Page 46 of Royal Secret

“How are you now?”

“I’m… already better.” I smile, realizing just how much I mean that.

“Dinner is almost ready. Lasagna.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I pause. “Actually, if we have a bit of time, there’s something I’d like to do first. An errand. I’ll be quick.”

“You take your time.” She reaches over and smooths my hair.

The cemetery is close, only about ten minutes in the car. I drive over, feeling odd that it’s the first time I’ll have been here since the funeral.

Navigating my way down the path, I find the foot of my grandmother’s grave, the Texas sun shining over the marble headstone. The wind rustles the leaves, carrying with it the scent of wildflowers and earth.

“Hey, Grandma,” I murmur, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips despite the bittersweet pang in my chest. “I visited Bergovia, you know? It was beautiful — like stepping into a fairy tale.”

My fingers trace the engraved letters of her name. “Castles, gardens, and those snow-capped mountains. Now I see where I get my taste for adventure.”

I settle onto the neatly trimmed grass, folding my legs beneath me. “But I’m home now, and there’s no place like Texas. I understand why you left it all behind and never looked back.” A lump forms in my throat as I think of the secrets and lies that beat at the edges of my mind. “The royal family… they’re not what they seem. You protected us from that, didn’t you?”

Sighing, I let my gaze drift to the horizon, where the sky melds into a canvas of dusky pinks and oranges. “I can’t say I’m not hurt by what happened. Jakob… he betrayed me in a way I never thought possible.” The words hang heavy in the air, but speaking them here feels right — like Grandma is listening, her spirit offering silent solace.

As the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the graveyard, I push myself to my feet. “I should go. Tomorrow’s my first day back at work. Back to reality.” I offer a small, wistful smile to the headstone. “Thanks for listening, Grandma.”

The drive home is quiet, the roads familiar and comforting in their own right. Each passing block brings me closer to the life I’ve built here — the one that’s real and tangible, not a fantasy wrapped in deception.

In the embrace of my own house, setting the table with my mom, I find a different kind of peace — one that promises new beginnings and the chance to heal. Jakob left an imprint on my heart, but he’s not the entire world. Life goes on, and so will I.

CHAPTER 25

COURTNEY

Itap away at the keyboard, equations and graphs populating my dual monitors in a rhythmic dance. It’s strangely soothing, the quiet click of keys, the soft hum of computers, and the occasional murmur of voices from neighboring cubicles. My routine is a welcome distraction from thoughts that have no place here — thoughts of Bergovia, a small country I’ve tried to lock away in the back of my mind.

“Did you hear about Prince Jakob of Bergovia?” Emily, one of my coworkers, says somewhere behind me.

The sudden intrusion of his name slices through my concentration like a knife through silk. I stiffen, fingers pausing mid-air.

“Ugh, yes! He’s on that list for the world’s most eligible bachelors, right? So hot.” Fatima’s voice, laced with excitement, drifts over the partition.

“Top ten hottest men, actually,” another corrects with a giggle. “Can you imagine dating royalty?”

I close my eyes. Seriously? Before Bergovia, I had no clue who Jakob was. Sure, I knew they had royalty there, but he wasn’t on my radar at all. And now, in a cruel twist of fate, it’s like I can’t escape him.

The women’s words spark images I desperately wish to douse — crystal-blue eyes, a smile that once set my heart racing, a touch that hinted at promises and secrets. But it was all a lie, all pretend. Even if it felt as real as the computer sitting in front of me.

I force my thoughts back to numbers and charts, the safe monotony of work. I succeed, somewhat, as the conversation becomes a dull buzz in the background.

But my body seems to rebel against my efforts to ignore Jakob’s existence, a stir of unease bubbling in my stomach. I try to blame the nausea on the half-eaten bagel from breakfast or maybe too much coffee. I’ll just stick it out till lunch, and then I can?—

The screen starts to blur, and I press a hand to my mouth as a wave of dizziness hits. No, not now. Not here. I stumble to my feet, gripping the edge of my desk. I need air, or water, or?—

“Are you okay, Courtney?” The concerned voice of my desk neighbor barely registers as I bolt toward the restroom, footsteps echoing in the suddenly claustrophobic space.

I barely make it to the stall before my stomach heaves, and I’m clutching the cold porcelain as if it’s a lifeline. The retching seems endless, and when it finally subsides, I’m left trembling, a cold sweat clinging to my skin.

This isn’t just some random sickness. I know my body, and this feels different, wrong. I rinse my mouth out, splashing water onmy pale face, avoiding my own reflection. With shaky hands, I text my supervisor:Not feeling well. Going home.

Once outside, the fresh air does nothing to alleviate the tightness in my chest or the tremble in my limbs. I slide into my car, resting my head back against the seat, taking deep breaths that taste like freedom and fear.

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