Page 8 of Royal Secret

“Courtney Fuller,” I utter her name like a vow, a silent pledge that her presence here in Bergovia will serve my ends.

A slow smile slips across my lips. In one morning, everything has changed. I have a rival to watch and a kingdom to win.

CHAPTER 5

COURTNEY

As the cab weaves through the cobblestone streets in the historic district of Bergovia’s capital city, I press my face closer to the window.This is real. I’m actually here!

And all by myself.

The realization is bittersweet, a reminder that this journey is mine to experience on my own. There’s no one to laugh with, no one to watch my back. At the same time, though, the isolation is freeing.

“Could you stop here, please?” I ask the driver as we approach a quaint café, its windows fogged up from the warmth within.

He nods, and I step out into the embrace of a new world, the air alive with the promise of fresh beginnings. My luggage rolls behind me, a cumbersome contrast to the lightness growing in my chest. I’ll head to a hotel soon to drop my things off, but I just couldn’t wait another minute to get a real taste of Bergovia.

The bell above the door chimes cheerfully as I enter the café, and the aroma of coffee and sweet dough wraps around me like a welcoming hug. I’m drawn to the glass display where rows ofgolden pastries beckon with a flaky allure. I point to one that seems to be smiling at me, its center oozing with what looks like berry compote.

“Un Krunzj,” says the woman behind the counter with a smile. “A traditional Bergovian treat.”

I’m embarrassed to not speak Bergovian, but I read that nearly everyone here speaks English as their second language. Maybe, if I can, I’ll pick up a little of my grandmother’s native tongue while I’m here.

She puts the pastry on a plate and serves me a cup of coffee. I choose the closest table, its top decorated in little pieces of broken ceramics. It looks homemade, like the result of someone’s hobby.

I brush crumbs off my fingers and reach for my phone to snap a photo of the half-eaten Krunzj, thinking it would make for a warm memento of this moment. As I lift the screen, I catch sight of the cluster of fox stickers adorning the case — a small tribute to my fixation with the clever creatures.

“Those are adorable,” a voice chimes from beside me, tinged with a Bergovian accent that feels as comforting as the pastry’s taste.

I glance up to find a woman with chestnut hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her eyes bright with friendliness. She’s waiting behind a couple people in the line that’s formed up to the counter.

“Thanks,” I say, feeling a spark of kinship. “I’ve always loved foxes.”

“Me too,” she says, pulling out her own phone to reveal a similar array of fox-themed decorations.

I feel my eyes widen. “No way.” What are the chances that we both have fox stickers on our phones?

She laughs. “I’m Mimi, by the way. I live just down the street.”

“Courtney.” I can’t help but smile; it seems Grandma Anna’s homeland is full of surprises — and potential friends. “I’m here for the week.”

“You’re American?”

I nod. “But my grandmother was from Bergovia.”

“Looking for a place to stay?” Mimi asks.

“Actually, yes.”

She winks at me. “Hold that thought.” It’s her turn at the counter, so she orders herself a cup of coffee before returning to my table, where I gesture for her to sit across from me.

“Try the Hotel Bergrose,” she says. “It’s just a few blocks away, and the owner, Mr. Schmidt, makes guests feel like family. It’s fairly cheap, too.”

“Thank you, Mimi. That’s exactly what I need.”

“Take my number. Text me if you need anything.” She holds her phone to mine so that we can share contact information. “Or if you would like a tour guide.”

“Thank you. I definitely will.”

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