Princess Thief: Stealing Your Heart (4 page)

“Oh,
no, my dear.  You are not a prisoner.”  Armand paused a moment in thought, then
continued, “Might I suggest that you view yourself as a ‘contract employee?’ 
Work with us for one year and you’ll receive a paycheck at the end of your
contract.”

“A
contractor, eh?  I didn’t think of it like that…” Juliette muttered.

“Miss
Thierry, you truly are doing us an enormous favor.  The politics behind this
transition are staggeringly complex.  I think, in time, the prince will realize
this, too.  Try not to judge him too harshly.”

That
selfish bastard?  Not bloody likely.

“I’ll
try,” Juliette said aloud.

“Good!”
Armand was pleased.  “Now, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your training
schedule for the next 2 weeks.”

“My
what?”

“Your
training schedule, miss.  The marriage and coronation are both lengthy
ceremonies with roots dating back to the 13th century.  Both are filled with
arcane rituals that you will be expected to participate in.  Did you know that
the marriage is performed entirely in Latin?”

“I’m
going to have to speak Latin?  In public?”

“And
there are the everyday social conventions expected of royalty: ballroom
dancing, posture, table etiquette — just to name a few.  Now, if you’ll follow
me, I’ll introduce you to one of your personal maids.”

Oh
my goodness, what have I gotten myself into?

Armand
climbed the stairs to the second floor. 
“All of the bedrooms are up on the
second floor.  The servants are housed in the west wing of the castle, royalty
and royal visitors in the east wing.” 

At
the top of the staircase, Armand took a left and walked briskly down the hall. 
Juliette noticed that the decor was different on the second floor: lots of
purple, red, and gold.  The carpet was plusher as well.

Finally,
Armand paused in front of one of the doors and knocked.

“Yes?” 
The woman who answered the door was in her early 40s, dressed in a maid’s
uniform, short blond hair, blue eyes, and a kind face.

“Alicia,
this is the young lady I mentioned earlier,” Armand said.

Alicia
’s face lit up. 
She opened the door wide.  “Oh, yes!  The secret fiancée!”

“Alicia,
this is Juliette Thierry.  Juliette, this is your new personal maid, Mistress
of the Robes, Alicia Hidalgo.”

“Pleased
to meet you,” Juliette gave a small bow.

“Please,
call me Alicia.  And, Armand, I’m only one of Juliette’s maids.  Emilia will be
around shortly to help.  Oh, you’re such a pretty little thing, too.  Tell me,
do you need anything?”

Juliette
drew a blank for a moment.  How to answer? 
“Honestly, everything has happened so fast
that I don’t have a thing to wear.”

“Don’t
worry, dear.  I’ll have Emilia stop by with some night clothes.  Come.  I’ll
show you to your room.”

Juliette
flung herself onto the bed and exhaled.

What
a day!

Her
bedroom was dignified and spacious.  The hardwood floor was covered by a
gigantic Persian rug.  Her bed was a four poster with a purple silk canopy.  A
hand-crafted mahogany bookshelf/dresser combo lined an entire wall; drawers on
the bottom, a long shelf in the middle, and bookshelves stretching up to the
ceiling.  The remaining walls were decorated with a red and gold wallpaper in a
repeating fleur-de-lis pattern giving the room a regal feeling, though a little
bit dated.  There were 2 doors against the far wall: her bathroom and a walk-in
closet — empty for now; to be filled once the royal tailors had her
measurements (or so Alicia had promised).

She
rose and inspected the windows.  No alarm wires.

Good.

The
windows were operated with a hand crank.  She gave the handle a few turns,
letting the cool September breeze into the room.

She
picked up the schedule Armand had given her and sat on the side of the bed,
reading.  There was nothing scheduled for tomorrow but after that, it was
packed from morning to night: an hour of etiquette, two hours of diction, an
hour of Latin-

She
paused as her eyes came to rest on the date 11 days from now: the Wedding
Ceremony.

She
tossed the schedule onto the bed and sighed. 

All
right.  Decision time.

The
sanest thing to do, by far, was to just get the hell out of there.

Once
I
’m
outside, I could grab the emergency kit out of the castle ruins.  This
is
an
emergency after all
… 

No,
wait.  I can
’t! 
If I leave, my cover’s blown.  I’ll never be able to return to the flower shop
again. 

