Once Upon a Princess Page 3

  They weren’t scary.

  They’re scary now.

  The van’s motion is soothing. I curl up and close my eyes, just for a moment.

  5

  Early morning light splashes across me, and I open my eyes. We’ve stopped. The back door is open, and Henri, Mam’s bodyguard, powerful and reassuring, stands there in a blue deliveryman suit.

  “We are here, Your Majesty,” he says.

  Where is here? My legs quiver as I stand, my muscles protesting against the strange sleeping conditions.

  He helps Mam out of the van, and then Georgie, and finally me. There doesn’t seem to be any “here” here. There’s a brick wall to the left of us, with steel doors at regular intervals. The back of a shopping center, perhaps?

  Has Henri betrayed us? Is he going to shoot us or something now that we’re in an isolated and remote place? But his face shows a mixture of sadness and sympathy, not the look of someone about to send us to our doom.

  There’s an old Honda in the otherwise deserted parking area. The door opens, and a tall man steps out. I duck behind Georgie, but no one else seems nervous about this new addition.

  In fact, Mam collapses in his arms as he comes closer. For a second, I think it’s Pap, joining us after all. But it’s not Pap. It’s Mr. Frank.

  “Cassandra,” he says, holding her tight. “Are you okay? Are the girls okay?”

  “We’re fine, Ivan,” Mam says. “Thank you so much for coming. Frederick knew we could count on you.”

  “Always, my dear Cassandra. But come, we have no time to waste.” He lets go of Mam, and she manages to stand on her own. Ivan waves to me and Georgie. “Georgiana, Fredericka, my darling girls. Your carriage awaits.”

  I grin because this beat-up Honda is about the funniest looking royal carriage I can imagine. Mr. Frank gently touches my cheek as I move past him to the car, and suddenly I want to cry again.

  Mr. Frank pulls out of the parking lot, and I want to snuggle up against Georgie, but she’s sitting straight and tall and staring out the window. She doesn’t look like she wants to comfort me right now. I take a deep breath and look out my window, too.

  The sky changes from pearl gray to pale yellow as we drive down mostly empty city streets and then the highway, toward the airport.

  “We couldn’t have you just climb out of the back of a delivery truck at the airport,” Mr. Frank explains. “That would attract too much unwanted attention.”

  “Why do people want to hurt us?” I ask. Georgie puts her hand on mine and shakes her head. Fine. That’s a question for another time. But it’s a fair question. I can understand people not liking us—there have always been people who resent royalty—but why do they want to do us harm? We haven’t hurt anyone.

  “When you get to the airport,” Mr. Frank continues, as if I haven’t spoken, “go straight to the Monaco Airlines desk. Ask for Lucinda. She’s been briefed and will assist you.”

  Mam nods, and I can tell that Georgie is storing this information away as well.

  “You have your diplomatic passports?” he asks.

  “We have them,” Georgie says, when Mam doesn’t seem inclined to answer.

  “Okay, good. Keep them safe. But I have a packet for you.” He hands a fat manila envelope to Mam, who holds it gingerly, as if expecting it to do something. “Falsified passports and other papers, so that you can function without being noticed. These are what you’ll use if asked for I.D. in America.” He swivels around in his seat to see Georgie. “Understood?”

  Georgie swallows hard and nods. “Right. And where do we go when we get there?”

  “There will be a car and driver waiting for you.”

  “What name will they use?” Georgie asks.

  “Cassie Moore,” Mr. Frank says and spells out the last name so we understand the difference. “It’s the name on the new passport.”

  Mam is Her Majesty Queen Cassandra Sophia Maria von Boden don Mohr. She is not Cassie Moore. My stomach starts to feel funny again.

  We arrive at the airport, and even though it seems like the sun has barely risen, there are cars lined up to discharge passengers and people waiting in security lines.

  “Godspeed,” Mr. Frank says as he stops the car in front of the main entrance. “I’ll let Frederick know you got this far safely.”

