Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  I’m in Edinburgh.

  My brain is still numb from everything that’s happened, my stomach gaping empty. I take a five-pound note from my hand, searching for something to eat. The distinct smell of grilled onions and ground beef wafts in the air, and I see a sign for Wee Burger Kitchen.

  I burst into the burger joint, which is a small place with plain, black tables. Oh my God, that smell. I thought I’d never smell it again.

  “Give me a cheeseburger and fries.”

  The clerk stares at me. “Chips?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. That’s what I mean, sorry.”

  For the next half hour, I savor the cheeseburger and fries. The TV over my head streams news from the UK. It doesn’t really hit me until I’ve sat there for a while.

  I’m in Scotland.

  I’m free.

  My heart beats faster as I stare out the window. There’s no need to return to Anglefell, no need at all. I could run to the airport right now and book a flight to California, and leave Anglefell forever. I could quit being a princess and leave Liam forever.

  My stomach clenches, uncomfortably full with the cheeseburger. Leave Liam?

  Wasn’t that what you were constantly complaining about? Don’t you want to go back?

  Not like this.

  I imagine myself boarding a plane, turning my back on Liam without a care in the world. No, I can’t do that to him. I don’t want him to think I ran like a coward. It wasn’t my choice. Lucian forced me on that boat—I need to get back to Liam.

  Then a sick feeling hits me.

  I can’t go back. There’s no direct travel from Scotland to Anglefell. It’s outlawed.

  Well, fuck.

  I dig in my pants for my cell phone before realizing I don’t have it with me. There’s no way I could call Liam—I’ve no idea what his number is.

  “Shit.”

  A family sitting next to me turns their heads to me, and I meet their gazes, smiling apologetically. A rotund woman returns the smile a little stiffly, and then her mouth goes round.

  “Oh my God! You’re the girl!” She points at me, stammering. “Princess Daisy!”

  Oh God. I’m in a different country with no security dogging my footsteps. This could be really fucking bad. Recognition dawns on the faces of other patrons. I stand up, heading for the door.

  “Wait!”

  “You’re mistaken.”

  “You are her,” she says in a stronger voice. “How did you even get here?”

  “Please, I don’t want any trouble. I was brought here.”

  Her husband pipes up. “We know all about your situation. We can take you to the American embassy right now, and you’ll be able to go straight home.”

  “No, I don’t think—”

  She takes my arm. “We can get you home!”

  “But Liam—”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about them,” the husband says in a poisonous tone. “The royals can’t touch you here, of that I assure you.”

  “Those barbarians probably forced her to marry Liam.”

  “No!” I rip my arm out of his grasp as their shocked faced turn toward me. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t forced!”

  “But they said on the news that you trespassed,” he says.

  “I don’t want to go back to America.”

  He looks at his wife helplessly. “But they held you captive.”

  I flinch at the word and step around them, opening the door to disappear through it. My heart slams into my chest as I walk down the street.

  I don’t want to go back.

  The thought of returning home to a life without Liam in it makes my chest tighten. The photo taken by Royal Exposé drifts through my mind. That perfect afternoon, his lips giving heat to my body, as though I weren’t drenched in freezing water. Oh God, he tried to ask me to stay, and I threw it in his face. I need to go back.

  I turn around and head back toward the piers, but everyone’s gone for the night. An odd sound drifts through the air, and I realize it’s music. Bagpipes. Then I spot the building the music is coming from, and I see people inside—Edinburgh Yacht Club.

  People with boats!

  I walk inside, and the bagpipe music amplifies. An older woman sits behind a desk. There’s some kind of event going on. I spot a man dressed in a ceremonial bagpipe-player clothes. There are people with platters of food walking around, talking.

  “Miss, may I see your membership card?”

  “I don’t have a membership. I just need to charter a boat.”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to submit a request using our website—hey!”

  I don’t have time for this.

  There’s a crowd of people and a huge, blue banner for Eric’s birthday, whoever the hell that is. People wear paper hats, and there’s a giant cake in the shape of a yacht that’s slowly being carved into slices. The receptionist appears at my elbow.

  “You need to leave.”

  I ignore her, sprinting toward the stage where there’s a microphone. The receptionist fights her way toward me as I grab the microphone and switch it on. The man playing the bagpipes stops abruptly, and the whole room goes silent.

  “Uh—hi. I’m sorry to interrupt Eric’s birthday party, but I have an important request.” I clear my throat, and when I speak my voice is strong. “A very important request. My name is Daisy Walker, and I was kidnapped from my home. I need passage back to Anglefell immediately, and I’m willing to pay whatever.”

  The crowd stares at each other for several moments before letting out a few awkward laughs.

  Oh God. They think I’m a comedy act.

  “This is not a joke, I assure you.”

  They awkwardly clap.

  Frowning, the receptionist finally hurries onto the stage. “All right, you’ve had your fun.”

  “No! I need your help! Don’t you recognize me?” I stare at the crowd, looking for any signs of recognition. “I need to get back to Anglefell to my husband!”

