Royally Not Ready(11)

“Yes,” I answer her. “This is Harrogate.”

“What does that even mean? Pile of rocks?” she asks.

“Actually, it translates to heap of stones.”

“Well, that is quite accurate.” She shivers and bounces in place. “Please tell me there is heat in there. Electricity?”

“Harrogate was modernized in the fifties. It is quite capable of keeping you warm and comfortable.”

“Okay.” She lets out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I sound ungrateful, I just . . . I wasn’t prepared for how cold it was going to be or for not seeing my grandparents right away. I had a vision of what it would be like when I arrived, and this is not it.”

“Trust me, my plans were thrown off too.” I pick up her suitcase as well as mine and head toward the front of the castle.

“Where did Brimar go? Is it going to just be you and me?”

I shake my head. “He headed into town. He’s picking up his girlfriend, Lara, who’s been doing some shopping. She’s been instructed to find warmer clothes for you.”

“Oh.” Lilly pauses on her way to the entrance. “That was nice of you guys. Whose idea was that?”

“Mine,” I answer. I reach the castle door and open it.

“You thought of that? Fitzy, does that mean you care about me?”

“Please don’t start,” I say as I hold the door open for her.

“But you do.” She walks up to me and pokes me in the side. “You care about me.”

“No, I just don’t want to hear your constant jabbering about how cold you are.”

“Ahh, smart man. Also, can we talk about how you just walked in here? No key or anything?”

“Once Brimar and Lara arrive, they will be securing the castle appropriately.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” She pauses in the entryway of the castle. “Wow, it’s, uh, it’s drafty in here. Isn’t it?”

I glance around the stone walls. There’s not a thing hanging on them, not a piece of furniture in sight. Drafty is one way to put it. “The rooms are more comfortable,” I say, hoping that’s the case. “We’ll be on the second floor.”

“We?” she asks. “As in, we’ll be sharing a room?”

“No,” I say sharply. “There are two rooms upstairs, joined by a bathroom. For security purposes, Brimar and Lara are taking the downstairs bedroom while we will occupy the upstairs.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. But do we have to share a bathroom? I hope you don’t hog the sink.”

“There are two sinks.”

“Perfect.” She pats me on the shoulder. “We can become best friends while brushing our teeth together. Show me the way.”

Bags in hand, I move up the narrow staircase to the second-floor suite. I open the door, revealing a small sitting area, no bigger than the private plane we were just on. Although partially decorated with wood-carved couches and a matching table, it lacks a sense of comfort . . . and a pillow. Floor-to-ceiling curtains of damask gold drape on either side of the thin windows, a mere sliver compared to the palace. It’s a step up from a jail cell.

Perfect.

“Well, this is . . . different.” I see her swallow hard and can only imagine what might be going through her head. Regrets. A massive number of regrets. With trepidation in her eyes, she asks, “Which room is mine?”

“On the left,” I answer.

She follows me to her door, where she takes a deep breath, places her hand on the doorknob, gives it a twist, and pulls, but the door goes nowhere. She tugs again. And again.

But nothing.

Finally, she turns to me and says, “Perhaps you’d like to give it a try.”

I set down our bags and grip the doorknob before giving it a pull, yanking the door wide open with a loud creak that echoes through the stark space.

We both peek into the pitch-black room. She glances at me and then pushes my shoulder forward. “You first. I’ll, uh, I’ll cover your back.”

I’ve never been in these rooms, so I have no goddamn clue what I’m searching for, but given the way the castle is set up, I’m assuming if I walk straight, I will reach the—

BANG.

“Motherfucker!” I shout as my shin radiates with pain. “Fuck,” I repeat.

“What happened?” Lilly asks from the doorway. “Did something hit you? Did you hit something? I have no ability to defend myself other than with this oversized coat.”

“Table,” I groan out as I hobble closer to the wall, taking it slower now. A few more steps and I’m touching the stone wall, feeling around for something soft, praying it’s not a dead animal’s tail but rather a curtain. When I connect with velvet fabric, I know I’ve found what I’m looking for. I tug on it, and a crack of light spreads through the room, illuminating a very bleak and simple space.

The window can’t be any larger than two feet wide, and from the look of it, it’s the only window. Planted in the center of the room, up against the wall, is a four-poster deep mahogany wood bed with navy-blue bedding. On either side is a night table with an accompanying lamp. Across from the bed is a matching dresser with a mirror. And that’s it.

No rug.

No pictures.