Princess Thief: Stealing Your Heart (17 page)

“And
yet, it almost worked,” Juliette noted.

“Ah,
yeah, true,” Guillermo nodded in agreement.  “That piece of legislation he
introduced this morning would have been a lot of trouble to deal with.”

You
have no idea!  Thank goodness there
’s no “Article 8” any more!

“You
know, it’s ironic,” Guillermo continued, “but by introducing that legislation,
the baron actually helped Sofia and I in a way.”

“How?”

“He
inadvertently educated the country that a lot of the ancient traditions are
just that: traditions, not laws.  For example, now the country knows that the
marriage requirement is
not
a law — it
’s just a
tradition.  A lot of people believed that it was actually a law until today. 
By drawing so much attention to his Royal Traditions Bill, Baron Amsel actually
cleared up a lot of misconceptions.”  Guillermo chuckled.  “If anything, his
bumbling has made our lives
easier
in the end.  Sophia and I are freer to
be ourselves.  Actually-
”
Guillermo took Juliette’s hand in his, “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Juliette
felt a thrill run up her arm.  It felt so natural to hold his hand.  She forced
herself to calm down. 
“About
what?”

“About
the marriage requirement,” Guillermo turned to face her.  “About us.”

Juliette
’s heart raced. 
“Guillermo, I-”

“Hush,”
he touched her lips softly with his forefinger.  “Just listen.  Now that I’m
free of the marriage restriction — now that I no longer
have
to marry you —
I
’ve
realized that I
want
to marry you. 
Two weeks ago, I didn
’t
know who you were.  Now, I can’t imagine my life without you.”  He wrapped his
arms around her waist and pulled her to him.  “I love you, Juliette.  Will you
be my bride?”

“Oh,”
Juliette groaned in frustration.  She looked down at her shoes, resting her
forehead on his chest, unable to meet his eyes.  “How am I supposed to answer
that?!”

Guillermo
chuckled. 
“Say,
‘yes!’  Just one little word!”

She
glanced up at him — smiling, radiant, handsome — then quickly turned away. 
“You’re making
this very hard.”

“What’s
so hard?” he asked.

I
made a promise to my uncle, that
’s what!  I have responsibilities to the
orphanage, that’s what!  But, God, he looks
so
adorable right
now-

She
placed her hands squarely against his chest and pushed him away. 
“No, Guillermo,
I-” she hesitated, “I need more time!  You’re ambushing me here, with your
charming smile and your Royal Garden-”

Guillermo
threw back his head and laughed. 
“So, you
do
feel the same
way, then.
”

“Yes. 
No!  Oh,” she moaned, “Just stop it!  I haven’t slept in 36 hours and I had a
glass of wine with dinner.  I can’t answer you now.  I can’t even think
straight!”  She clutched her fist to her chest, hoping to quell the pounding of
her racing heart.

Guillermo
grinned and held up his hands, palms out. 
“All right.  All right.  We’ll continue
this discussion tomorrow, then.”

Juliette
relaxed a bit. 
“Yes. 
Fine.  Tomorrow will be fine.”

But,
wait — tomorrow, I
’ll
be gone, right?

Guillermo
slipped his right hand behind her back. 
“Come on.  I’ll walk you back to your
room.”

“Okay,”
Juliette agreed.  “But no funny stuff, got it?”

He
laughed. 
“No
funny stuff.  I promise.”

“Hmmmm,”
Juliette eyed him suspiciously, “You seem to be quite pleased with yourself
tonight.”

“Me?”
Guillermo feigned innocence.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh
huh.  I’ll just bet!”

Guillermo
laughed.  They walked side by side out of the Royal Garden and into the
castle.  As they reached the top of the stairs and slowly headed towards her
bedroom, Juliette felt an unexpected pang of sadness.  Thoughts swirled in her
head:

This
is it, girl.  This is really it!  There
’s nothing left for you to do. 
He doesn’t need to marry you to become king.  He’s going to stay on the throne
indefinitely.  He’s going to be a good king.  You should be happy!  You can
leave with a clear conscience.

“Well,
here we are,” Guillermo interrupted her runaway train of thoughts.

“Yes,
so we are.”  Juliette reluctantly opened the door and stepped inside.  She spun
around to face him, to get one last look at him, before she closed the door on
him forever.  “Guillermo, I-”

“Good
night, Juliette,” he smiled and gazed at her lovingly with those gorgeous blue
eyes.

Juliette
hesitated, then said simply,
“Good night,” and shut the door.  She immediately
collapsed to the floor and began crying — she didn’t know why, but suddenly
life felt very unfair to her just then.

Very
unfair.

Beep-beep. 
Beep-beep.  Beep-beep.

Juliette
woke to the quiet chirping of the cell phone under her pillow; she silenced it
quickly.

3:00
AM.  It
’s
time.

She
threw back the covers, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and pulled on
her robe.  The tears had stopped hours ago; the time for sentimentality was
over.  She knew that she needed a clear head in order to pull this off. 
Instinct, or some kind of sense memory, took over; she was like an animal, a
cheetah, a huntress out for her prey.

