The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1) Page 35

  “No.”

  His straight answer slows my pace, and I deflate, all of my hope wasted. I stare at his suit-covered back as the distance grows between us, until he comes to a stop and looks back, searching me out. His face softens when he sees my utter despair, and he paces back, placing his hand in the customary position on the small of my back to push me on.

  “There are no leads. No evidence. No motives. Nothing.” I’m escorted down the stairs, Damon scoping the area with keen eyes before moving in close to my ear again. “It seems Eddie got caught in the crossfire of someone out shooting, probably illegally.”

  “What?”

  “No one will come forward and own up to shooting illegally, especially near royal land. I know that, they know that. It’s been agreed that the Royal Family can leave Claringdon, but extra security measures will be put in place as a precautionary measure.”

  My relief is profound, for Eddie and for me, though I’m not sure what extra measures means. But I do know the republicans will be up in arms. Extra measures is just another reason for them to protest about what a waste of space and money we are. “So I can leave?”

  “You can leave.” Damon stops us at the bottom of the stairs, taking the tops of my arms. “But, and you hear me well, I am not beyond calling for your detainment here at Claringdon if you so much as put one foot out of place, do you hear me? No silly jaunts across London. No harebrained attempts to escape Kellington. You give me the runaround, young lady, and . . . and . . .” He doesn’t know what, but he doesn’t need to find a threat.

  I place my hand over his mouth. “I swear I won’t go anywhere.” My promise is solemn, and he nods, thankful. “Without telling you,” I add.

  I’m scowled at. “You are a pain in the royal arse, ma’am.” He releases me and stands back, straightening out his suit. “I’ll get the car ready.”

  I’m gone in a flash, racing up the stairs as I bash out an excited text to Josh on my way. I don’t bother calling Jenny or Kim to help me. It will take too long. I have my things together quickly, everything stuffed into a bag haphazardly with frantic hands before the decision to free everyone is withdrawn. I don’t call for assistance from one of the footmen, lugging my bag myself through the palace, my steps rushed, my heartbeats fast.

  “Your Highness.” Davenport’s call from across the gallery landing doesn’t slow my stride. If anything, it injects more urgency into it, my bag jumping down the steps behind me as I run down them. “Your Highness.”

  I stop, closing my eyes, praying I’ll be allowed to leave. “Yes, Major?”

  “The King would like to see you.”

  My heart sinks. Everything inside of me sinks. Will he order me to Spain again with Haydon? Looking to Davenport, I try to read him, try to gauge what I’m going to face. He’s expressionless, back to the Davenport we all know and don’t love. “I was just leaving.” My declaration carries no impact. His arm sweeps out in gesture toward my father’s office, and I follow it with my eyes, staring at the door where the King sits beyond. On a lumpy swallow, I abandon my bag on the stairs and drag myself back up, my heart in my feet as I trudge to the office.

  Davenport opens the door and announces me. I’m not in the least bit surprised to find David Sampson and Sir Don relaxed in the chairs opposite my father’s desk. Their presence has been a constant for the whole lockdown. The King is immersed in his usual plume of putrid air, chewing on the end of a fat cigar, but he looks tired, his complexion grey, a far cry from the alcohol-induced rosy cheeks he usually sports. Chairs litter the floor space, all brought in to seat the masses of men who have been here for the endless meetings these past two weeks.

  “Father.” I sound meek, timid, and it is only being fueled by my growing trepidation.

  “Sit, Adeline,” he orders, sucking tightly on the end of the brown stick hanging from his mouth. Even my moves are apprehensive, my body slow in lowering to the chair, my eyes constantly casting between the men. “You are to return to Kellington,” he tells me, firm and blunt. “You will not leave the grounds until clearance has been given.”

  I nod, though I’m wondering if every other member of this family has received the same warning. So I’m being moved, but only from one prison to another. I still won’t be able to see Josh. The King’s priorities may have changed since this madness, but I haven’t forgotten that I was in the process of being shipped to Spain with Haydon prior to all of this. My mind spirals, questions and worry all blending together, causing a fuzz that is not allowing me to think straight.

