Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ARCHER
I fight another curse from slipping out my mouth when Ella’s phone fails to go through again.
I groan and toss my head back against the leather backseat while the car stops at yet another red light.
Royal motorcades, of course, are a real thing.
But they also need planning and coordination with the police force.
Prince or not, no one can create blocked off streets at the snap of a finger.
And I don’t think Ella would appreciate my drawing attention to our little personal drama by way of loud sirens and the declaration of a national emergency.
It certainly feels like a national emergency to me. And I would think asking the potential future queen of Northandria to stay is a pretty high-priority event.
But pulling rank would only draw the paparazzi’s attention. And I don’t think Ella deserves that. The last thing I want is to force her to stay like some medieval maiden that the king kidnaps to his castle. If Ella stays, it should be because she wants to stay.
And I am praying and hoping with every inch of me that she will.
A car honks loudly when our car overtakes it. I groan again.
It didn’t take long for Princess Kya and me to get to an agreement.
But it was a lot harder to calm down the King of Drenland.
Thankfully—and, really, surprisingly—Mother took my side.
And I was out of the Blue Room probably within a half hour of Ella leaving it.
I may have agreed to a few things I didn’t exactly want to do, including spending a few upcoming holidays in Drenland as a PR stunt.
But at least, if all goes well, I’ll be going there with Ella by my side.
Ella, Ella, Ella. Eleanor Ruth Langford, Princess Eleanor Penderson, Countess of Westmore, Lady of Langford Castle.
Who says men can’t play the last name game? It’s even more fun when there are multiple titles involved.
I just need to make sure she stays long enough for me to convince her to say yes.
My phone lights up with an alert. Two flights have departed since Ella left. I hope hard that she wasn’t on one of them.
“Just one more turn, Your Highness,” the driver says. He sounds a little guilty. I don’t know why.
Or maybe I do know.
“Were you the one who drove Miss Langford?”
He pauses. “Yes, sir.”
“Why didn’t you—” I hold back any unreasonable demands. I am not unreasonable. I refuse to be unreasonable. That’s my mother’s thing.
“We were unaware it was unauthorized, Your Highness. My apologies.”
“But no one—” I frown and try hard to calm myself. “Was she alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did she leave any instructions after you dropped her off?”
“No, sir.”
“Was she—unhappy?”
A pause. “It is not part of my training to interpret emotions, sir. But I would not consider Miss Langford to have been in good spirits.”
My chest squeezes. Considering I started the day planning a date, things have definitely taken a pretty disappointing downturn.
I try to focus on other things. “Did she bring a lot of stuff with her? I think my sister said she left most of her things at the castle.”
“Only one backpack, sir.”
Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing? Is this what people mean when they talk about overthinking?
“I see.”
“I hope you will see more than that, Your Highness.” The car pulls up to a side curb.
It’s not the private one we use for accessing the royal plane, but I guess Ella wouldn’t be in the private area anyway.
At least, not without me. “This is where Miss Langford was dropped off, sir. The first gate should be to the right.”
“Thank you.”
I rush out, unfolding my limbs awkwardly. Choosing to arrive in one of the un-crested cars in the family’s collection is proving to be the right choice. No one notices me. At least not yet.
I look up and see the sign marking the departure area. I rush in.
I remember the last time I entered an airport and ran into Ella. That might have been good fortune. But today, I’m not leaving anything to chance.
I wander in. I scrutinize every young lady that’s remotely Ella’s coloring or height. What was she wearing again today? Has she put on a coat since? When the first five ladies I check are all not Ella, I have to resist the urge to shout her name.
Ella. Ella Langford. Will you be my princess?
The cheesy line taunts my brain. The PA system announces that the flight to New York is delayed. There’s a smatter of groaning from the clusters of passengers.
Is that Ella’s flight? Do I dare to hope that it is?
There are lines, many lines. There are people lining up for trolleys, for coffee, or for kiosks both manned and unmanned. There’s a crying baby somewhere, and loud teenagers somewhere else.
But Ella, where’s Ella?
It starts subtly at first. But soon I hear the whispers. I catch the curious glances. And then come the smartphones surreptitiously aimed my way. I’ve been made. Prince Archer has been spotted.
And maybe because I’m desperate, but for the first time in my privacy-loving life, I stop in the middle of a crowded airport, pant for all of three seconds, and ask loudly, “Can anyone help me find Miss Ella Langford?”
More whispers. More fingers. More smartphones. And then some squealing.
“Over here!”
“That’s her!”
“It really is him!"
“This way!”
Overeager strangers direct me forward. There are whispers about stopping something or someone before they’re past security. I hurry. The crowds hurry with me.
And then, just a few feet away from the glass wall that separates the airport's land side from air side, the people part for me like some magical Red Sea.
And standing in line, looking at me with her lips parted, is my beautiful Ella.