Page 35 of Royal Secret

“Anytime, Courtney.” Jakob’s smile is gentle, and there’s a promise in his tone, an unspoken vow that he’ll be there, wherever my search for belonging takes me.

But as we walk on, I can’t shake the feeling that, while Jakob has found his anchor, I am still adrift, caught between worlds and wondering if I’ll ever truly find my place.

CHAPTER 19

JAKOB

Outside Courtney’s hotel, I linger beside her, not yet ready to part ways, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. The stories I grew up with, painting her family in monstrous strokes, now seem like little more than cruel caricatures. Her resilience, her grace — how could such qualities stem from the villainous roots I was taught to believe were true?

“Jakob?” Courtney’s voice, tentative and soft, pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry, I was just…” I struggle for the right words. “I’ve been thinking a lot about… our families. About history.” I look into her eyes, trying to convey the depth of my newfound understanding. “No one should be exiled for standing up for what they believe in. I want to — no, Ineedto — start making amends.”

She watches me, clearly surprised by the intensity of my confession. A small smile touches her lips, but it doesn’t reach her guarded eyes. “That’s very noble of you,” she says quietly.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight?” The question escapes before I can weigh its implications. It’s an innocent enough invitation, but behind it lies a hope for something more, something deeper between us.

Today has changed things for me. First showing her the history of her family. Then having the photos taken outside the café. She was in some of them, I know, and the internet is probably already abuzz, people wondering who the beautiful woman seen with Prince Jakob is.

It makes me realize how short life is, how much I’ve been overthinking things. Sowhatif Courtney and I were to become an item? The world would not come crashing down; the days of such a courtship causing political instability are long over.

And my father…

Well, I would need to explain it to him. Explain it and cross my fingers, hoping that this turn of events would not impact my running for the crown.

Courtney hesitates, glancing away. “Jakob, I don’t think— that is, we can’t get personally involved.” Her words are careful, measured, but they don’t soften the blow.

The pang hits me harder than expected, a sharp ache right through my chest. But pride won’t let me show the true extent of my disappointment.

“It’s not a date,” I manage to say, even though that’s exactly what I was asking her on. “Just two people sharing a meal, trying to bridge a decades-old divide.”

“Okay,” she finally concedes, offering a cautious nod. “Dinner, then. As friends.”

“Friends,” I repeat, the word bittersweet on my tongue.

As she turns to enter the hotel, I force a smile, pretending that my heart isn’t yearning for so much more.

With the front door closing behind her, I stride away from the hotel, my mind a whirlwind of plans and emotions. If she doesn’t want a date with me, I will respect that.

And I will still do everything I can to make the evening wonderful. She was dealt a bit of a blow today, and if I can soften that in any way, then I will. I want tonight to be perfect — something she won’t forget.

“Somewhere with a view,” I murmur to myself as I walk.

The mountains here are an artist’s dream, their peaks like strokes of white against the sky. That’s where I’ll take her. A place where the beauty of Bergovia can soften the past, even if only for the evening.

Back in the quiet haven of my office, I spread out maps and brochures across my desk, searching for the ideal location. There’s an abrupt knock on the door, and Oliver saunters in, the ever-present grin on his face doing little to lift my focused mood.

“Brother,” he greets, flopping down onto one of the leather chairs, “Christina has been on a mission, you know? She’s convinced you’re harboring some state secret.”

“Is she now?” I say, barely glancing up from the colorful pamphlets.

“Indeed,” Oliver continues, stretching out his legs. “But I told her I’m as clueless as she is — which is the truth. Whatever you’re hiding, you’ve kept it well.”

“Nothing to hide,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just… busy with things.”

“Things,” Oliver echoes with a teasing lilt. “Very mysterious. But there’s something, isn’t there? A woman?”

“What makes you think that?”

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