She’s scrappy, I’ll give her that.

It worries me that she refuses to show me her foot, but I have no intention of wasting the morning arguing with her. We need to find help—and food and water—as soon as possible. We should have been arriving in Montovia right about now, and if I don’t make contact with my family soon, this might become a national crisis. Our country is already in a tenuous position politically. The loss of the heir—or the temporary perceived loss—could complicate things even more. And that’s not even considering the emotional stress to my family or even the citizens I’ll one day rule. For a moment, I consider suggesting that Victoria stay behind at the lake while I set off in search of the cabin. This would accomplish two things—first, keep her off her injured foot, and secondly, mean there will be someone there in case a rescue team should finally appear at the lake. But since we don’t know how far it is to the cabin, that plan is too risky—it might take me all day to find the cabin and return, and in that time she’d have no water or food or shelter. Not to mention that in survival situations, it’s usually much safer when the entire party stays together.

She never would have agreed to it, anyway, I tell myself as we set off in what I hope is the correct direction. And I suppose right now I’d prefer a companion who’s stubborn and determined to one who’s helpless and panicky.

Still, it takes some effort not to show any annoyance as we trek through the woods. Though she’s assured me she’s fine, it’s clear her foot is causing her some pain, and our pace is much slower than I’d like. At this rate, it might take us days to find the cabin.

At least it isn’t raining anymore, I tell myself. On the other hand, the rain did at least give us a source of fresh water. As we march through the trees and the sun gets higher and higher overhead, my thirst grows more and more unbearable. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, and there’s a sharp, pounding ache in my skull, but there’s nothing to do but press on.

After a couple of hours, I call for a break. I’d much prefer to keep going, but Victoria needs it. The stubborn girl refuses to say anything, but I’ve been watching her closely, and her limp has gotten slowly worse over the last kilometer or so.

“You should sit down on that log,” I tell her. “I’m going to climb that rise over there and see if I can spot anything.”

I don’t wait to see if she follows my suggestion. I stride over to where the ground rises and hike up the hill, muttering a prayer under my breath that we’re close to help.

When I get to the top, I have a decent view of the surrounding land. Back in the direction from whence we came, I can see the field and the shimmer of the lake. We’ve come farther than I thought.

In the other direction, though, I see nothing but trees. The entire landscape appears to be nothing but forest for as far as I can see.

“Did we go the wrong way?”

Victoria’s voice makes me jump. I spin around.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” I tell her.

She gives a small shrug and a shake of her head. “If I sit down, I’m going to have a hell of a time convincing myself to get back up again. Better not to risk it.”

I frown, thinking now might be a good time to suggest I should go on by myself to find help, but she pushes around me and places her hand at her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks out into the distance.

“Are you sure it was this direction?” she asks me.

I try not to prickle at her words, though she’s essentially accusing me of not knowing what I’m doing.

“We’re following the path we flew,” I assure her. “Just in the opposite direction.” I squint, looking for anything that might suggest the existence of the cabin—a break in the trees, a curl of smoke…anything.

“There’s something over there,” Victoria says, pointing.

I follow her finger. In the distance, nearly on the horizon, I see some shapes that might be buildings.

“That town has to be at least fifty kilometers away,” I say. We’ll collapse from thirst long before we ever make it there.

“Not the town,” she says. “There’s a road coming this direction—look at the pattern of the trees. See, it runs from the town and cuts through the woods in that direction.” Her finger follows its path. “If there’s a cabin, there has to be a way for someone to get to the cabin. I bet that road leads right to it.”

Amazingly, she might actually be right—if that pattern in the trees does actually indicate a road, it appears to be coming right toward us. Perhaps I should look into this Girl Scouts training Ms. Simpson spoke of and see about bringing the program to Montovia.

“We can’t be far,” I say. “Even if we can’t find the cabin, then we may be able to flag down someone on the road.” I look down at her. “If you’d like to remain here and rest your foot, I can—”

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m coming with you. I can make it, I promise.”

“I can go more quickly without—”

“I’m coming. And don’t try to stop me, Your Highness. You might be faster than me right now, but you won’t be able to lose me, no matter how hard you try.”