  “The monarchy has been pulled through the media shredder these past weeks.” Father flicks his eyes to David Sampson, who nods mildly, like he is encouraging the King to push on. “We need something to take the limelight off Edward’s incident. Some good news.”

  He doesn’t need to go on. I know exactly what will be said next. Some good news. Like an engagement. My ribcage is sustaining some pretty brutal crashes of my heart into it, though I fight not to allow my anger and pain to show. I need to think on my feet. So now I will be used as a distraction from the negativity? Be pushed into a marriage with a man I do not love. Father will be killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. How very resourceful of him. “I understand,” I say, my voice calm and straight, though on the inside I am disintegrating. Words form in my head, all sensible words, my survival instinct kicking in. I need to buy myself some time.

  I sit forward in my chair, looking directly into my father’s eyes. “I would like to go to Evernmore,” I say, and his head cocks a little, interested. The royal estate in the Scottish Highlands is as close as you could get to the wilderness in Britain, nothing within miles and miles. It’s where we spend our Christmases, and where the King and Queen Consort holiday. It’s where members of the Royal Family escape to when they need space. It’s also less of a fortress than any other royal residences. “I realize my role in the good news you speak of.” I sound so calm, and I honestly do not know how I’m doing it. “I’m asking for a few days to process this. To process my future.”

  The King is rarely taken aback. But my lack of retaliation—my seeming compliance—has pushed him back in his chair, his eyes passing between David, Sir Don, and me. David, I notice, is also slightly startled.

  “I don’t see why not,” Father says. I sag in relief, thanking him profusely in my head for giving me this little bit of freedom before he locks me up for my life sentence.

  “I’m not sure that would benefit anyone,” David says, and I shoot him a look, enraged. “Let us just get on with it.”

  “Two days,” I grate, turning my pleading eyes onto the King. “Just two days, Father. That’s all I ask.” I can sense David doesn’t trust me. I won’t let him sway my father’s decision, won’t allow him to take this gift from me. It feels like a hundred years while I wait for my father to decide whose side he is on, a hundred years of holding my breath and holding back my shakes.

  “Two days,” Father finally says, making David grunt and me jump up from my chair in elation.

  “Thank you so much, Your Majesty.” I round his desk and do something so out of the ordinary, dipping and kissing his cheek. “I will relish the fresh air and walk every trail in the loch you showed us as children.”

  A smile from my father is an exceptional privilege, and so is any display of affection. I get both. He beams at me, tapping my hand where it rests on his shoulder. The easiness, I know, is only because I finally appear to be bowing to his demand, though I cherish it nevertheless. “Two days,” he affirms. “You can leave tomorrow morning. I’ll have the royal helicopter take you.”

  “I’d rather drive.” I scold myself for my small protest. I shouldn’t be pushing him, but the drive to Scotland will kill more time. “Besides,” I rush on, “No need to give the republicans an excuse to criticize our spending habits.”

  Father waves a dismissive hand as he takes a long draw of his cigar. “The costs will be taken from the duchy. They can’t complain about that. By air
is safer, and I’ll hear no more of it.” Smoke billows from his mouth as he speaks, engulfing me in its haze. Coughing under my breath, I move out of the cloud and relent to his wishes, simply grateful for his permission.

  “Thank you.” I back away, aware of David’s sour expression fixed on me, as well as Sir Don’s. I’d love nothing more than to toss them a victorious scowl, though I refrain, keeping my head level. They would have a ring on my finger this instant, and Haydon and me on the balcony of the palace soon after, presenting us to the world as a happy couple. David is desperate to be classed as royal by marriage and association, whereas Sir Don is simply an antiquated old fool who’s trying to uphold royal traditions.

  I have no idea how I play this nightmare once I’m out of this office. For now, I just need to get away from here. I need to find myself, and even more than that, I need to see Josh. He’ll know what to do.

