Page 59 of The Prince and the Puck

“Maybe not, sir. Apologies.”

I sighed and turned to Lambert. “She’s probably at work anyway. Where do all the King’s guards work?”

Lambert shrugged and we both turned back to the security guy who now seemed to be pretending he hadn’t heard every word we’d just said.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Stuart,” he said.

“Where do the King’s guards work, Stuart?” I asked.

“This way, sirs.” He led us back into the palace building, and down a twisting maze of corridors lined with closed doors. Lambert and I followed him, the other security guards trailing behind us, until we came to a stop at a door marked “Neel Wiley. Director of the Kings Guard.”

“Neel’s in charge, sir,” the man said, knocking on the door.

We waited, but no one answered. Finally, Lambert opened the door and we leaned in, but the office was empty. In fact, the desk appeared to have been ravaged by hurried rodents or a man in a rush to get gone. The computer had been taken, the monitor standing askew on the desktop. Papers had sifted to the floor, and the chair was pushed back and stood at a haphazard angle. There were no personal items at all around the office.

“Other ideas?” I asked the guard.

He shook his head. “Sorry, no. I don’t report to Neel.”

Lambert and I gazed around the office again and then at one another. Footsteps echoed out in the hall and another guard hurried by in dark slacks and a button-down shirt.

“Excuse me,” I called, drawing the man’s attention.

His eyes took in my pink shorts and casual T-shirt, and a look of derision crossed his face. But then he lifted his gaze to mine and recognition seemed to dawn.

“Your highness,” he said, nodding to me and then to Lambert.

“Yeah, hi. Thanks. Um, do you know this Neel guy?”

“Yes sir. He’s my boss.”

“Any idea where he might’ve gone?” I looked up and down the long empty hallway.

“I saw him earlier, sir. He had his computer and said he had a very important mission. He was heading for the helipad.”

“Huh,” Lambert said. “I guess he won’t be much help then.”

I shrugged. “Do you know Lizz—er, Eliza Canfield?”

“Yes sir.”

“Seen her today?”

“No sir.” The guy looked half terrified and didn’t seem like he was going to be any use at all.

“Okay, thanks.”

He nodded and bowed, and then began backing down the hallway away from us.

“You’re going to run into something,” I called. “Just walk normally.” He didn’t listen, instead, continued heading backward, bumping into the wall and then redirecting himself like a pinball.

People were crazy.

“Okay, so if you were Lizzy, where would you be?” Lambert asked me.

“Probably organizing something, kicking someone’s ass, or lifting weights.” Thinking of Lizzy gave me a warm little buzz I didn’t want to examine too closely.