There’s no SIM card, which means no calls and no texts, but there’s Wi-Fi, and the palace network automatically connects because IT has never bothered to change the password. I could kiss whoever made that decision.
Five years ago, after a particularly close call with a stalker who’d gotten past palace security, Dyson and I sat on his balcony overlooking Central Park and discussed worst-case scenarios. He asked me what I’d do if things ever got bad enough that I needed to disappear. I laughed it off, told him I was a prince, not a spy. But he was serious.
“If you ever need out,” he told me, “just send me a word, likenow, and I’ll have a plane sent for you. No questions asked.”
I called him paranoid, and he said I was naive. We finished the bottle of scotch and never spoke of it again.
My battery drops to three percent as I open the Email app and type Dyson’s address from memory.
Now.
I hit Send and watch the loading circle spin on the shitty screen.
The email disappears from my outbox, and I exhale. Dyson will know exactly what it means and come to my aid without hesitation. It’s a Banks thing—when they make promises, they keep them.
The battery drops to two percent even though it’s plugged in, and the screen flickers, then turns off. I shove it back to the bottom of my drawer, then take several gulps of bourbon, knowing I need to figure out how I’ll get to the airport. I lie back on the couch and close my eyes, which are heavy.
By the time I wake up, the sun has shifted from that early morning gold to harsh afternoon white. I actually feel rested, even though my arms hurt from where the guards held me back. I spend the next few hours packing a duffel bag, tossing in my wallet and passport. I change into jeans and a T-shirt and grab a hoodie, knowing that when I get to New York, I’ll need to blend in.
The room gets darker, and food is delivered to me. Before theserver walks away, Tatiana steps inside. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. She’s wearing a silk robe over a nightgown. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders. She closes the door quickly behind her.
“Get out.”
“Louis—”
“Now.” My voice is barely controlled. “You did this. You and my mother planned the whole thing. I trusted you, and you fucking played me. And now you’re here to, what? Gloat? Watch me suffer?”
“I’m trying to help you.”
A laugh rips out of my throat. “You destroyed my life.”
“Shut up and listen because we don’t have much time.”
She moves deeper into the room, putting distance between herself and the door. Her hands tremble, which I’ve never seen happen. Just like me, she’s been trained for high-stress situations, but right now, her composure is cracking. Her eyes keep glancing at the door.
“You have thirty seconds,” I say. “Talk.”
“There’s a dinner planned three nights from now. Friday evening. The council will be there, along with foreign dignitaries and press from every major outlet in Europe.” She keeps her voice low. “You’ll be expected to formally announce our engagement.”
“I’m not announcing anything.”
“You will. Are you aware she has a look-alike for you?”
I stare at Tatiana. “What?”
“A stand-in. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“She’s prepared to do what’s needed, Louis. I’ve met him. It’s really fucking eerie.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you lying?”
“No. Tonight, we were at a dinner together. Me and him. Everyone thought it was you. The only problem is, he’s American, and he sounds nothing like you. So, I’m forced to tell everyone you lost your voice from the excitement.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the look-alike is my limit. I’m smart enough to know when I’ve lost.” She gives me a slow clap. “Congratulations, Your Highness. You win. Very well played by you and your girlfriend.”
