“Of course, Your Highness.”
“That niece’s name was Jeanne de Malafosse. Years later in 1479, Jeanne married Hugh, the Valois-Montevor crown prince, and joined him in Mount Evor.”
“And brought the keys with her!”
He nodded. “Our historians thought that the nine keys had been made for the vault in the seventeenth or eighteenth century. But they’re older than that. And the vault’s interconnected locks that were made to fit the keys, not the other way around.”
“Does that mean that the keys were made in France, for the House of Lusignan?”
“That’s the prevailing theory now,” he confirmed. “Jeanne de Malafosse brought them to Château des Neiges in 1479. Then, in the 1790s, when the French Revolution threatened to spread to Mount Evor, the keys were sent abroad again, separately this time, to ensure that the documents in the vault didn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
Incredible as it is, Charlie’s mom wasn’t wrong in attributing the keys’ ownership to Queen Charlotte!
I spent the rest of the day in debriefings at MESS, the PM’s office and the royal palace, and the evening with my parents. Stella had her appointment with Dr. Biel. I called as soon as she was done. She was ecstatic. Dr. Biel had been adamant that Stella didn’t suffer from DID, or any other mental disorder. Any lingering issues she might have after everything she’s been through recently, and all the shocking stuff she’s learned about her folks will clear with behavioral therapy and time.
On Friday, I was offered the position of head of Royal Security. It’s a very high-level post, with only Adam, the PM, and Prince Richard above me. I’d have the authority to overrule all other royals, including my former boss, Crown Prince Theodor, on any matter pertaining to their safety. The offer was an unhoped-for honor. I said I’d give my answer on Monday.
Over the weekend, I took part in back-to-back meetings, celebratory dinners, and ceremonies. My Key to the Key, Charlie, was flown into Pombrio. After she signed the draconian nondisclosure agreement, Adam personally read her in, and Prince Richard made her Lady of the Order of the Brassiere.
Unfortunately, he refused clearance and entry to Stella, despite my vouching for her. Both Adam and the PM had advised him to refuse her. Not knowing Stella like I do, I might’ve counseled the same if I had been in their shoes.
But that doesn’t make his decision any less catastrophic for me. She can’t come and live with me in Mount Evor. She can’t even know my country exists!
During the various events held over the weekend, the royals—especially Princess Felicia—were surprised to see that Charlie and I had become friends, but nothing more. At the royal dinner on Saturday, Princess Felicia told me she’s been thinking about it. Her visions, she told me, show the past. They don’t predetermine the future. The fact that the key seekers before me ended up with their Key to the Key doesn’t mean I must, too.
When Stella was denied clearance, I was told that nothing prevented me from spending my weekends and vacations with her. Haute-Savoie is only three hours’ drive from Pombrio.
It’s true. It’s also true that when you realize that you’re in love, deeply and desperately, you want more than the weekends. With that in mind, I went to my bank this morning to see if the royals had given me a bonus for my part as a key seeker. They had, and a very nice one, too.
But that wasn’t the unexpected part.
It turns out you can amass a fortune over twenty years, without ever bothering to check how much money you have in your accounts. There are requirements, of course. You must have a high salary, no time to spend anything because you’re married to your job, and a talented financial planner to make good investments for you. All the requirements were met in my case.
A chunk of my money is tied in shares, art, and gold. I didn’t touch it. The rest was transferred to my bank’s French branch. I was told that, provided I didn’t squander what I have, I wouldn’t need to work another day in my life, if I didn’t want to.
Obviously, I do want to work. But I might decide to do something different than before. Or, if I stay in security, I might start my own company. For that, I’d need to learn how to run a business. Being able to take the time to think and acquire new skills is a luxury I can afford. And it feels great!
Filling my lungs with air, I descend the steps, and head to my car parked down the street.
Tomorrow morning, I’m traveling to France. I intend to live there with Stella. I haven’t told her about my decision yet, or about my feelings. That’s for tomorrow when I see her. If she feels the same way about me, we could settle in Annecy, or another town of Haute-Savoie, or another region. Anywhere she wants. I hope we’ll start a family when she’s ready.
I also hope that one day, Prince Richard will change his mind about letting Stella in.
And if he never does? If I end up living in exile for the rest of my days?
Then so be it.
STELLA
Iopen the door and Darrel steps into my new hotel room.I mean, his new hotel room.We spoke on the phone an hour ago. Since then, I’ve put on my sexy cocktail dress, felt silly because it’s midmorning, changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, felt underdressed, swapped my T-shirt for a flirtier blouse, and applied mascara.
He shuts the door and stands before me—tall, strong, and heart-stoppingly handsome. True to his word, he showed up on the day he said he would.
It’s only been a week without him. It felt much longer, though. I’ve never felt as lonely as after he went away last Wednesday, after making it clear I shouldn’t expect a relationship. He was incommunicado for the rest of the day. Late in the evening, I knew something was wrong, not because he hadn’t been in touch but because Samson came by my room with a bizarre message to relay to Darrel, should he call. I couldn’t sleep until three in the morning. And then, at seven, Darrel called me, and I passed on the message.
Since then, he’s called me daily. Nothing romantic—he’d just ask about my day, or tell me I’d be moving to a new hotel, or inform me my security detail included a second man in addition to Samson from now on, or ask me to use the fake ID card they gave me and refusing to tell me why.
It goes without saying that I don’t like any of it. But the part I hate most is knowing next to nothing about him.