The pure terror and shock beat through me as King Theo stood there, staring down at three servants’ kids. We froze on the spot, our tongues tied, our bodies shaking with nerves. All I could think about was how much trouble we were going to be in when our parents found out.
And just as I felt tears start to well up in my eyes, an onslaught of apologies on the tip of my tongue, Theo leaned down, pressed his hand to my shoulder, and called out, “TAG,” before taking off down the hall. It took us a few seconds to react, but once we did, we chased him all around the palace until he led us into the kitchen, where we shared a bowl of cookies and four glasses of milk. I still consider it, to this day, one of the best days of my life.
After that, he was like a grandfather to us, and we were the grandchildren he never had.
“She’s right,” Brimar says. “You need to not only give her a chance, but you need to make sure she succeeds, if not for the fate of the country, then for Theo.”
I roll that around in my head, and the fact of the matter is, he’s right. They both are. I love this country more than my own life. I have dedicated my world to protecting the people and the king, so why is this any different?
Why is she any different?
She isn’t.
Chapter Five
LILLY
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
It’s just wind.
It’s not some scary ghost, lurking in the corner, making scratching noises, preparing to swallow you whole and bring you over to the dark side.
To say this is not what I was expecting when I arrived is an understatement. Maybe I got too caught up in shows like The Crown, but . . . I mean, I wasn’t expecting an old, creepy stone castle in the middle of nowhere as my place of residence. Can you blame me? I’ve tried to convince myself all night that my decision wasn’t made in haste, that I did the proper fact-checking, and that I’m here for a chance to learn about my mom, but ladies, if you’re listening . . . this is what nightmares are made of.
I pull my covers up to my wide-open eyes as I stare at the drafty ceiling. My legs rattle under the sheets, my heartbeat is thrumming in my throat, and my ears are playing tricks on me by sending signals to my brain . . . did you hear that?
What about that?
I think someone is in the room.
No! No one is in the room.
I fluctuate between being absolutely freezing thanks to the “summer” weather, to a frantic heat beat every few minutes because of the nerves bouncing around in my body. One moment I’m able to convince myself that everything is going to be okay, and then the next, I believe the Loch Ness Monster is tapping on my window, waiting to take me into its loch forever.
And before you jump on my back, yes, I realize the Loch Ness Monster is a Scotland thing, but that’s how insane my brain has been tonight. It’s traveling all the way to the land of kilts to scare me.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I freeze.
See, did you hear that?
It’s a ghost, spooking the brave yet stupid American lying in its bed.
My hands shake as I pull the blanket up even higher. Someone is outside that sliver of a window with an axe, mentally fucking with me. Every few seconds, they’re tapping the window, letting me know that they own my thoughts and my nightmares.
I lift the sheet past my comforter and wave it in the air, metaphorically waving my white flag.
I give up, okay? Take me as your prisoner, but just do it already and stop fucking with me. I can’t do this all night. Take me to the hollows of your phantom hotbed where you feast on souls.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ahhh! I didn’t mean it!
Don’t take me to the hotbed. I’m too young.
Tap. Tap. Thud . . .
I let out a scared squeal as I plug my ears and squeeze my eyes shut.
This is not happening. Nope. There isn’t some poltergeist oozing from the stone walls, ready to light up the room with its neon, radioactive spook vomit.
Everything is fine. Dare I say, on the up and up.
Think good thoughts, like . . . flowers. Those are pleasant.
And . . . uh, cat tongues. Love that sandpaper feel.
And I hate to admit it, but Keller’s man cleavage, that’s . . . that’s a nice image.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap.
God, I hate Timmy.
Ohhhhh, go be a royal.
It will be fun, he said.
You will be living out a dream.
Well, guess what, Timmy Tuna, this is not a dream, this is death knocking at my door. A slap in the ass by the medieval monsters lurking around for fresh blood. They can smell it from ten miles away. They know I’m weak, they know I’ll bow down before them, they know the lightest of taps will turn me into a ball of anxiety, ready to bend over for whatever they have in store for me.