CHAPTER SIX – HATTIE
The Royal Palace is one thousand times more intimidating than I recall.
Probably because as a child it was a place of magic and wonder. It was the home of fairytales, of ballgowns and dancing and tiaras and all the wonderous things one saw from the outside.
As an adult, I know what it really means.
Power. Corruption. Secrecy.
It’s a symbol and a threat, something to be both revered and feared.
The secrets that lie behind its walls are the kinds that many take to their graves, and it’s been that way for hundreds of years. Most have been forgotten by now, and the ghosts left behind are nothing but legends and whispers, saved by the fact that dead men tell no tales.
The car pulls up to some concealed gates, and we’re waved through by two armed policemen. My heart squeezes a little at the sight of their guns, but I tamper down the swirl of emotion.
I’m so close.
I can barely believe I’m here. Inside the grounds of the Royal Palace. The one place I never thought I’d be able to step foot in.
The one place my true name can be spoken outside of the prison I call a house.
I just need a miracle.
A true, honest to God miracle.
But those things don’t happen to me. And if they did, I’d say I already exhausted my one designated miracle when I ran into Crown Prince Finley at the park.
I’m ushered out of the car and into a small wing of the palace. The security protocols are exactly as I was told, and they don’t take long, either. In less than ten minutes, I have my bags back, and I’m being hurried down a long hallway with no time at all to take in my surroundings.
The woman from the car is a few steps ahead of me, and another two security personnel are behind me. I’m completely surrounded, as I knew I would be, and this really does reinforce my need for a miracle.
Alas, the sky doesn’t open. There’s no miraculous shooting of lightning in my path. No bugs, no floods, no whatever else it is that generally shakes things up on a biblical level.
Shame.
“This is the room you’ll be shooting in today,” the woman from the car says. “You can go in and get things set up, and someone will let the… client… know you’re here.”
I smile warmly at her and look around the huge room. It’s right out of a fairytale—painted ceiling, gilded walls, rich antique furniture that’s probably priceless. It’s by far the most regal setting I’ve ever taken photos in.
“Thank you,” I say quietly to the woman. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve been very rude. I never asked for your name.”
She blinks at me as if it’d never occurred to her that I’d do such a thing. “Sophia.”
“Well, thank you, Sophia.” I set my bags down and smile again. “Will you be staying the whole time?”
“I believe that’s the plan, yes.”
“Would you mind helping me at all? I’d like to move some of the furniture for better lighting, and—”
“Oh, we have that taken care of.” She pulls a phone out of her pocket and dials, then holds it to her ear and turns away.
She says something quickly into it before turning back to me.
“Assistance is on the way. They should have been here already. I apologise, Miss Porter. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”
“Oh, I had something before you arrived,” I reply. “But thank you. Do you mind if I… do my thing?”
For the first time, she cracks a tiny smile. “Please, go ahead.”
“Thank you.”
I walk the walk, running my fingers over the curved backs of the chairs and sofa. The velvet cushions feel like magic beneath my fingertips; so soft and dreamy that it can’t possibly be real. As I touch it, grounding myself and my nerves, I scan the room for the best lighting.
“Can you tell me which way is south from here, by any chance?” I ask Sophia.
“Uh, I believe these windows are west facing,” she replies.
“Thank you.” I turn to see two young men approach the doorway.
“This is Aaron and James. They’ll assist you with anything you need moving,” she explains.
“Oh, perfect. Hello.” I give them both my best smile, and one of them drops his gaze.
Well, my charm is one of my best features.
Not that anybody asked me to toot my own horn, but I don’t care.
“Would one of you please move this chair over here?” I tap the chair and quickly skip to the spot I want it. “And the other sit in it?”
“Sit in it, miss?” James—or is it Aaron?—asks.
“Yes. Just so I can get an idea of the lighting,” I explain. “Oh, Sophia, can’t you tell me more information? What kind of portraits am I taking?”
“Formal portraits in full regalia for the Crown Prince’s thirtieth birthday,” a familiar voice says from the doorway. “Sorry about the secrecy.”
I turn at the sound of Crown Prince Finley’s voice, but whatever I was going to say dies on my tongue when I see him.
Full regalia, indeed.
I don’t even know what the names are of what he’s wearing, but I know one thing: he looks every bit the prince that seven-year-old me dreamt of. Not even Disney themselves could create a figure so dashingly regal, and here I am, looking at him.
Perhaps he should be illegal.
