The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(118)

I need to see Josh. Emotionally, my heart has missed its mate. Physically, I’m literally bursting with anticipation to see him. Kiss him. Feel him everywhere.

It’s when I’m taking the stone steps of one of the spiral staircases in the west wing tower that I hear it. A helicopter. There is no mistaking it. It’s faint, but it’s there. With my heart in my mouth, I race down the stairs in search of a south-facing window, skidding to a stop in front of the first one I find. Gasping for air, I look past the lead-framed glass, having to wipe away the condensation when my hot breath mists the glass. I see it. In the distance, a blob on the horizon. Josh.

Throwing myself down the rest of the stairs, I run full pelt through the castle, sailing past many staff who move from my path, no doubt alarmed by my strange behavior. My cheeks are aching with the smile on my face, my skin tingling, as if anticipating his touch. I burst out of the doors, circling round to the helicopter pad, my eyes squinting, seeing he is closer. Waving frantic hands in the air, I jump on the spot. It’s pointless. The pilot can’t possibly miss the sprawling estate surrounded by nothing, but still.

Unable to contain my excitement, everything feeling a million times better just knowing he is here with me, I send him a text message.

I can see you!

My arms are back in the air again, waving like a loon.

“Ma’am?”

I swing around, my face splitting with my smile, and not even Damon’s confusion can wipe it away. He made me promise no runners. I’m not running. He can’t possibly chastise me for this.

“Did I miss the memo?” He scratches his head, his muddle clear as he looks past me to the helicopter.

“It’s Josh,” I say, smiling small and awkward when he darts a shocked stare back to me.

Then his eyes disappear, hidden behind his lids as he gathers patience. “I should have known.”

My phone bleeps, and I glance down to read the message from Josh.

You’ve got good eyesight. I’ve not even left Glasgow. Technical problem with the chopper.

Ice glides across my skin, and I whirl around, the helicopter now close—close enough to see the royal emblem emblazoned on the side. “Oh my God.”

“That’s not Josh, Adeline,” Damon says gravely. “That’s the King.”

I’m a statue, watching in horror, numb and muddled, as the chopper comes to land on the pad. My father disembarks, and my dread multiplies when I see David follow closely behind, as well as Sir Don and Dr. Goodridge. “Father?” I question as he strides toward me. I don’t like his face. Not at all. It’s fixed and determined.

“I’m here to hunt,” he declares as he passes, my body turning to follow his path. “And we should discuss the arrangements.”

“What happened to my two days?”

He stops and turns, looking me up and down. “Your destiny is written. Two hours, or two days, the end result will be the same. We should plan announcements and press releases. There’s a lot to be done.” He marches on, disregarding my astonished state.

I feel unwell. “Father!” I run after him, throwing a scowl back at David, unable to let go of the notion that he has something to do with this. And now I come to think of it …“Where’s Davenport?” I ask.

“Unwell.” The King stops at the door for one of the footmen to take his coat.

Unwell? He’s never been unwell. Not ever, though I can’t deny he has been out of sorts for a few weeks. But more not like himself rather than physically ill. This is all very strange. And hopeless. So hopeless. I turn my glazed eyes onto Damon, maybe searching for some backup. I don’t know why. There’s no one who can help me.

“John should be here imminently,” the King tells one of the staff. “Prepare his room, as well as suites for Sir Don, Sampson, and the doctor.”

Great. My eldest brother, too? I don’t stand a chance. I just manage to avoid taking my face and burying it in my palms, but I can’t stop the swelling in my throat. David and Sir Don follow my father like the lapdogs they are through the corridors of the castle to his office. The door is slammed before I can join them, and I stare at the wood for an eternity, my head in bedlam. My eyes drift to a window when I hear the sounds of another chopper. It’s not Josh. He’s still in Glasgow. It’s John. More muscle to bully me.

“Your Highness?”

Dragging my heavy head to the other side of me, I find Dr. Goodridge. He’s always been old to me, but today he looks exceptionally old. How much longer can he tail the King wherever he goes?

“Are you okay?” he asks me.

I blink and return my eyes to the door of my father’s office.

“You need to rein that girl in, sir,” David says, his voice clear through the wood.

“She’s spirited.” There are a few chinks, undeniably glass on glass, the crystal decanter on my father’s desk meeting the edge of a tumbler. “If I struggle to keep her in check, how do you suppose your son will?”

My hand is on the doorknob and I’ve pushed myself into the room before I can think better of it. “I am not marrying Haydon,” I declare, as stable as I can. “And you cannot make me.”

“I knew it,” Sampson snarls at me.

“Oh, shut up,” I retort. “This has nothing to do with you. Stop clinging to my family. I will not marry your son.”