  THE SHADOW OF THE HELICOPTER is a mere blip on the plains of barren land beneath us, growing as it glides over the hills, and shrinking when it dips between the valleys. And the noise, a consistent, loud whirring in my ears, has helped drown out my screaming mind. As the walls of Evernmore Estate appear on the horizon, far, far away in the distance, I hope for just a smidgen of ease to dampen the constant fretfulness plaguing me. We pass the Loch, the waters still and eerie, and the scattering of green is sparse. The beauty of this place is almost haunting, the landscape no different to hundreds of years ago.

  Our descent is a little hair-raising, the wind whipping through the moors capturing the chopper and swinging it like a pendulum as the pilot brings us in to land. The sensation of the feet meeting the ground kick-starts my breathing again, a voice through my hearing-defenders declaring our landing.

  The staff of Evernmore await me, the impromptu visit sure to have sent them into a tailspin. Damon disembarks first, dipping and taking my hand to help me down, and we jog beneath the blades until we’re clear of the spinning metal. I nod my hello to the line of people ready to greet me, one taking my coat, and breach the entrance of the castle, breathing in hundreds of years’ worth of history. The echo of my boots hitting the stone floor is only slightly muffled by the tapestries suspended from the brick walls.

  I head straight for the stairs that take me to my suite, Damon following, giving orders to the footmen who have my bags. For the thousandth time, I check the time on my phone, and again mentally calculate Josh’s flight time and landing. If I’m correct, and I’m sure I am, he should have landed over an hour ago. Why hasn’t he called?

  “I’ll leave you to settle in,” Damon says, backing out of the room as I remove my boots.

  “Thank you, Damon. I’m sure the cook will fix you something if you are hungry.”

  “I’m heading straight to the kitchen.” He smiles, and I return it. I know he loves it up here, especially the haggis that is served like tea.

  Although I’m listening for it, I still startle when my phone rings, and I scramble to answer. “Josh.”

  “What’s going on?” he asks immediately. “I’ve landed in London, and you’ve left the fuckin’ country.”

  I smile to myself. He’s affronted, and I can’t blame him. “We need to talk.”

  There’s silence for a few moments. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “God, no.”

  “Then explain why you’ve hauled ass to Scotland.”

  “Because if I didn’t, they would have had me engaged to Haydon Sampson and told the world before I could think to argue. I’ve bought myself some time.”

  A growl. Such a deep, hostile growl. “Tell me you’re fuckin’ with me.”

  “I’m not fucking with you.” I wander to the window and stare out across the Loch. “I thought, what with everything that has happened, my life—and me—would drop down the King’s priority list. I was wrong. I’ve shot to the top. They’re planning on using my engagement to Haydon Sampson as a decoy, as such. A distraction from the negativity surrounding the royals and Eddie’s accident.” I hear Josh choking down the phone on a cough, my barrage of information obviously hard to swallow.

  “You’re really not fuckin’ with me, are you?”

  I sigh, feeling the invisible pressure weighing down on me. “It’s now or never, Josh.”

  “It’s now, that’s what it is.” He’s absolutely seething, and while part of me is grateful for his devotion and commitment, the other part is full of dread. I just wonder if he truly appreciates the shitstorm we’re about to create. “Where are you?” he demands. “Tell me exactly where you are.”

  “The Evernmore Estate. It’s in the middle of nowhere. I have two days grace from the King before I have to return to London to announce my engagement.”

  “I’ll be there by this evening.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll charter a plane. A fuckin’ rocket if I need to. Where’s the nearest airport?”

  “Glasgow.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m there. I’ll need directions.” Loud, muffled thuds pound in the background, the bustle of the airport getting louder. “I’ll call my people. Don’t speak to anyone before I’m there, okay?”

  “Shouldn’t be hard. There’s no one here, except Damon, the staff, and me.”

  “Or calls. Please don’t take any calls.”

  “Why? Who would be calling me?”

  “Your father. Davenport. Sir Don. Fuckin’ Haydon Sampson or his prick of a dad. I don’t want you speaking to any of them until I’m with you. Tell me you understand, Adeline.”

