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About the Author

Connie Glynn has always loved writing and wrote her first story when she was six, with her mum at a typewriter acting as her scribe. She had a love for performing stories from a young age and attended Guildhall drama classes as a teenager. This passion for stories has never left her, and Connie recently finished a degree in film theory.

It was at university that Connie started her hugely successful YouTube channel Noodlerella (named after her favourite food and favourite Disney princess). After five years of publicly documenting her life and hobbies to an audience of 900,000 subscribers on YouTube, Connie closed the book on the Noodlerella project in a bid for more privacy and to pursue her original passions in the performing arts. Connie now writes music and fiction full-time.

Follow Connie on YouTube, Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr

@ConnieGlynn

#RosewoodChronicles

The Rosewood Chronicles

UNDERCOVER PRINCESS

PRINCESS IN PRACTICE

THE LOST PRINCESS

PRINCESS AT HEART

Dedication

Dedicated to every single delivery driver who
brought me food during the COVID-19 lockdown

Prologue

When you live by the sea, you can smell summer storms brewing. The tide sucks in the water, whispering out a salty sigh that churns up the scent of approaching rain.

When Ollie was young, he’d been scared of the storms. It was his best friend, Lottie, who’d taught him they were nothing to be afraid of. She’d recount the tale of the Little Mermaid and how her journey had begun with a wild and courageous storm, so ferocious it had sunk a ship.

What Lottie failed to mention was that the mermaid’s destiny was to turn into a pile of sea foam. Once Ollie discovered that, the fear stuck with him like a scar. Even now that he was sixteen, the distant rumble of thunder sent a tremor of fright skittering across his skin. Lottie loved the storm because she said it was the start of something new – because no matter how violent the raging winds and rain, no matter how loud the thunder, a storm meant the tension would be released, that the earth would be fresh and cool once more.

But for Ollie a storm meant only trouble.

Summer had come and gone in the blink of an eye. It was time for Ollie to head back to school, and a storm was rolling over the horizon. The humid weather was building to breaking point. His shirts clung to his skin with sweat, and he could never get the sticky feeling off his fingers no matter how much he showered. His mother, Manuela Moreno, however, seemed unaffected, cooped up in her oven of a studio or cooking her spicy dishes in the stuffy kitchen. The idea of being back at school, away from this unbearable heat, actually felt good. More than anything, he needed a distraction.

‘Ollie?’ His mother’s voice pierced his bedroom. ‘Hurry up, or you won’t have time for breakfast. I’m not letting you start back at school on an empty stomach.’

‘Coming, Mamãe!’

Another white-hot flash lit up the blue walls of his bedroom, startling him as he reached for his backpack.

A lot had happened over the summer, most of which he’d had to be updated on by Binah. Ever since Lottie had started at her new school, the mysterious and prestigious Rosewood Hall, his comfortable little world had been turned completely upside down. Despite his disapproval, Lottie had taken a job as a Portman for the royal family of Maradova, pretending to be Princess Eleanor Wolfson. This allowed the real princess to live a ‘normal’ life. Having met the real princess, Ollie could see why she preferred to remain undercover. Ellie Wolf, the name she preferred to go by, was a thunderstorm in human form. Nothing about her screamed ‘princess’. She was all dark eyes and moody stares. The confident way she moved, the lazy way she laughed. She was just like the storms he’d been afraid of as a child, the very same storms that Lottie adored.

And that was just the princess. Even worse was her Partizan, Jamie: a bodyguard who looked as though he’d never smiled in his entire life. Ollie still remembered him leaning against the door frame in the kitchen, as still and patient as death, and equally as foreboding.

Lottie had been thrust into their world of royal conspiracies and secret evil societies, and now Ollie had been dragged in too, everyone banding together to try to find the identity of the Master of Leviathan, a strange and menacing group whose only goal was to destroy the Maravish royal family.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Ollie drifted into a daze, shovelling pancakes into his mouth like an unthinking machine. He didn’t even taste the maple syrup. He swallowed down a mouthful and it stuck in his throat, choking him. He rubbed his chest frantically.

‘Chew your food, Ollie,’ his mother scolded, placing a reusable water bottle in his backpack.

He nodded absent-mindedly, thoughts turning back to the summer and the terrible secrets that had been revealed.

He and a group of Rosewood students had sneaked into Rosewood Hall. They’d ventured beyond the walls into the sleeping school to steal an ancient diary that had belonged to the founder. Reading it, Ollie had discovered that the school’s founder was Lottie’s ancestor – a long-lost Ottoman princess, Liliana Mayfutt.

