Princess Ever After

TWENTY-NINE





At Wettin Manor, Tanner charged through the second-floor corridors toward Seamus’s office, his shirt collar and coat sleeve stained with blood.

“Tanner—” The governor’s aide, Brogan, chased after him. “He’s in a meeting.”

But Tanner kept stride, shoving through the governor’s heavy, carved door. “If anything happens to her . . .” He pointed at Seamus, walking around the board table where several of his staff sat, tapping on their e-tablets. “I will hold you personally responsible.”

“My good man,”—Seamus stood—“what happened to your face?”

“This is your doing . . . this riot.” Tanner pointed to the dark window. “She’s out there in it.”

“The princess?” Seamus scoffed. “Are you admitting you lost the princess in the riot? I daresay, this will not make the king happy.”

Tanner lunged at Seamus but caught himself before grabbing the man by the collar. “I meant what I said. If anything happens to her . . .”

“Tanner, need I remind you to whom you are speaking? Where are your loyalties, my boy?”



Their gazes locked, man against man, will against will. “Need I remind you of your failed plan to steal the country from Regina?”

“No need. The authority canon will do my bidding.”


Tanner had enough. As he turned to go, he addressed the men at the table. “This is what you want? A country ruled by this man who’s manipulating the law for his own gain? Look at the lot of you. It’s Friday night at seven o’clock, chaps. There’s a riot in the middle of the city. Go home to your wives and children.” He shot Seamus a look. “Don’t lose your souls to another man’s selfish ambition.”

Gathering himself, still fuming, Tanner made his way to his office, lightly touching his healing cut, checking his phone for news updates.

Louis met him outside his office. “We’ve got the entire security team looking for her. And the king is in your office along with the archbishop.”

“Fan-blooming-tastic.” Tanner exhaled, steadying his nerves. He’d have to face this music sooner or later. “Your Majesty,” he said as he entered his office. “I’m terribly sorry—”

“Tanner, any word?” The king wore jeans and a pullover, clearly not intending to work on a Friday night. “Your face . . . are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Tanner went to his window and peered out. Regina, where are you? “No word on the princess.” He looked toward the park, but his view was obscured by buildings and the coming night. Lord, I have to trust you for her safety.

“She strikes me as a resourceful, brave woman, Tanner,” Dad said.

“She is.” He glanced at his father. “But she’s in a riot. Not a Festivus parade.” He turned to the window again. “Do you remember an old Hessen evening song?”

“Hmm, not sure,” Dad said. “Your grandmother used to sing an old song.”



“See here, Burkhardt.” Seamus burst into Tanner’s office. “Oh, Your Majesty, begging your pardon, I didn’t know you’d arrived.” He clipped his pipe between his teeth and settled his feathers.

“Seamus.” Nathaniel, ever calm, full of diplomacy.

But Tanner remained focused on the song. He must remember the song. Humming part of the melody, he tried to piece the lyrics with the melody. “Something . . . moonlight, sunlight, waves upon the shore . . .” He tapped the beat in the air with his finger.

“I’m afraid I don’t know it,” Nathaniel said.

“Regina sang it in the pub tonight, and I tell you, it captured the people. Their hearts. Sour old men battled tears.” Tanner felt more than words swelling in his heart. He felt the warm power of love. He pressed his sleeve to his wound, catching the last ooze of blood. “There was a man in the pub, Tobias Horowitz, who asked Regina, ‘Who will help us find our identity?’ Then out of the blue she sings an old Hessenberg song the last three generations have forgotten.”

He turned to his dad, then to the king, and last to Seamus. “Don’t you see? She carries Princess Alice and the duke within her. Does she know how we celebrate our Thanksgiving? Or Festivus? No, but she carries within her our very essence. I daresay she is our essence.”

“Pardon the interruption, but you must see this.” Louis shuffled the piles of paper on Tanner’s desk for the telly remote. The riot in the park filled the screen. An on-site reporter said, “It’s believed the princess, Her Royal Highness Princess Regina, is among the riot crowd . . .”

Tanner’s pulse drummed thick in his ears, searching for her as cameramen moved through the crowd.

“. . . and we’ve a report of singing.”

