“Don’t trouble yourself about them,” the husband says in a poisonous tone. “The royals can’t touch you here, of that I assure you.”
“Those barbarians probably forced her to marry Liam.”
“No!” I rip my arm out of his grasp as their shocked faced turn toward me. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t forced!”
“But they said on the news that you trespassed,” he says.
“I don’t want to go back to America.”
He looks at his wife helplessly. “But they held you captive.”
I flinch at the word and step around them, opening the door to disappear through it. My heart slams into my chest as I walk down the street.
I don’t want to go back.
The thought of returning home to a life without Liam in it makes my chest tighten. The photo taken by Royal Exposé drifts through my mind. That perfect afternoon, his lips giving heat to my body, as though I weren’t drenched in freezing water. Oh God, he tried to ask me to stay, and I threw it in his face. I need to go back.
I turn around and head back toward the piers, but everyone’s gone for the night. An odd sound drifts through the air, and I realize it’s music. Bagpipes. Then I spot the building the music is coming from, and I see people inside—Edinburgh Yacht Club.
People with boats!
I walk inside, and the bagpipe music amplifies. An older woman sits behind a desk. There’s some kind of event going on. I spot a man dressed in a ceremonial bagpipe-player clothes. There are people with platters of food walking around, talking.
“Miss, may I see your membership card?”
“I don’t have a membership. I just need to charter a boat.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to submit a request using our website—hey!”
I don’t have time for this.
There’s a crowd of people and a huge, blue banner for Eric’s birthday, whoever the hell that is. People wear paper hats, and there’s a giant cake in the shape of a yacht that’s slowly being carved into slices. The receptionist appears at my elbow.
“You need to leave.”
I ignore her, sprinting toward the stage where there’s a microphone. The receptionist fights her way toward me as I grab the microphone and switch it on. The man playing the bagpipes stops abruptly, and the whole room goes silent.
“Uh—hi. I’m sorry to interrupt Eric’s birthday party, but I have an important request.” I clear my throat, and when I speak my voice is strong. “A very important request. My name is Daisy Walker, and I was kidnapped from my home. I need passage back to Anglefell immediately, and I’m willing to pay whatever.”
The crowd stares at each other for several moments before letting out a few awkward laughs.
Oh God. They think I’m a comedy act.
“This is not a joke, I assure you.”
They awkwardly clap.
Frowning, the receptionist finally hurries onto the stage. “All right, you’ve had your fun.”
“No! I need your help! Don’t you recognize me?” I stare at the crowd, looking for any signs of recognition. “I need to get back to Anglefell to my husband!”
“She’s not lying,” someone wearing a party hat says. “I recognize her from that shite tabloid.”
“Yeah,” another man chimes in.
“Why the fuck would you want to go back?” he says.
I falter, the microphone slipping in my grip. What can I say that won’t sound incredibly stupid to them?
“I can’t get into why—just that I need your help.”
“Are you daft, woman? We can’t sail you back to Anglefell. There is no travel to Anglefell.”
“Then how the hell did I get here? Explain that to me, genius.”
The receptionist makes a grab for the microphone, but I dodge her.
His eyes narrow at me. “Any ship illegally sailing in Anglefell territory will get blown out of the fucking water.”
Fuck.
“Isn’t there something you can do? I’ve got to get back there!” Frustration builds in my chest at all the people pointedly ignoring me. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
The man who spoke to me stands, pointing toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my birthday party!”
A few other men join the struggling receptionist on stage and tug my arms gently, taking the microphone from my hands.
“Please leave,” she says.
“All right,” I roar at her. “I’m going.”
The receptionist gives my back a final shove as I’m pushed out of the yacht club into the chilly air. Jesus, it’s cold. I pull my hood over my face, breathing in the salty wind as