The big door is heavy. I have to put all my body weight into it, but I finally manage to push it open. A sliver of afternoon sunlight spills in through the small gap, illuminating the dark entrance.

“Need help?” asks a male voice behind me.

When I turn around, Albert is standing on half-landing of the grand staircase behind me. To his sides, the staircase splits into two and leads to the second floor.

“That would be great,” I say.

Albert walks down the carpeted steps of the stairs. When his shiny leather shoes reach the marble ground floor, they echo with every footfall.

Albert takes his place by my side and we start to push.

Prince James would’ve been able to open this door, no problem. But he’s at his office right now, fielding calls that are no doubt pouring in from all over the kingdom.

But why am I thinking about him now? I can’t get dependent on him. I’ve always known that we have an expiry date. I should learn to rely on myself again.

“This door hasn’t been opened much, ever since the queen passed away ten years ago,” Albert says suddenly. “The staff usually takes a different door when it’s time to go home, the one closest to the secret airport. The royal family lets us fly home on their private jets, which is really generous of them.”

I nod and give Albert a smile. This is hardly the time to have a chat about the history of this palace, although I’ll admit those tidbits are pretty interesting.

“This door is the closest one to Willowdale,” Albert says as we give the door a final push and get it open enough for me to slip through.

“Thank you, Albert,” I say as I step outside.

“Be careful and take care of yourself, Rose.” Albert watches me with kind eyes from the doorway. A small smile plays on his wry, wrinkled face. “And maybe come visit Master again someday. He’s not very good at saying what’s on his mind, but I can tell he has really enjoyed having you here. I haven’t seen him smile this much since before the queen died.”

Again, I’d love to hear all about this, but there are more pressing matters screaming for my attention. I want to listen to Albert’s stories, and see this palace again, and most of all, meet Prince James again.

But I don’t know if I can promise any of those things.

Staying here has been really hard for me, in ways that I didn’t expect it to be. I can’t be near James without desiring him, and I can’t want him like that without also caring about him.

Someone like me has no business having feelings for a prince.

“Thanks, Albert. I’ve really enjoyed being here, too,” I finally say. “It’s been a pleasure.”

As I turn around to leave, I hear the heavy door dragging against the stone floor. This entrance is not as well hidden as the secret tunnel I came through the first time. But I’m about 100 feet above the ground and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to see this door from all the way down there.

As I walk down the endless stone steps that have been carved into the rock, I open the compact from the prince and turn on the map.

This is closer to Willowdale than I expected. The palace is located quite a long way from the footpath, though, and there are a few little streams to cross through. Some areas are difficult to get through because of the mud.

Luckily, I have my sturdy leather boots on, although I’m also wearing yet another dress because my jeans have apparently been incinerated by the palace staff for being so old and worn.

By following the map, I manage to reach Willowdale before sundown. Even having followed the simplest route, though, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t be able to find the palace again without the map.

As I walk down the main street, people start pointing at me and whispering among themselves. Some of them even call out my name.

But I don’t have time for idle chit-chat. If I couldn’t spare a minute to listen to Albert’s old stories, I sure can’t afford to help Mrs. Tisdale identify what insects have been attacking her tulips.

When I reach my house, there’s still a crowd just outside the fence, although the people are a lot more spread out.

One young reporter widens his eyes when he spots me, pulls out his phone, and his gaze flicks between me and what I assume is a picture of me.

A couple other people start to do the same, and by the time I reach the gate, a handful of people have gathered around me.

“Oh my god!” I hear Irina’s shout from somewhere on the street. She’s got one hand over her mouth and another hand pointing at me.

Clara is beside her, talking to a woman I assume is a journalist. Are they doing an interview right now, when Father’s waiting alone inside?

“Rose!” Clara yells out when she finally follows the direction at which Irina is pointing and sees me. She gets up and dashes toward me, glancing around to check that the reporters are paying attention to her. She says, loudly, “Thank god you’re back. We’ve been so worried.”

The people around us pick up their cameras, mics, and lighting equipment, then point them at Clara and me. When she hugs me, clicks and flashes explode all around us. Irina joins us and more pictures of us are taken.

“Can you tell us where you’ve been, Rose?” asks a female reporter, who has sidled close to us. She looks like she’s in her forties.

“Yes, of course. I was living and working in Malvern temporarily. This has all been a big misunderstanding,” I say, telling the lie that James and I have come up with.