There were several quick-changing camera shots, then Regina popped onto the screen, standing on a stone bench, her red hair blowing across her eyes.

“Louis,”—Tanner tapped his assistant on the arm—“raise the volume.”

The image shimmied as the cameraman jostled through the crowd for a closer angle.

Eyes closed, voice loud and clear, Regina sang the evening song with passion and heart.

On his left stood the king. On his right, his father. Even Seamus had taken a step toward the telly, captured by Regina and her song.

“The old evening song,” Dad whispered. “I’ve not heard that since my grandmother was alive.”

“Nor I,” Seamus muttered.

“Louis, which end of the park? Can you tell?” Tanner backed toward the door.

“East end. Off Market.”

Down the manor stairs, Tanner burst into the night and ran the ten city blocks to the park, expecting to run into a wall of warm, frenzied bodies. Instead he found a thin, quiet, dissipating crowd.

“Regina!” He raced against the light, crossing Market Avenue, toward the park. “Regina!”

Tanner jumped up on the bench, scanning the park grounds as the rioters headed home. Surely she wasn’t still here.

He jumped off the bench. Where could she be? His cell phone rang as he tripped over empty Starbucks coffee cups. It was Jarvis.

“Is she there with you?” Tanner said.

“No, we saw her on the telly. Is she all right?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find her.”

“You can’t find her? How did you lose the princess?”

There was a riot, for pity’s sake. “Never mind, Jarvis. If she arrives at the palace, please call me.” Tanner rang off and dashed across Market Avenue, then turned onto Gilden, running past the eponymous department store toward Loudermilk’s Bakery.



Through the front glass, he caught sight of a woman with full, red hair and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get through the bakery door. “Regina!”

The woman turned round and his heart failed.

“Sorry.” He backed away. “I thought you were someone else. My apologies. I’m just looking for—”

“The princess?” A lanky chap dressed in white and tied up in an oversized apron came from behind the counter. “Who might you be?”

“Tanner Burkhardt, Minister of Culture. Friend of the princess.”

“She was brilliant in the park, was she not?”

“Then you saw her?”

“Saw her? I escorted her. Didn’t know she was the princess when I saved her from stumbling under the rioters’ feet, but sure enough, that’s who she was. Once the riot died out, we came back here. I gave her a whole box of cinnamon puffs.”

Tanner grabbed the man’s arms. “Where is she now?”

“I’m not sure. She simply said she had to go.”

“You don’t know where?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Thank you, mate.” Tanner dashed out of Loudermilk’s, skipped left, no, right, then turning in a circle. The church. Aim for St. John’s.

He slowed his pace and gathered his wind and allowed the baker’s news to set in. She was all right. She was all right. Thanks be to the Almighty.

As he made his way to the church, his heart told him this was no longer about finding a princess, but the one his heart loved.

He’d left his comfort zones for her, given his heart. He wasn’t going to give up finding her—the beautiful Regina with sun-kissed hair and radiant blue eyes.

He took the church steps toward the center doors two at a time, and inside yanked on the sanctuary door. Locked.



No, no . . . He tugged on the next door, and the next, hammering the last with his fist.

“Regina!”

The door on the far end swung open, and a man dressed in priest’s robes appeared.

“Can I help you, Tanner? Is everything all right, son?”

“Bishop, sir. Have you seen Regina?”

“The princess? Yes . . .” He tapped his hand over his heart, and his piercing eyes were vibrant and radiant. “I’ve not heard that evening song in decades.”

“Yes, it’s . . . a . . . wonderful . . . song.” Tanner locked his gaze with the holy man’s and the anxiety in his chest began to fade, being replaced by a fiery presence. “Do I know you?”

“You do.” The bishop leveled his gaze straight at Tanner. “We met years ago.”

“At my father’s church? Or parsonage?”

“In my Father’s house.”

Tanner’s heart burned and pulsed. His thoughts went silent. And in an instant, he felt as if a decade’s worth of guilt and shame had crumbled at his feet.

“Forgive me, I’ve been away too long.” The words came from a depth he did not know, but they washed him, cleansed him.

“And now you’ve returned.” The bishop smiled. “I see you’ve been wounded.”