Of course, being related to lost royalty would never be enough for Lottie. There was more. The second layer of secrets they had discovered was a set of twin swords, one buried at Rosewood and one at its sister school in Japan, Takeshin. The swords had their own secret – that an age-old and powerful bond between the two school founders stretched back to when Liliana had hidden away in Japan after escaping from the palace in the seventeenth century. After that she’d ventured to England and founded the school there.

But the icing on the secret cake was the most terrifying news Ollie had ever received. With the help of some students at Takeshin, he and his friends had discovered that Leviathan, the mysterious group who’d targeted his best friend ever since she’d started her new life, was led by Claude Wolfson, Ellie’s uncle. Wolfson had abandoned the throne, then he’d been exiled from Maradova and his younger brother Alexander forced to take on the role of king. None of them knew Claude’s ultimate plan, but Ollie knew one thing with absolute certainty – Lottie was at the very heart of the intrigue, and there was nothing he could do to save her. Not yet.

He shook himself from his thoughts. ‘I’ll head off before it starts raining.’ He kissed his mother on the cheek, grabbing his backpack and one last pancake before heading out of the front door.

A familiar red van pulled up. ‘Good morning, Ollie. Glad I caught you,’ said a voice.

Ollie smiled at the postman. ‘Good morning, Mr Harris.’

‘I’ve picked up a postcard for the Pumpkin household,’ the postman said, his sunburnt cheeks turning round and friendly. ‘No one’s been there for a while, so I thought I’d bring it over to you. You were always good friends with that Lottie girl.’

A menacing rumble of thunder disrupted the air. It rolled over Ollie like a premonition of trouble arriving. Something Ollie had come to realize over the past year was that trouble always sought Lottie out – just like the thunderstorm. A myriad of awful possibilities exploded in his head: news reporters who’d figured out her Portman secret, a threat from Leviathan, news that her stepmother was coming home. The letter could be about any one of these.

Mr Harris pulled out a postcard with a picture of a white-sand beach. Lemon-yellow lettering read: Havana. Ollie could practically smell the rum and cheap aftershave wafting off it. There was only one person who’d send a postcard like this. It conjured an image that was far, far worse than any of the possibilities he’d already thought of.

He took the card, trying to be as calm as possible. ‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass it on to her.’

‘Say hello to your mother for me, Ollie,’ replied Mr Harris as he headed back to his van.

The world swirled. Ollie knew he shouldn’t turn over the postcard, that he shouldn’t read it. Whatever was on the other side could only be bad news. But Lottie had to know what was coming, surely? With a gulp, Ollie flipped it over. The writing was smudged, probably done in a hurry, but the words were clear, as was all the trouble they would bring.

To my little princess, Charlotte,

It’s been far too long, and Beady tells me you’re working your way into high society.

She has also brought it to my attention that you have not been living in the old house, so I hope you will understand that it’s become necessary to sell it.

Much love,

Your father

Ollie looked up to see Mr Harris’s van disappear out of sight, and with it any chance of returning the cursed postcard. He could only hope Lottie would be able to handle the bad news.

Part One

THE NIGHTMARE

1781 painting by Henry Fuseli

1

Night had consumed Wolfson Palace. Ornaments and portraits that dazzled in the sunshine now lay dormant, waiting for life to be kissed back into them like a cursed princess.

Wiggling her toes, Lottie did her best to stave off some of the cold that was seeping through the palace floor. She was jet-lagged after returning from Japan and still feeling disorientated from everything that had happened over the past few days, not least her discovery about Leviathan. Lottie tried to hold herself upright, focusing on the wall of shiny diamond jewellery while the king’s advisor went to work around her in the crimson room, side-stepping the purple-velvet ottoman in the centre.

‘This won’t do.’ Simien narrowed his eyes at the reflection in the ornate mirror, his liver-spotted hands firmly placed over Lottie’s shoulders, turning her from side to side to get a better view of the puffy-sleeved dress he’d had her put on, which made her look remarkably like a strawberry blancmange. ‘Perhaps a high neckline and padded shoulders will balance out that very long neck that you’ve exposed.’

Dizzy with the dressing room’s thick perfume clouds, and feeling more like a marionette than a human being, Lottie let her imaginary strings go slack when Simien finally turned back to the dresses, searching through them to find something that would work with Lottie’s new messy bob.

‘Whatever you think is best,’ Lottie called out, hoping to move the process along without giving away her impatience. She had somewhere she needed to be, and she couldn’t have Simien knowing that; she couldn’t add to his stress.

It wasn’t simply Lottie’s hair that had everyone on edge; the whole palace felt like it was on a tightrope, ready to topple over at any moment if someone so much as breathed too deeply. Five days had passed since the nightmare in the Rose Wood, and, while Lottie was desperate to figure out Leviathan’s plan, first she had to contend with Ellie’s family, and that meant she had to be as presentable as possible to soften the blow of the terrible discovery she’d made.

