CHAPTER FIVE
Iliana
By the time I landed at the Cassia International Airport, I was exhausted. I hadn’t realized how tiring international travel could be.
While I’d been in London, Paris, and Italy, I hadn’t wanted to miss a single thing and spent most of my time with a camera in front of my face, taking picture after picture of the beautiful cities. Three weeks later, I had calluses on my trigger finger and both feet. And did I mention being exhausted? I thought I might need to up my vitamin intake or something.
And I was more than a little homesick. I missed Jennifer.
Since first meeting her, I’d never spent this much time away from my friend. But we’d talked daily, and every day, she’d ask me if I spotted him.
Of course, the odds of seeing Seb again had to have been close to a bazillion to one, especially since I had no idea where he lived. Even so, I didn’t want to admit how often I looked for him. Even now, I couldn’t stop from smiling as I thought of my one-night stand. And even now, I wished I could go back and give him my phone number.
Not doing so had been my biggest regret.
I’d known he was visiting from out of the country, and even though I hadn’t known which country, there was always the hope that we might unexpectedly bump into each other as I country hopped through Europe’s major cities.
But no. Good luck hadn’t smiled on me that much.
My good fortune took yet another downturn when I realized my great-aunt Hermione Costas Theodorou wasn’t waiting for me as I expected when I shambled out of customs and down the escalator into the baggage claim area. In her place stood a white-haired man with glasses so thick they looked fake and magnified his eyes to at least three times their natural size. He was holding a square of paper with my name scrawled across it.
I carefully made my way toward the man with my two pull-behind suitcases and waited for him to notice me, which, very strangely, wasn’t happening.
“Hello,” I said, clearing my throat. He still didn’t notice and kept looking to his left, squinting into the distance.
“Excuse me,” I said, a little louder this time. Still nothing. “Hi!” I practically shouted, making the elderly man jump in surprise.
“Saint’s knickers, girl,” he spat, nearly toppling over backward. “You don’t have to shout at an old man!”
He was genuinely perturbed with me, even after I offered a quick and loud apology. “I’m so sorry. I’m Iliana.”
“Iliana, you say?” The man was speaking so loudly that people were starting to look over at us. I nodded. “Well, Miss Costas. I’m Nigel, your great-aunt’s chamberlain. I run her house and look after things.”
While Nigel was the first person I met, Edmund was a close second. A second I was extremely grateful for. The driver. If Nigel had hopped behind the wheel of a vehicle, I might have hopped on a plane back home.
But as it was, it was a pleasant trip to my father’s former home. The Costas Manor was a thirty-minute drive from the airport, and I listened as Nigel pointed out this historic landmark or that. And when we turned into the lane leading to the manor, there was obvious pride in his voice when he announced our arrival.
Driving through giant iron gates, I could only gawk. It was huge. I counted at least ten windows across and at least four stories up. Holy cow. And Aunt Hermione lived here alone?
Minutes later, I was ushered inside by Nigel, with a suitcase-toting Edmund following behind. While the outside was stunning, I was speechless as I walked into the entry, taking in every inch of the spacious area, from the marbled floor to the large chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings.
From up the marble staircase, I got my first glimpse of the tall, elegant woman I’d soon learn was my great-aunt. She was dressed to perfection in a black suit, an emerald green silk blouse beneath the coat. She wore a simple pearl necklace and her long, gray hair was swept into a fancy updo that would take me years to replicate.
Truth be told, she looked like royalty. But she was nobility, I reminded myself. The daughter of a baron who had married an earl, so she was an earl’s widow, to be exact.
It was strange to think that if my father hadn’t given up his title of baron, I could be a baroness too.
“Iliana, darling.” A deep voice that hinted at years’ worth of smoking practically vibrated through the echoing great hall. “I’m so glad you made it. Come here and give your great-aunt a hug.”
As I was enveloped in her perfumy scent, I knew immediately that I’d like it here. Knew immediately that everything would be okay.
“You look so much like him,” she told me, sniffing. “It’s like looking at a young Stavros. Is your father well, darling? I’ve not spoken to him in years.”
“He’s well,” I said, unsure of how to explain my father’s lingering absence or how he now went by Steve by all who knew him. “He and my mother are running a care center in Ghana. Communication is spotty at best.”
