Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(34)

“I guess we should go ahead and start scouting out a spot?” I suggest, and to my surprise, Flora points farther down the hill.

“We should set up over there,” she says. “On the other side of the water.”

Down the rise, there’s a fast-flowing stream, and on the other side, the ground does look flatter and maybe less rocky.

“Wow, that’s . . . actually helpful,” I say, smiling at Flora. “Good plan.”

“Whatever,” she says, readjusting her pack, and we head off in that direction. The wind is blowing, and it smells sweet from the grass with this faint mineral tang from the water ahead of us. I lift my face into it, watching clouds rush over the sky, smiling.

“Okay, this is awesome,” I say, not caring that I’m wearing someone else’s clothes and accompanied by someone who doesn’t like me very much.

From behind me, Flora gives a grunt that might be agreement, might just be that camping has already begun to kill her.

I’m fine with either in this moment.

We get to the bottom of the hill, and a little of my Sound of Music–y joy leaves me when I see that the stream that looked so manageable from up higher is a lot bigger and faster than I’d thought.

It’s also . . . brown. Not gross brown, don’t get me wrong. This looks more like a river made of root beer, which is a cool idea, but it means that I can’t really see the bottom, so I’m not sure how deep it is.

Already stymied by nature ten minutes in.

“There!” Flora calls out, pointing at some rocks that form an uneven and slippery path across the water. “We can cross there.”

“We can die there,” I reply, pushing my bangs out of my eyes. Flora is still wearing her sunglasses, her cheeks pink from the wind, a few strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail.

But she shakes her head. “No, I’ve crossed loads of streams like these. They’re never very deep, and as long as you take your time crossing, you shouldn’t slip.”

She holds out her hand. “Here, tell you what. I’ll hold your pack while you cross.”

I like the idea of attempting to cross without an unwieldy pack on my back, but I frown at Flora. “Then how will you get across?”

Flora shrugs. “I’m more used to this kind of thing than you may think. Like I said, I’ve gone on tons of shooting trips, and we haul gear a lot heavier than all this across rougher terrain. It’s just a matter of balance, really.”

She says it so confidently that I find myself shrugging off my pack. “If you’re sure?”

Although I can’t see her eyes behind her glasses, I assume she rolls them. “I’m sure I want this part of things to be over as quickly as possible, so hand me your stupid bag and cross the river.”

She takes the pack from me, and I have to say, she doesn’t even stagger under the weight. Maybe Flora is tougher than she looks.

So I grin at her. “Thanks!”

“Any day now, Quint,” she replies, gesturing to the water.

My first step is not as steady as I’d like, my eyes on all that water rushing underneath me. But the second step is easier, and with my hands out to the side, I’m very glad I’m not carrying a bag like a turtle shell on my back.

I’m focused on my steps, and also on the wind, which seems to get louder, the sweeping sound of the river, and the opposite bank, so I’m not sure how long it takes me to cross. It feels like forever, but when my feet finally land on the slippery bank opposite, I’m smiling again. I clamber up a bit, putting the river behind me some before finding the steadier, flatter piece of ground Flora had first pointed out.

Turning to face Flora, I call out, “Your t—”

The words die in my throat.

Flora isn’t on the opposite side of the river. She’s on the bank, right behind me.

Grinning.

And our packs are nowhere in sight.





CHAPTER 18





I should’ve known.

When Flora asked to hold my pack, I absolutely should’ve suspected something was up because obviously. In what universe would Flora be the sort of person who willingly holds someone else’s stuff? But I told myself that maybe she was just trying to be nice, and now it’s clear that that kind of thinking is going to be what gets me killed.

Awesome.

“Seriously, Flora,” I say, panic beginning to climb up my throat. “Where are our packs?”

She jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

“In the river.”

“The river,” I repeat, and some little part of my brain is insisting that I must have misunderstood her, that there’s no way she’d do something this stupid and reckless.

Then I remember who I’m talking to, and oh my god, all our stuff is absolutely in the river.

I look back down the incline toward the rushing water, and I think, there in the distance, I can see something bobbing along that might be a pack? But even as I go to take after it—apparently thinking I can outrun a river—whatever it was disappears out of sight, and I stop there, my feet muddy, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs.

“That shite was heavy,” Flora says. “They’ve probably sunk already.”

I thrust my hands into my hair, pulling it slightly from my head like the sting will make me wake up from this nightmare where I’m trapped in the wilderness with no supplies and a brat of a princess, but no. It hurts a little, and I’m still very much awake.