“Miss Andrews?”

I looked up at the sound of my name which wasn’t a smart thing to do while stepping off a train… especially since my suitcases obscured the metal step designed to help passengers descend safely onto the platform.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t.

Instead, the heel of my boot landed on the step, but my toe plunged downward into the darkness below. Suddenly terrified of a grisly end in front of the scenic European village, I threw myself forward, knocking over my suitcases. Before I could join my bags on the concrete, strong arms caught and lifted me off the ground.

Through my shock, the face in front of me slowly came into focus. It was tan with a strong, slightly stubbled jawline. A smirk passed across full lips, but I couldn’t see if there was amusement in the eyes. The man who held me wore sunglasses and a cap pulled low on his forehead.

Aware that I was staring—and dangling—I stretched my toes down, feeling for the ground. Biceps shifted as he lowered me, pausing for a moment to make sure I was steady before releasing me.

Shakily, I took stock. Nothing seemed to be injured thanks to my rescuer. I took a tentative step. My ankle felt okay. The man had plucked me into the air before I could get hurt. That spoke of impressive strength.

While I was trying to recover my bearings and my dignity, he was busy righting my suitcases and moving them away from the tracks. Now that I could see him better, I noticed he was wearing a crisp gray coat, one that extended halfway down his thighs. He was a chauffeur. That explained the cap he wore.

The last thing he did was to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen when he’d lunged forward to help me. He turned it now so that I could see the name on it.

“That’s me. I’m Cara Andrews.”

“Welcome to Falkenberg,” he said.

I got my first real glimpse of what would be my home for the next six months as the driver put my bags in the back of a black SUV. The capital city of the tiny country was every bit as lovely as the pictures. The microstate’s only train station was in the middle of town. Two- and three-story buildings lined the main street in both directions. Off to the left, I could see the spire of a church. People dressed in colorful coats, scarves, and hats walked in and out of shops and restaurants.

Add the dusting of snow to all that, and it basically looked like I had just entered a snow globe. It was a far cry from California in February.

The man in gray held the door of a black SUV open. He was tall… a lot taller than me. There was almost no need for me to duck my head as I climbed into the back seat. I looked up to thank him, but he’d already closed the door.

Once he’d settled in the driver’s seat, I leaned forward. “Thank you so much for catching me back there. I’m glad my first experience in your country didn’t include a visit to the hospital.”

The driver pulled onto the road, no small feat with pedestrians crossing every few seconds. But then he looked in the rearview mirror and reached up to tip his cap at me.

Hmm… I guess that was supposed to mean “You’re welcome.”

We drove past the town square. From my research, I knew that there was a robust market held there several times a week. I couldn’t wait to see it. As I scanned the signs on the buildings around the square—most of which I couldn’t understand—it dawned on me that maybe the driver didn’t speak much English.

True, most Europeans did speak at least some English, but here in Falkenberg, people spoke German on a daily basis. Actually, from what I’d read, it was a dialect of German. Like nearby Switzerland, the locals had their own variant of the language.

We were traveling in a less-populated area now. The restaurants, pubs, and businesses were interspersed with houses and fields. Off in the distance, dark brown creatures dotted a snow-covered field. “Are those cows? Don’t they have some sort of shelter in the winter?”

The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror. One dark eyebrow arched, clearly visible above his sunglasses. He shrugged his shoulders and returned his eyes to the road. Maybe he wasn’t up-to-date on Falkenberg farming practices? It likely wasn’t required learning for a professional chauffeur.

Houses were fewer and farther between as we drove on. Off in the distance, a cemetery full of gray stone monuments rested at the base of a steep hill. Sliding over to the other window, I tilted my head, trying to see if I could spot Falkenberg Castle which I knew to be situated high above the city. However, I couldn’t see anything beyond the fields except for a wall of trees.

The chauffeur drove steadily on, and I wondered how far outside of town my new employer lived. The au pair agency I’d signed on with had been maddeningly vague. They said their elite and wealthy clients valued their privacy.

I’d done my research, of course. The agency had an excellent reputation. A friend a year ahead of me in college had signed on with them after she graduated. She’d lived with a lovely family in Spain with two young boys. She’d loved every minute of it—I hoped I would as well.

All I knew was that I’d be a nanny for a family with two school-aged children. It didn’t seem fair—the agency had required an exhaustive amount of information from me and told me very little in return. Of course, my situation was a bit unusual. After I’d decided to leave my position at the high school in December, I’d contacted the agency thinking I might be a long time until I got a placement. But then just over a week ago, I got a call that a nanny had developed a health issue that forced her to resign. The last week had been a whirlwind of preparation, but I was happy to be here now.

“How much farther is it?”

The driver turned his head, catching my eye in the mirror again. Well, he could see my eyes. His were still covered by sunglasses. “Not far.”

Apparently, he was a man of few words. But that was okay. I had lots of words, and as my sister Autumn could attest, I wasn’t shy about using them. “Do they live on a farm or maybe in one of the smaller villages? Or I read that there are some private estates out in the woods. DO they live in one of those?