I didn’t know why I was trying to explain why my father might not have reached out to his aunt, but I felt bad that he hadn’t, and more than slightly curious as to why. Whenever I asked, he’d only say that, “My wings were too wide for a little island. I needed to spread them in order to find your mother.”
A sweet sentiment, but I thought there was more to the story.
“I know, I know, darling,” my aunt said with a wave of her hand, bringing my tired mind back to the present. “Your father and mother send lovely gifts every year at Christmas and on my birthday. I just wish to see them both at least once before I die.”
I gave her a concerned look, examining her pale green eyes, so much like mine. “Are you…?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, waving a hand at me. “I’m not dying or such nonsense. We have plenty of time for that.”
I stood a few moments longer in the foyer, unsure what to do.
“Bless you,” she finally said as though she realized I must have been waiting on her. “You’re tired and worn out. I can see it from here.”
I frowned. Was it that obvious? I stealthily sniffed at my armpit, worried that I was near pickled after so much time traveling.
“Are you tired, darling Iliana?”
Near comatose.
“I’m okay,” I said a little lamely, but smiled, trying to rally. But, dammit, even that slight muscle movement took too much effort.
Aunt Hermione narrowed her eyes at me and frowned. “You don’t need to lie to me, my dear. I can see you’re a little worse for wear. Why don’t I show you to your room, and I’ll have Nigel send you some dinner? We can make plans to spend more time together tomorrow, and I can show you around.”
Grateful for a chance at a shower and a bed, I nodded. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll get the grand tour, but for now all you need to know is that you’ll stay on the second floor with me. I’m the first door on the left, and you’ll be the fourth door on the right. Does that suit?”
“Yes, very much.” I clasped her hands, exceedingly grateful to be here and to have been welcomed so warmly and with so much understanding. “Thank you again for having me.”
“Nonsense,” she said as she practically ran up the stairs, and I was very glad Edmund had taken my bags up for me. Me and my pipsqueak legs would have had a hard time carrying them up. “I couldn’t imagine you staying in a dormitory while staying in your country. Could you?”
I didn’t have the heart to remind Hermione that I was an American citizen, born and bred. It was actually nice to have her insist I was family and belonged at the manor.
After showing me to my door, Hermione leaned forward and gave me a kiss on both cheeks, pinching one for good measure.
“Just like him,” she whispered before seeming to shake herself out of her reverie. “Nigel will send one of the kitchen staff up in just a moment. And then I’ll see you for brunch at eleven tomorrow morning on the dot, yes?”
Parts of Hermione’s accent seemed French at times, but there were certain lilts to her pronunciation that sounded British. Italian? Spanish, maybe? Greek certainly, since we were so close to that country. It was hard to nail the accent down. I blamed it on a tone-deaf ear, as I’d positively been unable to decipher where Seb was from, either.
As promised, ten minutes later there was a knock at the door, and a platter of fruit, a salad, and a baked chicken breast on a bed of rice was delivered.
The way I scarfed the food down in practically one breath was incredibly unladylike, and I promised myself that I’d tone it down tomorrow when I started this new chapter for real.
***
There was no such thing as a quick bite or an easy snack with Hermione, or Auntie Hermione as she insisted I call her. Place settings were formal and polished, and meals had at least two courses. At least the lunch did, and she’d called the soup, salad, and perfectly grilled sandwich “something easy.”
After nearly three days of eating exquisite meals, I was quickly getting used to eating like this, especially after living like a grad student for almost two years, eating whatever was handy, available, and cheap. If I ever saw another bag of Ramen noodles, I’d probably burn the store to the ground.
“Today, I planned to have Edmund drive us to your university in Abingson.”
Abingson was the capital city of Cassia. It held the university and Riniasa Castle, where I’d be working. There was a bus that ran a few blocks from the manor straight to the university each day, and that’s what I would use to get back and forth.
“I need to sign in and get my badge from the palace too,” I said, and she nodded.
“I haven’t had a reason to go into the castle in years, Iliana dear,” she said, her face lighting up. “I can’t wait to hear what they’ve done with the place.”
Aunt Hermione was a sucker for good, classical interior design, I was learning. She’d redecorated the Costas Manor entirely on her own throughout the whole of the nineties, she’d informed me during my tour the day after I arrived.
