Page 7 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

Chapter Four

Freya

I wish I could say I have been to the capital city many times.

I suppose I have, if one counts traveling through the streets in a vehicle.

(Sander does not count that.) It has been many years since my last journey to the city, so I feel completely out of place as Sander parks our motorbike next to several bicycles along one of the busier streets.

Busy by Candoran standards means a bus takes this route every twenty minutes, fifteen when it rains.

As I slip from the motorbike and steady myself after an exhilarating ride, a sense of freedom washes over me and leaves me almost teary-eyed.

I have not done something like this in so long, and I can only imagine what my mother would say if she knew.

By some miracle, we passed no one on our way out to the garage, though I heard Hex’s voice in the main hall of the palace as we took one of the side doors.

I assume he was distracting a guard to clear our path.

Thanks to my helmet, the guards at the gate were oblivious to my identity as Sander chatted with them for a moment before they let him drive through under the pretext of returning a date to the city.

I suppose I should be worried about how easily I escaped, but I choose to focus on taking advantage of my time while I have it.

Sander checks something on his phone as I remove my helmet and rest it on the motorbike’s seat. His brow is furrowed, expression tight, and I am certain he still thinks this is a bad idea. But then he says, “There’s a popular pub down this way,” and offers me his arm.

“Thank you for joining me,” I tell him, doing my best to hold him loosely despite the nerves that begin growing as soon as we start walking.

Invem is a safe city, more so than most capitals around the country, so I hardly expect anything to go wrong.

But if things do take a turn, I will have to rely on Sander and my own feet to get me to safety.

I am conscious of my health, but there are not many reasons for a princess like me to build up stamina in running.

Sander grumbles something, his eyes still darting around us even though the street is quiet.

It is late, so perhaps most of the residents of Invem have already returned home and gone to bed.

“Here we are,” he says, stopping outside a well-lit establishment and pulling a baseball cap from his pocket.

It is something I once stole from my friend Bonnie—who originally received it from an old boyfriend—because I found it charming and very American, but I have never worn it.

Hex thinks it will help me blend in despite the style not being popular among Candoran adults.

I wrinkle my nose at the cap. “Is this necessary?”

Stuffing it onto my head, he nods. “You aren’t exactly unknown, Fringe. If people get a good look at you, they’ll know you’re the future queen.”

Personally, I prefer to think I will experience the same effect that preserves Clark Kent’s identity as Superman. No one will expect me to be in a pub on a Friday evening, so they will not even consider the connection.

Sander narrows his eyes at me, proving he knows my thoughts when he says, “You know Superman is a comic book character, yeah?”

I roll my eyes, wishing I hadn’t brought up my theory when I was changing into my least opulent clothes. “Yes, I am aware. But Derek—”

“Maybe don’t take the word of an actor either,” he mutters.

Of my family, Sander is the only one who did not take an immediate liking to Derek and thinks there is more to my friend than the confident actor Derek portrays.

Yes, Derek has his secrets, but they are things from his past. Not from his current life.

Our friend Liam is convinced Derek is secretly a spy, but I have known Derek long enough to know that he does not hide his occupation. He hides who he really is.

There is a difference.

“Come on,” Sander says with a grimace. “Let’s get this over with.”

As we enter the pub, I am hit with a wall of sound and smells.

The air has an edge of alcohol, beneath which hangs the cloying scent of fried food and something distinctly human.

A rugby game plays on a screen, loud enough to be heard over the buzz of conversation and upbeat music coming from somewhere.

It is overwhelming and beautiful all at once.

“Grab us a seat, will you?” Sander says, nodding to the only empty table in the place before pushing his way through the crowded space to get to the bar.

Presumably to order some drinks, which will be a welcome addition to the night’s adventure.

I drink very little, as it is not proper for a political figure to dull her senses with alcohol, but tonight, I am not a princess.

Tonight, I am simply a citizen of Candora.

This could be the best idea I have had in a long time.