“What?”

“Oh, sorry, am I speaking too quickly? My sister says I do that. I was just asking about where we’re going.” I tried to tamp down all the questions bubbling inside me, but it was hard.

He gestured at the road ahead of him. Maybe he didn’t know the words in English to explain where exactly we were going? Or maybe he didn’t know any more about the family I’d be living with than I did. Perhaps he’d just been hired for one afternoon to deliver me to my new employer. At any rate, I guess I’d find out soon enough.

“Your English is much better than my German,” I told him, trying to speak more slowly. “Have you always lived in Falkenberg?”

He huffed out a breath—or was it possibly a laugh? “I am born here.”

Though the chauffeur’s English was accented, it wasn’t unpleasant. Nothing about him was unpleasant. Briefly, I remembered the feeling of his strong hands grasping my arms, keeping me from falling. For some reason, I hoped he did work for the family that hired me. Though the au pair agency hadn’t given me many details, I knew their clients were mostly wealthy Europeans.

Maybe if he was their full-time driver, I could help him with his English, since I was a teacher. Or, rather, I used to be a teacher. That thought took the smile from my lips for a few minutes.

But now was the time to look to the future, not the past. The driver turned off the main road onto a narrower one that had many twists and turns as it led upward. Again I craned my neck, trying to see the mountains I knew were close, but I could still only see trees. “Are we going to be driving anywhere near the castle?”

“Not far,” he said as he had before, making me wonder if he really knew what that phrase meant.

Since it was obvious that my new employer lived far from the center of town, I began to hope that he lived near the royal palace. How wonderful it would be if I could take the children hiking and catch a glimpse of the magnificent structure through the many trees. According to the guidebook I’d brought, except for a few ski chateaus, the castle was the highest residence in the entire countryside.

“Have you taken the tour of the castle?” I asked, undaunted by the short replies I’d been getting. The guidebook said there were guided tours for citizens and tourists alike every afternoon and I couldn’t wait to go.

The driver seemed amused by this. “One time,” he said. I didn’t know what was so funny. My brother-in-law had a driver, and he didn’t just sit in the car and wait.

“I want us to take the tour as soon as possible. I bet the children will love showing off such off such an important part of their culture. If my new employer has time to take us there, I mean.”

An idea came to me. If no one was around to take us to the tour, maybe this man could. “Do you have a business card? Maybe I could hire you to drive us there sometime?” It would be useful to know someone like him since I doubted Uber and Lyft had spread to this small country yet.

Besides, in spite of being a man of few words, he seemed nice. Every so often, I could see the corner of his mouth twitch upward in the mirror. Even though it was just a half smile, it made me want to smile back. In my book, a good sense of humor was more appealing than total proficiency in a foreign language.

But all he said was, “Sorry.”

What did that mean? That he didn’t have a business card? That he couldn’t drive me? If all people in Falkenberg were this taciturn, it was going to be a long half year. But it didn’t necessarily have to be a quiet one. As long as there was someone to listen, I didn’t mind doing more than my fair share of the talking. “Have you ever seen the queen?”

“Yes,” he said. Of course he had. It wasn’t a very big country—only about 72,000 people. Probably every citizen had seen Queen Margrit at some point, though I’d read that the stately, older monarch didn’t emerge from the castle as much as she used to.

“I bet you’ve seen Prince Nickolaus more, right? I’ve heard that he comes to the capital from time to time. I saw some pictures of him at the market in the square. And in the church. And riding with his children in a horse-drawn carriage in a parade.” The prince was a widower. His wife had been killed in some kind of accident a few years back.

The driver had his eyes on the narrow road, but for some reason, I thought he was listening to despite being unlikely to understand my rapid-fire speech.

The road was steeper, though, and I could see why he’d needed an SUV. Behind me, luggage shifted around as the vehicle climbed.

My thoughts were still on the crown prince. “He seems so young to have so much responsibility,” I mused, hanging onto the back of the seat in front of me as we made another sharp turn. Though the queen was the official ruler of the country, the prince seemed to be some sort of prime minister, president, and CEO all rolled into one. Sounded like a lot for a man who was only thirty.

I’d read up on him because he was a big part of the government, but that wasn’t the only reason. Grabbing my phone from my bag, I swiped it on. There wasn’t any signal, but I didn’t need one to pull up a screenshot I’d uploaded before leaving home. It was a picture of the prince in all his royal finery. A blue sash crossed the deep red jacket he wore, on top of tan pants tucked into black riding boots. A sword hung from his gold belt while tassels and medals completed the look. On top of his dark hair sat a jewel-covered gold crown.

But it was his face that drew my eyes the most. The straight, patrician nose. The full lips and firm jawline. And those eyes. Those speckled, hazel eyes that seemed to stare right into me. A sigh escaped my lips. “He looks like a fairy-tale prince.”

“Pardon?”

The chauffeur looked back at me briefly before returning his gaze to the narrow, twisty road in front of us. Until he spoke up, I hadn’t even realized I’d said that last part out loud. “I just meant I saw a picture of Prince Nickolaus once, and he was handsome like a man in a fairy tale.”