  “She’s not lying,” someone wearing a party hat says. “I recognize her from that shite tabloid.”

  “Yeah,” another man chimes in.

  “Why the fuck would you want to go back?” he says.

  I falter, the microphone slipping in my grip. What can I say that won’t sound incredibly stupid to them?

  “I can’t get into why—just that I need your help.”

  “Are you daft, woman? We can’t sail you back to Anglefell. There is no travel to Anglefell.”

  “Then how the hell did I get here? Explain that to me, genius.”

  The receptionist makes a grab for the microphone, but I dodge her.

  His eyes narrow at me. “Any ship illegally sailing in Anglefell territory will get blown out of the fucking water.”

  Fuck.

  “Isn’t there something you can do? I’ve got to get back there!” Frustration builds in my chest at all the people pointedly ignoring me. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  The man who spoke to me stands, pointing toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my birthday party!”

  A few other men join the struggling receptionist on stage and tug my arms gently, taking the microphone from my hands.

  “Please leave,” she says.

  “All right,” I roar at her. “I’m going.”

  The receptionist gives my back a final shove as I’m pushed out of the yacht club into the chilly air. Jesus, it’s cold. I pull my hood over my face, breathing in the salty wind as a newspaper tumbles across the pavement. A thrill runs through me at the sight of it, happiness swelling in my chest like a balloon.

  There’s a much better way to get back to Anglefell, and I’ve just found it.

  For a second it feels as though I’m back in that stiff chair they made me sit in for hours before my wedding, keeping my face as still as possible as they painted me.

  The stylist smiles at me. “We’re almost done with hair and makeup, and then we’ll be ready for the interview.”
r />   The interview.

  A cold drop runs down my throat. I made a promise to Liam, but hopefully he’ll understand that this was the only way I could think of getting back to him.

  It didn’t take very long to find an Internet café and email ADC News. Within hours, they had a team assembled at the hotel I was staying at. The place is a mess. I don’t think I’ve slept more than a handful of hours. There’s an empty cheeseburger wrapper sitting on the coffee table. Maybe all the fat and sugar is keeping me awake.

  “All right. I think we’re just about done.”

  The artist adds finishing touches to my lips before she smiles at me in the mirror. I look pale and petrified, despite all the makeup.

  “Remember to smile!”

  I know all about pretending to smile. I’m a fucking princess. This is child’s play.

  The camera crew smiles at me as I stand from the chair and walk to the plush seat across from the reporter. Melissa from ADC News is already camera-ready, her golden hair ironed into stiff curls. Her fuchsia lips smile at me.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  The lights flare on like two small suns, bathing us in light that pretty much forces me to avoid the cameras and focus on Melissa. The cameraman holds three digits over his head, two, one.

  Melissa turns her head and smiles in another direction. “And now our exclusive interview with Daisy Walker, a woman from California who traveled to Anglefell illegally and became the country’s first American princess. Now for the first time, we hear her speak.”

  For a second I imagine my frightened face on someone’s television in the Midwest, PRINCESS DAISY running as a marquee on the bottom, and I have a bizarre urge to laugh.

  “Hi, Melissa. Thanks for having me.”

  “You’re welcome, and thank you for speaking to us.”

  “I’m very happy to be here.”

  My blood careens through my veins as she leans on the arm of the couch, giving me a wicked smile.

  “Daisy, the question on everyone’s mind has been: how does an American girl become a princess?”

  I grin back. “You fall in love with a prince, I guess.”

  I can already hear the awwww of the audience.

  “Right.”

  “I didn’t plan to fall in love. I just really wanted to meet him.”

  “You took a big risk. Anglefell’s not known for its lax punishments.”

  “They’re not, and it was definitely scary. There were many times I asked myself what the heck I was doing, but I knew it would be the single biggest regret of my life if I didn’t at least try. He’s the one for me.”

  “When exactly did you realize you fell in love with him?”

  My mouth goes dry. “The day at the lake.”

  Fuck, no!

  “After you were married?”

  “Well—yes. I-I thought I was in love, but it never felt more real on that day, when he dived in the lake to rescue me even though it was totally unnecessary. I’d never been held like that in my whole life.”

  “It was a very sweet photo. It must be difficult dealing with the paparazzi.”

  I give her a small shrug. “That’s what you sign up for when you marry a royal. I knew what was going to happen. I knew I’d have to take etiquette lessons and would have security round the clock.”

  “You took lessons to become a princess?”

  “Of course! It’s not that easy, you know. Let me show you. Stand up.”

  Bemused, Melissa stands up, and I teach her how to walk a few steps like a princess. Melissa gets into it, taking my criticism in stride.

  “How did I do?” she asks me.

  “Decent.”

  She laughs. The audience will eat this shit up.

  Still smiling, she sits back on the couch, clasping her hands on her knees. “So, the statement you wrote on your Facebook page seemed very cut-and-dry.”

  “That’s because I need help to get back home. I was kidnapped from the castle.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday, four strange men shoved me into a car and smuggled me into Scotland on a boat. I’m just trying to get back to my home in Anglefell.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s no passage from Scotland to Anglefell.”

