Page 24 of Royal Secret

Before I can muster up any words that might bridge the chasm between us, she’s out the car door. Her bag slung over her shoulder, she doesn’t glance back as she strides toward the hotel door and disappears inside.

I should feel relieved; duty prevails, emotion tucked away for another day, another lifetime perhaps. But my chest tightens in regret. She’s hurt — I know it. The way she held herself, so rigid, so guarded. It’s my fault. And yet, my apology lingers, unspoken, swallowed by the greater need to protect the crown, its image pristine and unblemished.

“Good night, Courtney,” I murmur to no one, a futile gesture, an unseen olive branch extended toward an empty space on the street.

“I will walk back to the palace,” I announce to the driver. It’s a nice evening, and I could use some fresh air to clear my head.

He looks at me in the rearview mirror and nods. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

With a deep breath, I shake off the lingering unease and step out of the car. I tug on the hem of my jacket, steeling myself against the brisk evening air — and my own tumultuous thoughts.

“Your Highness!” A chorus of high-pitched calls greets me as I turn the corner.

A throng of women, clustered like vibrant wildflowers, waits just outside a hip restaurant. Autograph seekers, admirers, each withtheir smartphones held aloft like digital shields, ready to capture a moment with Bergovia’s most eligible bachelor.

“Jakob! Over here!”

“Please, just one picture!”

Their voices blend into a melody of yearning, their hands reaching, stretching toward me as if I were salvation itself. A part of me longs to indulge them, to play the role they all expect. But not today. Today, their touch feels intrusive, their attention a garish spotlight when all I crave is shadow.

“Sorry, ladies,” I say, mustering a polite smile. “I have urgent matters to attend to.”

I weave through the crowd, careful not to brush against the outstretched fingers, the perfumed wrists. But they’re persistent, ebbing and flowing around me like the tide chasing the moon. They follow me down the street, a cascade of giggles and pleading words. My pace quickens, desperate now to escape, to find sanctuary from prying eyes and grasping hands.

“Your Highness, please wait!”

“Jakob, look this way!”

Their voices chase me through a park, into a bar, out its back, and down an alley. The cool darkness of the alley welcomes me like an old friend, and I lean against the brick wall for a moment, catching my breath, my heart a chaotic drumbeat in my chest.

Most of the time, it’s not like this. With Bergovia as small as it is, it’s common to see royalty out and about, and celebrity isn’t worshipped here the way it is in some places. Still, there are moments where I get an excited squeal or a woman begging meto marry her — or, like tonight, a whole crowd of them chasing after me.

The sound of a door opening makes me look over. Several of the women have emerged from the bar and into the alley.

“There!” One of them points at me in excitement.

Cursing under my breath, I take off at a clip for the end of the alley. The hum of a car engine cuts through the clamor, and I see the familiar black sedan rolling up to the curb. Relief floods me as the window rolls down, revealing the stern face of Stefan, one of my most trusted security guards.

“Your Highness,” he says, with a nod that is both respectful and urgent.

“Stefan,” I exhale, sliding into the back seat as quickly as I can. The door shuts with a satisfying thud, silencing the calls of the women outside. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Part of the job, sir,” he replies, though I catch a hint of a smile in his eyes through the rearview mirror. Poor little prince, being chased down by a hoard of women. I’m sure it looks silly.

The car pulls away smoothly, and I sink back into the plush leather, trying to ease the tension in my muscles.

“Everything well, Your Highness?” Stefan asks.

“Fine now, thanks to you,” I say, meaning every word. “There was just a bit more… enthusiasm than usual.”

I need to be more careful. My mind travels back to Courtney, her shutter clicking, capturing moments with an artist’s eye, and how easily our paths crossed. The press would have a field day ifthey caught wind of anything between us. It’s not justmyprivacy at stake — it’s hers too, and she doesn’t deserve to be hounded by paparazzi because of my indiscretion.

“Stefan, I’m sure you know where I was earlier. Who I was with.”

He nods. “Yes, sir, I do. Miss Courtney Fuller.”

“We need to make sure this evening stays off the record,” I say firmly. “No one needs to know about my… appointment today.”

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