Royals

  Then Isabel turns, grabbing my arm. “Okay, so yay palace, castle, very cool, hurray for fancy. Spill on Seb.”

  I almost snort at that until I remember that Isabel probably shouldn’t know what a tool that guy really is. Hopefully, she won’t even have to see him since, as far as I know, he’s still gallivanting around in Derbyshire, doing whatever debauched royal types do. Probably having some weird orgy involving costumes and claret or something. Burning twenty-pound notes for fun.

  No thanks.

  “I’ve barely seen him,” I tell Isa now, which is mostly true. We’d only shared that one conversation in my room, and that hardly counted. I hadn’t even spoken to him at the race, and he’d left Edinburgh not long after we got back.

  “Okay, but you have to tell me everything,” Isabel says. “How he looks, if he’s as handsome as he is in pictures, how he smells . . .”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “How he smells?”

  Isa fixes me with a look. “Girl, I am heartbroken and vulnerable. Throw me a bone and tell me a hot prince smells like manly books and leather, okay?”

  Seb usually smells of expensive cologne and whatever alcohol he’s currently pouring down his throat, but no need to crush Isabel’s dream. “All those things and more,” I tell her, and she closes her eyes, tipping her head back.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Giggling, I bump shoulders with her. “Come on.”

  We walk down another hallway, this one less furnished than the rest and colder, our footsteps loud against the stone floor. “So,” Isa asks, crossing her arms over her chest, “how are things? Blending in with the royals and all?”

  I shoot her a look. “Haven’t you been keeping up with the blogs?”

  Shaking her head, Isa gives me an elbow to the ribs. “No, I’ve been loyal,” she says. “And honestly, reading about what your best friend is doing felt too . . . bleurghy.”

  “Imagine reading it about your sister,” I reply, and Isa stops, her sneakers squeaking a little.

  “I get it now,” she says, then gestures around us. “Why you were so weirded out by all this.” And then she flashes me a classic Isabel Smile, all dimples and shiny teeth.

  “It’s still kind of cool, though.”

  And the thing is, she’s not wrong. It is kind of cool. I don’t mind the fancy cars and the nice clothes. I’m never going to like a Pimm’s Cup, but the rest of it? It’s . . . not that bad.

  I don’t know how to tell Isabel all that, though, so I just shrug. “It has its moments.”

  Skipping slightly, she takes my wrist and gives me a little shake. “Like us getting to see and possibly meet and, in my case, marry Declan Shield this fall.”

  Laughing, I shake her off. “Wait, I thought you were all about Seb.”

  Isabel gives a shrug and flips her hair over her shoulder. “I can handle both,” she says, lifting her nose in the air, and we’re still laughing as we turn the corner out of the hallway.

  We’re just coming back down the stairs when I hear the sound of someone coming up. Taking Isabel’s wrist, I pull us to one side, expecting to see a butler or one of the 9,000 secretaries the royal family seems to have wandering around. But instead, I catch sight of a glint of auburn hair, and before I know it, Seb is rounding the curve of the stairwell.

  Crap.

  He’s not as well dressed as he was the first time I saw him—it’s jeans and a henley today—but that doesn’t stop Isabel from freezing in place, her free hand coming up to grab the fingers I have locked around her wrist.

  Seb comes to a sudden stop, looking at us standing there and clearly noticing—and liking—the look on Isabel’s face.

  Great.

  “Ah, Daisy,” he says, but his eyes are still on Isabel. “I didn’t know you were staying at the palace.”

  “I’m not,” I tell him, inching down a step, pulling Isabel behind me. “I was just showing my friend around. Isabel, this is—”

  “Iknowwhoheis,” Isa says, all in a rush, and I fight the urge to groan. Of course. Of course we’d run into Seb the day Isabel has just gotten her heart splattered by her boyfriend, and of course Seb would be looking both extremely handsome and not as intimidatingly princely as usual, and oh, this is bad. This is really bad.

  Especially because Seb begins to bloom under her obvious smitten-ness.