“We’d cut back on staff, what could I do? Live in an outdated home? Not so!”
She continued to tell me stories about chintz fabrics and wallpaper as we zipped along the road toward Abingson. From the manor, Hermione said we were roughly twenty minutes from the ocean going south. To the north was Abingson and a few outlying villages in every direction.
Pulling into Abingson itself, Edmund wound through the narrow city streets. Abingson was an old city, that much was certain, and the cobbled streets gave it a certain otherworldly charm. I could almost hear the clip-clop of hooves from the horses and carriages that traveled these streets a century ago.
Outside a massive looking building with ornate stonework and gargoyles staring out from the roof, Edmund came to a stop, and Hermione explained that we were at the college.
“Those were the good old days, darling,” she said, her eyes having a far-off look in them. “My sorority sisters and I running amok in Abingson.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her wistfulness. “You’ll have to share some of your tales with me soon.”
My auntie actually blushed a little, and she ignored my suggestion, changing the subject instead. “I have some business in town here, so we’ll meet up after you’ve gotten your credentials from the palace?”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”
She clasped my hand. “Wonderful. And don’t rush. I’ve plenty to do.”
Thanking her, I said goodbye and turned to head into the university’s main office. There was a bit of a line for the one exasperated looking secretary, so I took a seat and looked at the room’s reading material.
There was a newspaper on the coffee table, so I reached forward and grabbed it. Truth be told, it was very similar to the weekly local papers I’d read in San Diego at the coffee shops. Headlines about upcoming weather, traffic accidents, and municipal matters. The main headline was a bit more attention-grabbing, though.
King Calls Amur Terrorist Threats ‘Unfounded’
Frowning, I read on. From the gist of the article, Cassia’s neighbor to the north, Amur, had been sending mixed diplomatic messages lately, and to add to the tension, there was speculation that fundamentalist groups inside the regime wanted a war between Cassia and Amur, and were looking to provoke one through acts of violence.
But the country’s king, King Demetrius, insisted that Cassia’s citizens were safe and that the rumors were just that — rumors.
King Demetrius was a handsome man with mildly familiar features. I wondered how his face seemed so familiar in this newspaper and guessed it had something to do with his Cassian heritage. Maybe he reminded me subconsciously of my father.
I’d viewed photos of all the royals, of course, focusing on the king and the young princess, but also looking up the others in line for the throne.
Sadly, the king’s brother had died recently, and the king’s nephew had very few photos that I could find. It was explained that since the nephew was in the country’s military special forces, his photos were rarely published for security reasons.
“Miss Costas,” a voice from the far door caught my attention, and a woman in a pencil skirt and pretty peach blouse waved to me, and I followed her back to the office, my folder of transfer credit and visa paperwork in my hand.
Thirty minutes later, I had my official university ID, though I’d hardly be on campus. I did have an academic adviser that I had access to, and there were multiple computer labs throughout the campus I could use for projects or communication purposes. I’d declined the tour the woman offered.
“Once the term begins, students gather each day at noon under the giant archways,” she said brightly, and I was glad that most everyone in Cassia spoke fluent English. “It would be a good opportunity to get the lay of the land.”
I shook her hand and thanked her for her help. While the term didn’t begin until the beginning of September, my internship started next week. Surely, I’d be getting the lay of the land with the palace staff.
Outside, I took a moment to soak in the afternoon heat bearing down on me. It felt wonderful on my skin, and it made the already-beautiful city nearly sparkle. I wished I had my camera with me, but I opted for my smartphone and sent a shot I took of downtown to Jenn.
Who immediately video called me.
The plaza I was sitting in was in one of the sunniest spots in the public park and full of other sun worshippers, making the thought of a web chat a little embarrassing. But it was Jenn, and I hadn’t talked to her since I sent her a text letting her know I’d landed in Cassia.
“That place looks amazing,” she said by way of greeting. “How are you getting along?”
I could tell Jenn was checking out the view behind me, so I tried to hold the phone in a way that gave her more backdrop and less me.
“I checked into the university today,” I said. “And now I’m on my way to get my security badge for the palace.”
Jenn squealed in delight, and I swore I saw a couple people turn their heads toward me at the sound.
