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“Miss Honeycutt?” Elizabeth asked into the phone hours later.
“Elizabeth?”
“Hello.”
“It’s after eleven,” Palmer said.
“I know. I apologize for the late hour.”
“It’s okay. I was up. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I was just on my way somewhere.”
“You’re not at home?”
“I’mgoinghome, actually. I was wondering if you could join me there tomorrow?”
“I thought the dinner was at the palace. I’m confused.”
“If I give you an address, Palmer, can you swear to me you won’t tell anyone I’ll be there? It’s imperative. You know about my heightened security.”
“What? Of course.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“I’m a reporter; Ialwayshave a pen.”
CHAPTER 10
Palmer had been picked up from her hotel lobby again. Before exiting the building, she’d wrapped herself up tight in the coat she’d purchased, wearing the long underwear given to her under her jeans, and donning the gloves, scarf, and hat as well. She also pulled the fur-lined hood up over her head since she’d felt the biting wind every time the sliding glass doors of the lobby opened to let someone in or out. The trip to wherever she was going would at least be by heated car. When another man in a suit and tie – but this time, also wearing a long black wool coat – entered the lobby, she knew her ride was there. It wasn’t someone sent by the palace, though. It was a car she’d ordered through the hotel.
Palmer had asked the hotel to get her a car to take her to an address about a block away from the one provided to her by Elizabeth, per the Queen’s instruction. Before they’d hung up last night, Elizabeth explained that she didn’t want to send a palace car to pick her up since those were recognizable vehicles and would draw attention. Palmer hadn’t minded ordering a car of her own, and once she climbed in it, feeling the heat rush over her exposed face, she let down her hood, buckled up, and settled in for the ride.
When the car arrived at its destination, she bundled back up and climbed out. There wasn’t any snow on the sidewalk, but there was snow covering grass everywhere else except for the street. She hadn’t been outside the city, so this was her first time seeing a bit of a university campus dotted with older buildings and houses. While St.Rais technically became independent only a few hundred years ago, people had settled here long ago. The first ones to do so were the Vikings, who made use of their long boats to pillage any land they could get to. They’d claimed this island as their own, and later, around the time the Romans were attempting to conquer Britain, some of those people who had heard the rumors about those Romans fled and created their own settlement on St. Rais. That was how St.Rais became a little mix of the UK and Norway. Presently, St.Rais was also a haven for people wanting to leave their hectic lives in Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, and Finland, among others. Only recently, St. Rais had started marketing itself more as a tourist destination that no one was taking advantage of. It was cheaper than Iceland and with similar features. It was cheaper and less crowded than the cities people usually visited in the UK. One could have amazing views of the Northern Lights more often than they could in Norway or other Northern European countries and pay less for the privilege. That was what had drawn Palmer here; the marketing to tourists.
Now, she was approaching a small house that rested between two other equally small houses, with only a thin strip of snow-covered grass separating them. The yards were the size of postage stamps, and all three houses had smoke billowing through chimneys, likely more to keep the place warm than for anything else. Palmer stood in front of the address she’d been given, deciding to look around first to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Then, she knocked on the door.
“Come in,” the voice came from inside.
Palmer tried the door, which was unlocked, opened it, and looked inside.
“Palmer, come in. It’s freezing out there,” Elizabeth said from just inside the door.
Palmer closed the door behind her.
“I know; I just had to walk here.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Elizabeth offered in response.
“I checked to make sure no one followed me here.”
Elizabeth smiled at her and said, “Security followed you from the hotel, Palmer. Don’t give up being a reporter for spy work. And you can take off your coat now. The fire’s going. You’ll burn up if you leave all that on.”
“Oh, right.”
Palmer used the time shehadn’tbeen taking her coat off to take in the more casual-looking Queen. Elizabeth was wearing a pair of jeans today that hugged her well. She had a beige cable-knit loose sweater and wasn’t wearing any shoes but covered her feet in what looked to be thick wool socks. The woman looked amazing. Of course, she’d looked amazing in that dress the previous night, too. The tiara, the heels, the dress itself had all been fine, butElizabethhad been breathtaking. Palmer shook off her coat, watching as Elizabeth, the Queen of a country, took it from her to hang on the sturdy coatrack.
“How is everything working out for you? Are the gloves all right?” she asked Palmer.