  He’s worried that I’ll be brainwashed. Or, worse, followed to Scotland and dragged back to London. That’s not going to happen. At least, not for a few days. Yet I confirm what he wants to hear anyway, imagining he is feeling helpless. And I can understand why. There are so many facets to being royal, so many obligations and protocols to follow. It would be largely unknown to the general British public, let alone an American. He must think this is all far too archaic and nonsensical. Yet it’s not. “I understand. Please, just hurry up.” Part of me hates needing him so much, yet I don’t feel strangled by that need.

  But rather . . . soothed.

  We say our goodbyes, and I spend endless hours familiarizing myself with Evernmore, roaming the castle corridors alone. Josh texted me not long after our call to tell me he had chartered a plane from Heathrow to Glasgow, and from there he has a helicopter waiting to bring him here. I’ve never been more grateful that he has more money than God. My ears have been listening for the sound of chopper blades while I’ve roamed, and I’ve checked the horizon out of every window I’ve passed, searching for him. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve seen him. Two weeks of pure misery. Two weeks of constantly reliving every moment we have shared, frightened I might forget. Two weeks of falling asleep with his picture on my phone next to my head on the pillow. I’ve missed his fun-loving yet cocky presence. Two weeks of Helen’s moaning about the stress for the baby. Two weeks of Mother’s stoic silence. Two weeks to think about how I nearly lost a brother. What would I have done without Eddie? We’d Skype when he’s on tour, naturally, but I haven’t feared losing him because after each deployment, he comes home. And two weeks ago, he nearly didn’t.

  I need to see Josh. Emotionally, my heart has missed its mate. Physically, I’m literally bursting with anticipation to see him. Kiss him. Feel him everywhere.

  It’s when I’m taking the stone steps of one of the spiral staircases in the west wing tower that I hear it. A helicopter. There is no mistaking it. It’s faint, but it’s there. With my heart in my mouth, I race down the stairs in search of a south-facing window, skidding to a stop in front of the first one I find. Gasping for air, I look past the lead-framed glass, having to wipe away the condensation when my hot breath mists the glass. I see it. In the distance, a blob on the horizon. Josh.

  Throwing myself down the rest of the stairs, I run full pelt through the castle, sailing past many staff who move from my path, no doubt alarmed by my strange behavior. My ch
eeks are aching with the smile on my face, my skin tingling, as if anticipating his touch. I burst out of the doors, circling round to the helicopter pad, my eyes squinting, seeing he is closer. Waving frantic hands in the air, I jump on the spot. It’s pointless. The pilot can’t possibly miss the sprawling estate surrounded by nothing, but still.

  Unable to contain my excitement, everything feeling a million times better just knowing he is here with me, I send him a text message.

  I can see you!

  My arms are back in the air again, waving like a loon.

  “Ma’am?”

  I swing around, my face splitting with my smile, and not even Damon’s confusion can wipe it away. He made me promise no runners. I’m not running. He can’t possibly chastise me for this.

  “Did I miss the memo?” He scratches his head, his muddle clear as he looks past me to the helicopter.

  “It’s Josh,” I say, smiling small and awkward when he darts a shocked stare back to me.

  Then his eyes disappear, hidden behind his lids as he gathers patience. “I should have known.”

  My phone bleeps, and I glance down to read the message from Josh.

  You’ve got good eyesight. I’ve not even left Glasgow. Technical problem with the chopper.

  Ice glides across my skin, and I whirl around, the helicopter now close—close enough to see the royal emblem emblazoned on the side. “Oh my God.”

  “That’s not Josh, Adeline,” Damon says gravely. “That’s the King.”

  I’m a statue, watching in horror, numb and muddled, as the chopper comes to land on the pad. My father disembarks, and my dread multiplies when I see David follow closely behind, as well as Sir Don and Dr. Goodridge. “Father?” I question as he strides toward me. I don’t like his face. Not at all. It’s fixed and determined.

  “I’m here to hunt,” he declares as he passes, my body turning to follow his path. “And we should discuss the arrangements.”

  “What happened to my two days?”