Free Entice by Carrie Jones Page B

“Excited?”
    “Ridiculously.”
    His smile gets even bigger. “It is nice to see you happy.”
    “Well, thanks for making me happy,” I respond, adjusting my seat belt. There’s an awkward silence except for the rumbling of the car’s engine. We just stare out the windows, not touching each other, but I feel really close to him somehow anyway. Maybe it’s the bond between king and queen. Or maybe it’s because the car zooms closer to the city of Reykjavik, one mile, then another. We’re one mile closer to Nick.
    Nobody calls Astley on our ride in. We get no tips. We get no advice. Nothing. I try to be patient and not disappointed as we check into the Hotel 1302, which is this boutique hotel that’s totally monochromatic, just whites and blacks and grays—stark elegance. The oak floors are actually heated and there’s funky art and sculptures everywhere. Astley and I have suites next to each other. An adjoining door attaches our rooms. When we say good-bye, I crash on the big white bed, stare at the black walls, and grab my phone. But there’s nobody to call, thanks to my failure to get an international calling plan. I haul myself off the bed and yank off my shoes before padding over to the bathroom, which doesn’t even have a wall separating it from the rest of the suite, which is just weird. Still, it’s just as starkly beautiful as everything else—a huge glass shower waits at the end of granite walls. Fluffy towels in white and black sit on black shelves, with a modern white sink above them. There’s even a white claw-foot tub, but it’s the shower that calls to me. And I listen.
    After my shower I read the city guidebook and stare out the windows at the ridiculously early setting sun and the beautiful white buildings that house the theater and the cultural center. My hands press against the glass, making marks. The glass chills against my skin, unlike the wood beneath my feet. I should make Betty install heated floors—it makes the cold much more bearable. Just the thought of Betty makes me feel more lonely. I close my eyes, wonder what she and Issie and Devyn are doing; Cassidy too. I wish I could call my mom and check up on her. It really wasn’t easy leaving Bedford. I made Astley dispatch extra pixies to watch over everyone because I was so nervous about it.
    A knock comes from the door to Astley’s suite. I shuffle over and open it. He stares down at me, eyes focused and concerned.
    “Are you sad?” he asks. “More than you usually are?”
    I nod but say, “I’m okay.”
    His hand reaches out like he is going to touch my face, but he pulls his arm back to his side again. “Get some sleep, Zara. You must be exhausted.”
    Pulling my lips in toward my mouth, I swallow hard. He notices; I can tell. This time his hand lifts up and his fingers push some hair behind my ear.
    “We shall find him very soon,” he whispers. “I promise you.”
    Then his hand falls and he closes the door.
    ...
    A frantic knocking wakes me up. I fall out of the bed, bump my shin on the end table, and stagger toward the door between our two suites.
    Flinging open the door, I start to say, “What?”
    But Astley motions for me to be silent, pointing at his phone, which is on speaker. An accented male voice echoes into our wide-open rooms, loud and easy to understand, though I can’t place the accent at all.
    “It is me, your highness. Please meet me at the Blue Lagoon. Be there in one hour. In the pools.”
    “Where?” Astley asks as my fingers clutch his naked forearm. “Where in the pools?”
    “I shall find you near the entrance. Do not worry.”
    “Fine,” Astley says as the line goes dead.
    Astley clicks off the phone. We’re staring into each other’s eyes for a full second before I realize what’s happened. When I do, I end up shrieking and leaping into his arms, screaming about how awesome he is and how grateful I am, basically making all these noises that make no sense at all. He swings me