Page 49 of Royal Secret

The garden around us falls into a hushed silence, the earlier tranquility now a specter of regret and lost time. I feel my throat tighten, understanding dawning upon me like the cruelest sunrise.

“Anna…” My grandfather blinks. “Washer grandmother?”

“Yes.” It pains me to say what comes next. “She died several weeks ago.”

His shoulders slump.

“Grandfather, I am dreadfully sorry,” I add, thinking about him growing up, growing old, always holding on to the hope that his first love will come back to him.

Is that how it will be with me and Courtney? Will I always be watching the road for her to drive up?

He shakes his head. “I finally accepted I would likely never see her again. Not in this lifetime, anyway. Do not feel sorry for me, Jakob. I am an old man, but I have had a good life. As far as the necklace… your father did not know. I never told him.”

“Then… the necklace…” I struggle to find my voice. “It should belong to Courtney?”

“Indeed,” he says, his eyes glistening. “It was never really ours to claim back.”

I reel from the revelation, feeling the foundations of my actions crumble beneath me. I thought I had done something noble, something right — but the truth is far more complicated than I could’ve imagined. Guilt gnaws at me, the image of Courtney’s angry face when I took the necklace resurfacing with newfound clarity.

“Grandfather, I— I didn’t know.” My words are a mere breath, a feeble attempt to mend what I’ve unwittingly broken.

“Sometimes, the right thing is not the easiest one, Jakob,” Rolph says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “But there is always a way to make amends.”

As the finality of his words sinks in, I’m left with a heart fraying at the edges, wondering how many more threads will unravel before I can begin to weave them back together.

CHAPTER 27

JAKOB

I’m pacing the length of the palace library, the significance of my grandfather’s words settling like lead in my chest. The silence is thick, broken only by the soft ticking of the antique clock on the mantel.

“Take it back casually,” my grandfather had said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if talking about borrowing a book and not a royal heirloom.

I stop mid-step, still grappling with the suggestion. My hands clench into fists at my sides; it’s so unlike him, so underhanded. But the gnawing guilt over how things ended with Courtney pushes me forward.

“Right,” I mutter to myself, my resolve firming.

It’s the right thing to do. For Courtney. For Bergovia. For my own conscience that refuses to give me peace.

With a determined stride, I leave the library and make my way down the cool, stone corridors of the palace. The walls are adorned with portraits of people who, even in death, seem to bejudging me. But I no longer care. I am doing what is right; what I need to do.

I descend the spiral staircase to the family vault, my footsteps echoing off the ancient stones.

The vault door groans open, a sound fitting for the chamber of treasures it guards. The air inside is musty, filled with the scent of old metal and dust. I step inside, the dim light from the overhead bulbs casting long shadows. My eyes scan the shelves lined with artifacts and jewels, each piece a chapter in Bergovia’s rich history.

But I’m here for one item alone.

Moving to the inventory ledger resting on its pedestal, I flip through the pages with a sense of urgency. The detailed script lists every item accounted for, but as I reach the section where the necklace should be noted, my heart sinks. The space next to its description is glaringly empty. No sign-out date. No mention of its whereabouts.

My breath catches in my throat. It’s not here.

Panic flares briefly before I tamp it down. There has to be an explanation. A loan to a museum, perhaps? Misplaced paperwork?

Yet deep down, a voice murmurs the truth I don’t want to acknowledge: the necklace isn’t lost. It’s just not here.

So then where would it?—

The answer comes to me in a flash. The necklace is not in the vault, because it was never returned to the vault!

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