Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte
Serene took the rest of her lunch break and then some to go over the finer points of not only royal etiquette, but everything expected of a princess which, interestingly enough, in England, you can’t actually be unless you’re the daughter of a king. Wives of princes get a new title. They’re called Duchess. I wondered if the same was for Trisea.
It wasn’t what I expected. There were rules, of course, and some were fairly ridiculous, like Kate Middleton or rather, Catherine the Duchess of Cambridge is only allowed to wear nude nail polish. But on the whole, it wasn’t anything like I thought.
If Trisea was anything like England, then I had some serious amends to make.
“What’s the fastest way to get to Trisea?”
“Private jet,” Serene said simply.
“I lost all private jet privileges when I broke my contract with Paramount, which I don’t think I mentioned will probably end up costing me millions.”
“Borrow my jet. I’m not going anywhere. And have your lawyers send the contract and the paperwork over to me. I’ll have the lawyers at work look at it.”
“I’m sure my lawyers can handle it.”
Serene nodded. “I’m sure they could, but they’re entertainment industry lawyers. My guys are Wall Street finance lawyers. If there’s a way out of paying out your contract, my team will find it, trust me.”
* * *
After a few searches, including the average climate in Trisea, where the prince lived, and how to get there, I was packed and boarding Serene’s jet. Ten hours later and the best night of sleep I’ve had in a long time, I got in the waiting car outside Trisea’s tiny airport.
“On vas?” asked the driver in what I presumed to be Trisean. It sounded like a jumble between French and Spanish, and I was certain if I listened hard and long enough, I could pick it up easily. But I didn’t have time for that.
“Parles anglès?” I asked.
“Of course, where are you headed, miss?”
“The Trisean castle grounds.”
“Tours are closed on the weekends, miss.”
“I’m not going for a tour, but thank you.”
The driver nodded in the rearview mirror, and we sped off toward the castle.
The drive was gorgeous. I arrived just as the sun peeked over the mountains, streaking the sky with purple and orange light and casting a fairytale-like glow to the city. Once out of the city border, the countryside was even more spectacular. Ancient and well-kept farmhouses dotted the sides of the mountain, and wild Trisean horses with thick manes and speckled coats roamed free in the fields.
“Et voila, we’re here ma’am,” said the driver as he pulled up to a stately iron gate.
I couldn’t see the castle. The dense evergreens obscured everything beyond the gate, but the gold finials on the tops of the gate post let me know I was on the right track.
I thanked him, paid the fare, and approached the gate with my single overnight bag. I labored long and hard over what and how much to bring on the trip, but I was certainly glad I’d erred on the side of too little since it looked like I’d have to climb the gate.
There was no buzzer, no intercom system. There wasn’t even a bell to ring or a guard to ask for help. I threw my bag over the gate and climbed it slowly, doing my best not to catch my clothes or skin on anything sharp. Unfortunately, climbing up was the easy part. Climbing back down proved quite challenging as my stylish leather boots, specifically chosen for warmth and not grip, slid and slipped down the iron posts. I tried to hold on and slide down intentionally, but momentum overwhelmed me, and I had to let go when my hands started to burn. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, ass-first, staring at the Trisean sky.
“Motherfucker,” I whispered as my hands when to my rear. That would definitely be an angry bruise later. I picked myself up, grabbed my bag, and headed up the long, winding trail to the castle. It was nice. The weather was crisp enough to keep me walking at a brisk pace, the scenery was absolutely magical with tall evergreens and lovely late-blooming flowers book-ending the narrow road.
But as the trail went on, the trees grew so dense I couldn’t see the sky, making it impossible to avoid the slippery patches of pine needles in the road. I nearly fell a handful of times, catching my balance just before I met the pavement. I kept going, telling myself I could see the end of the road just ahead. And it was just ahead, but when I reached what I thought was the end of the road, there was no castle, just a hard left turn up the side of the mountain.
I thought I’d been walking up the “driveway” of the castle, but I quickly realized the cab dropped me off at the bottom of the mountain. I was actually hiking a switchback trail up to a goddamn mountaintop castle. That was why there weren’t any guard at the gate. No one was stupid enough to try to hike up the mountain. I didn’t have any water or food, I didn’t even have the right damn shoes, but I kept going, concentrating only one putting one foot in front of the next.
Hours went by. My throat, dry and aching for something, anything wet, felt like sandpaper. My thigh muscles twitched and spasmed as I forced myself onward. I was so thirsty, I started seeing things. Butterflies with delicate human-like bodies, and songbirds that seemed to sing encouragement like a damn Disney movie. Then, the biggest hallucination of all—a turreted castle complete with spires and an arched drawbridge—just like something Walt himself would have built.
I knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. No one built castles like that. I knew it, but I approached anyway, telling myself the whole time that if I was crazy, then I’d walk right through it and be that much closer to the real castle.
I was a step away from the lowered drawbridge. One more step and I’d either be on it, or I’d shatter the mirage.
“Okay, you can do this, Char,” I said to myself weakly. I counted to three in my head.
One...
Two...
Three...
I stepped forward, and my foot landed squarely on the solid wooden drawbridge. “Huh, that’s weird,” I said when the other foot felt just as solid as the first. I took a few steps forward, and my head, swimming with thirst and exhaustion, started spinning. The whole mountain seemed to tip on its side as my knees gave out. I fell in slow motion, landing on my palms and knees, feeling the rough-hewn wood of the bridge beneath me as my vision tunneled, and the world slowly went black.