I tried to remember the last time I’d actually been tasked with this kind of assignment. As far as I was concerned, tailing the royal family was about as low as it got. This was a slap in the face to the features I had brought to the paper.

As we sat in a parked car on the border of the quaint village, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was trying to capture a bank robber in action, or a slimy politician sneaking out of his mistresses apartment. This didn’t feel like high-level journalism to me. I scanned my phone again, looking for an update on the duke’s location. This wasn’t even a story. It wasn’t worth the camera man that tagged along with me, but I didn’t have a say on my assignment.

Luis had it in for me. There was no other explanation for it. My position at La Freychon wasn’t something I worried about until now.

The camera man Jacques swatted in my direction. “I see a car.”

“A car?”

He crouched low in the backseat. “If it’s his detail I want to get a picture of him coming into town.”

That’s really what this was about. Pictures. Tabloid fodder. Why was I even here? I couldn’t write a story based off a picture of a motorcade. I had to fight the paranoid feeling I had that that was what Luis wanted. A complete failure on my part. The inability to deliver a viable story to the editors.

I was a good reporter. Most editors would appreciate the research and details I brought to a story, but Luis wasn’t that kind of editor. Instead, he seemed threatened by my writing. Worried that my success would somehow make him look bad. We’d been at odds since my first day at the paper. Giving me this story was more a death sentence than a reward. I sighed.

I didn’t have much time to think about Luis and his constant attempts to derail me at work. I heard the sound of an engine roaring in our direction.

“Holy shit. Who is that maniac driving?” I watched as a tiny red sports car whizzed past us. Dust flew around the wheels and small rocks kicked to the shoulder of the road. I gripped the wheel out of instinct.

Jacques popped up like a gopher from the backseat. “That was him. The duke. Let’s go. Go.”

“What?”

“Just go,” he shouted. “Hit the gas and follow him. Don’t lose that car.”

I cranked the engine and maneuvered us away from the curb. I kept a close eye on the red car speeding through the quaint village.

“He’s going to run over someone,” I whispered. “This guy is crazy. Someone should give him a ticket. This is too dangerous.”

Jacques threw one leg and then the other over the front seat until he was next to me. I’d never chased anyone before. I liked to talk to my subjects. Ask questions. Really dig deep into their motivations. Chasing them in a high-speed chase wasn’t something that had ever occurred to me. Despite my instincts, it was hard to ignore the adrenaline that zinged through me. It was kind of fun.

Jacques huffed. “A ticket? You realize that’s the duke. He can do anything he wants. He could wrap that million-dollar pole around a car and no one is going to care.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t the first time someone alluded to the royalty in this country getting away with whatever they wanted. They lived with a different set of rules than everyone else.

The camera clicked in succession as Jacques captured as many shots as he could of the duke speeding through Sangreaux. The car finally stopped in front of the three-story hotel in the center of the town square. He barely missed clipping a fountain out front.

“Did he just jump over the door?” I asked. The duke was a blur, running into the lobby. I couldn’t make out any of his features, but I agreed with Jacques. It was definitely him. Who else would presume to be above the law?

“He did. These pictures are going to be incredible.”

“Pictures of what? A man driving?” I mocked.

Jacques pulled the camera from his eye and looked at me. “Anytime the royal family does something, it’s news.”

“What is news about this? Nothing happened. You said it yourself. Speeding isn’t a crime for a royal.”

He shook his head. “Sabrina, stop acting like a rookie journalist. Look.” He pointed to a caravan of black cars rounding the corner and surrounding the duke’s car.

I watched the scene unfold as the men in suits checked the car, scouted the sidewalk, and walked inside the hotel. Someone was on a phone, while the other talked into his wrist.

“He ditched his security. That’s not normal. I’ve never seen it before.” Jacques’s eyebrows waggled. “There’s your story.”

“But—” I still wasn’t convinced that was much to write about.

My journalistic sidekick jumped out of the car. “Are you coming? Don’t you have people to interview? Find out what happened. Why was he traveling alone?”

I groaned. This was ridiculous. Did anyone really care? “Yes. All right. I’m on it.”

I turned off the ignition and placed the keys in my purse. I pulled out my recorder and reporter’s pad. Depending on the subject, not everyone was ok with being recorded. I’d have to grab my suitcase later. I only packed for two days, hoping the duke’s trip was a quick one. Or either I was called back to Freychon to cover legitimate government business.

At least I knew now where we were staying tonight.

I looked up at the hotel. Whether I liked it or not, my story was inside.