27. Jakob
CHAPTER 27
JAKOB
I ’m pacing the length of the palace library, the significance of my grandfather’s words settling like lead in my chest. The silence is thick, broken only by the soft ticking of the antique clock on the mantel.
“Take it back casually,” my grandfather had said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if talking about borrowing a book and not a royal heirloom.
I stop mid-step, still grappling with the suggestion. My hands clench into fists at my sides; it’s so unlike him, so underhanded. But the gnawing guilt over how things ended with Courtney pushes me forward.
“Right,” I mutter to myself, my resolve firming.
It’s the right thing to do. For Courtney. For Bergovia. For my own conscience that refuses to give me peace.
With a determined stride, I leave the library and make my way down the cool, stone corridors of the palace. The walls are adorned with portraits of people who, even in death, seem to be judging me. But I no longer care. I am doing what is right; what I need to do.
I descend the spiral staircase to the family vault, my footsteps echoing off the ancient stones.
The vault door groans open, a sound fitting for the chamber of treasures it guards. The air inside is musty, filled with the scent of old metal and dust. I step inside, the dim light from the overhead bulbs casting long shadows. My eyes scan the shelves lined with artifacts and jewels, each piece a chapter in Bergovia’s rich history.
But I’m here for one item alone.
Moving to the inventory ledger resting on its pedestal, I flip through the pages with a sense of urgency. The detailed script lists every item accounted for, but as I reach the section where the necklace should be noted, my heart sinks. The space next to its description is glaringly empty. No sign-out date. No mention of its whereabouts.
My breath catches in my throat. It’s not here.
Panic flares briefly before I tamp it down. There has to be an explanation. A loan to a museum, perhaps? Misplaced paperwork?
Yet deep down, a voice murmurs the truth I don’t want to acknowledge: the necklace isn’t lost. It’s just not here.
So then where would it ? —
The answer comes to me in a flash. The necklace is not in the vault, because it was never returned to the vault!
With the echo of my heartbeat loud in my ears, I close the ledger, the finality of the motion reverberating in my chest.
The moment I step into Father’s study, the air feels charged with silent secrets. It’s a room of power and decisions, where every object is laden with intent and history. I move past the imposing mahogany desk, towards the antique walnut cabinet where I know for a fact he puts things he does not wish to misplace.
I hesitate before the top drawer, my hand hovering over the ornate brass handle. This is more than just a breach of trust — it’s an act of defiance against the very lineage I’ve been raised to uphold. But the ache in my chest, the longing for Courtney, the desire to do right by my grandfather and Anna, it all gives me strength. With a deep breath, I pull open the drawer.
There, nestled among papers and various random objects, lies the necklace. Its stones catch the faint light, a kaleidoscope of remorse and beauty. A part of me warns me to leave it be, to close this chapter with dignity. Yet, I remember the look in Courtney’s eyes — the hurt I caused — and my resolve hardens.
Gently lifting the necklace, its weight in my palm is both heavy and freeing. With careful fingers, I place it inside the inner pocket of my jacket, feeling its cool presence against my heart. Then, I retrieve a sheet of official stationery and pen a note with a steady hand.
“Forgive me. I must do this in order to right history.”
The words are a vow, not just to my father, but to myself and to Courtney. The crown may slip from my grasp, but I cannot let our story end with such dishonor.
I leave the note in the center of the desk, a silent testament to my choice, before stepping out of the study. The corridors of the palace are quiet, almost expectant, as if they too sense the gravity of this moment.
I don’t want to linger in the palace too long. If I am to make my next move, I need to tie up all the loose ends at work. Make sure as many of my tasks as possible are done ahead of time and that there is enough staff to cover me. If all goes well, I will be taking a short vacation from the office. And so I jump into my car and hightail it to my workplace.
I nod at everyone I pass, from the security guards to the receptionists, always being polite and prompt, but also eager to get into the privacy of my office. Eager to continue to put my plan into play.
In my office, I pick up the phone and call the number for the aviation crew. “Prepare one of the jets for departure to the United States,” I instruct. “Houston, Texas. I need to make a personal delivery as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” comes the prompt reply. “We’ll have everything ready for your flight.”
“Thank you,” I say, and with that, the plans are set in motion. The necklace will be returned to where it belongs — in Courtney’s hands — and with it, a piece of my soul.
But destiny, it seems, has other ideas. As I glance up toward the door, there she stands. Courtney. The woman who unknowingly holds my future in her gaze. She’s here, in Bergovia, in my office.
Time narrows down to this singular point, our shared past and uncertain future converging in the space between us. We simply look at each other, and for a heartbeat, nothing else exists.
I stand motionless behind my desk, a million thoughts racing through my mind.
“I snuck in,” she says. “Past security. If you’re going to throw me out, please wait until I tell you what I came here to say.”
“I won’t be throwing you out,” I breathe.
“Good.” She lifts her chin a little higher. “For the national security department, I would have expected better security. Especially since a prince works here.”
A chuckle slips from my lips. God, it’s good to see her. “I suppose you were too smart for them.”
The weight of the necklace in my pocket feels like the anchor of a ship long adrift, finally ready to come home. My breath catches, held captive by the intensity of the moment. She’s here — Courtney, the woman who never left my heart, standing mere feet away from me. The air between us crackles with a thousand unspoken promises and regrets, the history we share hanging heavy in the room.
I don’t know what she has to say. I don’t know why she came all this way after leaving just days before. I don’t know if she will accept my apology or the necklace. What I do know, however, is that whatever comes next, it will change everything forever.