Sander returns within minutes with a white wine and something carbonated. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs and hands me the wine. “Soda,” he explains with a nod to his glass. “I’m not taking any chances tonight, Fringe. I need to stay alert.”

“If I were not with you, you would drink something else?”

He chuckles and settles into his chair with a more relaxed stance than I would have expected, given his claim to be on his guard. Perhaps he only wishes to appear relaxed to avoid suspicion, and I do my best to mimic him. “You think I’d come to a pub and drink soda?” he replies.

I have never seen my brothers when they go out at night, but maybe they often come into the city and drink themselves into a stupor.

Surely our parents would not allow such a thing, but I do not know much about my brothers’ habits and behaviors beyond what I see at the palace.

They could have whole lives I know nothing about, and I am reminded of how the gate guard believed Sander when he said he had a date with him.

Are my innocent baby brothers gone?

Sander’s chuckle shifts to a heartier laugh. “Do you think so little of us, Fringe? On the rare occasions we go out, it’s usually with other guards, and none of us like getting knackered. Makes the job harder.”

I frown. “How do you always know what I am thinking?”

He pokes me in the forehead. “Because you make it easy.”

I wonder if Mr. Reid can read my expressions as well.

I am not always the best at hiding my emotions, but surely I do not give everything away.

As my bodyguard has made it clear that he has no plans to give me physical space, I am determined to create distance however I can.

Keeping him from my inner thoughts is paramount to that determination.

I will have to try harder.

Sander and I grow quiet, both of us turning our attention to the people around us and the conversations that are clear enough to understand.

I do not expect many people to spend their Friday evening talking of the election or their princess, but I still hope to gain a better understanding of the political climate.

Where do their frustrations primarily lie?

Anything about what the average person hopes for in their life could be beneficial as I figure out my course of action leading to the election.

One of the rugby teams scores, and the pub breaks into cheers. While my friend Cole plays rugby in the States, I know very little about the sport in my own corner of the world. A shame, considering Candora has a national team.

One of these days I should invite Cole to visit so I can get to know his girlfriend, Carissa, better. Cole is almost like a brother to me, and I hate how little time I have been able to spend with him and my other friends lately. If he were here, he could explain the rules of the game to me.

“Samoa is beating England,” Sander says, taking a sip of his soda.

My confusion must have been on my face, which means I am already failing at my goal to keep my emotions to myself. “Do we dislike England?” I ask.

A few people look my way, giving me disgruntled looks before turning back to the game.

Chuckling, Sander shakes his head at me. “You need to get out more. Or at least remember your history.”

Interesting. We were once caught in British colonialism like much of the world, but our small island—equidistant from England, Denmark, and Norway—is remote enough that the old Candoran people held the English off and retained independence.

Our political relationship with the British has been good in recent years, so I am surprised this sort of disagreement still exists even centuries later.

I tuck this information away in case it becomes useful, but I doubt it relates to the people’s unrest. Just as learning the rules of rugby will not help me as a leader, even if it would help me be a better friend.

“At least Grimstad is trying to do something about it.”

I perk up as the conversation behind me shifts to something relevant, and I do my best to listen over the noise of the pub.

“So he says,” a second man replies to the first. “I’ll believe it when I see it, but his ideas are good.”

“As if he would ever win an election.”

“He might. Lotta people are fed up, and it’s not like the Alverras have ever paid attention.”

I meet Sander’s gaze, wondering if he is hearing what I am.

Though he still looks relaxed, there is a tension in his eyes as he sips his drink and discreetly watches whoever sits behind me.

One of his fingers taps on the table, a rhythmic movement that makes me wonder what my brother might be thinking as the conversation continues.

I can hardly believe we are hearing exactly the sort of thing I came for.

“The election can’t come soon enough,” the first man grumbles. “Then we can stop listening to all that nonsense about how the princess will bring a fresh perspective. She’s nothing but a copy of her mum.”