Tanner touched the cut above his eye. “Yes, the riot.” The bishop’s simple, gentle voice somehow spurred tears in Tanner’s eyes and pinned him where he stood. For a long moment, he just breathed, the weight on his soul feeling lighter and lighter.

“The princess is not here but she’s fine, Tanner. Do not worry. Do not worry.” The bishop turned to go inside. “When you find her, give her my regards.”

“Yes, sir, I will.” The arching, hardwood door clicked closed as Tanner realized he never got the bishop’s name. “Sir, wait a minute.” Tanner hammered the thick door with his fist. “From whom should I give her regards?” He jerked on the handle, but the door would not budge. Locked. Impossible. How could the bishop have disappeared so quickly behind a locked door? “Hello?”


But the bishop did not return.

Tanner skipped down the steps with a final look over his shoulder at the chapel. He raised his fingers to the cut to find it’d stopped bleeding.

As Tanner turned down the dark, quiet avenue, heading for the Fence & Anchor, his spirit rumbled, quite certain that he’d just now encountered the Divine.



She could’ve been trampled. Wounded. Killed. Maybe even kidnapped. But she’d stepped out in faith and sung a song. And in Daddy’s vernacular, “God backed her up.”

The taxi had let Reggie out at the palace, and now she stood at the iron gate pressing buttons. What was the security number Tanner dictated to her? “It’s me, let me in,” she hollered into the speaker, hoping someone inside would answer.

Or come outside and see her standing there with her face between the iron bars.

“Hey, Jarvis. Chef. Serena. It’s me, Reg. Your Majesty. The princess.”

Her voice wobbled. Her body shivered. What had she done? It wasn’t until she’d left the bakery with a box of fresh puffs that she realized she’d faced a raging mob fueled by fury against her and started singing. She could’ve been dragged through the streets. Hung from a tree. Tarred and feathered.

Somewhere along the way she’d lost her phone so she couldn’t call Tanner. Didn’t know his number by heart yet. Then she spied and hailed a passing cab, telling the driver up front that she didn’t have any money but would compensate him later.



The kind, older man assured her money was not on his mind today. He’d been giving free rides since the riot suddenly ended.

“Were you in that blooming mess?” he’d asked.

In it? She was part of the cause. “Unfortunately.”

He’d peered at her through his rearview mirror. “You’re not from around here. You sound American. From the South, maybe.”

“Sure enough.” Reggie slid down against the seat. Where was Tanner? Did he survive the stampede? Nigel and Jace? What of old Keeton Lombard and Tobias Horowitz?

“Where to, miss?”

“Meadowbluff Palace.”

The driver glanced at her again via the rearview mirror. Regina was grateful for the Plexiglas barrier.

“Welcome to Hessenberg, Your Majesty.”

“Bit of a rough start, don’t you think?”

He laughed and nodded. “Bunch of hullabaloo. It’ll blow over.”

So that’s how she came to stand on the other side of the earth-to-heaven wrought iron gate guarding Meadowbluff Palace.

“Jarvis? Serena?” She mashed down on the Call button. “Anyone?” She stepped back to wave at the surveillance camera. “Yo in there, it’s me. Can I come in?”

The gate clicked and slowly—very slowly—eased open. Jarvis’s frantic voice came from the box. “Your Majesty, you’re safe. Thank the Lord.”

“You ain’t kidding.” She squeezed through the gate and started up the long drive to the palace, exercising the panic and anxiety from her body. From her mind and soul.

Jarvis met her halfway down the drive with a flashlight and all but hugged her. “Your Majesty.” His eyes misted. “I was so worried.”

She fell against the older man, resting her head on his shoulder. His tone, his glistening gaze reminded her of Daddy. “It all happened so fast.”



The last of her tension broke and she sobbed.

“There, there, miss.” Jarvis stiffly patted her back. “It’s all over now.”

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, miss?”

“If you’re going to be in my life,”—she sniffed, gripping her puffs bag a bit tighter—“you’re going to have to do better than this.”

“But I’m staff. Propriety and all, you know.”

“Y–you’re also . . . one of my only friends.”

It took a moment, but his arms encircled her. “You’re home, safe and sound. The evening song was lovely. So very lovely.”

Regina shuddered through her last sob. “We don’t have to tell the others about this. Our moment.”