She
pulled the blue backpack out of the drawer and laid it on the bed.  She unzipped
it, found the false compartment, and yanked at the two sides with her bare
hands.  No, the stitches were too tight; Uncle Fran
çois had done a
good job.  She glanced around the bedroom…

There. 
On the nightstand: a shiny metal nail file.

She
grabbed the nail file and began meticulously working the tip in between the
stitching.  She found that if she applied pressure at just the right angle, the
stitches would pop open.  She continued until she had an opening of about 2
inches; then grabbed either side of the fabric and pulled with all of her
strength.

It
gave.

Inside,
the night vision goggles and a note.  She unfolded the note.  Two words:
Aunt
Abigail
.  She crumpled the paper, stuffed it into her backpack, then shoved
the backpack under her bed.

She
was sweating.  She picked up her cell phone: 3:15 AM.

Shit! 
I
’m
already behind schedule.

She
muted her cell phone, then sent her Uncle Fran
çois a message:

Can
’t sleep. 
Missing u.  Tell Aunt Abigail I said hi.

Without
waiting for a reply, she tossed the phone onto her bed and picked up the night
vision goggles. 

She
inspected her robe.  No pockets. 

She
pulled her robe closed and tied the belt, then carefully slipped the night
vision goggles inside.  She would have to casually press the goggles between her
elbow and her left side and hope that, if she ran into anyone, they didn
’t notice the
bulge.

She
paused just inside the door:

Remember:
you
’re
sleepy and need some chamomile tea.

She
stepped out into the hall; it was deserted.  She went downstairs, rounded the
corner.

Perfect. 
No guard.

She
suppressed a smile.  As she approached the gem room, she glanced quickly to her
left, then right, then silently turned the knob and stepped inside.

She
closed the door and leaned against it.  It was pitch black; the thick red
curtains were closed tonight; only the faintest hint of starlight penetrated
the spaces around the curtains, framing them in a gentle halo. 

She
waited patiently, listening for any sound — anything at all: a rustling, a
breath, a scratch, a movement.

There
was nothing.

She
reached inside of her robe and retrieved the night vision goggles.  She flipped
the switch and peered through the lenses, the familiar green picture making all
of the objects in the room appear eerie and otherworldly.  Everything was as
she remembered it from a week ago: the ridiculously expensive jewelry was
safely ensconced beneath pillars of heavy, thick glass; in the far corner were
the less-pricey pieces, laid out side-by-side on the bookcase.

She
carefully surveyed every inch of the room before taking a step.  She didn
’t want a repeat
of what happened last time she was in this room.  Crouching figures ready to
pounce?  Lazy sleeping guards hiding out for a quick nap?  A mischievous prince
looking to trap a bride?

There
was no one.  She was alone.

She
swiftly tiptoed over to the bookcase.  Without any ambient light to reflect,
the emerald necklace seemed lifeless tonight; just another green object in a
sea of green objects that she spied through the night vision goggles.

She
cautiously pulled back one of the curtains and inspected the window.  It was
well camouflaged, but her trained eye caught it: two tiny magnets positioned
adjacent to each other, one on each window; thin wires attached to the magnets
ran along the base of the windows and into the walls.

She
sighed.

It
’s wired.  Well,
I expected as much.  Nothing else to do here, then.

She
grabbed the necklace and headed for the exit.  She paused at the door, switched
off the goggles and wrapped the necklace around them, then stuffed them inside
of her robe, under her left arm.

Noiselessly,
she cracked the door open and peeked out.

No
one.

She
swiveled her head and peered down the other hall.

Nothing.

She
opened the door fully, stepped out, and pulled the door closed behind her.  She
walked down the hall, rapidly ascended the stairs, walked down another hall,
and entered her bedroom.

Her
heart was thumping.

She
opened her robe, tossed the necklace and goggles onto the bed, then picked up
her cell phone.

One
New Message

She
opened it.  From Uncle Fran
çois:

Missing
u 2.  Aunt Abigail says u can visit anytime.

She
smiled.

Good.

She
retrieved the backpack from underneath the bed, stuffed the goggles, necklace,
and cell phone inside, then zipped it up tight.

She
quickly changed into her workout clothes — spandex top, shorts, and running
shoes — then tied her hair back into a ponytail.

She
stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection.

It
’s time to go.

She
took one last look around the bedroom —
her
bedroom — and sighed.  Even
though she told herself,
“no
emotion,” tears welled up in her eyes.  She whispered, “thank you,” to no one
in particular, then quickly wiped her eyes.

She
snatched the backpack off the bed and cranked opened the window.  She
cautiously poked her head outside; the path to the west was clear; to the east,
the courtyard lights had been dimmed to their normal nighttime brightness.  She
knew that two royal guardsmen would be stationed near the front door but from
her vantage point, she was unable to see them.

She
hopped up onto the window ledge and eased outside.

The
ledge was smooth concrete; a full six inches wide — two inches wider than a
standard balance beam; easily manageable.  She shuffled westward, gripping the
bricks with her fingertips.  Her movements were careful and deliberate; the
bushes below her were decorative, only a couple of feet high; not nearly enough
to break a fall from this height.