“Maybe she’ll try to turn our politics American,” the other says with a chuckle. “We’ll become a new state, and she can finally be like her precious Hollywood celebrities.”

“She might as well give Candora to Grimstad and leave the country, if she loves the Americans so much. Why bother becoming queen when she can’t be bothered to spend time in her own country?”

I cannot hold back my frown as the men start making jokes about my friends.

Or rather my friendship with them. I rarely get to spend time with my American friends as it is, no matter how much I adore them, but the thought of my countrymen disliking my association with them…

It is too painful to even consider cutting ties.

Aside from my family, they are the only people in the world who truly know me, and I have not been able to visit them for months because my focus has been so fixed on preparing for the crown.

Can my people not see how thoroughly I have dedicated my life to serving them? The sacrifices I have made to become what they need?

Sander catches my eye and shakes his head subtly, though I am uncertain what he means by that, as his expression has turned into nothing but muted disinterest.

The men behind me are still talking, but I regret this decision to come and listen.

I have learned nothing that I did not already assume.

Grimstad is a real threat, and my people do not have faith in my loyalty to my homeland.

How can I possibly change their minds in a few weeks, even if I learn what they are looking for in a monarch?

I stand and head for the door, stifled and heavy.

There are too many people. Too much noise.

Too many thoughts and doubts in my mind.

Something happens in the rugby match, causing people to cheer once more, and I am jostled by the crowd.

I nearly lose my balance, bumping into a woman and losing my cap in the process.

“Alright?” the woman says as she steadies me with her hands, but then our eyes meet, and she gasps, dropping her hold just as Sander comes up beside me. “Princess Freya!”

All conversation stops, leaving the air thick with discomfort as dozens of gazes fix upon me. Only seconds later, the whispers begin. Nothing about the growing buzz sounds friendly.

“Go,” Sander says, nudging me toward the door.

I gape at him. “What?”

Someone steps closer, and Sander’s entire demeanor shifts, turning him from casual pub goer to palace guard as he makes himself bigger to shield me. “Freya, go outside. Now.”

Two more people move forward, and fear grips me tight, urging my feet to the door even though I do not wish to leave my brother on his own.

Will they attack him for bringing me here?

I stumble outside as half of me is desperate to go back in and drag Sander with me.

The other half of me is a coward and stands on the dark and silent walkway. Waiting.

No one follows me, but I cannot decide if that is because they are more interested in Sander or because he is holding them back. But no matter what is happening inside, I know better than to go back into the pub.

“What do I do?” I whisper, wrapping an arm around my waist as I start to pace. I have never been alone like this outside the palace, and it seems my bravery exists only when I have someone bigger and stronger to look after me.

The pub door opens, and I hold my breath, praying it is Sander safe and sound and ready to take me home. But the man who comes out is unfamiliar, his eyes narrowed as he takes me in. “What’s a princess doing in a place like this?” he asks slowly.

The disgust in his voice turns my blood to ice. This man is not my friend. I take a breath, calling on my years of feigning confidence. “Can I not join my fellow—”

“You’re not one of us,” he growls, taking a step closer.

Nothing about his haggard face or wrinkled clothing suggests any sympathy when we clearly come from different worlds.

I should run, but my feet refuse to move as he tilts his head to study me.

“You royals sit up there in your ivory tower, pretending to care while the rich get richer and the rest of us are left with nothing.”

That is not true. “We care,” I whisper.

He chuckles, and in a flash his fingers clamp around my arm and tug me toward him. “You don’t, but someone else will.”

“Please.” He will not hurt me. Will he? I try to pull my arm free, but he holds too tight. Surely he is not stupid enough to attack a member of the royal family.

“Come and see what life here is really like, Princess.”

My fear spikes as he pulls harder. “Let me—”

Something slams into the man, jarring me out of his hold as someone shoves my attacker into the wall of the pub. Sander!

“Hands off the princess unless you want to lose them.”

Oh. Not Sander.

My breath escapes my lungs in a shaky exhale that leaves me dizzy. Elliot.