Free Spy Girl by Jillian Dodd Page B

windows, is the long hallway we’ve been working our way down. I imagine an ops team storming the castle and now sweeping each room in pairs until they find what they want. The good news is I can’t smell any kind of poisonous gas, haven’t heard any flash bangs, and can’t see assault team movement outside the windows.  
    “What’s your security protocol in a time like this?”
    “Screw protocol. I need to see what’s going on.” He tries to shrug me off.
    “Don’t you watch movies? I’m assuming gun fire is not an everyday occurrence in the castle?”
    “Well, no.”
    “Lorenzo, you’re the Prince. It’s your responsibility to your country to keep yourself safe.”
    “How do I know you’re not mixed up in whatever this is?”
    “Because you’d already be dead.”
    He nods. “Good point.”
    His eyes fill with fear. Fear can be paralyzing.  
    I gently squeeze his hand to calm him. His eyes are moving wildly with every shot that rings out. I remember reading about all the castle’s secret passageways.  
    “When you were little, did anyone tell you where to hide if anything like this ever happened?”
    He looks at me with surprise. “Yes, my grandfather, when I was young. I totally forgot about that.” He starts to sing. “ The spotted dog is your friend. Wag his tail then go to the end. ”
    He grabs my hand and starts to run toward the door. I pull back. “Where is the dog?”
    “The War Room down the hall.”
    The sounds of gunfire get closer.  
    I immediately pull the Prince away from the door and toward the fireplace, where I push the third fleur de lis—causing a piece of wood paneling to slide open. I pull him into the passage, knowing we don’t have much time. He starts to ask me how I knew to do what I just did, but I hold my fingers to his lips as we quickly and quietly make our way to the War Room.
    There’s a peephole, thankfully, allowing me to see inside. The room appears to be empty.  
    But I can feel the chaos in the air. As if someone were breathing on the back of my neck. Danger is near.
    But it’s now or never.
    “Can you wag the spotted dog’s tail, quickly? Without exposing yourself?”
    The Prince nods, reaches out of the passageway, and moves the tail of a hunting dog carved into an ornate piece of art. Another panel within the passageway we are in slides open slowly as the panel to the War Room closes. It’s obvious it’s rarely used. I take that as a good sign. I also don’t remember this being in anything I read, and I’m hoping it’s very much a secret.
    I hear the sound of boots thumping on the marble floor and then the War Room door bursting open.
    The Prince’s eyes get huge. I slap my hand across his mouth to make sure he stays silent. If the gunmen were to hear us, all it would take is a machine gun aimed at the wall to take us both out. The only thing between us and them is a thin wooden panel.  
    Shots are haphazardly fired into the room, so I pull the Prince into the other passageway, relieved to find it made of stone.  
    While I’m glad the gunmen can’t see us, I hate that I can’t see them. I feel blind and part of me would rather face them.  
    But it’s imperative that I get the Prince somewhere safe first.  
    We move quickly down the passage and cover a good distance.  
    I stop for a moment to take my phone out, hoping to call for help.  
    Of course, there are no bars.  
    The Prince grabs me, pushes me against the wall, and kisses me. I can feel his heart racing. I tilt my face and allow my lips to brush across his. I’ve studied what stress chemicals do to the body: a heightened state of awareness, the fight or flight instinct, and a rush of adrenaline. The Prince responds as many a man who fears for his life might—who fears this might be the last time he touches a woman. His hands roughly caress the length of my body as he tightens our embrace.  
    In this moment, he’s forgotten he’s a Prince in danger and is acting like