The Wild Heir(14)

Oh, please no, did something happen to my father or brothers?

I press the talk button and hold it to my ear, taking in a deep breath.

“Hello?”

“Is this Princess Isabella?” a familiar male voice says in German.

“Yes,” I answer back, switching languages easily. “Who is calling?”

“This is Schnell, your father’s butler,” he says. I didn’t recognize his nasally voice at first, but Schnell has been working alongside my father as his right-hand man for decades now. I’m used to seeing Schnell as much as my father, maybe even more so.

“Hi, Schnell. Sorry I didn’t recognize your voice,” I tell him, my heart gripped by panic as I realize why he could be calling. “Is my father all right? Are my brothers?”

“Yes, yes, they are all fine. I’m calling on behalf of your father, actually. He has a meeting today and couldn’t call you himself but it’s a matter of importance.”

“Okay,” I tell him, relieved that everyone is fine. It’s not unusual for Schnell to do most of my father’s phone calls, even when it comes to state matters. “What is it? Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem,” he says. “But you have been invited to dinner tomorrow night at the Royal Palace in Oslo.”

What?

“Uh, can you repeat that, Schnell?”

“Yes, madam. The Norwegian royal family has invited you for dinner tomorrow night and your father thinks it’s very important that you attend.”

“But…why? Why me?”

I mean, this is most unusual. I’m never invited anywhere, let alone any place royal. My princess status has been nothing but a hindrance ever since I left my own country. I don’t think the world even knows I exist.

“I am not sure,” he says. “Your father didn’t say much except to say it was mutually beneficial.” He pauses and I swear I hear some murmuring in the background. “Perhaps you can use this opportunity to speak to them about one of your issues.”

I think by issues he means environmental issues. As socially progressive as Norway is, the country has done a lot of harm to the environment with fishing practices and whaling and it’s something I care deeply about. Maybe too deeply. I’m not sure how well a dinner will go if I get all passionate and heated and start yelling at the King and Queen about their policies. I may be shy and quiet ninety-nine percent of the time but when there’s something that gets under my skin, I’m hard to shut up.

Schnell clears his throat and goes on. “We’ve already booked a flight for you and Lady Jane tomorrow afternoon from Edinburgh to Oslo. You will be picked up at the airport by one of their men and taken straight to the palace. You are to wear something demure and appropriate for the occasion. Buy something today if you have to but do make sure you look your best. You’re representing Liechtenstein after all.”

“Okay,” I tell him, though it’s kind of weird to have old Schnell give me advice on how to dress. Though maybe I need it. I glance down at my fluffy black cardigan and ripped jeans. Not exactly the regal look.

“Your father will call you directly after the dinner,” he says. “Take care now, madam, and do reach out to me if you have any questions.”

“How do I reach out if your number is private?” I quickly ask, but it’s too late. He’s already hung up.

I stare at the phone in disbelief for a few moments, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

Why on earth would I be invited to dinner at the Norwegian palace? It doesn’t make any sense at all. I’m…nobody. Honestly. And though sometimes I wish I had a bigger voice about the issues I care about—hence why I’m going to university—I kind of like the fact that beyond this campus, no one knows who I am. I shouldn’t be on any monarchy’s radar whatsoever.

Unless I’m being used as some sort of chess piece in some inter-country power play. Since I was sent away from my own family and country at an early enough age, I was never fully immersed in the politics and goings on that surround my father and the thirty-seven thousand people that he represents. Could it be there’s something that either my father wants from Norway or vice versa?

Paranoia doesn’t suit me, but I can’t help thinking that’s more than likely the reason for all this. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going, and now I’m more curious than ever. Perhaps I’ll be an unwitting spy.

First things first though—I need a dress, and there isn’t much time to get one. I’ve never skipped class before, and I feel guilty for doing so, but these kinds of opportunities never come up for me, and it’s not like I can say no to my father when he never asks me to do anything.

Instead of texting Jane, I turn around and run back through the rain all the way to my dorm. I shuffle down the hall, the wet soles of my shoes squeaking across the floor, and then knock on Jane’s door.

It takes her a moment to open, and when she does, she’s peering at me suspiciously.

“It’s me,” I tell her. “I need to talk to you.”

“I know it’s you, I’m not blind,” she says, opening her door wider so I can come in. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“I have news,” I tell her as I step into her closet-sized room.