I stifled a smirk as she turned her beaming smile back to the guard. She flashed the press badge around her neck. “Sam Snakeman promised me an interview, so if you could just open the gates….”
The guard grew serious. “Aw, sorry, Maddie. I can’t. Strict orders to seal the border in light of the recent attack.”
She pouted. “You think I did it? Little ol’ me?” She winked. “C’mon, Bill.”
“Gill,” he corrected.
She tossed her hair. “Gill—that’s what I said. You know we didn’t have anything to do with it—plus the princess would be upset with you if you kept us waiting. We’re close friends, you know.” She crossed her fingers. “Besties.”
He rolled his eyes but chuckled. “I’ve seen you go in and out with those folks enough times to know that’s true. Fine.” He pushed the golden gate open and held it for us. “Quick now. And if anyone asks, it wasn’t me who let you in.”
She blew him a kiss. “Thanks, Gill. I owe you one.”
He pointed a thick finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She smirked, then whirled around and grabbed my wrist, dragging me toward the gleaming white palace.
I glanced over at her. “The luau, huh?”
She fought a smile and raised a brow. “Don’t judge me. You saw his calves, right?” She gave a happy little shudder, then pulled me toward a clump of bushes. “Come on. There’s a back entrance to the servants’ passages through here.”
We soon found the wooden door studded with iron and dashed inside. We snaked our way through the dark, narrow servants’ halls, Madeline pausing now and then to debate at a fork in the path. We had to backtrack twice and drop our heads when we passed palace workers, but eventually she threw open a door, pushed aside a heavy burgundy tapestry, then cried, “Aha!”
I followed her into a stone hallway with a tall, arched ceiling. We crossed the hall, the tapestry swinging back in place behind us. She grabbed the handle of a pair of thick double doors, then pulled one open, just a crack. Buttery, sugary smells wafted out, and my mouth immediately began to water. “The bakery,” she mouthed. Madeline held up her finger, and we listened.
“Where’s Sam?!” I recognized the princess’s panicked voice.
“We must stay calm, dear.” An older lady spoke.
“I believe he shifted.” A deep male voice spoke next. “I, uh—actually spotted his shed skin.”
“Oh, dis has been a wery hard day. Sam has probably shed from stress.”
The man with the deep voice spoke again. “It’s alright. I’m sure he slithered to safety.”
“Oh, yeah, because no one in a panicked crowd that’s just thrown themselves to the ground is going to be freaked out by a snake next to their heads!” The speaker’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m sure he just slithered on out.”
“Oh, no!” a gentle, quavering voice said. “Did poor Sam get trampled?”
Next came the sound of someone clicking their tongue. “Iggy, you upset Maple.”
Madeline’s mouth tugged toward a grin. “Alright, follow me.” She gave me a little nod, then yanked the door wider and strode in. “Knock knock!”
11
THE ROYAL BAKERY
“I figured I’d find you all in here.” Madeline jogged down a few steps, and I trailed behind, taking in the huge space. The bakery smelled like butter and dough and sugar—basically add ramen, and it was my heaven.
A tall ceiling—at least three stories high—reflected moonlight that filtered in through the enormous windows that lined the walls on the second story. The marble counters and racks of copper pots and pans glinted golden, lit by several fires blazing in the wall of bread ovens.
I pulled my hands from my pockets—the fires warmed the large space, making it cozy and comfortable. I followed Madeline down the center aisle, past long, butcher-block-topped tables. Princess Imogen, Prince Harry, and their half dozen or so friends stared wide-eyed at us.
After a long moment where only the sounds of our footsteps on the marble echoed through the space, I lifted my hand in an awkward wave. “Heyyy.” I suddenly remembered I was meeting royalty and dipped into a curtsey.
Madeline grabbed my elbow and hauled me back up. “They’re not really into formality.”
“Who the shell’s she?”
It took me a moment to place the speaker—it was the little fire that burned in a lantern set on one of the long tables. The prince, princess, and former royal bakers gathered around it. I looked around the eclectic group, recognizing some of them. Rhonda the Seer stood with her arm around her undead boyfriend, Francis, whose toes hovered just above the floor. The tall, pale vampire and the short, dark psychic were the interkingdom celebrities who’d judged the baking competition earlier.
Francis lifted his hooked nose and sniffed the air. “She smells of dog and…” He squinted one eye. “Owl droppings?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. The odor of dog made perfect sense, given I shared space with Daisy and her fur ended up on everything. But owl droppings? Could he smell that I was an owl shifter, even though it’d been years since I could shift? I turned my head and tried to nonchalantly smell myself. If so, did that mean I still had it?
A tall guy with a red bushy beard stood beside an older woman, her gray, shoulder-length hair pulled back in a headband. She looked me over. “I’m Annie, and this is Yann.”
The big ginger guy waved.
“What’s your name, dear?”
I suddenly felt a little self-conscious of my ripped jeans and holey band tee. “Uh—I’m Jolene Hartgrave.”
The little flame’s mouth disappeared for a moment. “Are we supposed to know what that means?”
Prince Harry strode forward, palms splayed. “Madeline, this really isn’t a good time, we need—”
Madeline thumbed toward me. “Jolene knows who attacked Sam and, more importantly, why.”
That stopped the prince midsentence. His blue eyes landed on me and seemed to really take me in for the first time. A woman in