In
less than 30 seconds, she had reached the end of the ledge.

Now
for the hard part.

She
reached out with her right hand and grabbed the metal drainpipe that ran from
the base of the castle up to the roof.  She took a deep breath.

If
this doesn
’t
work, it’s over…

She
yanked on the drainpipe.

It
didn
’t
move!  Not so much as a wiggle!

She
exhaled, relieved.

Thank
goodness!

She
hooked her right arm around the pipe, then planted the toes of her right foot
on the opposite side of the drainpipe in a crevice between two bricks.  She
then swung her body over, hooked her left arm behind the pipe, then quickly fit
her left toes into a space in the wall.

Carefully,
painstakingly, she began to descend, her feet crawling down the side, her arms
hooked behind the drainpipe for stability.  She tested each foothold before she
put her full weight on it; taking her time; patiently making her way down.

As
she placed her right foot on the ground, she smelled it: cigarette smoke.

Shit!

She
hopped off the drainpipe and threw herself on the ground behind the bushes. 
She waited, her heart pounding in her ears, the smell of cigarette smoke
growing steadily stronger in her nostrils.

The
ground was cold and wet from the automatic sprinklers.  She felt a tickle in
her nose; she was about to sneeze!  She pinched the bridge of her nose and
concentrated all of her willpower on stifling that urge.

Suddenly,
a royal guardsman appeared, shuffling casually around the corner of the
castle.  Obviously bored, he walked a few steps, paused, took a drag off of his
cigarette, exhaled, then repeated the process.

Juliette
lay there, cold and dirty, watching the guardsman for what seemed like an
eternity.  Between drags, he would half-mumble, half-sing some song or other,
then wistfully gaze up at the sky.

Juliette
’s mind raced
wildly.  She had passed the point of no return; there would be no explaining
this, no way to justify hiding in the mud with a pair of night vision goggles
and a hundred thousand dollar necklace stuffed in her backpack.  There was no
way to turn back now.

Finally,
the guardsman took one final pull on his cigarette, dropped the butt into the
grass, and mashed it with his boot.  He straightened his hat, exhaled loudly,
then trudged back towards the courtyard.

Juliette
felt like she could breathe again.  She blinked her eyes and slowly eased up
onto all fours.

God,
that was close.

She
sat next to the castle, resting her head against the wall, waiting for the
shaking in her legs and arms to die down. 

After
several moments, she gathered her courage and crawled on all fours over to the
edge of the castle.  She peered around the corner.

No
one.

She
fixed her eyes on her target: a hundred yards to the west, the ruins of the old
castle; specifically, the second brick wall.  She took a deep breath, cleared
her mind, then bolted out from behind the bushes, down the path at full speed,
sprinting towards the ruins.  As she approached her destination, she veered off
of the dirt path and waded quickly through the tall grass.

She
crouched behind the second wall and felt around in the darkness.

There
it is!

She
dragged out an olive green duffel bag: the emergency kit that she had stashed
in these old ruins in the days leading up to the Royal Ball, back when she was
just a simple flower girl, back when she was just Juliette.

She
unzipped the duffel bag and laid the contents on the grass: penlight, insulated
black wetsuit, scuba cap, mask, regulator, flippers, and oxygen tank.  She
cupped her hand around the penlight, held it over the oxygen tank, and
inspected the gauge.  It was still full.

Holding
the penlight in her teeth, she cradled the oxygen tank in her arms, then
unscrewed the false bottom at the base of the tank.  Uncle Fran
çois had this
tank made for her by a craftsman in Portugal; he smuggled it into San Morrando
hidden underneath the straw of a tiger cage.

She
unzipped the backpack, placed her cell phone and the delicate emerald necklace
into the false bottom, then carefully reattached the base to the oxygen tank,
giving the end piece a forceful extra twist to make sure that the necklace was
sealed in air tight.

She
removed her shoes and placed them into the blue backpack along with the night
vision goggles and the penlight.  She then shoved the backpack into the space
where she had hidden her emergency kit, then pushed the empty canvas duffel bag
in behind it.

She
quickly slipped into her wetsuit and shrugged into the straps attached to the
oxygen tank.  Carrying the mask in her right hand and the flippers in her left,
she made a beeline for the river.

At
the river
’s
edge, she sat in the mud and pulled on her flippers.  She rinsed the mask in
the frigid water, then placed it over her eyes and nose, that familiar rubber
smell somehow comforting to her.  She didn’t dare test the regulator this close
to shore; the sound might alert another bored royal guardsman.  Instead, she
silently slipped into the cold water, and, making as little noise as possible,
swam out into the river, letting the gentle current pull her away.

When
she reached the middle of the river, she flipped onto her back and gazed behind
her at Palais d
’Or,
already shrinking in the distance.  She felt as if she were looking at a
postcard; something faraway yet beautiful; like she had awoken from a dream — a
pleasant dream that she couldn’t quite remember but she knew had been warm and
cozy; a dream that was rapidly shrinking out of reach with every second of
reality that passed.