Page 42 of Royal Secret

He takes a step toward me without taking his eyes off me. “Courtney, what’s?—”

“Did you ever actually like me?” The question bursts from me, raw and aching. “Or was I just a task? Something to check off your royal to-do list?”

He opens his mouth, but I don’t want his practiced apologies or polished lies. I’ve had enough of feeling like a pawn in someone else’s game. And I’m done playing.

His eyes widen, a plea perched on his lips. “Courtney, please, let me explain?—”

“Explain?” My voice cracks like ice beneath the weight of my anger. I cross my arms, guarding against the chill of his betrayal. “How do you explain lying to me? Pretending to care?”

He steps forward, his hands reaching for me, but I recoil. “I did care — Idocare,” he insists, desperation tinging his words.

“Stop.” I hold up a hand, needing space between his deceit and my shattered trust. “You were watching me because your father told you to. Because I might be a… athreat?” The last word tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Look, it started that way, yes, but—” His jaw clenches, and I can nearly hear his wheels spinning as he tries to find some way out of the confrontation.

“Started that way.” The phrase echoes in the hollow space where warmth used to flicker. “It doesn’t matter how it ended, Jakob. It shouldn’t have started at all.”

“Please, Courtney,” he begs, his composed veneer cracking.

“Goodbye, Jakob.” The words tumble out, firm and final.

Turning on my heel, I rush toward the door, refusing to look back at what could have been. My fingers fumble with the latch, a clumsy escape from a fairy tale gone wrong.

Once outside, the morning air bites at my cheeks, and the first tear runs down my face. I don’t get far before someone steps right in front of me. Squinting through my pain, I manage to process that there’s a man standing in front of me, phone raised up to film me.

“Hey, it’s her! The girl who was with Prince Jakob!” He shouts it loud, as if he wants the whole world to hear.

Panic knots in my stomach as I quicken my pace. Another shout. Another shutter click. Tears blur my vision as I push through the growing crowd, their cries swirling around me like vultures over prey.

“Is that the prince’s new flame?” someone shouts too loudly.

“American gold digger,” another sneers.

Each word is a dagger, each picture taken a reminder of the love story that never was. I wrap my arms around myself as I flee from the piercing eyes and prying lenses.

I need to get away. But where to? There are people everywhere, all looking, all dissecting me with their eyes. One woman points out to her friend that I’m wearing last night’s dress, and another one shakes her head at me, as if embarrassed that her prince would stoop so low.

A grocery store’s automatic doors slide open, offering a temporary haven from the relentless phones and gossips outside. My high-heeled feet click against the cold linoleum floor, and I quickly disappear inside.

I dart past the rows of colorful produce, the faces of curious shoppers blurring into a single canvas of confusion. They can’t possibly understand the storm I’m running from, the hurricane of emotions tearing through my chest. I spot the sign for the restrooms and veer towards it, my refuge now just a few strides away.

“Miss, are you all right?” A store employee eyes me with concern, but I can’t afford to stop, not even to craft a lie.

“Fine, thank you,” I mumble without slowing down, pushing through the bathroom door and locking it behind me.

My reflection in the mirror shows a stranger — red-eyed, disheveled, a princess stripped of her illusory crown. Sobs choke out between breaths, and I lean on the sink for support. It’s only when I find my phone in the clutch I’ve somehow managed to hold on to that I remember Mimi, my lifeline in this country.

With trembling hands, I pull the phone out and give her a call. If she doesn’t answer, I don’t know what to do. There must be car services here in Bergovia, but I don’t know which ones they are.

“Hey, Courtney.” Her voice is the lighthouse in the darkest storm, soothing over the raw edges of my panic.

“Mimi, can you come get me? Please, I— I’m at the grocery store on Rue de la Paix.” My words are a plea, a tether thrown into the storm.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice sharpens. “Are you okay?”

“Not really.” I bite my bottom lip, holding back a sob. “I’m not in danger, but… I just need a ride. I can send you my location.”

“Of course. Stay put. I’m on my way.” She doesn’t ask any more questions, doesn’t push for explanations she knows I’m not ready to give.

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