  “Isabel,” he repeats, and then he reaches out and takes her hand. Doesn’t shake it (doesn’t kiss it, either, thank god), but just holds it, his blue eyes bright, his smile a winning combination of charm and mischief. I’ve seen it on him before. It’s a look that says, “Yes, whatever happens with us will probably be a bad idea, but won’t it be fun?”

  And I am not here for it.

  “So we were just leaving,” I tell him, fighting the urge to pull Isa’s hand from his.

  But Seb isn’t letting go, and he’s also not looking at me. “Where were you headed?” he asks her.

  She’s still glamoured, pretty much, smiling down at him there on the lower step, so I sigh, roll my eyes, and say, “Museums. Bookstores. Other respectable establishments.”

  Seb’s grin deepens. “Well, that’s no fun at all,” he all but purrs, and oh my gooooddddddd, how is Isa not seeing this for the line it is?

  Because her boyfriend has broken her heart, you idiot, I remind myself, and now the most eligible teenage boy in the world is talking to her and holding her hand and giving her the full court press.

  “We’re actually going to a book signing in a little bit,” I say, already preparing to pull Isa away, but he leans against the banister, his eyes still on Isabel.

  “Who’s the author?” he asks, and Isa answers, “Ash Bentley.”

  To my surprise, Seb straightens up, lifting his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Do not tell me you know who that is,” I say, but Seb shoots me a look.

  “I read Finnigan’s Falcon five times the year it came out. I actually went as Finnigan to a fancy dress party just a few months ago. Ask any of the lads, they’ll tell you.”

  It’s very hard to imagine Prince Sebastian, royal rogue, reading about the adventures of space mage Finnigan Sparks, but he does look genuinely . . . excited? His eyes are bright, he’s grinning, and this is actually worse than his usual prince schtick. Cute, royal, and into a nerdy book series?

  No girl could resist.

  “I’ll come with,” he says, and I lift a hand, palm out.

  “Okay, no, because, A, no boys allowed, and, B, you’re going to cause a total scene if you just roll up to a bookstore. No one will pay any attention to the author if you’re there.”

  Seb’s brow wrinkles as he thinks that over. Then his face clears and he snaps, pointing at me.

  “No worries, ladies,” he says, but I have all the worries as he adds, “I’ve got a plan.”

  Chapter 19

  “This is,” I say as I walk down the street between Isabel and Seb, “by far the stupidest thing I have ever done.”

  We’re headed to the Ash Bentley signing—I insisted we walk rather than take cars because the cars would be too conspicuous—and I feel like at any moment, someone is going to notice that the tall dude next to us in the cloak and space helmet is Prince Sebastian.

  “Given that you participated in the Cinnamon Challenge not once, not twice, but three times, that’s really saying something,” Isabel replies, moving her bag up higher on her shoulder as she keeps looking at Seb out of the corner of her eye.

  There’s basically no part of his face visible, and the cloak covers him from neck to ankle, but I’m convinced someone is going to figure it out. How can they not? Even completely hidden, he seems to stand out. Too tall, too swaggery . . .

  And too into Isabel.

  “Does the cloak accentuate my eyes?” he asks her, and honestly, how is he capable of flirting while wearin
g a space helmet, I ask you?

  Giggling, Isa looks up at him, squinting slightly. “I can’t actually see your eyes,” she reminds him, and he ducks his head closer to her.

  “You’re not trying hard enough,” he says, and I am going to vomit right here on this perfectly charming street.

  “Less talking, more walking,” I say to Seb. “Your face might not be recognizable, but your voice is.”

  He scoffs inside the helmet. “I sound like every other bloke on the street. And here, watch this.”

  Stepping just a little ahead of us, Seb lifts his arms wide, black cloak billowing, tilts his head back, and yells through the helmet, “GOOD PEOPLE OF EDINBURGH! ’TIS I! YOUR PRINCE!”

  A guy in a jean jacket gives him the side-eye and mutters some variation of the f-word, while a group of girls in school uniforms nudge each other and roll their eyes as they walk past.

