Page 55 of This Prince Is Not Charming

“And go!” Morton yelled.

The other contestants disappeared into their openings while Siobhan and I stood there.

“Later,” I whispered as an invisible force sucked me into the maze, the opening behind me closing.

I arched my neck, the hedges so tall I couldn’t see anything over them, the pathway suddenly feeling narrow and looming.

I walked down the path, swallowing as clouds blotted out the sun overhead, and the maze darkened. Goose bumps pebbled my skin as I got toward the end of the path, which broke out into two choices: left or right. I chewed my bottom lip, no longer sure about where I was and no longer able to see Cillian. I had to go toward the middle, but it wasn’t clear which way led to the middle of the maze.

“I can help!”

The hedge parted to reveal a painting of Margaret. She beamed at me.

“What are you doing here?”

“You have one minute to memorize every detail of this painting,” she said. “If you pay enough attention, you’ll find the answer to your question.”

“About why you’re here?”

“No, the other question,” she whispered.

“About which way to go?”

She nodded.

Perfect. I squinted at the painting, which looked like a farmhouse with Margaret standing in front. I had absolutely no idea how a painting of a farmhouse could reveal which way to go. Tall grass surrounded the red house, and the sky was blue overhead, not a cloud in it.

“There’s nothing in this painting.”

“You’re not paying attention,” she said in a singsong voice that irritated me. Why did everyone treat this like a game instead of a life-and-death situation where one of us could possibly disappear?

“Are you grumpy about your fight with Cillian?” Margaret asked.

I searched every part of the farmhouse, trying to see if maybe a small arrow was hidden in the picture somewhere.

“No, I’m not,” I snapped, then paused. “Maybe I am a little. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m worried about my father. He’s going to be anxious that I’m gone, and . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to say anymore and get the usual:

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“He’s a grown adult, you know.”

“He can take care of himself for a few hours.”

All things I’d heard over the years when I admitted why I didn’t like to stay out for too long.

“I can visit him!” Margaret said.

My gaze snapped to her, mouth hanging open for a moment. “You would do that?”

She waved a hand in the air. “Oh, I had such a good time yesterday, and Prince Cillian said I could visit as much as I wanted. He said your father loves visitors.”

My heart softened at that. I didn’t even know how Cillian knew my father loved visitors. My father loved when he visited, but I’d never even thought about bringing others to see him.

I sniffed back the tears welling in my eyes. “Will you tell him I’m okay and I’ll be home later?”

“Of course! I’ll stay with him until you get back.”

“You don’t have to do that,.”