Page 25 of Stolen Princess

“Something like that.”

She swallows, her head swivels in my direction, and she kills me with her wonderstruck expression. “Then I’ve decided I’m seeing this through. No matter what. Come what may.”

Of course she is. Shit.

8

FERRIN

This village… isn’t the nicest. It’s a lot of closed-up shops, tired-looking storefronts, and people loitering aimlessly about that have my senses on alert. Honestly, I couldn’t have mapped this out any better. She’ll be running home to Mommy by nightfall. I’ll have my necklace and plan my strategy to get the tiara back. For all I know, it’s at the cottage. I can’t think of a more perfect place to hide something you don’t want anyone else to find.

Like this girl.

Genevieve is stoic as we walk through the center of town, even as she takes in everything around her item by item. We’re drawing curious eyes that I wish we weren’t. She keeps making noises and doesn’t know how to carry herself. It makes us stick out even more.

We pass a lamppost that’s littered with fliers, and she pulls me to an abrupt stop.

“That’s you,” she whispers, her eyes darting around to make sure no one overheard. “Isn’t it? I mean, that’s your name.”

I chuckle when I see it. It’s the same drawing of me that they love to use, and though I look like garbage in it, I don’t mind in the least. “Yeah, but it doesn’t look like me, does it?” It’s of me with a large nose, round face, glasses, and bad teeth.

“I suppose not, but wow, I guess you were serious about your life of crime stuff.” She squints at the paper that’s seen more than a few rainfalls and isn’t the easiest to read. “There’s a reward for your capture. And it says you’re dangerous.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

She peers at me. “I could turn you in.”

I grin. “And chat with the police? You’re the one who has the necklace and the gun, not me. What story will you give them about why you have no ID and have been living in a hideaway cottage all your life? They’ll call your mother. You know that. That’ll likely arrest you for aiding and abetting a known fugitive.”

She scowls and turns back to the paper, only to snag on the one above me. “Who’s that?”

“The former prime minister.”

“Why is there a red slash through his face? Is he not a good man?”

“Not particularly. He’s also dead. He killed the former queen and tried to kill the king and his new wife, who was his fiancée at the time. He fell out of a window while he was trying to kill the king.”

She gasps, her mouth dropping, and I can see the worry in her eyes. She’s determined to see this through, and I believe her, but she’s having doubts, and I can’t blame her, given where we are right now. Maybe her mother isn’t wrong, and the rest of us have simply grown indifferent to all the fucked-up shit we see around us.

“We need to find a place to stay and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

She swallows and nods.

I grab her hand and don’t let go because there are two men up the block behind us, and I don’t like how they’ve been looking at her. This is when having the gun or at the very least the knife would be useful. I might have to broker that one.

But the feel of her small, soft hand, the touch of her skin against mine, is unexpected. Pleasant even. Probably because I’ve never held anyone’s hand before. She must be having the same thought as she glances down at our pressed palms.

“Oh. An inn.” She takes our linked fingers and points at the sign over a building up the road. “Should we do that first?”

“Likely,” I agree. I need a drink, and I needed it sixteen hours ago, but I also don’t want to have to search for something after I’ve had that drink and a few extras.

She steps in front of me, her chin tilted up toward me, but movement out of the corner of our eyes alerts us both, and silently we head toward the inn. I don’t know what she was going to say, and I’m probably the better for it.

The inn is shockingly quaint on the inside, and it isn’t until we walk in and look around that I realize the issue. My necklace is back at her impenetrable fortress. If we get two rooms, she could run out on me in a flash. One second thought or a call from her mother is all it would take.

“We’re going to have to share a room,” I tell her.

She blanches and draws back. “Why?”