"I'm sorry, Your Highness.Some cases don't close the way we want them to."
The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, broken only by the occasional encrypted message buzzing on Captain Steiner's phone.Each time it rang, her expression grew a little grimmer, and the knot in my stomach grew a little tighter.I tried to distract myself by exploring the jet's entertainment system, which had approximately eight thousand movie options, but it's hard to focus on romantic comedies when you're pretty sure you're flying toward some kind of international incident.
The jet touched down at what looked like a private airfield surrounded by mountains that belonged on a postcard.Or possibly in a fairy tale.Through the window, I could see a convoy of black cars waiting on the tarmac, along with several men in dark suits who screamed "security detail" and "we take ourselves very seriously."
"Welcome to Valdoria," Captain Steiner said, finally breaking her ten-hour streak of professional silence.
"It's very..."I paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to say "intimidatingly fancy.""Mountainous."
She almost smiled at that.Almost.Her lips definitely twitched, which I was counting as a victory.
The ride from the airfield to the palace took about twenty minutes through winding roads that showcased exactly how much money this tiny country was sitting on.We passed vineyards that looked like they'd been maintained by teams of artists, medieval villages that appeared to have been preserved in amber, and luxury resorts that probably charged more per night than I made in a month.Every so often we'd pass someone on the street who would stop and stare at our convoy, probably wondering which celebrity was visiting.
Surprise.It's just Betty from Oregon.The barista princess.
And then we rounded a curve, and I saw the palace.
"Holy shit," I breathed, before remembering I was supposed to be acting princessy now."I mean, holy...castle."
The palace perched on a dramatic cliff like something out of a fairy tale, all honey-colored stone and elegant spires reaching toward the sky.It was massive without being gaudy, imposing without being intimidating.It looked like the kind of place where people wore tiaras unironically and had strong opinions about which fork to use for the fish course.
It looked like the exact opposite of everything I was.
"The Grand Duchess is waiting for you in her private salon," Captain Steiner said as our car pulled up to an entrance guarded by men in ceremonial uniforms.The uniforms involved a lot of gold braid and very tall hats, which seemed impractical but impressive."She's very eager to meet you."
"Wait," I said, something nagging at me."You keep saying Grand Duchess, but didn't you call me Princess Bettina?"
"That's correct."
"Shouldn't I be a Duchess if she's a Grand Duchess?"
"In a Grand Duchy, the heir can hold the title of Princess while the ruler is the Grand Duchess," Captain Steiner explained."It's a bit unusual, but perfectly legitimate."
Right.Because nothing about this situation could be simple or make sense according to normal human logic.Why start now?
The palace interior was somehow even more overwhelming than the exterior.Marble floors that reflected everything like mirrors, paintings that probably belonged in museums, and chandeliers that could have supplied electricity to small towns.I was afraid to touch anything or to breathe too hard in case I accidentally knocked over a vase that was older than my country.
A woman who looked like she'd been designed by someone with impeccable taste and unlimited resources was waiting in what appeared to be a formal receiving room.She was probably in her sixties, with silver hair pulled into an elegant chignon and the kind of bone structure that suggested centuries of careful breeding.She wore a navy dress that would never dare to think about a wrinkle, and her posture suggested she'd been born knowing exactly how to command a room.
But there was something about her that seemed off.A tightness around her eyes, a subtle tension in her shoulders.And when she stood to greet me, I caught her steadying herself briefly against her chair.As I got closer, I noticed a small cough she tried to suppress, and the discreet way she palmed what looked like a pill from a small silver case on her desk.
"Princess Bettina," she said, and her voice carried the kind of authority that came from decades of being listened to without question."Welcome home."
"Grand Duchess," I replied, attempting what I hoped was an appropriate curtsy and probably looking like I was trying to dislodge something from my shoe.Or possibly having a small medical emergency.Curtsying was harder than it looked.
She gestured for me to sit in the chair across from her desk, which was covered with documents that looked important and slightly ominous.
"I suppose you have questions."
"Just a few.Like who I am, why I'm here, and what happened to my birth parents?Also why does everyone keeps looking at me like I'm a puzzle they're trying to solve?And whether there's any chance I could get more coffee?Because I think jet lag is starting to hit."
She rang a small silver bell, and a servant came in bearing a large tray full of little sandwiches and tiny desserts. Another servant followed with a teapot and refilled the Duchess’ cup before handing me my own cup and saucer.
I sniffed suspiciously. It smelled like a quality Assam blend. It would do in a pinch.
"Your mother’s name was Catherine and your father’s name was Philippe.They died when you were six months old." The Duchess said after we’d been served some refreshments and the servants left us alone in uncomfortable silence.
Wait.That didn't match what Captain Steiner had told me.
