Page 60 of Roaming Holiday

Part of me feels stupid for considering anything more with him. Maia would roll her eyes. Dad would probably ignore me. Raven would more than likely be intimidated by Wesley.

It’s unprofessional. The Higher Court expects grace from me, similar to my mother.

And I’m lusting after my bodyguard.

That night, I toss and turn. The mattress puffs around me like a cloud, but not even the world’s most comfortable bed puts me to sleep. I was exhausted enough yesterday that I didn’t have a chance to overthink myself awake.

I cycle through the stressors of Dad, the crown, the attack, and Wesley. The ache in my throat has almost healed and the redness in my eyes has faded. The crowds in town stressed me out yesterday; having Wesley around helped, even if I’m a little agitated with him for no good reason.

Every time I start to fall asleep, I startle at the vulnerability of letting my guard down. I keep seeing the hatred in his eyes and hearing the venom in his words.

“We don’t want you here. Death to the monarch. Vi ponte lo revínastí.”

The words hit me like bullets.

Vi ponte lo revínastí.

I sit up in bed, my heart racing. The moonlight streams through the white curtains shielding the French doors. Why am I just remembering this? How?

Vi is live. Ponte is long. Revínastí is revolution.

Long live the revolution.

“We don’t want you here. Death to the monarch. Long live the revolution.”

I snatch my phone from the nightstand and search the terms in Google, adding Maldana monarchy to the end. Then I come across the group name Lo Revínastí, The Revolution. How original. Some of their methods are near anarchy, but their intent is clear.

There’s a housing crisis in Maldana and inflation is harming the economy and citizens. Tourism is booming and helps the country, but not actual Maldanians. The group notes that Maldana’s royalty is a decrepit system that doesn’t contribute to society. I fail to see the correlation between the monarch and the crises until I look at the balcony in my room, the statue on my nightstand, and consider the boat we took to come here. The monarch may not have started these issues, but it could be doing more. The group doesn’t believe the monarch needs to exist at all.

Would it be selfish if I became a princess despite this?

Some news articles compare Lo Revínastí to the French Revolution, which didn’t end well for Marie Antionette and many other royals. Dread plunges straight into my stomach. I drop my phone, hands shaking, and jump out of bed. After what I read, there’s no way I can get any sleep. I slide on blue jeans and a long-sleeved dress shirt.

The past two days have been lovely. Vanessa put a lot of effort into making me feel better and more comfortable, but I still notice the eggshells scattered around me. No one knows who I am in Antina. They don’t know what happened and won’t treat me differently. It’s not quite my goal to meet other people tonight; I want to witness what they’re like in the dead of night, when the darkness shelters possibilities both good and bad.

My phone is at thirty percent, but I don’t plan to be out for long or scrolling through apps. I take note of wherever I pass, even placing a large rock in the middle of the path as a marker. I revel in the tranquility of the night and occasional purring of a cat.

The houses have a lot of charm but also cracks and sagging roofs. As the princess, I can redirect funds into rectifying this. How hard would that be? Does the Higher Court plan on turning me into a puppet for show-and-tell? Other than the conversations about the monarch’s functions during the hors d’oeuvres at the introductory dinner, the night was about their plans for me, not with me.

I check the map on my phone to head toward the downtown area, only to notice my battery at ten percent.

“What the fuck?” I harshly whisper. Stupid foreign data eating at my phone battery. If I remembered that pesky fact, I wouldn’t have ventured so far from the house. When I plug in the address on the GPS, the screen goes black, and the torturous loading wheel spins before shutting down completely.

Oh, shit.

Fear begins to stack inside me, but I knock it down and scan the area. Don’t panic. No one here knows I’m a princess. I retrace my steps, halting at the sight of a demolished house. I definitely did not pass that before.

Phone, dead.

Sense of direction, gone.

I look up at the stars and moon, suddenly resenting myself for quitting girl scouts. My next option is to find help. It’s a good thing Wesley made me memorize his number—all I need is a phone. The neighborhood is asleep for the most part, but I follow the sounds of laughter and light music, going down a path I know is farther from the house.

Slight relief ignites in my chest at the lively street. A bar is still open, and there’s a café half-open. The small family who appears to own the place is sitting in their outdoor dining area. I’m surprised to see two elderly people awake at this hour, but the man softly plays the accordion and the woman funnels treats to the bulldog at her feet. A middle-aged man is hunched over a notebook and a stack of receipts.

“Ciao,” I say, pulling out my best smile and tucking a curl behind my ear. “Siporí caporer a tu parné?”

The woman grins and gestures to the dog. “Sì, tofalimente, tofalimente!”

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