Wait. 
What am I saying?  Even if I stay, I can never return to the flower shop
again.  Once my name is released to the public, I
’ll be mobbed by
curious fans of the royal family.  Oh, what to do!

She
flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the silk canopy.

Maybe
this won
’t
be so bad.  As a member of the royal family, I’ll have access to all of the
richest houses in the country.  No, the richest houses in Europe!  Think of the
intelligence I could gather!

The
problem is that damned prince.  Who knew that a kind face hid such a wicked heart?

She
rolled over and punched her pillow. 
“That jerk,” she mumbled.

Just
then, she was startled by a quiet knock on her door. 
“Yes?” she said
aloud.

The
door opened and a cute young woman in her early twenties with a pixie cut,
brown hair, and wearing in a maid
’s uniform, poked her head in.  “Miss? 
May I enter?”

“Yes,
please, by all means.”

The
maid entered and curtsied quickly.

Another
curtsy!

“I’m
Emilia, one of your personal assistants.”

“Pleased
to meet you,” Juliette smiled.

“I
apologize deeply but I’ve only just heard that you will be staying with us.”

“It’s
all right, Emilia.” 
I
’ve only just
heard, too!

“I
was told that you didn’t bring any clothes with you so I brought one of my
flannel nightgowns.  I’m afraid it’s not very glamorous-”

“No,
Emilia, it’s perfect.  Thank you.”

Emilia
laid the striped nightgown on the bed next to Juliette. 
“Would you like
some help getting undressed?”

“Not
tonight.  I’m afraid I’m very tired.  Can we continue this in the morning?”

“Of
course, ma’am.”  Curtsy.  “Sorry to trouble you, ma’am.”  Curtsy.  “I’ll be on
my way.”  She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

I
guess I really am going to have to learn how to curtsy to survive around here!

Armand
entered the King
’s
Study to find Prince Guillermo examining a photograph of Juliette.  “She
is
beautiful, isn
’t she, sir?”

“Hunh? 
Oh, yes, she is quite striking, actually,” Guillermo said, placing the
photograph on the desk.  “But that’s not it.  Something seems… different about
her.”

“Different,
sir?”

Guillermo
explained,
“I’ve
dealt with every manner of criminal in North Africa — the press calls them
‘warlords’ — and they’re all the same: selfish and feral, like part of their
humanity is missing.  You can do business with them — no, you
have
to do business
with them if you want to get anything done — but it
’s always the
most unpleasant feeling.  I wasn’t prepared for…”  His eyes came to rest on the
picture of Juliette.  “I’ve never seen such
passion
in a
negotiation before.
”

“Are
you having second thoughts, sir?  Shall I call the guards?”

“What? 
No, no,” Guillermo insisted.  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

Armand
watched the prince and smiled. 
“I think you may have overlooked
something in the young lady’s profile, sir.”

“What?”

Armand
spread out the documentation on the desk, then pointed to the page he was
looking for. 
“Her
alias, sir.  ‘The Robin Hood Robber.’”

“Robin
Hood.  That’s the old English legend.  Stealing from the rich and giving to the
poor.”  He spun around to face Armand.  “You don’t mean-?  Are you saying-? 
She gives the profits of her burglaries to the poor?”

Armand
shrugged. 
“Unfortunately,
I have no information beyond the name.”

“Really…”
the prince gazed at the photo and whispered, “Just who do you give the money
to, Juliette?”

Armand
continued,
“It
could be just a name, of course.”

Guillermo
shook his head. 
“No. 
No, something tells me that it’s not.”

“If
it is true, sir, you may find that you have much more in common with the young
lady than you realize.”  Armand smiled wisely.

“This
is ridiculous,” Juliette fumed.  “Where is my cell phone?”

“Please,
calm down,” Armand implored.  “Prince Guillermo feels-”

“That
man!” she snapped.  “Where is he?  I want to give him a piece of my mind.”

“He
has urgent business in town.  He will be back by noon for our meeting.”

Juliette
frowned.  It was 9:15 the next morning.  She was standing in the King
’s Study with
Armand.  With nothing to wear but a ball gown, Emilia had once again lent
Juliette some of her clothes: a simple red top with blue jeans.  The jeans were
a bit loose in the waist, but they fit well enough and were comfortable.

