Page 111 of The Unlikely Spare

The green door is instantly recognizable even to me, who’s only seen the films once.

“Would you like to take a peek inside, Your Royal Highness?” the guide asks.

Nicholas steps forward. “Absolutely. Though I may need to mind my head.”

I move closer as he approaches the round door, my protective instincts on high alert. The green door swings open, revealing a shallow set piece—just enough of an entrance to allow for photos, not a full interior.

“Not quite as spacious as Kensington Palace,” Nicholas says as he peers inside, “but I appreciate the cozy aesthetic.”

“Would you like a photo, sir?” the guide offers.

“Why not?” Nicholas agrees easily. “Though I fear I make a rather unconvincing hobbit. Wrong height category entirely.”

As he positions himself by the iconic green door, I scan the crowd again. Singh stands near the path’s bend, eyes moving continuously across the gathering. Blake is positioned farther back, maintaining our perimeter. Everything seems secure, yet that prickling sensation at the back of my neck won’t subside.

“I’ll try not to fall into the hole because I don’t want to gift the British tabloids exciting headlines:Nicholas Goes There and Back Again…Via Ambulance,Royal Pain in the Shire,Nicholas’s Mordor-fying Tumble. They practically write themselves,” Nicholas says, prompting an outbreak of chuckles.

The tour continues around Hobbiton’s picture-perfect landscape of rolling hills and impossibly quaint gardens. Nicholas continues to charm everyone, making self-deprecating jokes about his height compared to hobbit scale, asking intelligent questions about the filmmaking process.

No one would know he’s shared one of his deepest wounds with me only an hour ago.

And I’m currently keeping secrets from him.

Guilt sits heavy in my stomach. I told Nicholas about the increased threat, but he doesn’t know that one of his own security detail is involved in the conspiracy against him. He doesn’t know that I’m not actually a protection officer, but an undercover detective.

He doesn’t know who I really am.

And after what he shared about Daniel—about having his trust so spectacularly betrayed by someone he cared for—the weight of my deception feels almost unbearable.

“The Green Dragon Inn is our next stop,” the guide announces, gesturing toward a thatched-roof building. “It’s fullyfunctional. We even brew our own special ales inspired by the films.”

Nicholas falls in step beside me as we move toward the inn. “Your face is doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” I ask, not taking my eyes off our surroundings.

“That thing where you look like you’re mentally calculating the exact trajectory of every potential bullet, knife, and poisoned dart within a five-kilometer radius.” His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp when I glance at him. “It’s rather disconcerting.”

“Just doing my job,” I reply.

“You’re terrible at reassurance, you know that?”

Despite everything, a corner of my mouth twitches upward. “Not part of the job description.”

“Pity. You’d think keeping the principal from experiencing security-induced cardiac anxiety would be somewhere in the handbook.”

We reach the Green Dragon Inn, and while the tour group files inside, I hang back to confer with Singh, who’s been monitoring the perimeter.

“Anything?” I ask quietly.

Singh shakes his head. “All clear. Though there’s a maintenance crew near the parking area that wasn’t on the schedule. Cavendish is checking it out.”

Something about Singh’s posture sets off warning bells in my head. He’s too rigid, too formal, his eyes not quite meeting mine. Or am I just paranoid now, seeing threats in every shadow?

“Stay alert,” I tell him, then follow Nicholas into the inn.

The interior is all rough-hewn wooden beams and cozy nooks, a perfect recreation from the film. Nicholas is shown behind the bar so he can learn to pull a pint of “Hobbit ale” while the small crowd watches with delight.

He catches my eye as he raises the glass in a mock toast, and that unwelcome warmth spreads in my chest.