  Mam barely nods. It’s Georgie who thanks him and shepherds us out of the car. Ivan Frank drives away, and we’re left on the sidewalk, alone.

  This is not how we normally arrive at the airport. Every other time we’ve flown, we’ve taken a helicopter straight to the tarmac and then boarded our private plane.

  No one expects to see the queen and princesses get out of a beat-up Honda, so they don’t notice us. I never knew you could be invisible in plain sight before.

  “Let’s go,” Georgie says, taking charge as only Georgie can. She’s next in line for the throne, and she will be a great ruler because she really knows how to lead. Now she leads Mam and me through the automatic doors and toward the Monaco Airlines counter.

  A man dragging a wheeled carry-on bumps into Mam. She starts to stand tall and regal and put on her true Queen Cassandra look, but he barely gives her a glance, just offers a quick “sorry” and moves on, and she sort of collapses back into herself.

  If he knew he’d bumped into the Queen of Colsteinburg, he would have behaved quite differently.

  We pass a newsstand, but the headlines are about something that happened in France. No one knows what’s happened at the palace yet. What did happen at the palace? Once again, my stomach starts to rebel. Mam and Georgie are getting ahead of me. I hurry to catch up.

  At the Monaco Airlines counter, it’s Georgie who does all the talking, while Mam looks on.

  “We were told to speak to Lucinda,” Georgie says.

  “I’m sure I can help you,” the young man at the counter says. I know what that’s all about. Like all guys who come in contact with Georgie and her blond hair and startling blue eyes, he’s instantly in love and doesn’t want to miss a chance to talk to her.

  “You can help us by finding Lucinda so we can speak to her. It’s very important,” Georgie says. She manages to be firm and flirt at the same time. I’ll have to get her to teach me how to do that.

  Within moments, an older woman—with a short, no-nonsense haircut, glasses perched on the end of her nose, and a name tag that says “Lucinda”—appears at the counter. Georgie looks to Mam to take over, but she doesn’t seem inclined to speak up. Mam acts like she’s sleepwalking or in a daze.

  “My name is Georgiana,” Georgie says, softly but clearly. “Ivan Frank told me to speak to you.”

  The woman’s eyes light up with recognition. It’s the first time we’ve been recognized since we got into the airport, but she clearly realizes that she shouldn’t say anything. “Yes, of course. Please, follow me.”

  She leads us through a door behind the counter, and we make our way through the private passageways of the airport.

  “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Lucinda says. “This is a terrible turn of events.”

  Mam responds to the title and nods. “Thank you,” she says. “We are hopeful things will right themselves soon.”

  Yes, that’s what I want to hear. Things will be better soon, and we won’t have anything to worry about. Everyone is just being overly cautious. This is a little vacation. That’s all.

  We bypass all the security lines and ticket counters and board the plane before everyone else.

  “The seats up there look much nicer,” I say as I try to get comfortable in my narrow one.

  “We’re not flying first class,” Georgie says. “We’re regular tourists today.”

  Regular tourists who boarded the plane even before the flight crew. When the flight crew does come on board, the pilot introduces himself to Mam and tells her he’s honored to have her on his plane. That is the only recognition we get.

  After we take off, Mam buries herself in a magazine. Georgie takes
out a calculus book and starts working problems. Only Georgie would think to bring a calculus book with her. Doing math problems calms her down, so it makes sense. I take out my phone and shove the bag under my seat. Earbuds in place, I lean back and fall asleep.

  Mam nudges me awake when they bring food around, but I’m not hungry and wave them away. I sleep some more. I don’t have to think while I’m sleeping.

  I wake up when they announce we are getting ready to land.

  The plane lands at Boston’s Logan International Airport, and there is no more special treatment. We have to wait with the crowds of other people trooping off the plane, down the passenger boarding bridge, and into the terminal. We don’t have to stop for luggage, though, so we get to customs and immigration before the crowd.

  Georgie pulls out our new passports and shows them to the guy in the glass booth. He barely glances at them before handing them back and waving us through.

