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By the time I’d returned to our table, Eduard was hidden by the crowd. I answered the girls’ questions about him, then finished my beer in silence. When I noticed Klaus coming our direction again, I managed to head him off by sending Susan and Odele to meet my cousin. At that point, Eva was tipsy enough to have forgotten his existence, and Lina and I bundled her out of the bar.
But the encounter had crystalized my need to reveal my identity to Eva before someone else did. I’d been on the point of calling her and just blurting out the truth when Hans joked about taking the tour today. He and I did our own private exploration of the palace last time he visited, so the official tour offered him nothing new. But his offhand comment sparked the idea of spiriting Eva away from the tour. I’d give her a “forbidden” adventure which would hopefully soften the betrayal she might feel when I revealed my secret.
Unfortunately, I ran into Eduard on my way into the palace and had to shake him off before I found the tour. I barely caught them as they left the building.
“Eva!” I hiss from the shadow of a storeroom door, my heart pounding—both from my race through the lower regions of the castle and the thought that she might not react well to my secret. Withholding the truth is still lying—and I’ve been lying to her all my life.
She freezes in the center of the low, arched hallway. Beyond her, the rest of the tour group plods up the slope to the open door at the top. Lina steps behind her and gives her a little push. “Look, it’s Teo.”
I hold out my hand and put on my best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression. “Come with me if you want to live.”
She throws a panicked look over her shoulder, then turns back. “But she said this is a private residence. We’re supposed to stay with the group.”
“I know people, remember?” I crook my finger at her again. “Don’t worry, you aren’t going to get into trouble.” Eva likes to pretend she’s a rebel, but beyond her wild hair colors, breaking the rules isn’t really her thing.
She stares at me for a long moment, then says something that sounds like “blanket” to Lina. Lina snickers and pushes her again. “Go! Have fun!” She fixes me with a stern look, then scurries up the now-empty hall and out into the sun.
“I’m here now! Just checking for stragglers. That’s everyone.” She slams the door behind her.
“That wasn’t suspicious at all.” Eva stares after her friend with a groan. “They’re going to come looking just because she’s so obvious. We need to hide.”
Taking her cold hand, I pull her through the door behind me. As I push the heavy wood closed, the outer door opens as predicted. Light stabs in again. We freeze in the doorway, peering through the narrow crack between the wood and the stone arch. Slow steps echo down the empty hallway, and the searcher pauses. After a few seconds, they retreat and the door slams shut, cutting off the light.
Beside me, Eva’s breathing is fast and shallow. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Am I going to get deported if they catch us?”
“You’re fine. You’re with me.” I pull her deeper into the room, swerving between several stacks shrouded by dusty cloths to a door in the far corner. “Come on.” I urge her ahead of me up a dim circular stairway. The treads have been polished smooth by centuries of feet, leaving a slick hollow in the center of each step. “Hold on to the railing. These are slippery.”
Her foot slides as I speak, and I reach up to put a steadying hand against her lower back. As always, the contact gives me a little thrill—one I know she doesn’t feel. She throws a smile over her shoulder at me, but it looks strained.
I thought sneaking her away from the tour would be a fun way to introduce her to the idea that I’m related to the royals. That she’d enjoy the forbidden adventure and maybe even figure out the connection herself. But ideas that seem good at three in the morning should probably not be enacted without running them by a rational friend.
“It’s fine. I have connections here. They aren’t going to deport anyone. You’re just nervous from the airport fiasco.” I reach past her to open the door at the top of the stairs. “Come on, I’ll show you one of my favorite spots—one that’s not on any tours.”
“You’ve done this before?” She looks back over her shoulder as she steps into the brightly lit hall.
And slams into my cousin, the Hereditary Grand Duke.
Chapter Eleven
EVA
I stumble back, my head whipping around to see what I’ve crashed into.
But it’s not a what, it’s a who. Someone I recognize from the portrait in the big gallery: the Hereditary Grand Duke Eduard Florian Jakob Elmo Grover Cleveland van Sesame Street. Or whatever his name is. Lina would know.
I swallow hard and lean away from him, my shoulders and back bumping into Teo’s chest. For a brief second, I envision us falling down the spiral staircase to our deaths, leaving blood stains on the polished stone and causing an international incident. Then his hands grip my waist, his warm touch comforting through my shirt.
Comfort I desperately need. I’ve just physically assaulted the heir to a foreign nation. I can’t even apologize—I don’t know what to call him. Duke Eduard? Is that how you address the Hereditary Grand Duke? Should I call him “your exalted highness” or some other weird title? How do you even say that in German? And am I supposed to curtsey? I’ve taken lots of dance lessons, but I’m not sure a stage curtsey is the right answer—especially in jeans and a peasant top. Heart pounding hard enough to set the beat for a K-pop number, I settle for, “Oops. Sorry.”
A series of expressions flits across the grand duke’s face: surprise, suspicion, anger. Then his gaze ticks over my shoulder and recognition sets in. “Teodor. Wer ist deine hinreißende Begleitung?”
I parse the couple of words I recognize: “Who is your something something?” The rest sounds vaguely threatening in the way that only misunderstood German can. I stick out a hand. “Hi, I’m Eva Hertzsprung. Sir.” I bend my knees in a little bob which probably looks more like I’m getting ready to jump out a window than curtsey. Which, let’s be honest, I’m half considering. Although crashing through their ancient stained glass would probably cause more of an international incident than sneaking into the palace or ramming the duke.
He glances at my extended hand. Embarrassed, I start to pull it back when he takes my fingers in his cool grip. Turning my arm gently, he lifts my hand toward his face and kisses the air above it.
I’ve always thought kissing someone’s hand would be kind of icky. Who wants some stranger’s lips slobbering on her knuckles? But he’s so self-assured and elegant, it makes my knees a little weak.
There I go, bobbing like a frog again.
