I shove my hands inside the pockets of the borrowed jacket and discover the left one contains a keycard for the back gate, which will speed up my exit exponentially. The shiny new SUVs I spotted earlier are still parked in a row by the service entrance.

I snag the keys from the top of the rear right tire and climb inside the driver’s seat. All of the palace’s cars are typically stored in the main garage, but these were just delivered earlier today and haven’t been moved yet. I let out a sigh of relief when the engine roars to life, then pull my phone out and power it off so my security team won’t be able to track me.

The driving rain ensures the evening security guard remains in the booth adjacent to the massive wrought-iron gate. He simply waves me through after I scan the keycard. I’ve given no thought to my destination beyond it being an escape from both the physical confines of the palace and my own troubling thoughts.

I drive along the dark, wet streets, alone in a car for the first time, until I spot a grungy pub that suits my current mood perfectly. The obscure location has the added bonus of being one of the last places a citizen would expect to encounter a member of the royal family, significantly lowering the odds of anyone besides my annoyed security team ever knowing I even left the palace.

A long wooden counter spans the entire length of the pub, where I order a glass of whiskey before taking a seat in the booth farthest from the front door. There are only two other patrons in the stodgy bar, and I use the rain as an excuse to keep my dripping hood up to cover my most distinctive feature: long strawberry-blonde hair.

I remain in the booth for a while after my jacket has dried, and long enough to down two more glasses of amber liquid. I stare across the dimly lit pub at the rain streaking down the outside of the dusty panes of glass, my mind blissfully blank. The dark wood that constructs almost every visible surface is soothing, and I feel stress leaching away as the whiskey warms me from the inside out.

I’m contemplating whether I should call my security team to come retrieve me now or if I should savor the rare moment of freedom longer when the front door swings open for the first time since I entered.

A boisterous group of five boys walk inside the previously silent pub and head over to the long counter. I watch them closely, intrigued by the chance to observe normal teenagers. They push and jostle each other in an attempt to order first, tossing around teasing remarks as they do. I don’t realize how intently I’m staring until one of them turns away from the counter to survey the rest of the pub. He immediately meets my intrigued gaze. I look away, cursing internally for drawing attention to myself.