself laughing.

  “Who knew you had such a sense of humor, Ms. Simpson?” I say.

  “Who knew you did?”

  “Well, you don’t meet many self-aware reporters in your industry,” I say. “Most will continue to proclaim their innocence even if you catch them red-handed breaking half a dozen trespassing laws.”

  Victoria rolls her eyes and turns away from me. “Are we going? Or do you want to stand here and make cracks about my profession for the next half hour?”

  She’s righ
t—now that we know where to go, there’s no reason to waste any time.

  We march through the woods with me out in front and her limping behind. Every now and again I hear the sharp intake of her breath as she steps on her foot wrong, but every time I look back at her, she waves me on and assures me once again she’s fine.

  I want to continue to be annoyed with her, but more and more I find myself merely amused by her stubborn determination. In my few interactions with her before now, it’s been clear this woman isn’t one to sit back and let others tell her what she can or can’t do. In some ways, she reminds me of my younger sister Sophia—headstrong, tenacious, and a little wild.

  The delirium must be setting in, I tell myself. To think I might actually be starting to admire a tabloid reporter… Perhaps I hit my head in the plane crash, too.

  I’m still trying to process the absurdity of this revelation when I suddenly spot something up ahead. I stop.

  “That looks like the cabin,” I say. “You might want to stay back here.”

  “I’ve made it this far,” she says. “I’m pretty sure I can make it the last hundred yards.”

  I frown. “This isn’t about your foot. This is about who might be inside.”

  “I’m sure they’ll help us.”

  “If we were in Montovia, I’d have no doubt they would,” I say. “But I know things are different in your country. From what I’ve heard and seen, whoever is in there is just as likely to shoot us as help us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s watching us right now from the window with some sort of rifle in his hand.”

  Suddenly, Victoria starts laughing—and not a chuckle, either, but a loud, bright laugh that has her nearly doubling over.

  “What?” I demand. “What’s so damn funny?”

  “You are,” she says, still laughing. “You’ve been watching way too many movies, Your Highness.”

  I frown. “This is not about movies.”

  “Then where exactly did you get the impression that everyone who lives in a cabin sits around waiting to blow people’s brains out?”