  Seb drops his arms, and even with that helmet (which, gotta admit, is a pretty perfect replica of what Finnigan Sparks wears on the cover of Finnigan’s Moon), I swear I can feel him grinning.

  “See? No one gives a toss.”

  “No one gives a toss, Dais,” Isa repeats with a shrug, then breaks into giggles again, jogging a little to catch up with Seb, and I watch them, fighting the urge to stamp my foot.

  It’s silly, really, feeling jealous or upstaged or whatever it is currently twisting my stomach. It’s just that I’d looked forward to this day with Isa, and now it’s becoming a Seb day.

  But then I remind myself that, hey, Isabel is having fun, and after the whole thing with Ben she deserves that. Besides, it is kind of nice to know that Seb is a genuine Finnigan Freak. On the way here, he made a pretty good case for Team Jezza, complete with examples from the book, and now, as we make our way to the bookstore, I hear him telling Isabel, “Miranda was ace in Finnigan and the Starhold. Most I’ve ever liked her.”

  “That’s because she spent the entire book under an accidental love spell,” Isabel says, “so she was actually into Finnigan for once.”

  “Aww, come off it,” Seb says, elbowing her. “She’s liked him the whole time.”

  While it’s definitely next-level surreal to watch my best friend nerd out with a costumed prince, we’re close to the bookstore now, so I scoot in between them, ignoring the look Isa cuts me.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” I say. “Glynnis basically strong-armed Ash Bentley’s publisher here in the UK to do this signing since me and Isa missed out on Key Con thanks to all . . . this.” I wave my hand, taking in Seb, Scotland, all of it. “Which means best behavior from all of us, and by all of us, I mean Seb.”

  He pushes his shoulders back, looking down at me, but the helmet kills any intimidation factor he may have been going for.

  It strikes me suddenly that I sound a lot like Ellie the day of the race, reminding people how to act, but this book signing is important to me, and the race was . . .

  Important to El.

  Okay, so maybe a few more apologies are in order once we get back to the palace.

  For now, I stop just outside the bookshop. It has a bright blue door with a bell over it, and next door, the window frame is painted hot pink, the colors especially cheerful against all the dark stone and the gray sky. It hasn’t rained yet, but it’s been threatening it all day, and I wish I’d thought to bring an umbrella.

  “So,” I say, tugging my jacket tighter around me. “This is the Ash Bentley Show, not the You Know Who Show.” I nod at Seb. “We’re letting you tag along because . . . well, I’m not sure, really. I mean, if you’re this big of a fan, couldn’t you have seen her at a signing like a hundred times by now?”

  Seb nods. “Oh yeah, I have signed first editions of the whole series.” Then he spreads his arms out, palms up. “But this is fun.”

  I don’t mention that it’s not a huge amount of fun for me because Isabel is smiling up at him again and is clearly living her own royal dream date today, which is something she deserves, frankly.

  So I open the door to the shop and hope for the best.

  The store is already pretty crowded, but because the date was announced so late, it’s not quite the packed house it could’ve been. Still, all the chairs are filled, and I immediately see that Seb is not the only one in costume. There are a lot of purple Miranda wigs, plenty of helmets that match Seb’s, and more mage robes than I can count.

  Seeing them, I feel a smile start to spread across my face. Okay, this? This is much more my scene than a race or a party at a castle or whatever other crazy stuff I might have to do in Scotland. Here, I actually feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on things, and I’m still smiling as I make my way to the table of Finnigan Sparks books near the middle of the room.

  Which is when I hear the first squeal.

  It’s a high-pitched whistling sound that immediately makes me wince, and I’m already whirling around, expecting to find Seb with his stupid helmet off smiling his stupid smile like a stupid person.

  But Seb is still near the door, still behelmeted, Isabel at his side, and, confused, I look around.

  And realize the squealer is looking at me.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she burbles, coming up to stand in front of me, practically shivering. She’s not in any kind of cosplay, just a T-shirt and jean shorts over black tights, and she flaps her hands, beaming at me.

