“I’ve got to go.” I tell Sam before I hang up. I race upstairs and hastily shove a few things in a duffle bag before I go out to the garage. I’m at the airport in twenty minutes. There’s no direct flight to Marcedenia, but there’s a flight to France with a connection there.

I tap my foot anxiously as I board first one flight, and then another. It’s early morning in Marcedenia by the time I land. Instead of a private airfield, this time I emerge into a bustling airport. No one seems to recognize me beneath my baseball cap and sunglasses as I make my way through the busy building and flag down a taxi.

“Can you take me to the palace, please?” I ask.

The driver scoffs. “Sure, kid.”

He makes good time and stops in front of a familiar set of gates about twenty minutes later. “I can take you to your hotel after you’ve snapped a few pictures.”

“I’m good here, thanks,” I respond.

He shrugs. “All right, suit yourself.”

I walk up to the guard booth, ignoring the other tourists milling about. I’m relieved to see Thomas is the one sitting there.

“Mr. Dawson?” He looks stunned to see me. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to see Vivienne—the Princess,” I reply. “Please, it’s an emergency.”

Thomas appraises me and then finally nods. “She’s out in the gardens with Charles, I believe.” He looks hesitant to share that information, and I feel a glimmer of anger start to form. Was she even going to tell me?

The walk up the tree-lined drive and past the fountain does nothing to calm me down. I attract a lot of stares from the landscapers and other staff milling about, but I don’t pay them any attention.

I stride angrily around the side of the palace and into the gardens. Immediately, I spot Viv sitting at one of the patio tables alongside Charles, her mother, and two women I’ve never seen before. Samples of cake, floral bouquets, and piles of stationary sit on the table, and my temper rises further as I realize they must be in the midst of wedding planning.

Viv glances up as the crunch of gravel announces my approach. She freezes. Charles follows her gaze. His face contorts in irritation when he sees me. I gain Vivienne’s mother’s attention next, closely followed by the two other women. The queen looks worried, the other women puzzled.

I stop about ten feet away from the table. Vivienne has half-risen from her chair.

“Jace,” she gasps. “What—how—what are you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you?” I ask. She flinches at the animosity in my tone, but leaves her seat and walks over to me.

“What are you doing here?” Her gaze is wide-eyed and disconcerted.

I don’t answer as I continue walking over to the pool. I don’t want anyone overhearing us. The click of her heels on the stone patio sounds from behind, indicating she’s following me.