Page 48 of Royal Secret

JAKOB

The old wooden gate creaks on its hinges as I push it open, a familiar sound that has always signaled a safe haven from the rest of the world. The garden is thick and plentiful, vegetables growing in rows. Grandfather Rolph’s house, nestled in the hills outside the capital, stands as a silent sentinel against the chaos of royal expectations.

I tread the sandy path, my shoes crunching softly in the quiet afternoon. Despite the tranquility here, a storm brews within me — one of guilt, confusion, and betrayal. Except for Oliver, I’ve been ignoring my phone and haven’t talked to anyone. I need this respite, however fleeting, to gather my scattered thoughts.

“Jakob!” Grandfather’s voice rings out from the back garden, rich and warm.

I round the corner to find him, sleeves rolled up, tending to his beloved birds. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, offering me a kind of peace no one else can provide.

“Come, help me with feeding them,” he beckons, gesturing towards the assortment of seeds and breadcrumbs on the weathered stone bench.

I join him, scattering seeds into the small ceramic dishes positioned around the garden. Finches and sparrows flit down from the trees, their chirps creating a symphony. Watching them peck away contentedly, a laugh bubbles up from my chest, unbidden yet sincere.

“Perhaps I should just move in with you, Grandfather. Abandon all this talk of succession and leadership,” I say, half-jesting, half-desperate to escape the life that I have twisted into an unrecognizable mess.

Rolph turns to look at me, his gaze penetrating and all-knowing. “You could,” he says slowly, “but that wouldn’t be you, Jakob. Your heart is too intertwined with Bergovia and her people.”

He’s right, of course. My dreams have always been colored with visions of leading my country, of making a difference for those who call it home. Yet, in this moment of uncertainty, the thought of a simpler life is a temptation I struggle to ignore.

“Your dedication to Bergovia is what makes you who you are,” Grandfather continues, his words ringing with truth. “It’s in your blood, much like these birds are drawn to their sanctuary.”

I nod, knowing he is correct and wishing — for perhaps the first time in my life — that he were not.

“Tell me,” he says, “what is new in your life?”

Surely he knows about Courtney. Even though my grandfather does his best to live separated from any sort of drama or hubbub, the biggest news always finds its way to him.

I don’t want to talk about Courtney, though. What I want is to find some subject that will actually make me feel good, as feeble of an attempt as that seems right now.

I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the unease that has settled there. “Grandfather, there’s a sapphire necklace…”

He freezes, hand in the bowl of bird feed, his eyes unblinking.

“You know the one I am talking about, correct?” I ask. “It was stolen from the palace years ago. I’ve managed to retrieve it. It’s back with our family now, where it belongs.” My words, meant to be triumphant, hang in the air — a fragile attempt to soothe the sting of Courtney’s absence.

Rolph tosses a handful of seeds, but his movements are slower now. His eyes, usually warm and twinkling like stars on a clear night, cloud over with an emotion I can’t quite place. It’s not the joy I expected; it’s something deeper, tinged with sorrow.

“Where did you find this necklace?” he breathes.

“From a woman.” I clear my throat. “Courtney Fuller. Father asked me to keep an eye on her. Make sure she wasn’t a threat. She is a descendant of the Bergovian Jägers and?—”

“Oh, Jakob,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a breath.

“Isn’t it good news?” I ask, the intensity of his gaze heavy upon me.

My grandfather lowers his hand, allowing the birds to flutter away unattended. He turns to face me fully, and his next words are delivered with an unexpected gravity that roots me to the spot. “I’ve never told you the full story behind that necklace, have I?”

I shake my head, a sense of foreboding coiling in my gut. “Do you… know who Courtney is?”

“What is her relation to Anna Jäger?”

“Anna was her grandmother,” I say, not entirely sure why my blood is suddenly running cold.

“Anna Jäger and I, we were childhood friends,” he begins, his voice wistful. “And then… we were sweethearts, in secret. Our parents’ dispute was only part of the reason her family left Bergovia.”

“Sweethearts?” I echo, stunned. The history of our families had always been painted in broad strokes of political strife, not clandestine love affairs.

“Yes,” Rolph continues, a melancholic smile playing on his lips. “I gave her that necklace as a promise of my undying love when we were fourteen, right before she had to leave. I believed, foolishly perhaps, that one day we would find each other again.”

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