Royal Mistake
Page 12
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 watching 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.
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Royal Mistake
Royal Mistake unfolds over the course of six novels. Each follows the continuing story of Prince Andrew of Montovia and Victoria Simpson. Royal Mistake is the second of the Royal Heartbreakers Series. Royal Heartbreaker (Leopold) is available now.
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