  “Daisy!” she goes on. “You’re Daisy Winters! Oh my gooooddddddd!”

  Her accent is pretty and rolling, but her voice is loud, and suddenly a lot of heads are turning in my direction, and then there’s this . . . Look, “stampede” is way too strong a word, but there are definitely a lot of people heading toward me, and a lot of voices suddenly talking at once.

  “You changed your hair!” I hear one girl wail, while another scoots closer, her Miranda wig slightly crooked. “When you told off that duchess at An Reis, I nearly died. I mean, I didn’t see it, but I read about it, and—”

  “Is it true you’re dating Prince Sebastian?” another person asks, and in that weird moment of panic, I do the absolute worst thing I could possibly do.

  I turn to look at Seb.

  And maybe if there had only been a couple of girls standing there instead of about thirty, they wouldn’t have put it together, but one lone voice cries, “Is that him?”

  I don’t even think, really. I just react, shaking my head and backing away. “Nope, just two friends from the US. Anyway, just came in to look at books, and”—I make a show of turning my head this way and that—“there . . . seem to be lots in here, so good job with that, bookstore!”

  Giving the world’s most awkward thumbs-up, I turn to go, nearly dragging Isabel and Seb behind me, the bell over the door clanging cheerfully as we spill out onto the street.

  Underneath his helmet, Seb is laughing, and to my surprise, even Isabel is smiling.

  “So I was going to be the problem, was I?” Seb asks, and Isa puts an arm around my shoulders.

  “How come you didn’t mention you got famous over here?” she asks, and I shake my head, still confused by what just happened. It’s not like I don’t know that people are interested in me, but they’ve always been interested because of Ellie, not, like, in actual me as a person. But those girls felt like . . . fans. Of mine. Which is bizarre since I haven’t done anything worthy of fandom.

  “I just never thought . . .” I start, and then trail off, not sure where to go with the rest of that sentence.

  Then I look up at Isabel, frowning. “We can go back in. Or you can. I’m sorry, I just freaked out, I guess, and—”

  Clapping a hand over my mouth, Isabel shakes her head, dark eyes shining. “I can see Ash Bentley speak some other time,” she says. “Seeing the day my best friend became famous? That was worth the trip.” Then her gaze moves over my shoulder to Seb. “And the day’s had other perks.”


  Eurgh.

  So instead of seeing our favorite author sign books, we spend the rest of the afternoon wandering, Seb still in his costume, which, oddly, doesn’t attract nearly as many looks as you’d think. We go up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle, then make our way back down again, toward Holyroodhouse. It’s summer, which means touristy season, so the streets are crowded, bagpipes competing with each other, and more guys dressed as Braveheart than should be allowed.

  Maybe I’ll talk to Alex about that.

  By the time we get back to the palace, it’s evening, although sunset is still pretty far away, and I’m hoping I can talk Isabel into some takeout food and bad British television tonight, although the way she looks at Seb when he steps into the main hallway of the family entrance and takes off his helmet is . . . not promising.

  “I need to find Glynnis, tell her the day didn’t exactly go as planned,” I say, watching Seb smile at my best friend while she smiles back.

  “I’ll keep Isabel company,” Seb offers, and I grimace, but what can I say? So against my better judgment, I leave them there in the foyer, heading up the narrow stairs to the back hallway where Glynnis’s office is.

  She’s not in there, though, and while I check a couple of other places—a sitting room, the small private kitchen—I don’t want to leave Isa and Seb on their own for too long.

  But when I get to the foyer, I see that I’m already too late. Seb’s helmet and robe are hanging up on the hat stand by the door, and Seb and Isabel?

  Are nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 20

  I try Isabel’s phone, but there’s no answer. And then I pull up my Facebook app and start messaging her.

  Still nothing.

  In fact, I almost think she’s purposely ignoring me, which is very much not okay and a sacred violation of our friendship, which I plan on informing her of as soon as I freaking find her.