13. Jakob
CHAPTER 13
JAKOB
T he cool country breeze plays with the hem of Courtney’s skirt as we step out from the shadow of the ancient castle, and suddenly it feels like I’m walking out of a dream. My heart races, pounding against my chest with an intensity that matches the crunch of gravel under our feet.
“Perfect light today,” she says, oblivious to the chaos she’s igniting inside me. I can only nod, my throat tight, because right now, all I can think about is the curve of her smile, the way her eyes find beauty in the mundane, how she sees the world — and, somehow, sees me too.
Her camera hangs around her neck, a black strap adorned with little silver charms that clink softly with each step. She captures Bergovia in ways that make even a prince rediscover his homeland. And yet, it’s not just her artistry that has me entranced; it’s everything about her — the way she laughs, the passion in her voice when she talks about her work, the gentle kindness in her green eyes.
“Jakob?” Her voice pulls me from my reverie.
“Sorry, just… lost in thought.” That’s half true. I’m also lost in desire, in the dangerous notion of what it would mean to give into it — again.
We reach the car, and I open the back door for her, watching as she slides into the seat. Her thank-you is soft, almost as if she’s aware of the tension between us. I close the door gently and circle to the other side, taking a moment to collect myself. I can’t afford to lose control, not when there’s so much at stake.
As my driver starts the engine, a part of me wishes we could drive away from everything — my responsibilities, the drama surrounding the necklace, the unspoken truths hanging between us. But escaping isn’t an option for either of us. Especially not for me. With every mile that brings us closer to her hotel, a sinking feeling settles in my gut. Because I know, despite the pull drawing me toward her, I need to keep a safe distance.
Sleeping with her again would be a sweet surrender but a reckless mistake. My duty to my country, to my position, looms over me like the towering peaks of the Bergovian Alps. The risk of romance, of hearts entangled and my father’s disapproval, is a gamble I cannot afford to take.
The car rolls to a stop in front of Courtney’s hotel.
“Thank you for today,” she says.
I nod, all the things I really want to say jumbled up in a ball in my throat. “With the necklace… it’s unfortunate how things turned out. I hope you understand that I had no choice.”
Her eyes flash, and I can feel her disagreement, palpable as it is in the confines of the car. “There are always choices.”
I suck in a sharp breath. She’s right, but my goal is the crown, and when it comes to that, my options are truly limited.
“Good night, Jakob,” she says, her voice cold.
Before I can muster up any words that might bridge the chasm between us, she’s out the car door. Her bag slung over her shoulder, she doesn’t glance back as she strides toward the hotel door and disappears inside.
I should feel relieved; duty prevails, emotion tucked away for another day, another lifetime perhaps. But my chest tightens in regret. She’s hurt — I know it. The way she held herself, so rigid, so guarded. It’s my fault. And yet, my apology lingers, unspoken, swallowed by the greater need to protect the crown, its image pristine and unblemished.
“Good night, Courtney,” I murmur to no one, a futile gesture, an unseen olive branch extended toward an empty space on the street.
“I will walk back to the palace,” I announce to the driver. It’s a nice evening, and I could use some fresh air to clear my head.
He looks at me in the rearview mirror and nods. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
With a deep breath, I shake off the lingering unease and step out of the car. I tug on the hem of my jacket, steeling myself against the brisk evening air — and my own tumultuous thoughts.
“Your Highness!” A chorus of high-pitched calls greets me as I turn the corner.
A throng of women, clustered like vibrant wildflowers, waits just outside a hip restaurant. Autograph seekers, admirers, each with their smartphones held aloft like digital shields, ready to capture a moment with Bergovia’s most eligible bachelor.
“Jakob! Over here!”
“Please, just one picture!”
Their voices blend into a melody of yearning, their hands reaching, stretching toward me as if I were salvation itself. A part of me longs to indulge them, to play the role they all expect. But not today. Today, their touch feels intrusive, their attention a garish spotlight when all I crave is shadow.
“Sorry, ladies,” I say, mustering a polite smile. “I have urgent matters to attend to.”
I weave through the crowd, careful not to brush against the outstretched fingers, the perfumed wrists. But they’re persistent, ebbing and flowing around me like the tide chasing the moon. They follow me down the street, a cascade of giggles and pleading words. My pace quickens, desperate now to escape, to find sanctuary from prying eyes and grasping hands.
“Your Highness, please wait!”
