Page 41 of Guarding the Princess
The houses finally start to space out and then disappear altogether. I know it’s not much further until I see the palace out the front windshield. I’m not prepared for the emotion that clogs my throat when I see that stone facade for the first time as we come around the bend in the road. The woman I love is inside there right this very minute.
“’Bout as far as they’ll let ya come, boy. Got your walking legs on ya?”
The driver pulls to the side of the road and it takes me a second to translate what he’s saying. Between the accent and the odd phrases, I have an idea of what Charlotte went through moving to the United States.
Reaching into my wallet, I hand the man a fist full of krones, unsure how much that is in dollars. Judging by the way his eyebrows hit his hairline, I’d say it more than covers the fare.
“Tank ya, young man!” he hollers after me as I grab my backpack and race down the road toward my girl.
I slow my gait as soon as I turn onto the main drive leading to the palace. Other tourists are out and about, taking pictures of the palace grounds outside the tall wrought iron gates. I need to blend in and running full tilt to the front door won’t work.
Fiddling with my camera is a good distraction while I dart glances at the security in place. Guards are stationed at the front gate that leads to the front of the palace. If the Queen had me removed, I’m sure she gave her guards permission to remove me again. I can’t risk going up to them and asking for an audience with Charlotte.
I take some pictures on my camera, oblivious to what I’m actually photographing. The guards don’t move and I’m coming up empty on ideas to get in. Then it hits me. Go in the way I left. Through the back. There have to be deliveries for a place this big. Trucks and staff going in and out. What am I doing trying to enter through the front?
I leave immediately, walking down the long drive and hooking a left. I run now that I’m away from the watchful eye of the guards. When I see another road that looks to go in the general direction of the back of the palace, I take it. If anyone stops me, I’ll claim I got lost.
My change in plans is rewarded when I start to see peeks of the palace through the tall, dark green trees. I find the back entrance gate and hide behind one of the big trees to observe how the trucks go through the guard station. Quite a few are barreling through, most with names of catering companies emblazoned on the side.
There’s nothing to do but jump aboard the back of one of the trucks and try to blend in enough to get access to the palace. I drop my head to the rough bark of the tree I’m hiding behind. This is insane. I’m breaking into a royal palace. Failing will likely get me arrested, which will ensure I never work again as a bodyguard.
But I’ve come too far to fail now. Charlotte and I deserve a fair chance and that can’t happen if I cling to a job that keeps me coming home to an empty apartment night after night. I choose Charlotte.
Another truck comes around the curve of the road, blocking the view of the guard tower. I make a run for it, jumping onto the bumper and making it into the back of the truck bed, where stacks of white chairs jab me with the jostling of the bumpy road. I scramble to hide myself beneath a layer of chairs, barely breathing with the effort to stay undetected as the truck stops at the gate and a guard barely glances at the truck and waves the driver through.
If all works out, which is a big if, I’m going to suggest Charlotte improve the inspections at each of these guard stations. I’m getting in entirely too easy. The truck keeps rumbling and I attempt to hold the chairs off me so I don’t find myself with a thousand bruises tomorrow.
The truck brakes squeal again and movement stops. I can hear voices calling out orders in Swedish, but I can’t see above the level of the truck bed. I have no idea if I’m ten feet from the palace back entrance or ten miles. The second the truck driver sees me back here, he’s going to raise the alarm. I can either try to blend in or make a run for it. My heart pounds against my ribs.
I take a deep breath and prepare for anything. Moving one chair off me at a time, I free my way out of the bed of the truck. My head pops above the level of the truck bed and I see dozens of people milling about doing various tasks. Most are moving tables and decor into one of the back entrances to the palace. Maybe there’s some sort of party going on, which seems a bit weird, but then again, maybe the Queen is celebrating removing me from the palace. Or maybe she finally convinced Charlotte to move forward with the coronation.
Waiting in the truck bed seems like pressing my luck, so I take one last breath and exit the back of the truck like I have every reason to belong there. I ditch the camera and stash it behind some of the stacked chairs. I’m no longer a tourist. I now work for a catering company hired to move rental furnishings into the palace.
I grab two chairs and start walking into the back entrance, my gaze darting back and forth even as I lower my head to avoid security cameras. I’m two steps through the doorway when I hear a shout behind me.
“Hey, the chairs don’t go in yet!”
There’s no time to take them back out. If whoever shouted sees my face, the jig is up. I set the chairs down, leaning them against the wall and keep walking quickly down the corridor. I have no idea where I am in the maze of the palace. With any luck, I’ll get lost enough the catering company crew won’t see me.
“Hey!”
This time I don’t wait. I break into a run and don’t stop until I’ve taken so many turns down concrete hallways I’m well and truly lost. I don’t hear any further shouts behind me so I think I’ve successfully entered the palace. Now I have to find my way to Charlotte’s room. If I can get there, I’ll hide out until she retires for the evening.
A laugh threatens to escape and I choke it back. Laughter at this point is inappropriate at best, but I can’t help a sense of glee for having gotten this far. My next turn brings me to a door. I pop it open and peer out, seeing carpeted hallways and paintings on the gleaming wood walls. The stark change in decor tells me I’ve successfully gotten through the staff hallways and found one of the main hallways members of the royalty use.
The coast is clear. I stroll out into the hallway and hustle down to the far end where I take a sharp right turn. I know Charlotte’s room is on the second level so I need to find a staircase.
And quickly.
I can hear voices down the next hallway and don’t really want to find out who it could be. I keep moving, swiveling my head left and right to peer down hallways to get a sense of where I am. Nothing looks familiar in this maze.
The voices get louder with each second that ticks by. My only option at this point is to go through one of the doors. I say eeny, meeny, miny, moe in my head and grasp the winning door handle. It turns easily and the door swings open. Shadows come around the corner and I know I only have a split second to hide. I duck through the doorway and blink my eyes in the bright light.
I’m standing in a huge ballroom, giant crystal chandeliers overhead twinkling like I’ve died and gone to Cinderella’s dream ball.
“Mr. Duke?”
The Queen’s voice cuts through my dream and I realize I’m actually very much still part of this world, where the Queen, the King, and my princess are standing in a huddle in the middle of the enormous room. All three stare at me, jaws dropped. I blink hard, thinking I must be dreaming. Have I actually done it? Is that Charlotte standing before me?
