Chapter Seven
Kir Sokolov
Dree
Back in the servants’ area of the castle, Dree sought out Chiara, who was in the business office inputting numbers in spreadsheets. The palace areas where the royals held events and receptions were ornate, every square inch studded with priceless antiques or art.
The staff areas were mostly underground, windowless, and utilitarian. Tube lighting buzzed in the ceiling fixtures above spartan desks and net-backed office chairs. The faint scent of damp rock permeated the space despite an air filter whirring in the corner.
Chiara’s dark blond hair was as perfectly coiffed as the day before, except her bun at the nape of her neck was smoothly braided instead of a shiny knot. Her chic dress was burgundy instead of black. She held her hands clasped at her waist and ducked her head as she asked Dree in her low, calm voice, “Did your appointment proceed properly?”
“Oh, yeah,” Dree said, nodding so hard she could see her blond curls swaying around the edges of her vision. “I took notes on everything they said, did a quick summary at the top of the take-aways, and handed the tablet back to him.”
“And then you transmitted your notes to the archives?”
“Um.” Dree paused. “Archives?”
Chiara nodded slowly. “All notes must be deposited in the archives. The Prince, or in this case, Prince Maxence, is the head of state and the government. All documents and items that go through his hands must be deposited. All notes or recordings of conversations must be archived.”
“Okay, I’ll do that next time.” She guessed she wouldn’t be doodling rock band logos on her notes anymore.
“Were you using one of the palace’s tablets to take notes?”
“I think so. Max—I mean, His Serene Highness, Prince Maxence—gave it to me to take notes on.”
Chiara’s regulation smile softened. “Then it’s all right. Documents on those tablets are uploaded automatically to the archive cloud.”
Including her Killer Valentine doodle.Awesome.A winged guitar and the wordsDuke Alexandre Valentinwah is XAN VALENTINE OMG IT ALL FITSwould be preserved in her curly writing in Monaco’s archives forever.
Great.
Just great.
“But that’s not what I’m here for,” Dree said. She pulled her cell phone out of the little beige satchel-bag that Chiara had picked out for her the night before. “Could I get the palace’s WiFi password?”
“Oh, of course. And here, I’ll admit you to the network.”
Chiara handed Dree a business card with an impressively long line of gobbledygook on it. When Dree had meticulously pecked it all in, Chiara found her device and authorized access for her phone. “You should be all set now.”
Just as Chiara finished her sentence, Dree’s phone buzzed.
Texts and notifications poured down her screen.
“Oh!”
They kept coming.
Dree grimaced. “I guess it has been a month.”
And yet more bings and buzzing.
“Okay, this is ridiculous,” she said.
The stream slowed and ended.
Chiara smiled at her. “You’re very popular.”
“Uh, yeah.” Dree started reading.