‘I think it’s best if we avoid a media scandal over your hair. It’s the last thing we need,’ Simien hissed, tutting to himself.

Lottie couldn’t help sighing. She felt like the only person in the world who didn’t look at her hair as if it was a disaster or even something to be concerned about. There was only one person who understood, and she was hundreds of miles away in Japan.

Thinking about Sayuri filled Lottie’s head with motorbike fumes and sharp, intelligent glances from midnight-black eyes. It made her chest ache like part of her soul had been snipped away. The summer they’d just spent at Takeshin had changed everything. The friends she’d made in Banshee, the motorbike gang, Miko, Rio and Wei, and their notorious Pink Demon leader, the silken-haired Sayuri who’d become more like a sister, were on the other side of the world but felt close to Lottie’s heart. They were linked not only by their schools but by the secrets their ancestors had trusted them with, the twin swords – one of which had saved Lottie by cutting her free.

Lottie felt calm as she stared at herself in the glass, fingers moving up to twiddle the ends of her freshly chopped bob. But as soon as her skin met the curling ends of her hair, memory jolted through her like a static shock. She was gripping the sword, flicking it up with determined abandon through her hair, freeing herself from Ingrid’s and Leviathan’s grasp, then running until her lungs burned.

Letting go, she tilted her chin up, marvelling at how much older the trim made her look. Ellie had done an immaculate job, the cut framing her apple-cheeked face, leaving her body lighter and revealing a version of herself that felt more Lottie than ever. The only problem was …

‘You look too much like your real ancestors,’ Simien moaned behind her, mumbling a series of curses. ‘We need a Wolfson, not a Mayfutt.’

It was undeniable. Lottie looked the spitting image of her ancestor Liliana Mayfutt’s male alter ego, William Tufty, right down to the splatter of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Every time she spotted them she felt like the ghosts of her family were watching her and expecting something.

‘Don’t slouch.’ Simien reappeared behind her, holding a butter-yellow dress up to her, its shoulders protruding like stiff whipped cream. ‘We need to make sure your princess image is still intact to lessen some of the queen mother’s distress over this unfortunate discovery.’ He didn’t need to say the name out loud. The whole palace could feel the severity of the situation like a hard grip on their necks.

Glancing briefly up at the clock, Lottie felt her patience wearing thin and, just as she thought she’d have to make an excuse and plant a well-timed yawn, Simien, at last, relented.

‘This will have to do, I suppose,’ the king’s advisor said, sighing and tapping at the temple by his glass eye before putting the dress back on the hanger. ‘Now make sure you go straight to bed and get a good night’s sleep for the meeting tomorrow,’ he said, attempting breeziness, but Lottie could hear the grave tone that he was doing his best to hide.

Lottie had one more stop before she retired for the evening. After changing into something more comfortable, she waited until she was sure the rest of the palace had gone to sleep and sneaked out of her bedroom door, listening carefully for any movement.

A floorboard on the stairs squeaked beneath her feet and she froze. Heart pounding, she strained her ears for any response.

Silence.

She crept into the long marble corridor, where the ghostly faces of the previous rulers of Maradova looked down at her from their gilded frames. Ignoring their eyes, she paused at the largest painting.

Alexis Wolfson, the man who’d seized the throne of Maradova hundreds of years ago, stared down at Lottie with piercing eyes, the same wild green as a forest at dusk. His long black hair fell thickly around his broad shoulders. Draped in protective pelts, he looked more warrior than king, but his smile was warm. Gazing up at him, Lottie wondered why she’d never paid this portrait more attention. It had taken Ingrid’s cryptic words for her to notice him, and now she could see why he’d been so adored.

Just like Alexis, Ingrid had said. It was one of two statements she’d shared that day in the woods. The other, and more confusing, was simply: Why is Jamie your Partizan? It was a question meant for the real princess, and Lottie was determined to find out what Ingrid had meant. Why was he Ellie’s Partizan?

Pulling herself away, Lottie walked to the end of the corridor until she reached the black sheep of the family, and the very person to whom Ingrid devoted herself – Claude Wolfson, Ellie’s uncle.

His painting hung in a black frame, a dark reminder of the fate that would befall any royal who turned away from their responsibilities. In his exile he’d waited, plotting, building an army. Now they knew that the mysterious goat-masked man who’d tormented Lottie and her friends for the past two years had been him. But why?

‘Hello, Goat Man.’ She found a strange satisfaction in using his nickname when he looked so proud. Perhaps this was how Ellie felt whenever she defied authority.

‘You can say his name, you know.’ Ellie’s voice drifted down the corridor, dark and bitter like coffee. ‘Everyone’s acting like it’s some terrible curse word.’