Calm
down.  Deep breath.  It
’s not Armand’s fault.

“Fine,”
she said.  “I’ll do it the old fashioned way.”

“Very
good, miss.”

Juliette
reached for the landline and punched in Fran
çois’ number.

Concentrate. 
Remember your French.

After
4 rings, Fran
çois
answered.  “Hello?”

“Mon
oncle!  Ça va?” Juliette asked.

Come
on, uncle!  Please get the hint!

There
was the slightest hesitation on the line, then Fran
çois finally
responded enthusiastically.  “
Ma ch
ère!  Ça va!  It’s good to hear your
voice.  Are you well?”

He
responded in French!  Good, he got it.

“Yes,
quite well actually.  The most amazing thing has happened!  Can you come to
Palais d’Or today?  At noon?”

“The
castle?  Of course!  Do you need anything?”

Here
goes
…

“Could
you bring my gym bag?  The blue one?”

Please,
uncle.  Decipher the code!

Fran
çois answered,
“I understand.  I’ll be there at noon.”

Juliette
hung up.

Oh,
uncle, please don
’t
do anything outrageous!

Fran
çois stared at
his cell phone and frowned.

“Was
that her?  Is she all right?”  Philippe, a young stagehand, stood in front of
François holding a small floodlight.  All around him, busy circus performers
and animal handlers were preparing for tonight’s show.

“She
says she’s fine.  She greeted me in French which is our code for ‘I’m being
watched.’  But she also used the ‘blue’ code word and that means she’s safe. 
For now,” François grumbled the last part.

“What
are you going to do?” Philippe asked.

Fran
çois abruptly
smiled.  “My boy, I am going to Palais d’Or!”  He slapped the confused young
stagehand on the back and laughed.  “Now…  Where on earth am I going to find a
blue gym bag?”

Juliette
paced back and forth in the foyer of Palais d
’Or, waiting for her uncle to
arrive, her heels clicking softly on the purple and white Moroccan tile.  Above
her hung an ornate chandelier; behind her, a red carpeted staircase spiraled
upwards to the second floor.  The note she had scribbled for her uncle and now
held secretly in the palm of her right hand was starting to get sweaty.

Armand
stood patiently watching the driveway through the tall rectangular window next
to the front door; Prince Guillermo was in the King
’s Study,
finishing up some last minute paperwork.

At
12:15, Juliette finally caught a glimpse of her uncle
’s white Peugeot
compact winding up the driveway.  Armand opened the door for her and she bound
outside.

As
the car came to a sputtering stop, Juliette was already at the driver
’s side door. 
“Uncle!” she smiled and threw her arms around François.

“Ma
ch
ère
!
” François
returned the hug.  As she was pulling away, Juliette deftly slipped the folded
up note into François’ front left pants pocket; they exchanged glances.

“Ah! 
Before I forget, I have your gym bag.”  François turned, reached across the
driver’s seat and retrieved a blue gym bag.

“Oh,
you remembered.  Thank you.  It all happened so suddenly that I have nothing to
wear.”

“Monsieur
Thierry?” Armand inquired.  “I am Armand Trouard, the prince’s personal valet. 
The prince is waiting in the study.  Would you follow me, please?”

“Of
course,” François laughed, expertly playing the buffoon.  “Ah, the Palais
d’Or.  I can hardly believe it!”

Fran
çois followed
the butler and Juliette inside.  She appeared to be in good health, but
François could tell that she was nervous. 

Two
royal guardsmen stood watch, one on either side of the opened front door.  Even
if he could overpower this Armand fellow, those guardsmen would be a problem. 
And even if he did succeed in getting Juliette in the car, how could he
possibly get through the front gate?  No, it was best to simply play along for
now, then regroup to formulate a plan later.

The
butler paused at an open door just off to the right of the foyer. 
“Monsieur
François Thierry, sir.”

“Ah,
yes,” Prince Guillermo appeared at the door.  “Welcome!  So you are Juliette’s
uncle?”

Fran
çois grasped the
prince’s outstretched hand in both of his and shook.  “It is an honor to meet
you,” François smiled.

“Please,
come in.”

Juliette,
Fran
çois,
and Guillermo took a seat at the oval conference table while Armand closed the
door.

