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“Gerchen,” she said, taking the passport and sliding it through the machine. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“Tourism,” I lied.
“How long do you intend to stay?”
I have no idea. However long it takes me to get your prince to sign divorce papers? “Two weeks.”
She nodded, stamped the passport, and gave it back to me.
“Grazne,” I said, thanking her before leaving.
It wasn’t until I was outside with my luggage that it hit me. I was a little stunned that I was here. I had spent the last six months reading and learning as much about the city as I could. Why? Because of Gale. It made me feel better to know about the country he would one day rule. My mind was reeling with information. Ersovia was a nation of 38.6 million people. The capital was Erelis and had a million residents living within its city limits. They drove on the same side of the road as Americans and spoke Ersovian, French, English, and Italian. I could go on. But as I saw the darkening sky, I rushed to the taxi line, part of me wishing I had called for a private car. I was doing my best to be discreet; however, I may have overdone it.
“Where to?” the older man said when he got back into the front seat after loading my luggage into the trunk.
“The Lal-et-Loire Hotel please,” I said in Ersovian, hoping my pronunciation was correct. I knew how the words should sound in my mind, but it was a different story when it came out.
He nodded at me, grinning. “You speak, Ersovian?”
“A little. Still learning.” I smiled.
“Wunillosa!” He gave me thumbs-up, letting me know how wonderful he found it that I was learning his language, and I took pride in that.
He spent the whole ride speaking to me. His English was as good as my Ersovian, but we understood each other. And he took it upon himself to explain everything as we drove out of the airport toward the city’s center. My eyes remained glued out the window, and it was just as Gale had described. A country of rolling green hills and tall green grass. In the distance, I could see old ruins or older homes on the side of the hills. There were even roman aqueducts in the valleys between the trees.
It took us almost an hour to get into Erelis, and on the bridge that led us there, were two winged angels blowing into horns at the top of two pillars. The city was just like Europe—the old and new mixed together into one. There was a perpendicular, gothic-style building that looked like a medieval castle on one side, French baroque-style arches and chateaus on the other, along with cobblestoned homes and streets, a building made of only glass, and skyscrapers that shot up into the sky.
“And this is Bellecoeur Palace,” he said as we drove past a breathtaking, massive, cream-colored, baroque-style palace with a red roof. The palace was U-shaped, as in one long front building, then two attached on each side. I could not even count the windows on one side. From the rows, it looked like there were only three levels, but I doubted that was the case. There were columns on pilasters between every window, and at the uppermost level, there was a golden clock.
That was just one small detail in a sea of details before you reached the doors of the place. But before the black iron gate with the letter M, which was written in gold, was a large plaza with some pattern that I could not see from where I was sitting.
“Second biggest palace in Europe!” the driver exclaimed proudly.
“I can see.” I knew they had not built it recently or in the last few hundred years, but still, it was easy to see that their family had spent money—unbelievable amounts of money. No wonder they came looking for mine. What was the upkeep for something like that? As we drove by, I saw the soldiers dressed in red and black standing at the gates like statues as tourists tried to take photos.
“Beautiful, yes?”
“Yes.” I nodded, staring at it, amazed.
I grew up wanting for nothing. I had more money than people could ever dream of, and I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up in something like that. Shaking my head, I looked away.
A few minutes later, we reached the hotel where I was staying, and although it was beautiful, after seeing the palace, it seemed like any other building on the block.
“Thank you,” I said to the driver.
He had been a fun mini-tour guide. He waved as I entered the marble and red-carpeted lobby, walking up to the desk.
“Welcome, may I help you?” a dark-haired woman asked, looking me up and down, and I didn’t understand why she looked at me with confusion.
“Yes, reservation for Wyntor,” I replied, giving her my passport.
She clicked the computer for a second before looking back at me. “Sorry, ma’am, I cannot seem to find your reservation.”
“Really?” I asked, taking out my cell phone and showing her the confirmation I had received.
“Yes, sorry, but that does not seem to be in our system,” she said, barely glancing at the reservation.
“Well, it is in my system,” I said to her. “My card was charged too.”