“It’s our secret, Your Majesty.” He stepped aside, waiting for her to start forward. “The entire security force is out looking for you,” he said. “I’ll ring Mr. Burkhardt. Let him know you’ve arrived home.”

“Thank you.” Up the steps, she was suddenly exhausted, hungry—and cold.

“Chef has a hearty wild-pheasant-and-rice soup simmering on the stove. I’ll send it up to your room. Are those puffs from Loudermilk’s?” He pointed to her bag.

“Yes, the baker, Ben Loudermilk, saved me, Jarvis. He really did.”

“Shall I arrange to have him to tea?”

“Oh please, that would be awesome.”

Jarvis opened the door for her, but Regina paused on the stoop. “Why were you so kind to me? I came here a stranger, an American, an interloper into your world, your government. Half this country hates me. But you’ve treated me like a princess from the first day.”

“Because it’s what I do. Serve the princess.” He glanced away, toward the garden lights. “You remind me and all of us who we are as a people.” His eyes shone when he faced her. “I’ve a renewed appreciation and love for my country, for my own heritage. I’m grateful.”

“Guess we’re all getting a refreshed glimpse of our destiny.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Jarvis touched his hand to his chin, lowering his gaze. “What you did today in the midst of chaos showed true courage and wisdom. I knew then. You are a true princess.”



In her suite, a fire flickered in the fireplace. Reggie removed the coat she’d never even had a chance to take off at the Fence & Anchor. But her bones were aching for a hot bath. Her stomach grumbled for a bowl of Chef’s wild-pheasant-and-rice soup.

But as she passed the window, she caught a glow among the dark forest trees.

“What?” She pressed her face to the window. There it was, in the exact same spot as before.

Snapping up her coat, Reggie headed out, running into Serena. “I’ll be back.”

Daggum, she was going to find out what was hidden in the woods if it was the last thing she did. And if the woods contained anything like in a ’70s slasher movie, it might be the last thing she’d ever do.

Through the kitchen, she fired out the back door, then backtracked for a flashlight before making tracks for the trees.

What kind of trick or hologram lurked in her woods? Her panic in the midst of the riot had somehow morphed into I-dare-you courage.

Ducking into the forest, slapping aside limbs and vines, Reggie kicked through the brambles, squinting through the darkness toward the swirling light. The air about her face was warm while cold air circulated around her legs. Contrast. Everything around her shouted contrast. Shouted impossible.

But with God, all things are possible.

Suddenly, she was free of the brambles, bursting into a grass-carpet clearing with a red-and-gold-leaves path, leading her to a glow and an old red stable.

Gram’s stable.

Reggie gasped as she moved through the dancing, twirling light particles. The same thick, oily fragrance from her oath ceremony, from the Fence & Anchor, permeated the atmosphere.

God is here.

“This is incredible.”

Cutting off her flashlight and tucking it into her pocket, she swirled in the beams with both hands. They jumped and bounced, as if aware she stood among them.

At the stable door, Reggie raised the latch with a surge of anticipation and shoved the door open. The light from outside swooshed in, filling the low structure and stirring another kind of fragrance.

The fragrance of life. Of hay and barley, as if a stable hand had just finished his chores.

Reggie moved down the wide center aisle, peeking into the stalls, her boot heels thudding. There were three stalls on either side, and a work space with something large under a faded green canvas was at the far end.

As she grabbed the canvas, the old material crunched in her hands. She jerked it to the ground, and a cloud of dust puffed from the coarse threads.

The glow she loved but could not explain had begun to fade, so Reggie retrieved her flashlight from her hip pocket.

The first glimpse of a chrome headlight nearly sank her to the ground. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

“Oh my word. No, no, no. I can’t believe it.”



“Regina! Regina!”

She whirled around to see Tanner skidding through the stable door, his shirttail out, his tie askew at half-mast, and his normally neat, clipped hair going in every wild direction.

“Tanner, look, look. The Starfire #89. From the fairy—What happened to your eye?”

He snatched her into his arms and kissed her, gripping her so tight, pulling her into his heart, loving the star fire right out of her. Reggie swooned against him.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry. I tried to find you. I tried.”