“Jakob, look this way!”
Their voices chase me through a park, into a bar, out its back, and down an alley. The cool darkness of the alley welcomes me like an old friend, and I lean against the brick wall for a moment, catching my breath, my heart a chaotic drumbeat in my chest.
Most of the time, it’s not like this. With Bergovia as small as it is, it’s common to see royalty out and about, and celebrity isn’t worshipped here the way it is in some places. Still, there are moments where I get an excited squeal or a woman begging me to marry her — or, like tonight, a whole crowd of them chasing after me.
The sound of a door opening makes me look over. Several of the women have emerged from the bar and into the alley.
“There!” One of them points at me in excitement.
Cursing under my breath, I take off at a clip for the end of the alley. The hum of a car engine cuts through the clamor, and I see the familiar black sedan rolling up to the curb. Relief floods me as the window rolls down, revealing the stern face of Stefan, one of my most trusted security guards.
“Your Highness,” he says, with a nod that is both respectful and urgent.
“Stefan,” I exhale, sliding into the back seat as quickly as I can. The door shuts with a satisfying thud, silencing the calls of the women outside. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Part of the job, sir,” he replies, though I catch a hint of a smile in his eyes through the rearview mirror. Poor little prince, being chased down by a hoard of women. I’m sure it looks silly.
The car pulls away smoothly, and I sink back into the plush leather, trying to ease the tension in my muscles.
“Everything well, Your Highness?” Stefan asks.
“Fine now, thanks to you,” I say, meaning every word. “There was just a bit more… enthusiasm than usual.”
I need to be more careful. My mind travels back to Courtney, her shutter clicking, capturing moments with an artist’s eye, and how easily our paths crossed. The press would have a field day if they caught wind of anything between us. It’s not just my privacy at stake — it’s hers too, and she doesn’t deserve to be hounded by paparazzi because of my indiscretion.
“Stefan, I’m sure you know where I was earlier. Who I was with.”
He nods. “Yes, sir, I do. Miss Courtney Fuller.”
“We need to make sure this evening stays off the record,” I say firmly. “No one needs to know about my… appointment today.”
“Understood, sir,” Stefan replies, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror again. “We’ll keep it quiet. You have my word.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly, staring out the window at the blur of passing shops, restaurants, and bars.
It’s a reassurance, but the weight of responsibility still rests heavy on my chest. I already had a lot to balance before, and Courtney’s presence in my life has brought on even more complications.
The car’s engine hums a steady rhythm as we drive through the cobblestone streets, the soft glow of streetlights casting shadows that play against the tinted windows. My thoughts churn with the same tumultuous energy that had my heart racing back at the castle. Despite my resolve, images of Courtney linger in my mind — her focused gaze behind the camera lens, the way her smile unfolded effortlessly, and that spark of something genuine that seems so rare to find.
I lean back into the leather seat, attempting to compose myself. The shield of privacy has always been my armor against the world, but as I stare into the darkening sky, a rebellious thought takes root.
Would it truly be so terrible? Throwing caution to the wind? Pursuing her despite what my father thinks — what anyone else thinks?
I would be risking the crown. I know it. Despite everything else I have done, the woman I choose to invite into my life could be a determining factor when it comes to whether or not my father elects to pass his mantle on to me.
Yet I’m still thinking about it. About her.
A corner of my mouth quirks upward involuntarily. Pictures of us together, splashed across the glossy pages of magazines… It sends an unexpected thrill through me, one I’m not accustomed to indulging.
Courtney, with her chestnut waves and knowing eyes, standing beside me, her presence commanding even without a title. I wonder if the public would see in her what I do — an unexpected complement to my life of structure and duty. We’d probably make a fine pairing indeed, her vibrancy against my restraint, a balance of shadow and light.
For a moment, I allow the fantasy to bloom, unguarded and lush. It spreads warmth through my chest, a feeling both foreign and intoxicating. But as quickly as the dream arises, reality sets in again, sobering and cold. Dreams are for those who have the luxury of living them, and I am bound by more than my own desires.
As the car slides beneath the archway and into the courtyard, I tuck away the daydream of a different life — one where Courtney and I could be anything more than stolen glances and hushed words.
“Home safe, Your Highness,” Stefan announces, parking with precision.
“Thank you, Stefan.” I nod, stepping out into the night air, crisp and promising. It carries on its breath the faintest scent of possibility, one I dare not chase. Not ever.