Page 22 of Royal Secret

He leads me downstairs, past the guards, who bow and address him as “Your Highness,” and out to the curb. A sleek black car glides to a stop in front of us, and something about its quiet arrival makes my pulse quicken. Jakob opens the door for me with a courteous bow, and I slide into the plush leather seat, feeling every bit the stranger in a fairy tale that’s not mine.

As the driver pulls away from the curb, I’m acutely aware of the curious stares following us through the window. Heads turn, whispers flutter like leaves in the wind, and for a moment, I imagine what it must be like to live under such scrutiny every day.

“Is it always like this?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from the onlookers who seem both intrigued and respectful.

“More or less,” Jakob replies, his voice tinged with a note of resignation. “One learns to find privacy in plain sight, or not at all.”

I nod, still processing. Prince Jakob. It’s strange to reconcile the man I thought I knew with the royal before me now. He catches my gaze, a question in his eyes, but I have no answer to give. Instead, I focus on the changing scenery as we leave the city behind.

The castle emerges on the horizon like a sentinel watching over Bergovia. Its ancient stones are a testament to history, standing proud and unyielding against the passage of time. I catch mybreath as we approach, the grandeur of Schloss Klein dwarfing everything around it.

“Welcome,” Jakob says, as if he can sense the awe spilling through me.

We’re greeted at the entrance by a guide whose knowledge seems limitless. Each room is more stunning than the last, with tapestries that recount tales of old, and chandeliers that sparkle like constellations. Jakob remains close by, a constant presence, pointing out hidden details and sharing anecdotes that bring the stone walls to life.

“Go ahead, take pictures,” he encourages, gesturing to an ornate fresco that stretches across the ceiling. “You’ll want to remember this.”

I pull out my camera, trying to capture the essence of each moment. Through the lens, I see not just the beauty of the castle but also the care with which Jakob treats his heritage. His pride is palpable, and as he watches me frame a shot, there’s a softness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about the view or something else entirely.

“Very,” I reply, and in that second, it’s true.

The castle, the country, this unexpected journey — it’s all breathtakingly beautiful. And maybe, just maybe, so is the prince beside me. But I tuck that thought away, focusing instead on the here and now as we continue our tour through the heart of Bergovian history.

The tour guide, to my surprise, leaves us, telling us to take our time looking around.

“She trusts us?” I ask Jakob, before remembering who I’m talking to.

Correction: she trusts Jakob. A prince of Bergovia. Me, she doesn’t know from anyone else.

“I want to show you something,” is all he says.

Jakob leads me through a set of heavy double doors into a secluded garden, and I find myself grappling with more than just the beauty surrounding us. The air here is sweet with the scent of roses and lavender, and the air feels different here. More precious.

“Most visitors don’t get to see this part,” he says, a hint of pride lacing his words. “It’s my mother’s favorite retreat.”

I trail my fingers over the petals of a blooming rose. Jakob watches me, and there’s that same tenderness in his gaze. It occurs to me then; he’s trying so hard to win me over.

But why? Can a prince truly be interested in a commoner like me? Or is guilt over the necklace compelling him to kindness?

“Thank you for showing me this,” I say, not wanting to accuse or question him yet, instead expressing genuine gratitude.

His smile deepens, reaching his eyes, and there’s an unspoken connection that passes between us — a current of what we experienced last night. Or maybe just of whatIexperienced. For all I know, Jakob faked even being interested in me.

“Would you like to see the rest of the gardens?” he asks, gesturing toward a cobblestone path that snakes through the foliage.

“Sure,” I reply.

As we walk, the chemistry between us seems to thicken, tangible in the shared glances and light touches as he guides me past a fountain, his hand briefly resting on my back. I’m not imagining it. He’s here because he wants to be. He wants to be next to me.

The idea of extending our trial day bubbles up inside me, and I already know I’ll ask. Teasing myself with possibilities seems foolish — after all, he is a prince — but then again, when will I ever get another chance to experience Bergovia like this? I didn’t come all this way for nothing, and the allure of spending more time with Jakob, learning about his world, is too tempting to resist.

“Jakob,” I begin, pausing beside a bed of tulips that paint the ground in splashes of color. “Would it be possible to… extend our day together? There’s so much more I’d love to see.”

He turns to me, eyes alight with pleasure. “So, our little trial day worked after all.”

My cheeks warm. “Don’t pat yourself too much on the back.”

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