“It’s okay, Tanner, it’s okay . . . Are you okay?” She brushed her fingers over his cut. “It’s not bleeding. Did this happen today? It looks almost healed.”

“Some lady caught me with her ring. Regina, you were brilliant, singing that song. We saw it on the telly.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Oh, love, when I’d lost you in the crowd . . . I thought I’d go crazy. I looked everywhere for you. But mostly I realized how madly I love you, Reggie.”


He kissed her cheek down to the curve of her neck until she thought she might decompose into a love puddle right there on the stable floor.

“Hey, wait a minute.” She gathered herself and pushed out of his arms. “How did you find me? Here, in the stable?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I followed the light.”

“The light?” She squinted at him. “You saw the light? The swirling stardust?”

He grinned, his blue eyes snapping. “Yes, Reggie, I saw the light.”

She held his face, careful of his injury, and pulled him close for a kiss. “You called me Reggie.”

“Because that’s who I fell in love with. The girl chatting up the lawyer with motor oil running down her face. The girl with the song in the pub. The girl who quelled a riot with her voice.”



“What about the princess?” She fiddled with his collar, running her hands over the muscled curves of his shoulders. “Do you love her?”

“Very much.” He twirled her around. “I love Her Majesty too.”

“It is going to be complicated, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“That’s okay with you?”

“Is it okay with you?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said.

He kissed her forehead. “Now, what’s this about a Starfire #89?” With his arm about her, he turned to the car.

“It’s the car in the fairy tale. It has to be Prince Francis’s Starfire #89.” She aimed her light over the sports car with its giant, exposed coils and single-seat chassis. “The original. Number one.”

“Hold on now.” Tanner walked around the car. “If this stable existed in 1914, how was it and the car not discovered?” He shined his light on the red, gleaming car.

For a moment, Regina couldn’t think. Only feel. This was what Gram was trying to tell her. Find the stable and the car. Then it will all make sense.

“Don’t you see? God hid it until the right time.” Reggie spun around, pumping her fist in the air, then rammed Tanner with an engulfing hug. The last chain of doubt broke from her heart.

Reggie chatted at top speed, explaining to Tanner about the car’s design, how the low, single-seat racer was modeled after Ford’s race car #999, built on a wood chassis with a whopping 50 horsepower engine.

Tanner inspected the smooth curve of the chassis, lowering his flashlight to inspect the paint. “It’s in incredible shape for sitting a hundred years.”

“The tarp saved it, I’m sure.” She glanced toward the rafters. “And I don’t see any leaks.”

But it was more than solid roofs and thick tarps that had saved the Starfire—that had saved the kingdom. It was the hand of God. This was his fun way of saying, “See? I got this,” and Reggie felt it to her core.

Tanner inspected the open, big coil, eight-cylinder engine.

“Lev Goldstein broke Ford’s racing record by point one second in 1910.” She bent to inspect the engine next to him. “He blew the engine but not before wowing the racing industry with a speed of 102 miles an hour. Unheard of in its day. It would be years before any other racer came close.”

He brushed his hand over her shoulder. “I love your passion.”

“Tanner,”—she stood—“I’ve been thinking.”

“About . . .” He leaned to inspect the leather interior.

“I have to ask someone to form a government, right?”

“Yes, according to our old laws.”

“I want to ask Seamus.”

Tanner snapped upright. “What? No, Reggie, no. I forbid it.” He stormed around the back of the car toward her, tripping over the tarp. “He’s a slime. I blame him for the riot today, what with all his meddling and media futzing. No, you can’t.”

“First of all, I don’t think you can forbid me. Can you?”

“As one of your advisors—”

“Second of all, Tanner, he knows this country, he knows the structure and the people. They like him. The half that hates me likes him. The half that hates him likes me. Together, we make a whole team.”

“He will stab you in the back, Reggie.”

“More than he’s already tried?”

“Yes! He’s only shown us the tip of the iceberg. He’s a weasel and the people deserve better. You deserve better.”

“Look around you.” She motioned to the stable. “We just found a magical, unexplained glow in the woods hovering over a never-seen-before red stable in which we find probably the original Starfire #89, and who knows what all is in here. If I can’t have faith that God has my back in being Princess of Hessenberg, if I can’t trust my heart telling me to make peace with Seamus—and yes, I’ll pray about it—then let’s just call it quits and go home.”

