I wait.
And I wait.
The time creeps along until it’s well after 9 AM and still no one else has arrived—not even the hyper enthusiastic and overly bouncy Pippa Chen.
I pull the doors open again and look up and down the corridor. It’s empty but for a couple of palace staff scurrying about their business.
Where are these people? The prince being late isn’t too much of a surprise. We’re all aware he can be an overgrown kid. But the Minister of Education? She’s a real go-getter type, right down to her power suits and sharp bob. Surely she should have been on time?
I slump down into my seat and stare out the window at the royal gardens, the greenery of the lawns stretching into the distance. I check and recheck the schedule. It clearly tells me I’m in the right place and here at the right time.
I'm beginning to suspect that both the prince and the minister have been kidnapped by extremists when my phone shows the time is 9:28. I spring to my feet. It’s clear no one is coming to this meeting, and time is ticking on me getting my material for the day.
I need to find the elusive Max, and I need to find him now.
I search the adjacent rooms, finding them empty but for the library, where I accidentally walk in on PrincessSofia reading papers. I back out as quickly as I can, apologizing to the future queen like it’s my job.
“Are you lost?” she asks.
“Just looking for your brother, Your Royal Highness.”
“Oh, he’s unlikely to be in here.” She gestures at the book-lined walls.
“You’re right. Sorry to disturb you.”
I end up in the office wing, where I ask a staff member to take me to Prince Max’s rooms, which he does with obvious reluctance.
His rooms are vacant.
Whereisthat man?
The problem is in a place as large as the royal palace in Villadorata, if a person doesn’t want to be found, they can virtually disappear.
Prince Max, it would seem, is good at this game.
Arriving at Ronan’s office, I’m told that he’s in a meeting with the King, so I ask to speak with Pippa Chen.
“Ms. Fontaine!” she says, her face alight as she greets me with an eager handshake that threatens to jiggle my arm right out of its socket.
I thrust the schedule at her. “Do you know why no one turned up to the meeting this morning? I waited for the prince and the minister for half an hour.”
She knits her brows as she scans the now dog-eared page. “Prince Maximilien and the Minister of Education completed their business last month. I posted about it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“And he wouldn’t have been there at 9 AM anyway. Not on a Wednesday.”
“Why not?”
“Because he has a personal trainer come to the palace at that time every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” Sheleans in, her dark eyes darting from left to right. “I know because I’ve met him and let me tell you, he ishot.”
I blink at her. Is she really referring to Prince Max as hot? “Who?”
“The personal trainer.”
“Right.” I’m not here to discuss the alleged hotness of some PT. “So, this meeting at 9 AM?—”
“Could never have been on the schedule for today,” she finishes for me, shaking her head. “As I said, hot personal trainer time.”
