Prince of my Panties (Royal Package 2)

“Though, he does look awfully good in jeans from the back,” I murmur, appreciating the lovely curve of his bottom, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until Zan says, “That’s it. Your address. Give it to me. I’m sending a car and driver right now.”

“No, you’re not. I’m fine. Jeffrey’s leaving and so am I. I’ll be in touch soon. Remember, don’t tell Sabrina anything unless you have to.”

“I’m not making that promise.”

“You have to. I’m invoking the Triplet Code.” I fight off another cough as I stand. “If you tell, you’re a traitor.”

“Not fair, Lizzy.”

“I’m not here to play fair. I’m here to kick ass and take names,” I say, slinging my purse over my shoulder.

“Okay, Rambo. I don’t know what you’ve done with my shy, mostly sane sister, but when you see her, let her know I’m worried that’s she’s lost her mind.”

“Will do,” I promise, my throat tightening as another cough tries to claw its way out of my lungs. “Gotta go. Love you so much, forever and ever.”

I hang up before Zan can respond, turning off my cell. Then I grab my keys, the handle on my rolling sewing kit, and my duffle bag full of clothes and head for the car. I have no idea where I’m going, but it doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s far away from Islip Downs and beautiful, bad-news Jeffrey Von Bergen.

I load up and pull out of town, slumped low in the driver’s seat to avoid being seen while I keep a sharp eye out to make sure no one is following. On instinct, I start north toward the more sparsely populated section of the country. If Jeffrey decides to keep looking for me, he’ll likely think I’ve gone east or west, to one of the ski communities sustained by mountain tourism.

Heading north, I won’t encounter any serious signs of civilization, including a hotel, for at least two hundred kilometers. But that’s all right. I’m not afraid. I may have spent most of my life locked away in a tower, but I know my people. Rindish folk aren’t always forthcoming, but they are unfailingly generous.

I’ll find a place to stay.

All I have to do is ask around in the right places.

About thirty minutes outside of Islip Downs, I pull over in the even smaller village of Frye, which boasts a single petrol station, a market, and a busy pizza parlor. It’s barely five o’clock, but there’s already a line, ten people deep, outside the pizza place. I’m betting the aroma wafting out is wonderful, but I can’t smell a thing as I pass by.

My nose is a disaster. I need tissues and nasal spray and probably some more serious meds. My bones are beginning to ache and my head to throb, proving that lying about having a cold is the quickest way to end up sick as the proverbial dog.

Inside the market, I load up on pain pills, cough medicine, lemon, and honey before swinging through the liquor aisle. The store doesn’t sell whiskey, but I find a Gallantian mead that will warm up nicely and circle back to the spice aisle to fetch cloves and cinnamon. I’m not the slightest bit hungry, but I hear Sabrina’s voice in my head, reminding me that a woman cannot survive on art and mead alone, so I add bread, butter, cheese, milk, green apples, and a bag of oatmeal to my cart before heading to the front.

It’s only when I’m unloading at the counter that I realize I’ve made an error in judgment, shopping as if I expect to have access to an icebox when I have no idea where I’m sleeping or when I’ll get there.

I’m definitely not thinking straight, and the aching in my head is getting worse with every passing minute.

“I’m sorry,” I tell the clerk with a sigh. “I should put a few things back. I’ve had to leave my rental cottage suddenly, and I’m not sure where I’m staying tonight.”

The girl, a redhead so pale her face has a faint bluish tinge at the temples, frowns. “Oh, no! If you need a place, I know someone with a little cabin he rents from time to time.”

My entire body sags with relief. “Oh, yes, please, that would be so wonderful. Thank you. Bless you and Rindish hospitality.”

She laughs. “Don’t bless me yet. Let’s see if it’s available first.” She reaches for the phone beneath her register, adding as she dials, “And I’ll warn you, it’s in the middle of nowhere. About a twenty-minute drive up the fire road, past the old schoolhouse. Nice for cross-country skiing in the winter, but nothing up there but sheep and mud this time of year. We had a late thaw this spring.”

“That sounds perfect.” I force a smile, ignoring the throbbing behind my eyes. “As long as it has electricity, that’s all I need. I mean, running water would also be nice, but not a must.”