The driver frowned. Maybe he didn’t know the phrase fairy tale?

“You know. It’s a story. There’s one about a big bad wolf who ate Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. Or in another book, he tried to eat the three little pigs,” I said.

“It is cookbook?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “No, just a story, like Cinderella or Hansel and Gretel.”

“Ahh,” he said, “from Grimm.”

“That’s right, the Brothers Grimm. I forgot they were German.”

“So… the prince looks like big sad wolf?”

This time, I managed to disguise my laugh as a cough. “It’s the big bad wolf. But no, he doesn’t. He’s pretty much the living embodiment of Prince Charming.” Then I frowned, flushing a little. That wasn’t the kind of thing I should be admitting to strangers, but there seemed little chance that the man at the wheel understood what I’d said.

Just at that moment, the SUV emerged from the trees. The sudden brightness made me blink. On either side of us were green fields dotted with small stone buildings. Directly in front of us was Falkenberg Castle.

Oh my god.

It was gorgeous. I leaned forward, practically lying on the driver’s shoulder as I tried to get a better look. There were four towers at the corners of what looked to be a mile of rooftops. My guidebook said that the castle had been built and expanded upon for centuries. Each attached building was a different height with windows dotting the gray stone walls.

It looked ready to withstand an army.

It looked like people could get lost in there for days.

It looked like we were heading right toward it.

I gasped. Was the family I’d be working for employed by the royal family? A castle this size must require dozens of workers, from maids to cooks to guards to groundskeepers. “Does… does my employer live on the castle grounds?”

The driver nodded.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The secrecy. The scant details about the family I’d been placed with. Of course the agency couldn’t provide many details if their address were a castle.

Gasping again, I realized this meant I could see inside the castle! Well, unless they lived in one of the outlying structures. But still, I’d be so near, I could take the tour every afternoon if I wanted to. Or at least on my days off.

Ahead of us was a modern-looking iron gate set in a brick wall that stretched a long way in either direction. Guards in uniforms pulled the black gate aside and the SUV passed through.

The chauffeur followed the circular drive, getting closer and closer to the castle itself. The nearer we got, the more I could appreciate the scale of how huge the palace was. And how high. The nearest towers looked to be miles above my head.

The paved drive led up to enormous wooden doors. I suppose that if a castle could have a front door, then this would be it. The chauffeur stopped the car in front of them and got out.

I couldn’t help gaping in amazement. Surely I was supposed to be taken to some kind of servants’ entrance? I couldn’t just waltz in the main doors as if I owned the place.

A door opened, and two men came out. One looked like some sort of steward in a navy uniform, and the other went to the back of the SUV and removed my luggage. The chauffeur opened my door and took my hand as I stepped out. I was grateful. I’d heard the phrase “weak at the knees” before, but I’d never experienced it until we pulled up at such an amazing building.

He held my hand for a moment longer. Perhaps he too was worried I might fall again. Then he pulled off his sunglasses and winked one vivid hazel eye before walking over to the man who was setting my suitcases at the top of the steps.

My driver took off his long gray coat and cap and handed them to the servant who’d dealt with my luggage. “Thank you, Franz,” he said.

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty.”

What??

My heart skipped a beat as Franz put the cap and coat on and then hopped into the SUV and drove off. The steward carried my luggage up the steps and into the palace.

Words deserted me as I stared at the man I’d thought was the chauffeur. The man the steward had bowed to as he passed. The man who’d just been referred to as… as…

“Your M-M-Majesty,” I stammered, my whole body trembling. This man was Prince Nickolaus? And I’d just babbled on and on in the car.

Oh god, it was even worse than that. I’d gushed about the prince to the prince. And now I was standing here with my mouth hanging open like an idiot. Even an American like me knew that wasn’t the proper way to greet royalty. I dropped into a quick curtsy. Luckily, I’d learned how to do that for a play I’d been in years ago. Thank god for muscle-memory.

My mind reeled as I straightened up and looked at the tall man in front of me. It didn’t make any sense. Why had Prince Nickolaus come to the station to pick me up?

“I… I don’t understand,” I said. This probably wasn’t something you were supposed to say to royalty, but I couldn’t think of anything else. “Why didn’t my new employer come for me himself?”

“He did,” the prince said, and for some reason, my mind fixated on the fact that his voice was deep and rumbly with just the barest hint of an accent.

“He did?” I echoed, my brain still trying to kick into a higher gear.

The prince tilted his head at me. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m your new employer. You were hired to be the nanny for my children.”

My mind went completely and utterly blank as the shock hit me. I tried to speak but discovered that my lungs were empty. I drew a shaky breath and tried again. “I am?”

“You are.” For some reason, his piercing gaze steadied me. He gestured toward the large door that was still open. “Welcome to Falkenberg Castle.” He waited. Patiently.

At last I took a half step forward. “Thank you.”

And then I walked up the stairs and into an honest-to-god castle.

A castle I was going to live in for the next half year.

A castle with a prince who put storybook Prince Charmings to shame.

Unbelievable.