“You reporters always take great pride in your ability to stalk people,” I say wryly.

“One day, you might be grateful for that skill,” she says. “In fact, I bet if the media had gotten wind of the plane crash, we would have been out of here hours ago. I personally know of a bunch of reporters and paparazzi who would have hunted us down in the middle of that storm. They don’t fuck around.”

Maybe it’s my extreme dehydration, or the pounding in my head, or maybe it’s just the ridiculousness of our current situation—either way, my mind must be halfway gone because I suddenly find myself laughing.

“Who knew you had such a sense of humor, Ms. Simpson?” I say.

“Who knew you did?”

“Well, you don’t meet many self-aware reporters in your industry,” I say. “Most will continue to proclaim their innocence even if you catch them red-handed breaking half a dozen trespassing laws.”

Victoria rolls her eyes and turns away from me. “Are we going? Or do you want to stand here and make cracks about my profession for the next half hour?”

She’s right—now that we know where to go, there’s no reason to waste any time.

We march through the woods with me out in front and her limping behind. Every now and again I hear the sharp intake of her breath as she steps on her foot wrong, but every time I look back at her, she waves me on and assures me once again she’s fine.

I want to continue to be annoyed with her, but more and more I find myself merely amused by her stubborn determination. In my few interactions with her before now, it’s been clear this woman isn’t one to sit back and let others tell her what she can or can’t do. In some ways, she reminds me of my younger sister Sophia—headstrong, tenacious, and a little wild.

The delirium must be setting in, I tell myself. To think I might actually be starting to admire a tabloid reporter… Perhaps I hit my head in the plane crash, too.

I’m still trying to process the absurdity of this revelation when I suddenly spot something up ahead. I stop.

“That looks like the cabin,” I say. “You might want to stay back here.”

“I’ve made it this far,” she says. “I’m pretty sure I can make it the last hundred yards.”

I frown. “This isn’t about your foot. This is about who might be inside.”

“I’m sure they’ll help us.”

“If we were in Montovia, I’d have no doubt they would,” I say. “But I know things are different in your country. From what I’ve heard and seen, whoever is in there is just as likely to shoot us as help us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s watching us right now from the window with some sort of rifle in his hand.”

Suddenly, Victoria starts laughing—and not a chuckle, either, but a loud, bright laugh that has her nearly doubling over.

“What?” I demand. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You are,” she says, still laughing. “You’ve been watching way too many movies, Your Highness.”

I frown. “This is not about movies.”

“Then where exactly did you get the impression that everyone who lives in a cabin sits around waiting to blow people’s brains out?”

“I… I’ve heard from multiple sources that—”

“What sources, exactly?” She flicks a tear away from the corner of her eye.

“I don’t keep a mental catalog of where I’ve learned every bit of information,” I say, stiffening.

She still can’t seem to control herself. “Oh man, Your Highness. Thank you. I needed this.”

I straighten. “I still don’t see what’s so amusing about being cautious—”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but we’ve survived a plane crash and a night out in an awful storm. I think we’ll be fine taking our chances with whoever lives in that cabin.”

I’m not so certain, but I refuse to feed her amusement by saying so.

My body is on edge as we approach the cabin. Perhaps it’s my military training making me so wary, or perhaps it’s the exhaustion and dehydration. Either way, I’m ready to be back in civilization and get back to Montovia as soon as possible.

Fortunately, no one takes any shots at us as we approach. I don’t see any rifles poking out of windows or doorways. In fact, I see few signs of life at all. The cabin appears to have seen better days—it’s missing half its shutters and a couple of pieces of its roof. There’s a rusty truck out front, but it only has two tires and some sort of vine has grown across the bed.

“Do you think it’s abandoned?” Victoria asks.

“Only one way to find out.”

The wooden steps creak beneath my feet as I go up to the door. Spider webs hang overhead, and that same vine that has grown over the truck is also poking up through the slats of the porch. This entire place looks like it might fall apart at the next gust of wind—I’m surprised it survived the storm last night.

