Page 89 of Stolen Princess

“Palace, this is Emily speaking.”

“Hello, Emily. I need to speak to Prince Rowan or King Sebastian. It’s urgent.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “May I ask who’s calling?”

“No.”

“May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Princess Desta. Trust me, they want to take this call.”

28

FERRIN

The fire crackles, loaded with brush and driftwood. It’s not much, but thankfully, it’s not all that cold out here either. I have bread dough on sticks for us that we’ve been holding over the fire. She had no clue what I was doing, but that hasn’t stopped her from eating it.

“What do you call this again?”

“I have no clue what they call it here. In Danish, it’s snobrød.”

“Say that again?”

“It’s pronounced snoh-brohlth,” I annunciate, drawing out the word.

“Yeah, I’ll leave that one to you.” She blows on the bread so she doesn’t burn her mouth before she pulls it off the stick and eats it. “It’s so good, though. If I have any more, I’ll explode.”

“Come here.” I take the stick from her hand and toss it into the fire.

She rests her head on my chest, her body heavy as it cradles against mine, and we stare out at the sea and the stars that endlessly meld into one inky black landscape.

Her finger swirls along my chest, tracing patterns that match my tattoos. It occurs to me, rather brutally, that this is coming to an end tomorrow. And she might hate me or, at the very least, be mad at me for what I did, but it’s the right thing—the only thing—and that’s how it has to go.

My hand drags up and down her spine under her T-shirt and over every bony prominence. Her hair is like a silky blanket over my arm. The heat of her body melds into mine, and I release a breath, relaxing in a way I haven’t, well, probably ever.

“Do you like stealing?”

I smile to myself. She’s very interested in my profession.

“Sometimes. The thrill is addictive. The challenge keeps it interesting. The money is nice. When you have no one to answer to but yourself, the only rules you have to live by are your own. I decided the night I got to the orphanage that I would do whatever it took to survive, so I watched and learned and kept my head down. The necklace was going to be my last job. I’m selling it and retiring.”

“What will you do in your retirement?”

“Disappear. Live on an island somewhere and never have to worry again.”

“Sounds pretty nice. A little isolated, though. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever stolen?”

I chuckle with irony. “Your tiara.”

She laughs. “Oh god. I should have guessed that.”

“It was also my favorite and the one item I never tried to sell despite its enormous value.”

She rolls on top of me and props herself up with her hands on my chest. “How come?”

I twirl a piece of her hair around my finger. “I don’t know. Felt wrong somehow, I guess. It belonged to a baby. A little girl who was stolen. It has the Eye of Egypt, which is said to be good luck and protective, and it wasn’t for you. Or maybe it was since you’re here and alive when the world believes you’re dead.”

“The Eye of Egypt?”