  “No.”

  “Can you walk us through what happened last night?”

  I launch into an overdramatized and tearful account of my kidnapping, tactfully deciding not to name the men who took me. The bastards better be grateful. Melissa leans forward, helpfully offering me a box of tissues. I pluck one of them and hide my dry face under it, pretending to be overcome with emotion.

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

  It was more of an annoyance than anything else. “It was awful. I got extremely seasick, and the crew just laughed at me as I was vomiting all over the ship.”

  “Oh my.”

  “All I want is to go back home to my husband.”

  One of the producers mouths something to me. Then she mimes crying.

  Damn it.

  I glance into one of the burning lights, and my eyes immediately water.

  Then I try to work a tremble in my voice. “It was cold, and I had no idea where we were going, or if I’d even live to see another day. When they left, I begged the Edinburgh Yacht Club for passage back to Anglefell, but they kicked me out.”

  I dab at my eyes as Melissa lets out another shocked sound.

  “Did they know who you were?”

  “They knew who I was. They just didn’t care.”

  She reaches across the table as I keep sniffling. “Did you get a good look at any of your kidnappers?”

  “No! They were all wearing masks.”

  Those fuckers better be grateful I’m not calling them out by name. I debated for hours whether to mention Prince Lucian and decided against it at the last minute.

  She nods. “Let’s change the subject for a moment. Daisy, can you tell us a little about what life is like in the castle?”

  I sit up straight, clasping my hands in my lap. “Anglefell is a beautiful country. It wasn’t until my honeymoon tour that I really fell in love with it. Everyone we met was so warm and welcoming. I’ve really grown to think of it as my home, you know? It’s no longer the place I wanted to visit for fun—my life is there.”

  “What about California? Your studies?”

  I stumble for a few moments, looking into her bright eyes. “There will always be a part of me that misses California.”

  “What do you miss the most?”

  “The weather. My classmates. My family.”

  “We’re just about to run out of time, but do you have anything you’d like to say?”

  “Yes, please.” I look away from Melissa into the black, reflective lens of the camera. “I implore the government to let me have safe passage to Anglefell. I was brought here against my will. Liam, if you’re listening, I love you. Please bring me home.”

  Home.

  I don’t know where the hell that is anymore.

  Within minutes of airing that interview, Prince Liam’s fans flooded his Twitter and Instagram accounts with questions. They were basically demanding to know where I was and why he hadn’t yet saved his princess. They actually managed to overload the server of the Anglefell royal family website. The whole thing crashed.

  I type yet another desperate plea on my Facebook page, urging the government to allow me to go home. Waiting for the necessary documents from the American embassy could take weeks, and I simply can’t handle weeks away from my beloved husband.

  Or something like that.

  The Scottish government was forced to put out a statement that they would consider allowing me passage to international waters, but that Anglefell would have to meet me halfway.

  So here I am on another motherfucking boat, puking my guts out. The press insisted on filming the whole emotional reunion. I hope they’re getting some of my vomit on tape. Everyone will know how p
rettily I barf.

  Liam’s Instagram updates with a selfie of himself standing on his white yacht, the same boat captured in all those Whore Boat tabloid articles. He smiles at the camera, his hair windswept and beautiful, the sun shining on his handsome face. A little bump hits my heart when the picture flashes through my screen, and I can’t help but smile through my nausea when I read all of his hashtags: #savingmyprincess, #princetotherescue, #noonecanbreakus. His fans celebrate in the comments: We love you guys, I’m so happy!

  Damn, these people are really rooting for us. It’s not like the beginning when I had a million bitches threatening to cut my throat for stealing their prince.

  The Scottish crew cheers suddenly, and I watch as a sleek, white boat bobs in the distance. Here we go. Just keep your vomit inside your stomach for a few goddamn minutes. The cameras flock around me like strange black birds as I grasp the railing. It doesn’t take long for the yacht to catch up to our smaller boat, and then suddenly it’s rising out of the water like a white giant. How the hell am I going to get up there?

  Liam’s head pops up over the railing, and he waves at us. Then he climbs into a yellow inflatable boat, and it’s lowered into the water. The waves lap against his boat as he detaches it from the ropes and paddles to us. I let out a happy cry and run down the steps as the camera crew follows me. I can almost hear the swell of violins as Liam climbs into our boat and catches me in a bear hug.

  “I missed you so much!”

  “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you.”

  He takes my face in his hands. The way he looks at me is as though I’m a cherished lost thing. I’m confused. The cameras disappear for a moment when he pulls me closer for the kiss I didn’t realize I was dying for. Then there are tears in my eyes. I don’t know why, but I’m crying. Liam wipes them away gently.

  “Let’s go home.”

  He tucks me under his arm as we wave to the Scottish crew, and then he climbs into the yellow boat.

  “Bye! Thank you!” I wave at the cameras as Liam paddles back to his yacht and attaches the inflatable boat back to the rig. It yanks us upright, and nausea jolts back into my stomach.