Turning slowly to face her princess, Lottie braced herself, remembering that it wasn’t just her image that had changed. Even so, it made her mouth go dry.

In the glow of the moonlight Ellie was dressed in a long black robe fit for a funeral, her face floating in the dark. She looked utterly exhausted. A sheen on her pale skin made her complexion look like alabaster, and the darkness beneath her eyes looked stained with ink. Lottie wondered if she’d slept at all since they’d learned about her uncle being the Master of Leviathan.

Taking a sweeping step forward, there was something dangerous in her eyes.

‘Claude Wolfson, Claude Wolfson, Claude Wolfson,’ Ellie repeated as if she were calling on the bogeyman, looking around with her hands outstretched. ‘See? Nothing happened.’

Lottie flinched at her tone. Ellie was obviously angry.

‘You’re late,’ she said, ignoring Ellie’s teasing. ‘What’s wrong?’

Ellie’s face dropped, and Lottie felt guilty as she took in her smudged eyes and chewed lips. She had to believe she’d done the right thing in telling Ellie about her uncle, but seeing her like this it was hard to feel like she was helping anyone.

‘I had to steal this from the post room; it could have got us in serious trouble.’

From an inside pocket, Ellie pulled out a postcard, passing it to Lottie so she could see the elegant painting of a bamboo forest on the front. She could smell it, like a scorching-hot summer and the fizzy tang in the air after fireworks.

Flipping it over, Lottie stared at the six lines of simple text.

Dear Princess,

Please keep an eye on Haru for us.

His sabbatical is still regrettably a mystery.

Stay safe, and remember our fates are linked by the sword.

Sayuri, Miko, Rio and Wei

‘She sent it here, to the palace, for you.’ There was an edge to Ellie’s voice that sounded like fear, the kind of low-frequency sound you expect from a cornered dog. ‘It’s dangerous, Lottie. What if someone had seen it?’ Ellie groaned, putting her head in her hands. ‘No one knows Haru is part of Leviathan except for us and Ani and Saskia.’

Trying to keep calm, Lottie pocketed the postcard. It felt warm nestled next to her heart, despite the terrible reminder that Haru was waiting for them when they returned.

‘Is this why you wanted to meet me?’ she asked, wishing she could do something to put Ellie’s mind at ease.

‘No.’ Ellie shook her head. ‘I need to ask you a favour.’ Her gaze wandered once more to the painting of Claude.

‘Anything.’

‘I need you to promise you won’t tell my parents about Haru being part of Leviathan tomorrow. Not unless I say so.’

‘Wait, what?’

Ellie’s eyes snapped back to Lottie’s, her sleepy demeanour melting away. ‘I’m serious, Lottie. After what you found out about my … about Claude, I feel like my parents are hiding things. Tomorrow I’m going to tell them I’m sick of it.’ Ellie’s hands curled into fists. ‘I can’t believe they’re not letting Jamie attend. We can’t let them keep things from us. We should be vigilant; we have to –’

‘Jamie’s not attending?’ Lottie’s mind felt muddled, sure she’d misheard, but Ellie shook her head again, letting her know it was very real.

‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ Ellie looked vindicated for a moment, glad to see Lottie equally as perplexed. ‘They won’t say why, but they’re keeping it intimate, just me, you, Grandmother and my parents.’

The news was like a boulder, knocking Lottie right back into the Rose Wood, Ingrid’s voice snaking into her thoughts once more. Why is Jamie your Partizan?

Shaking it off, Lottie grabbed one of Ellie’s clenched fists and squeezed. From the way her friend’s hand trembled, Lottie could sense a long-growing resentment in her princess towards her secretive family. ‘Let’s see what your parents and grandmother have to say tomorrow. Then you can decide what you think is right for everyone.’

‘But –’

‘I’m on your side, Ellie, no matter what.’ This was the truth – a fact she could always fall back on. Everything she did was for the good of her princess, the girl who made her feel whole. ‘And if you decide that’s what you want to do after we’ve spoken to them, then OK.’ Lottie spoke steadily but her chest felt hollow at the idea of keeping Haru a secret any longer. ‘Can we do that?’

Seconds felt like decades while she waited for a reply, and all the while Claude stared down at them, watching, waiting.

‘OK, yeah,’ Ellie said at last, her fists uncurling. ‘I’ll try to keep my cool tomorrow, for you.’ A semblance of Ellie’s old charm crept back into her smile, but it faded quickly. ‘We should probably go to sleep. I’m not thinking straight. I’m tired and it feels weird being back here, and … yeah.’

‘Don’t worry, I understand.’ Lottie linked her fingers with Ellie’s.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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