  And then reality hits in the shape of a sign saying “Moore,” with Mam acknowledging that she is Cassie Moore. Just plain Cassie Moore, not Her Majesty Queen Cassandra Sophia Maria von Boden don Mohr.

  If Mam’s not queen anymore, am I still a princess?

  6

  A couple of years ago, we flew to New York City and stayed in the penthouse suite on the top floor of a Fifth Avenue hotel. We could look out the windows and see the whole world, or at least that’s what it felt like. We went to the top of the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty and had front row seats at a Broadway show.

  This is not New York.

  I look out the car windows and don’t see the massive, powerful buildings that define New York. Boston is smaller, more approachable. But even without the huge buildings, the crush of cars on the highway makes me long for open spaces. The car enters a tunnel, and my heart feels squeezed in my chest. I’m not claustrophobic. I’ve been in tunnels before, but today I don’t want to be underground surrounded by walls. It reminds me too much of being in the back of the dark van. I reach for Georgie’s hand, and she gives mine a reassuring squeeze. When we emerge, there is still more traffic, with no one behaving in an orderly way. It’s almost like driving in Rome or Paris. Are drivers everywhere crazy?

  Ahead of us, an amazing suspension bridge rises geometrically above the horizon. I want to go over it and see what it looks like up close, but we turn, and it recedes in the distance. We drive beside the river, the city on the other side of us. We pass an amphitheater that looks like a massive shell. It’s all too much to take in. I want my familiar scenery: mountains and fields and red tile roofs. I want to be home.

  We cross the river. I want to ask where we are going but suppose the answer won’t really matter. Other than that we landed in a city called Boston, I have no idea where we are or what might possibly be around here. We exit the highway and drive on crowded city streets and finally to an area where there is not as much traffic and things seem slightly more spread out. The car pulls up in front of a two-story building with several entrances.

  The door on the end opens up. A tall slender man, with his dark hair cropped in what I always think of as a military style, comes out and helps Mam out of the car.

  “Cassandra,” he says, his voice smooth and warm. “I’m glad you made it here safely.”

  Mam grips his hand with her own, her knuckles white. “Thank you, Thomas.” The shakiness of her voice makes my insides tighten up. I want to go home.

  “It’s good to see you, girls,” the man says. “Come inside where we can talk.”

  “Who is he?” I whisper to Georgie as we follow him and Mam into the house.

  “Ambassador Hart,” she says matter-of-factly. “You remember him? He was the ambassador to Colsteinburg a few years ago. Remember his wife used to wear really high heels, and we always wondered how she didn’t topple over?”

  That is vaguely familiar.

  “They have a son, Matthew, remember him? He’s a few years older than I am.”

  “Kind of,” I say, but I don’t really. I have a vague image of a tall skinny kid with glasses who didn’t pay any attention to me. “Why is he here?”

  “He owns the house,” Georgie answers, and we step over the threshold and inside.

  Ambassador Hart closes the door behind us. We are in a small living room. There is a sofa and two easy chairs and a TV. Behind that, I can see a dining room and a kitchen. That seems to be all there is to the downstairs.

  “You live here?” I ask. If he and his family live here, in this small house, where on earth were Mam and Georgie and I going to sleep?

  “No,” he answers. “We bought this place when my son was in college. Now that he’s graduated, we were getting it ready to sell. I’m honored to be able to offer it for your use for the time being.”

  “Oh,” I answer rather ungraciously. I toss my backpack on the floor and flop down in one of the chairs. It squeaks as I settle into it.

  “Thank you, it is very generous of you,” Georgie says when it becomes clear Mam isn’t planning on responding. She sits next to Mam, who is on the sofa running her fingers over the edging of a throw pillow, staring out at nothing. I can’t look at Mam; it scares me.

  “I’m glad I can help,” he says. “I wish I could do more.”

  So do I, but I don’t say anything.