I raise my hand and rap my knuckles lightly at the door. “Hello?”

There’s no response.

I try again, this time knocking a little louder. “Is anyone home?”

Again, there’s no response.

I look back at Victoria, and she shrugs. “Looks like it might be empty.”

I walk over to one of the windows. Ratty-looking curtains hang on the other side, but they’re open just enough to let me see through. There’s some furniture inside, but judging by the state of it, it doesn’t see regular use.

Victoria comes up beside me, peering over my shoulder.

“Doesn’t look like we’ll find a phone here,” she says.

“No,” I agree. “But there might be running water.” I pull on the window, but it doesn’t budge. Unfortunately, whoever abandoned this place stopped to lock up first.

I go over to the door and turn the handle. It’s locked, too, as is the other window on the front of the cabin. I walk around the entire building, trying every window and door, but everything is locked tight. When I finally make it back to the front of the cabin, I lean over and grab a rock about the size of my fist.

Victoria’s eyes widen when she sees what I have in my hand. “What are you going to do with that, Your Highness?”

“Get us inside this cabin.”

She gives a wry smile and shakes her head. “Who’d have thought I’d see the day when Mr. Proper did something illegal?”

“First of all, I see no problem with bending the law where human life is concerned. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to die of thirst out here.” I tighten my grip on the rock as I step back up onto the porch. “Secondly, I have diplomatic immunity in your country, so this doesn’t really count.”

She must see this is our best option, because she steps out of the way as I raise the stone. Honestly, she’s right—I find the act of breaking into another person’s property quite distasteful and repulsive, but I see no other choice.

I hurl the rock at the window. The pane shatters on impact, sending shards of glass everywhere, but I’ve accomplished my purpose—I can now reach in and undo the latch locking the window. I reach down and try to pull open the window again.

This time it moves. Slowly, stiffly—it’s clearly been a long time since anyone has used this window—but the fact that it opens at all is good enough for me.

A third of the way up, however, it suddenly gets stuck.

I frown and give it another tug, but the window won’t budge. This cabin is old enough that the wooden window frame has warped over the years, making it impossible to open all the way anymore.

I curse and step back. “Damn it.”

“Can I help?” Victoria asks.

“Not unless you have superhuman strength,” I say. “I think this is as far as it will open.”

“Let’s try it together.”

We do, but even her added strength does little. The window won’t budge another centimeter.

I stand back and survey the opening. “It’s okay—I think I might still be able to fit through there.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Maybe you should let me go.”

“When you’re already injured?” I give a sharp shake of my head. “This place is already hazardous enough, and now there’s broken glass all over the floor inside. You can’t step on that when you only have a shirt to protect your foot. No, I’ll go. And I’ll unlock the door from the inside so you can come in, too.”

I don’t wait to hear if she agrees—I’m not about to let her climb through this window. I bend over and reach through the opening, pushing the curtains aside. Then I stick my head through.

It’s tighter than I thought it would be. But I press forward, sliding through as best I can. One arm is ahead of me, reaching out so I don’t fall right on my face, and the other is braced against the frame, helping me push the rest of myself through. Except—

Damn it. My pants are caught.

Or something. I try to push forward, but I’m stuck—and I have no idea where. All I know is I can’t move forward or backward. Fuck.

I try to shift my chest, then my hips, but the opening is too small to allow for such movement. I try to get my second arm through, thinking maybe I can pull myself forward, but I can’t accomplish that without bending my elbow at an extremely unnatural angle.

Behind me, I hear a laugh. “Need some help, Your Highness?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her, though it’s obvious I’m not. I’m stuck. Stuck in the bloody window of a bloody cabin in the middle of bloody nowhere in America.

I feel a touch at the waist of my pants, and it makes me jump.

Now is not the time to be thinking about that, I tell myself. Of course, that’s difficult when Victoria’s hand is sliding around my waistband, trying to determine where I’m caught.

Fuck it, I tell myself. These pants are already ruined. Just tear them and be done with it.

Just as I’m about to do that, though, there’s suddenly a shout from behind us.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”