He exhaled and pressed his fingers against his temple.Sometimes he wanted to believe Mum was right—he could love again.But it was easier to remember what he’d lost than to imagine what he might gain.
What was the Dalholm saying?Something about how the sea had a song and love bloomed like the flora and fauna—touching lives in mysterious ways.Like the stories of Emmanuel, it was all legends, fables drifting down from the Highcrest Mountains.
To be frank, Michael didn’t know anyone who fell in love in Lauchtenland more than anywhere else.One thing he knew for certain—Michael Cross would not fall in love while in Dalholm.Do your worst, song of the sea.He’d be too focused on the American royal to think of anything else.Scottie O’Shay was nothing like the soft-spoken artist Purnell, who once wept over dying flower petals.
Shaking off the emotional sidetrack—thank you, Mum—he tucked his phone into his pocket and entered the Operations Room.
“We can’t locate the Lady Royal,” Lennox said, eyes fixed on the CCTV bank.“I think she was the runner across the grounds.”
“Why isn’t she with Her Majesty?”
“Her Majesty collapsed during dinner.The medical team is with her.We’ve checked all the cameras.We can’t figure how she left the palace—if she left at all.”
“Did she crawl out a second-story window?”He was half joking.The windows in Hadsby Castle’s high rough walls, with rows of arrow-slits, were thirty feet off the ground.
“Not unless she has Rapunzel hair.There’s nothing on any of the castle cameras at the time of the runner.The staff are accounted for.I thought I’d search—”
“No, let me.”He was already moving.“She’s my main charge.”He refused a repeat of the Brighton Kingdom incident.“Keep watch for her return.Notify me immediately.”
What was she thinking, going out alone?The queen had been right.Blasted independent American.
Hadsby sat between the Old and New Hamlet where, a thousand years ago, the castle provided shelter for the locals.Farmers.Merchants.Tradesmen.The people had pledged loyalty to the House of Blue for generations, and in turn, the royal family pledged its loyalty to them.Centuries on, that mindset still lay at the heart of Lauchtenland’s devotion to the royal family, especially in County Northton.Yet if Scottie were recognized among them, Michael had no idea what might happen.
In recent years, opponents had risen.MP Hamish Fickle spoke of setting aside the monarchy for a republican government.His RECO party had traction with younger voters and often used aggressive tactics.
Michael jogged across the manicured lawn set for the Garden Party toward the woods and slipped through the hidden security gate toward the Old Hamlet and the Belly of the Beast.
Crossing Centre Street, he threaded down Wells Line toward the quay lights.Music rose above the thatched cottages and dark-windowed shops, and Michael joined the stream of folks flowing toward a party.
“Please don’t tell me you’re in this, Scottie O’Shay, Lady Royal.”Back in Hearts Bend she might slip into a pop-up street gathering, but not here.Not with a brand-new title.
A band played on the quay car park, belting out a decent Beatles cover.Michael worked through the throng, nerves pricking, senses heightened.He stopped a passing man to ask what was happening.
“Midnight Players.Best.Sir Rodney.Tour again,” the man answered in the clipped shorthand unique to the north country.Why speak twenty words when five would do?The shorthand harkened back to long, cold winters when time and breath were precious.
So, Sir Rodney Corn and the Midnight Players had come out of retirement and chosen the Old Hamlet quay as their first stop.Sir Rodney, the old rock-and-roller who’d won a parliamentary seat as the people’s representative, had retired last year only to announce a return to music.He must be seventy-nine if a day.
From the stage, the Players cover of a Beatles tune segued into a ’60s Lauchtenland favorite by Iron & Ash, a one-hit wonder that had proved popular for sixty years.
Michael pushed toward the bandstand, scanning for Scottie.A quick sweep and he’d head back to the Belly of the Beast.Ernst would keep her safe there, being he was a loyal, royal protector.
“Pssst, Scottie.”He called softly, not wanting to draw attention.How many in this crowd kept up with palace affairs?Not many.The House of Blue’s hub was Port Fressa and Perrigwynn Palace, three hours south.Hadsby was more a treasured landmark for the locals than the royal family’s summer residence.
Finding a fire escape, he scampered up to see if he could spot her, and sure enough, she was trapped beside the quay.
Jumping down, he pushed toward her.“Excuse me.Pardon me.”
“No, no.I’m not her,” she was saying in a weak Lauchten accent.“Most definitely not the queen’s daughter.”
“Aye, lass, recognize.Lady Royal Blue.What doing?”
“Listen.Queen’s daughter.Illegit.Go!”
Don’t listen to them, Scottie.Bunch of rabble-rousers.He was almost to her, but a wall of stout Lauctens boxed him out.
“Sing now.American anthem?”someone shouted.
“Yes, American.”A stout woman with a long braid stepped forward.“You.Lady Royal.”