“We
can speak freely in here,” the prince began.  “I know you must have questions
so let me get right to it.  I’m in a constitutional bind.  I must have a wife
or I cannot become king.  However, I have no real interest in
being
king except to
pass the throne along to my little sister.  The problem is that my sister will
not be old enough to assume the throne for another year.  Thus, I need a wife —
but only for one year.  Juliette has agreed to help us out.
”

“Has
she, now?” François snarled. 

“This
is strictly a professional business arrangement,” the prince continued.  “She
will be paid handsomely for her time.  A total of one hundred and fifty-one
thousand U.S. dollars.”

Fran
çois’ eyes
narrowed.

So. 
There it is.

“That
is an oddly specific amount, sir,” François stated.

“Is
it?” Prince Guillermo responded.

The
two men glared at each other in silence for several tense seconds until Juliette
touched her uncle
’s
arm.  His mood immediately softened.

Not
here, not now.

Fran
çois, suddenly
burst out laughing, much to the surprise of the prince.  “You have thought this
out well, I see.  But tell me, out of all of the women available to your highness,
why choose my little Juliette?”

“That
is a little more complex,” the prince explained.  “The women of the court have
certain… expectations.  It would be almost inconceivable that I could find an
aristocratic woman who would agree to my plan of giving up the throne in a year
— or to stay married for just one year.  And even if I were to find such a
woman and marry her, at the end of the year, the pressure from her family would
be immense.  She might simply be unable to keep her word at that point.  In addition,
once the year is over, I plan to resume my humanitarian effort in North
Africa.  I will be there for quite some time, perhaps for many years.  If I had
a wife, we would be separated for that entire time.  Any true marriage would be
destined to be an unhappy one.”

Fran
çois nodded for
a moment, then said, “I commend you, sir.  Your logic is sound.  If my little
Juliette has agreed, I have no objections.”

“Good!”
the prince said, relieved.  “You understand that this must be kept in the
strictest confidence.  No one outside of this room may ever know.”

Fran
çois extended
his hand.  “I will not reveal the details of your plan.  On that, you have my
word.”

Fran
çois and
Guillermo shook hands.  “Excellent.  Well, we will have to continue getting
acquainted at another time — an emergency came up this morning at one of the
royal charities.  Armand, will you show Monsieur Thierry out?”

“Right
this way, sir,” Armand motioned towards the door.

Back
at the car, Juliette gave Fran
çois a quick hug, then said, “Don’t worry, uncle. 
I’ll be fine.”

Fran
çois, aware that
many sets of eyes were upon him, smiled and said, “Of course my dear.  I must
be off.  The circus awaits!”

Two
miles outside of Palais d
’Or,
François checked his rear view mirror one more time.  Certain that he was not
being followed, he pulled to the side of the road, reached into his left
pocket, and read Juliette’s note.

3:30
PM @ The Stables

Fran
çois pondered
for a moment, then put his car in gear and headed towards town.

Twenty
minutes later, Fran
çois
pulled to a stop behind a service tent at the rear of the circus.  Inside, two
men were waiting for him: Philippe, the young stagehand, and Gaston, one of the
animal wranglers.  The tent had the unique scent of gun oil; Philippe was
cleaning and reassembling a pistol.

“Well?”
Gaston asked.

“There’s
no doubt about it.  She was caught,” François grimaced.

“Shit!”
Gaston exclaimed.

Fran
çois continued,
“She’s unharmed, but they’ve come up with some half-baked scheme to hold her
hostage in the castle for a year.”

“What? 
Can they do that?”

Fran
çois waved his
hand.  “It’s far too complicated to explain.  She did manage to pass me a
note.  We need to meet her at the royal stables by 3:30.”

Fran
çois exhaled
deeply, running his hand through his salty brown hair.  “All right, here’s what
we’ll do.  Gaston, get down to the farm in Pasto Verde and buy a truckload of
hay.  Tell Jacquot you need to borrow his truck and that he’ll have it back by
sundown.  Give him a deposit if you have to — free tickets, whatever it takes. 
We need a truck with the name of a farm painted on the side.  Philippe,
scrounge up 3 pairs of overalls for you, me, and Gaston — and something for
Juliette to cover herself with.”

Philippe
locked the firing mechanism of the pistol into place with a metallic click,
then asked
“What’s
the plan?”

“We
pose as delivery workers, drive to the royal stables, and get Juliette out of
there.”