I can almost hear a collective, disappointed gasp from both the newspeople who have come here to gather the intel on my disappearance, and the townsfolk who have rushed over to watch the commotion.

“Are you aware of the pictures that are circulating on the Internet right now, of you and Prince James?” asks another reporter, a young man with a beard.

“I’m aware of the pictures you’re referring to,” I say, “but I’m not the person in those pictures.”

Again, the crowd murmurs. Then comes a barrage of questions from so many reporters I can’t even make out who’s asking which one anymore.

“You just stated that you were in Malvern, Rose. The pictures were taken there as well. Why are you so sure that it’s not you in those pictures?”

“I was in Malvern, yes, but I’ve never been to the club in the pictures,” I say. The only person in town who knows about my having gone to The Dungeon is Elizabeth, and she wouldn’t tell on me.

“What were you doing in Malvern?”

“I was working at an inn. My father had an accident while traveling for work a couple of weeks ago, so we needed some extra income.”

“What’s the name of the inn?”

“The Alcove. You’re welcome to call the inn and ask about my work there,” I say.

I hope the prince has already spoken to Wanda, the woman who runs the inn, to warn her about the incoming calls from the media. We only stayed there for a short time, but I remember her as a nice, friendly person. I hope we’re not causing her too much trouble.

“Why didn’t you tell your family, Rose? Why did they think you’d gone missing?”

“When I got the call for an interview, I didn’t have much time, so I had to leave without telling my family. I regret that now, seeing the trouble that I’ve caused, but I wouldn’t have gotten the job had I not left immediately,” I say. “Actually, I called and spoke with my sister on my second day there and told her not to worry. But I should’ve made a bigger effort to communicate.”

“Rose! There you are!” Graham says as he pushes through the crowd, flashing his badge so people would give him way. “The police have been looking all over for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, “but as you can see, it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“I’m just glad you’re back,” Graham says as he pulls me into an awkward, forceful embrace in front of the cameras, which promptly go wild with activity.

I pat his back twice, hoping he’ll get the message that this hug is unwanted.

“The media was saying you were the new victim of the royal beast, and that got me worried,” Graham says as he glances at the cameras.

“That’s not true, as I was telling everyone.” I give him a polite smile and take one step away from him.

“That’s a relief.” He flashes the cameras a smile. “I thought, since your father mentioned Prince James…”

“Nope,” I say. “I’m sure that was a misunderstanding as well.”

“Have you ever met Prince James?” asks someone from the sea of reporters.

“No.” I huff a small laugh to show them what a ridiculous notion that is, then say, “Like many other people in the kingdom, I’d love to meet the royal family, though.”

I continue to field questions from the reporters. Luckily, the long walk home has given me a lot of time to think of every angle, and I have anticipated most of their questions.

Little by little, people disperse until the last reporter-and-cameraman team gets into a van and drives away.

“Where were you?” Irina asks accusingly.

“Like I said, I was in Malvern.”

“Liar,” Clara says. “You were with the prince. Father told us about the palace before you called home. We just didn’t think he was telling the truth.”

“Yeah,” Irina quips. “We thought he was just confused after having gotten lost in the woods.”

“So why do you think he was telling the truth now?” I challenge them, anger simmering beneath my skin. How dare they doubt our father like that, dismissing him as just a senile old man, after all he’s done for them?

“Well, you’re in those pictures with the prince,” Clara says.

“Yeah, and there are old rumors about a secret palace nearby,” adds Irina.

“I’ve never heard about those,” I say, genuinely surprised.

“It hasn’t come up for a long time, but now the older people are saying they’ve heard about a hidden palace,” Irina says.

“Where have you been?” Clara narrows her eyes at me and stares me down.

“I already told you. I was working in Malvern.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re wearing the designer dress that I just saw on the magazine last week?” Irina grabs the fabric of my dress and rolls it between her thumb and index finger.

“What are you talking about?” My heart races as I pull my dress away from Irina. At least they didn’t do this in front of the camera, but it’s still going to be really bad if they find out about the prince.

I shriek as the top of my dress is pulled up. From behind me, Clara says, “Yep. This is a real Armani dress.”

She’s checking the tag on my dress!

“Stop it!” I yell out. “I was working in Malvern, okay? Leave me alone. Now, I want to see Father. All those reporters just outside our home must’ve been stressful for him.”

As I stomp toward our front door, the breeze carries a bone-chilling message from my sisters.

“This is not over,” I hear Clara say.