  Ambassador Hart sits in the other chair and addresses Mam and Georgie. “I didn’t have a lot of time to get things ready. The beds are made up, and there are towels in the linen closet. I stopped at the store on my way here and picked up some staples for you. There are take-out menus on the counter and some cash as well.”

  “What’s going to happen next?” Georgie asks, her voice surprisingly strong, considering everyone else seems to be falling apart.

  “I don’t know for certain,” Ambassador Hart admits. “The key now is to keep you all safe and secluded.”

  “Until Pap fixes everything and sends for us, right?” I ask. That has to be the right answer.

  “That would be ideal, yes,” he says slowly, leading me to believe he doesn’t really think that’s going to happen. My insides twist into a knot. “It’s really too soon to know exactly what will happen. For now, the main thing is to keep you all safe.”

  “Will anyone know we’re here?” Georgie asks.

  “Only my wife and I.”

  “Are we allowed to leave the house?” I ask, feeling fretful. I don’t want to be a prisoner.

  “With caution, I’d say yes, after a couple of days.”

  “How will we shop?” Georgie asks.

  “Between what I’ve brought today and the money for takeout you should be fine for several days. When you need more, there is a corner store about two blocks away. It’s an easy walk, and you should be able to get what you need there. This is only temporary until Frederick comes for you or until we can come up with a more permanent solution.”

  The only permanent solution I want to see is us going back home to Pap.

  “My number is on the counter. If you need anything, call.”

  “What about security?” Georgie asks. We’re the royal family, we never go anywhere without security.

  Ambassador Hart shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry. I can’t do anything for you there. I spoke with the State Department. They don’t want to appear to be taking sides in this conflict.”

  “Taking sides?” I say. “But I thought the United States were our friends. I thought you would help us.”

  “We are friends of the country of Colsteinburg,” he says. “That does not mean we are partial to any particular administration.”

  I glower at him, but it doesn’t seem to affect him in any way.

  “So we’re on our own,” Georgie says.

  Mr. Hart runs his hand through his cropped hair. “You are here because I, personally, chose to offer you help. It is a strictly private matter. The government will not get involved. But you do have whatever help I can give you.”

  “Why can’t we just go home?” I ask.


  “You have to be reasonable, Fredericka,” he says. “Your country is in chaos. The safest place for you is here.”

  Personally, I think we’d be safer somewhere with security, but no one will listen to me. I’m just a kid.

  “I have to go.” Ambassador Hart stands. “I’m sorry, but I need to catch my plane back to DC. I have a dinner party tonight, and I don’t want to raise questions about where I’ve been.”

  “Thank you,” Georgie says again, also standing. Mam and I don’t move. “We really do appreciate all you are doing for us.”

  “Goodbye, Cassandra, girls,” he says. “I’ll be in touch. Good luck.”

  He leaves, and we are alone in our new home. No. Not home. Temporary shelter. A new kind of hotel. That’s all.

  “I’ll put on tea, Mam,” Georgie says. “Does that sound good?”

  Mam nods absently, still running her fingers over the edge of the pillow.

  Georgie heads to the kitchen, and I jump up from my chair and follow her. She fills the kettle at the tap and puts it on the stove, studying the knobs to see how to turn it on. Finally, she gets the burner lit. She locates a box of teabags and puts them on the counter.

  “Do you want tea, too?”

  “I don’t know.” I open the refrigerator and see that there are several cans of soda in there. “I’d rather have a soda.”

  “Fine,” Georgie says. She puts teabags in two mugs and leans against the counter, waiting for the water to boil.

  I grab a can of soda and head upstairs to investigate the rest of the house. There are two bedrooms, one with a very large bed and one with a double bed. That’s it. Mam will obviously have the big room with the big bed, but that means Georgie and I will have to share the smaller room. I can’t sleep with anyone else in bed with me.

  This stinks. I sit on the edge of the double bed, sip my soda, and close my eyes. This is only temporary. Soon Pap will get everything straightened out at home, and we’ll be back at the palace.