She reached for him. “Tanner, I was a car restoration girl in Tallahassee, Florida. And God, in his mercy, saw fit to make me—weak, broken me—a princess. How can I not afford some of the same kindness and faith toward Seamus? What if God wants me to be as generous to him as he’s been to me? Besides, what’s the old adage? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

He sighed, a funny look crossing his face. “I went to St. John’s to look for you this afternoon.” He braced his hands on his hips. “And this bishop came out to tell me you were all right. Then he said something to me that made my chest feel on fire . . . like he might have been the Lord himself. He said to tell you hi, by the way.”

“Tanner, our whole world has been flipped inside out. Yours. Mine. The duchy’s. Seamus’s.” She touched his arm, knowing more than ever she was right about the governor. “I at least want to talk to him. Before he has me arrested.”

He regarded her for a long second, then nodded. “Fine, but I want to be there.”

“I’d have it no other way.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you, Tanner.”

He drew her into a warm, cocooning hug. “Love you back, Princess.”

So, the car. Reggie slipped from Tanner’s embrace and walked around the car. “I can’t believe it . . . I just . . . it’s a miracle. Say,”—she held out her hand, wiggling her fingers at him—“I lost my phone in the riot. Can I borrow yours?”

“You lost your phone?” He took out his mobile and pressed it to his ear. “Louis, contact Mr. Beswick in America and have him cancel Regina’s phone plan. Get her a new one.” He made a face at her as he hung up and passed over his cell. “How did you lose your phone?”

“The riot. Now, shh, this is a sacred moment. I’m taking a picture to send to Al. He’s going to die, just die.” Her heart fluttered just imagining Al’s face when he got this text. But wait . . . Reggie lowered the phone.

“I should just ship him the car. Let him restore it. He’d be so surprised. He was always saying to me, ‘No Starfire #89 is ever going to find its way down to Dixie.’ Well, ha!”

“But he closed the shop.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to tinker around. I know him. And he’d move heaven and earth to work on the Starfire #89.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll see what we can do about moving it.” Tanner moved to the back of the car, tipping his flashlight. “Didn’t the fairy tale have the princess stashing something in the boot? There’s a small one back here.”

“Yeah, it did. And, Tanner, you don’t have to do everything for me. Just point me in the right direction and I can see about shipping the car.” Reggie bent down to feel for the release. The small door bounced open and she aimed her flashlight inside. “There’s a leather bag in here.” She reached for it. “Feels like books. Wouldn’t it be like my ancestors to leave me books? Not that I mind, but personal effects would’ve been nice.”

Kneeling down on the canvas with Tanner next to her, Reggie passed him her flashlight and unbuckled the straps.

“A scarf . . . a blue scarf . . .” She pulled it free. “Tanner, I think it’s the one Gram wore in her portrait. There’s something wrapped up in it.” Reggie brushed the dust from the tarp before peeling away the scarf.

The beam of their flashlights caught and captured the brilliant sparkle of a diamond tiara.

“Oh my word—” Reggie gasped, pressing her hand to her chest as flashlight beams shoved light through the gems, fanning glorious prisms across the stable.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you naughty tiara,” Tanner said. “I looked high and low for the Princess Alice tiara.”

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” She peeked around Tanner at the racer. “Except maybe the Starfire . . . No, no, the tiara wins. It’s a tie. Yes, a tie. I can wear the tiara when I drive the car.” Raising the crown, Reggie inspected the platinum and diamond piece from all sides. “Astounding.”

“I found coronets, the royal crowns, and the tiara your gram inherited from the last Grand Duchess, but never this beauty. I thought it was lost. Like so many other archives.”


Reggie faced him. “What’s the story with this one? Do you know?”

“It’s a diamond garland tiara made by Cartier in 1913 for your gram’s sixteenth birthday. It was a gift from Prince Francis.”

“Along with the Princess Alice tree?”

“Ah, you learned of the tree.” Tanner pointed to the top of the tiara. “See these arching laurel wreaths with the sapphire leaves? Your uncle’s design just for her. It’s one of a kind.” Tanner motioned to the satchel with the edge of his flashlight beam. “I bet there’s a matching diamond-and-sapphire drop necklace and earrings inside.”

