Page 51 of A Fierce Princess

“I’ll manage,” he replies as he follows me to the door. I peek out, and seeing the coast is clear, I quickly usher him out of my room. And just in time too, because Pete comes walking down the hallway, clearly on patrol in this wing. I give him a smile before I run down to the drawing room and find Shannon sitting with a pot of tea. I take the seat next to her.

“So?” I ask as I look down at my watch. It’s 11:30 a.m., which means my father will be debriefed soon.

“We’re fortunate that you had no appearances booked for another two days because we weren’t expecting you back so soon. I’ve managed to discreetly rearrange the rest of the schedule this week. Obviously, the press has heard about your uncle’s jet. The drastic security measures are, of course, not public knowledge. I’m suggesting we leave your schedule for next week in place for now. You don’t have any commitments until mid-week,” she says, stopping to sip her tea.

“That’s fine,” I reply as I pour myself a cup of Tessa’s famous tea. I’m not completely sure what spices she adds, but it’s heavenly.

“So, what’s going on with Logan?” Shannon blurts out. I almost spit the tea all over her.

“I beg your pardon?” I answer with a bit of a cough.

“Anna, I wasn’t born yesterday. And, hell, if I had a chance, I wouldn’t miss that opportunity either. That boy is fine,” she says.

Her completely honest answer has me laughing. “I’m just enjoying his company,” I say to her because it’s the truth and also very noncommittal.

“Oh? You’re ‘enjoying’ his company, are you?” she says with a smirk.

I do my best to prevent the eye roll that I know I’m incapable of stopping.

“Shannon,” I growl.

“Fine, be that way,” she says. “Your father has asked everyone to be in his office at quarter after twelve. I believe he expects to have information to share by then.”

I nod.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Not yet. Your aunt and uncle just arrived though, so…” She trails off as she looks past us. I want to groan because I know my aunt is likely impatiently waiting at the door. The fact that she hasn’t entered the room and interrupted us surprises me.

“Hello, Auntie Lara,” I say as I turn to find her standing with her arms crossed. She’s wearing a skirt suit that looks more like she belongs in a corporate business boardroom than a palace.

“Hello, darling,” she says as she makes her way into the room. I rise, and she greets me the standard double cheek kiss. I can see the worry in her eyes. As much as Auntie Lara can be a royal pain in my ass, she’s the closest thing I have had to a mother, along with Tessa and Helga, since my mother’s death. Auntie Lara is too formal to ever smother me with kisses, but she does keep a hand gripping my arm before she pulls away.

“I was so worried; both of us were,” she says, referring to Uncle Hans. A little part of me wants to laugh because I’m pretty sure Uncle Hans was as worried about his jet as us. His “toys” are like his babies. When we were younger, my father would send us out for a week or two at school breaks to visit my aunt and uncle at their cottage home in the countryside. And by cottage home, I mean a sprawling manor house not much smaller than the summer palace. Uncle Hans always had a new car, boat, jet, or some sort of contraption. He comes from a long line of entrepreneurs. He inherited his father’s empire when he was twenty-three and never looked back. Money is his life. Once Auggie scratched his brand-new limited edition Bugatti with his bike pedal. You would have thought he single-handedly brought down a space shuttle. Needless to say, we were always very careful around Uncle Hans’s toys after that incident and the ensuing three-hour lecture from our uncle regarding taking care of belongings.

On the flip side, Uncle Hans was also the most mischievous of our clan. He always allowed us to go out on the boats on the lake without adult supervision, once we could prove to him that we could operate them to his liking, of course. Those boats, jet skis, four-wheelers, were all child-approved. He explained all this in that three-hour diatribe. It’s funny how I’ve forgotten so many conversations, while others stick in my head like glue.

“We’re fine, Auntie,” I say to her.

“Well, I need to get settled, but I will see you at dinner, darling,” she says as she pulls away. She gives me a small smile, and I smile back at her. She very much resembles my grandmother, what little I remember of her as she passed away when I was only four. I have a few fleeting memories of her though. She was kind, but stern. She was the epitome of an old-school royal.

I turn back to Shannon. “I’m going to Father’s study, unless we have more to discuss,” I say to her. She shakes her head and follows me. I knock on the giant wooden door.

“Come in,” my father’s voice calls out from the other side. The fact that Marcus doesn’t answer for him gives me pause, but I open the door and walk in. Shannon freezes, clearly taken aback as well. I look back at her, and she shakes her head and steps to the side, sitting down on the antique bench in the hallway.

I walk in and find my father sitting not at his desk, but at a large oversized leather chair by the window. He doesn’t look my way but stares out at the garden.

“Father?” I ask.

“Have a seat, sweat pea,” he says, using my childhood nickname.

“Are you alright, Daddy?” I ask as I sit and tentatively place my hand on his arm. He finally turns and looks at me. In the light shining in from the garden, I can see all the lines on his face. His thinning, gray hair looks even more sparse on his head. He looks…old.

He doesn’t smile his reassuring smile, and that causes me to swallow nervously. “It was a bomb,” he says, his voice low.

I grimace and flinch because now the guilt I was feeling is crushing down on me like a ton of bricks.

“Do we know who?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

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