With those looks, he’s certainly halfway to killing someone.
God only knows even my cold heart has stuttered at the sight of him.
“Your Royal Highness.” Sophia bows her head. “I was about to send someone to get you.”
“No worries,” he replies, never taking his eyes off me. “I was keeping an eye out for our guest anyway. Mostly to see that shocked face of hers.”
“She doesn’t look very shocked,” the man behind him says, peering around his shoulder. “More like she wants to hit you.”
“Shut up, Oscar,” Crown Prince Finley mutters, still looking at me. “I’m sorry for the secrecy, Miss Porter.”
I shake my head, partially for him, and partially to pull myself together. Now is not the time to be enamoured by a man in full royal regalia, Harriet.
Plenty of time for that once I’ve convinced him to marry me.
“Please, don’t be. I understand completely, Your Royal Highness,” I reply, also lowering my head slightly. “Although, I am afraid I’m not quite ready to start yet. We were just setting up.”
“So I can see,” he says. “However, who better to check lighting with than the subject himself?”
“You have a point.” I pause. “In that case, would you mind if I boss you around and make you change positions for the next ten minutes so I can get my bearings?”
His lips twitch up, and his bright blue eyes twinkle with something like that looks a little bit as though he wouldn’t mind at all. “It’s not often I get bossed around. Go wild.”
“You get bossed around,” the other man says. “You just don’t listen.”
Crown Prince Finley sighs as he sits in the chair one of the younger guys just vacated. “Don’t listen to him. Miss Porter, this is my aide, Oscar, the future Duke of Lindberg. Oscar, this is Miss Hannah Porter.”
Oscar approaches me with his hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Porter. Your work is beautiful.”
“Likewise, Lord Lindberg.” I shake his hand. “And thank you, I’m glad you think so.”
“Don’t mind him,” Crown Prince Finley says, staring at him. “He’ll be in the corner. Working.”
Oscar rolls his eyes but nods his head at me and takes off to the corner with Sophia and opens his laptop at a table.
I spend the next ten minutes playing with the lighting, then excuse myself to set all my equipment up. The bigger items are already here, so it’s merely a matter of arranging my laptop and other smaller things.
“These are the kind of photos we’re aiming for,” Oscar says when I’m done, showing me a small selection of photographs on his phone. “We have around ninety minutes from now blocked off for this. Do you think it’s achievable?”
“Absolutely. How many photos do you intend to release?”
“Two to three on the occasion, preferably like these.” He brings up the most important ones. “But we’d like some extras to be released in the future.”
“That’s no problem. If everyone is ready, we can get started now.”
A chorus of agreement comes from everyone in the room, and I turn to Crown Prince Finley.
“Please stand over there. We’ll get the most formal ones out of the way first.”
He nods and goes to the corner I motioned, and with the help of Aaron—or James—I move the equipment and get myself situated.
Then, I begin the process of photographing the most sickeningly photogenic man I’ve ever met in my life.
And I have met a lot of photogenic men.
I don’t think Crown Prince Finley takes a bad photo. Even in the one where he’s scratching his nose, he’s smiling as the sun’s rays filter in through the window, almost as if the sun itself is blessing him.
I take photo after photo of him. He’s such an easy subject to work with, and he knows all the cues as if he’s done this a thousand times before. He probably has, the more that I think about it, but he’d give professional models a run for their money.
He’s sickeningly perfect.
And I can’t help but realise this is the Crown Prince.
This is the man I told myself I could marry.
The man I thought I could convince to marry me.
If there wasn’t an agreement between our families, would he ever look at Jasmine as a wife? Never mind me. Legitimacy aside, she was raised to be his wife.
And I…
Well.
I was raised a million miles away from any of this. While she took etiquette and riding lessons in expensive clothes, I was desperately trying to survive, to prove my worth, to show I was worthy of being kept and educated and not sold.
And now, I doubt.
I doubt I can do this.
Doubt I can marry this almost ethereal, untouchable man before me. Doubt I can convince him I’m worth a chance, even if that’s what I’m good at.
Proving myself. Proving my worth. Proving I can be accepted.
Looking at him… he feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s the one person I could never talk into believing that a chance is all I need.
“Look at the camera,” I say, positioning myself just right.
He does.
He looks right at me with those bright blue eyes that could enrapture an entire nation, and a smile crosses his face. A big, broad smile that’s the polar opposite of every expression he’s made during the last hour.