Reggie dug in and retrieved a yellow silk scarf, unwinding it to discover the necklace and earrings. The stones radiated against the golden threads.

Reggie propped against the car. “The more I discover of Gram’s world, the more I don’t understand her silence. She talked about how she came to America, her second husband, and her daughter, my grandma. She reminisced about her lovely childhood in Hessenberg. But never, ever did she say, ‘For my sixteenth birthday, my uncle, the Grand Duke, commissioned a diamond-and-sapphire tiara for me made by Cartier.’ ”

“Perhaps it was her way of dealing with the pain.” Tanner eased down to sit next to her. “When I gave up the girls, I basically stopped talking about them. If I did, it kept my pain alive. Like your gram, I thought I was never getting them back. I’d never see them again.”



“Makes sense, but I still wish she’d said something.”

“She did, love. In the fairy tale.”

“And we’re back to that.” Reggie held the crown against her Kohl’s Vera Wang top. “What do you think? Goes great, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, with the woman, not the clothes.” Tanner exchanged his flashlight for the tiara and gently set it on her head. “Beautiful.”

A soft blush covered her cheeks.

Tanner held up his phone. “For me? Please. To remember this moment.”

“Okay. But only you.” She smiled as Tanner snapped the photo.

Feeling shy, she slipped the tiara from her head. “How ridiculous do I look?”

“You look stunning. The tiara becomes you.” He brushed his finger along her cheek. “You truly are a restorer. Of lost history. Of lost relationships. Of lost dreams. You stepped into my life and everything changed. It will be the same for Hessenberg.”

“Maybe. But, Tanner, it all started with you.” She stared at the tiara, holding it delicately in her hand. “I’m a little bit scared.”

“Me too.” He scooted in next to her. “I don’t know anything about raising girls. But you’ll help me. You don’t know much about being a princess or politics, but I’ll be with you.” He clasped her hand. “One for one, one for all.”

She peered into his eyes. “One for all.” Then she leaned in for a kiss. “Still loving I can do that almost anytime I want.”

“What say we film some of this car? I can have the media team jazz it up a bit.” Tanner aimed his phone at the car, then Reggie. “What else is in the bag?”

Digging in, she retrieved two leather books, a photograph, a small wooden jewel box, and a pair of cream kid-leather gloves.

She thumbed through the first book, a compact leather-bound piece, worn around the edges as if carried often.

“Tanner,”—Regina rose up on her knees—“aim the flashlight over here. Oh my, oh my!” She sighed with a small laugh. “It’s Gram’s journal.” She flipped to the first page. “Look . . . 1913,”—she fanned to the last page—“to October 1914. Tanner, she left her journals behind.”

“Regina, she left her story behind.”

“The fairy tale,” they said in unison, eyes meeting.

“She was telling me to find the car and look in the trunk.”

“I told you she was speaking to you in that book.” Tanner tucked away his filming, his phone, and every outside intrusion to the moment.

“With pictures and symbols rather than straight-up truth.”

Regina glanced down at the page and read aloud.

“Mamá just entered my room tonight by candlelight, grim and grieving. I am to pack my things and prepare to leave, rather flee our beloved Hessenberg. How can this be? . . . The palace is dark and I was admonished not to turn on my light or light a candle. Uncle, she said, signed over all rights and rule to Cousin Nathaniel. He surrendered to Brighton.”

A reverence fell over her heart. “I changed my mind about the car and the tiara.” Reggie held the journal to her chest. “This is my most treasured possession.”

“Hear, hear,” Tanner whispered.

“I’m so glad I followed the light.” Reggie raised the leather bag to peer in one last time. “There’s an envelope.” She pulled it out, handing it to Tanner.

When he looked inside, he laughed. “My dear Reggie, I’m a believer. I am a believer.”

“What is it?” She hooked her hand over his, trying to see the contents inside. “What converted you?”

“Bonds. Lovely, beautiful, bearer bonds.”

“The bonds. Mentioned in the entail.”

“Your Majesty,” Tanner said. “You are a very wealthy woman.”

She peered at him through her tears. “Now I can really restore the kingdom.”