“You have to give me every detail! And tell me how handsome the king is!”
I frowned.
“He’s in his mid-sixties, Jenn,” I said with a laugh. She pouted on the other end.
“Prince?”
“Nope,” I said, rolling my eyes at how little Jenn had listened to me prattle on about the country. “A Crown Princess. In first grade.”
“Wow, the king was a slow starter. That sucks,” Jenn said with a grimace. “You should see if there’s time to switch countries. There are still a few hot, single nobles out there.”
“Everything good on your end?” I asked, changing the subject in case my eavesdroppers were still listening in.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve been hitting the gym every day trying to get in shape for the trip.”
In another three weeks, she’d be here, and I could hardly wait.
“Don’t stress diet,” I warned, although why my friend thought she needed to lose a single ounce, I’d never understand. “You know it never works.”
We chatted a few minutes about the daily things in Jenn’s life at the moment, namely a part-time job at a bar down the street and an occasional hookup named Jed. Eventually, though, she had to go, and I needed to get to the palace.
According to the app on my phone, I was about six blocks from it, so the bus wasn’t necessary. For the day, I was wearing a long navy skirt paired with navy flats and a white t-shirt tied at the waist.
An oversized v-neck, white t-shirt that had once been stuck to the body of a very hot man I got to know for a few hours.
Yeah, I was wearing the man’s shirt. I couldn’t help it. It still smelled like him no matter how many times I washed it. And the way the oversized neck hung from my shoulder was cute, if I was perfectly honest. I liked it.
The walk was easy and through a picturesque part of town. I walked along, snapping photos as I went and uploading them to my various social media accounts. When I finally reached the palace, I didn’t know what to do.
There was a large iron gate at the front with two guards posted on either side. Neither looked friendly, and since it certainly looked like that entrance was for cars only, I searched for the more pedestrian route.
There was a small wrought-iron door a few hundred yards away, and I approached the guard standing there. This one was in a far less fancy ceremonial uniform than the two out front had been.
“Χαίρετε,” he said, taking me in from top to toe, though not in a sexual way. “Πώς μπορώ να σε βοηθήσω?”
I blinked. I got the “hello” part, but the rest had flown right over my head.
“English?” I asked hopefully, and the man nodded.
“What can I do for you?”
Right. The palace wasn’t open to the public like all the government buildings in the States.
I pulled out the letter of employment I’d received from Mr. Masters and handed it to the guard who read it through.
“Just getting my badge today,” I said. He nodded and asked for my ID, which I handed over.
“Have a nice day,” he said and waved me through. Except, I had no idea where I was going, and I prayed I didn’t get shot making a wrong turn somewhere and tromping over a secure area.
A gravel path led from the gatehouse toward the castle, so I followed it and hoped the door that I was headed to wasn’t a fire exit or something worse. Holding my breath as I approached, I let out a sigh of relief when I spotted a reception desk on the other side.
Smiling despite being incredibly nervous, I handed all of my palace security paperwork to the woman who looked them over before handing them back to me. She inspected me over her glasses, and I immediately wished I’d worn something more polished.
“The Royal Photographer’s office is on the third floor, to the left,” she said in beautifully lilting English. “Take the elevator with the blue doors.”
She gave a vague wave of her hand in the general direction I was pretty sure I was supposed to be going, and I thanked her.
The blue elevator was in between two black-doored elevators, and I couldn’t help but wonder where those two went.
“Not trying to get shot,” I whispered to myself. “Not trying to get shot.”
I pressed the number three button on the blue elevator and waited for it to go up. About a minute later, I approached the official Office of the Royal Photographer and pushed my way into an elegant reception area where I was greeted by another receptionist. I repeated everything that I’d told the woman downstairs and waited while this one went through a door on the right and spoke with someone in that office.
She returned a few moments later and beckoned me to follow her. I nearly panicked. I’d been told I’d just be picking up my badge. I wasn’t expecting a meeting.
“This is Marta,” the receptionist said, smiling a little more now. “Marta will be your supervisor while you’re with us.”
I thanked the first woman and shook Marta’s hand.
“Wonderful to see you, Iliana,” she said, her gaze sliding to my feet. “Let me introduce you first to the royal dress code.”