The crown prince's office was solemn and grand. Tall, narrow windows, stained a pale cream, let in a modest glow. A polished mahogany desk sat near the center—its surface almost bare, save for a neat stack of papers pushed to one corner. Shelves lined the stone walls, filled with leather-bound volumes, their spines bearing gilded titles in an ancient script.
His portrait hung beside a large map of the kingdom, inked with fresh marks. I stepped toward the front of the desk. He looked up, only briefly, then returned to reviewing whatever lay before him.
"Greetings, Your Royal Highness," I said, curtsying.
"I specifically asked them not to let anyone in," he grumbled.
I forced a smile. He was direct, but that didn't bother me. I needed to make myself useful—indispensable—even if he was ready to dismiss me. And I knew exactly how.
"I'm here to offer my services," I said.
He lifted his head and smirked.
"You have amnesia. What could you possibly offer me?" he mocked.
"A strategy to remove the head of the council," I answered flatly.
That made him pause. He stared at me—momentarily disarmed—then quickly masked it and returned to his writing. Still unconvinced.
"The conflict with the island barbarians," I added.
This time, his eyes glinted.
"How do you know about that?" he asked.
"Word's been circulating in the village—about attacks near the docks," I said. Originally, in the story, the barbarians had attacked the kingdom's ore quarry. Now, they were hitting the docks. A change—subtle, but deliberate.
The Crown Prince had once been engaged to the Count of the Islands' daughter. Now he was promised to the Pope's. Someone had altered the plot. Likely the Count, angry that his daughter had been replaced.
"Did you by chance cancel an engagement before this one?" I asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "Where are you going with this? You know nothing about politics," he said, leaning back. "What is it that you really want, Penny?"
He knew. Of course, he knew I wasn't Iris.
"I'm acting out of turn, aren't I? I'm meant to sit quietly and serve as your shield," I said.
"I'm impressed. William must've told you your role," he replied, standing and walking over to a side table with goblets and wine. He poured a glass and moved to the couch.
"The Count is behind the attacks," I said.
"False accusations can earn you a trip to the gallows," he replied, sipping his wine.
"His daughter was once your fiancée. He must've been filled with resentment," I reasoned. Still, he wasn't biting.
Think, Penny. Think.
"The Pope," I blurted out.
The prince flinched, wine splashing onto his regal tunic. I rushed to him with a handkerchief, dabbing at the stain.
He stiffened, clearly unsettled. Then, suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto his lap. I tried to rise, but he held me down.
"What about him?" he asked, his voice low.
I cleared my throat. "We could reduce his influence. Isn't that why you appointed a consort?"
He went quiet. I was getting closer to the truth. He had ignored both his fiancée and me, locked himself in this office, refused visitors. It wasn't about us—it was about who stood behind us. The church had likely offered him its support—for a steep price. He had tried to bargain, and failed. Choosing a consort may have been his defiance.
Iris Tahenna must've offered him something valuable. But what?
"You're not Iris," he said, with a smug look.
"I know that, Your Highness. But only two people know that," I countered.
He pulled me closer; I could feel his breath on my neck.
"Do you still see the future?" he whispered.
I froze. Was Penny a seer? But I did know the future—I had written it.
"Yes," I said confidently.
He studied me, then slowly leaned in. I instinctively ran my fingers through his curls, and he relaxed.
The heavy oak doors creaked open.
William stepped in, then stopped, his expression darkening. Lady Grace followed and halted as well, her face openly sullen.
"What? Can't I spend time with my wife?" the Crown Prince said, too casually.