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He squints at the text beside my finger, where I am identified as Prince Sebastien Teodor Florian von Freiberg. His jaw drops, and he takes the document. “Sir. I didn’t realize?—”
I wave off his chagrin. “You must exercise due diligence.”
“You sure it’s real?”
I turn on my friend who’s leaning against the wall, smirking. “Why would you say that, Hans?”
“Sorry, I wanted to lighten the mood.” He turns to the suspicious guard and taps his phone. “It’s really him. I’ve known him my whole life. Look.” He pokes the screen a couple of times. “Hang on. Shoulda restarted when we got to Vienna. I’m not connect—ah, here.” He shoves the phone at the guard.
I catch a glimpse of the page—it’s the official Freiberg palace website which displays photos of the royal family. All of us—the Grand Duchess, her sisters, all their children, and at least a dozen more distant cousins stand in three rows, staring glumly at the camera. On the tiny phone, we’re unrecognizable, and the resolution isn’t good enough to zoom in. Plus, a weird trick of lighting makes my family look like we were digitally added by a student taking their first computer class. I suspect the Grand Duchess left it that way on purpose. I grab Hans’s wrist and tap on the menu to find my biography page. “There.”
The guard frowns at the phone, then at my passport and my face. Finally, he turns away to speak into his radio, his voice low enough I can’t hear what he says. After a moment, the thing makes that annoying static sound, and a voice says, “Bring sie rein.”
He turns back to us and points down the hall. “This way, gentlemen.” His formal tone makes me think he’s still unsure but giving us the benefit of the doubt.
Halfway down, I see a woman in black. Celeste. We stop when our guide holds up a hand. He moves forward to consult with Celeste, who gives me a quick once-over then opens the door. Voices ring out, laughing and chatting in German, English, and Korean. Our escort hands my passport off to someone, and the conversations peter out.
“Teo? What are you—” Andela appears in the doorway, her green hair startling even after having seen all the pictures. “Of course you’re here. And Hans, too. You can come in—if you won’t be a Spaßbremse.”
This is not the first time I’ve been accused of being a “fun stopper.” It comes with the territory when you’re the “responsible one.”
The man who escorted us stares at Andela, his jaw dropping, then bows himself out of the way, like a character from an old movie. I suppose most people have no idea what the protocol is for dealing with royalty, so they revert to what they learned in animated fairy tales. I hold out a hand. “Thanks for taking care of my sister.”
He straightens and eyes my outstretched hand as if it’s a trap. Then he shakes it once and throws a thumbs-up as he backs away. He turns, then pivots back. “Okay if I get a selfie? No one will believe this.”
I open my mouth to decline, but Andela swoops forward and wraps one arm around me and the other around the security guard. “Of course! Hans, take the man’s phone and get the picture. Just wait until tomorrow to post it if you don’t mind.” She wrinkles her nose at me. “Wouldn’t want to alert the media.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t—” The phone flashes, cutting me off. Great, now he has a picture that looks like I’m yelling at him while he and Andela grin at the camera. I look past my sister to the guard. “Can we do one more?”
He takes his phone and smiles at his screen, then reluctantly steps away from Andela’s arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll crop you out.”
Hans snickers.
I push down the tiny twinge of jealousy—Andela has always been the most popular of us—and remind myself of all the things a famous royal can’t do. Like travel solo to the States. Or live incognito in a small town. Although, I guess all of us got away with that one, for a while. “Cool. And please don’t call her Daiquiri Dela.”
Andela winces. “Is that back? I thought I’d managed to leave that one in the past.” She turns to the guard. “I prefer Andi, if you don’t mind. I have my own hashtag: A R T I A N D I.”
“I can’t post it anyway.” The guy gives his phone a last, pleased smile, then slides it into his pocket and looks adoringly at Andela. “I’d lose my job. But I can show my friends in person.”
She leans in to give him a swift kiss on the cheek, then whirls and drags me into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Five
EVA
Hyunjae, one of the primary vocalists for Tripl3Threat, shakes his white-blond hair out of his eyes, the dark tips brushing against his perfect cheekbones. He smiles, and his teeth are so white they seem to glow. His eyes sparkle as he laughs at my terrible Korean. I can tell he’s laughing with me, not at me, and I smile in return.
I should be totally enthralled with him—I’ve been following his K-pop career since he came out of training for the survival show that launched his career. And now I’m sitting on a couch with him, in a fancy, private salon in Vienna. But ninety percent of my attention is on Teo, standing in the doorway.
Teo, the prince. Not an “unofficial” member of the royal family through an illegitimate parent or grandparent, but a real, riding-in-the-parades, portrait-in-the-palace, card-carrying prince. Number six in line for the freaking throne.
Across the room, our eyes lock. My old friend—the one I thought I was falling in love with—is a prince. It doesn’t feel like a fairy tale. It feels like a betrayal. Why has he been hiding it from me? What else has he been hiding?
Hans slinks into the room behind him, and I give him a death glare. He visited Freiberg two years ago and stayed with the “Feltz family.” He must have known about this whole royalty thing, and he never said a word. Heck, he might have stayed at the palace! Hans catches my eye and winks, completely missing the fury lasers I’m shooting at him.
Hyunjae nods at Teo, still standing in front of the door. “You are with him?” The K-pop idol’s English is quite good—much better than my K-drama Korean.
I start and drag my eyes back to the singer. “Why do you think that? We’re just friends.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, the gray color startling as I catch a glimpse of it in one of the many mirrors in this room.
