Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Tossing the phone back into my purse, I wheeled my bag up the escalator, and the very first thing I saw when I crossed the corner was a giant billboard of Gale. The words beside him reading, Welcome to Ersovia, Where the Past Meets the Future. The smile on his face was all warm and open. He wasn’t wearing a suit but some royal uniform with a sash and golden shoulder guards or something. However, it wasn’t how princely he looked that threw me off; it was the woman beside the billboard taking photos with it.
Talk about an out-of-body experience. It was so strange. I knew Gale was a prince, but seeing him plastered on a wall like that, that was different. I tried to ignore it. I kept walking, but it wasn’t just him. Hanging from the top of the airport were photos of his sister, Princess Eliza, with her beautiful red hair, seated elegantly in a ruffled dress. There were pictures of the queen, who also had red hair, seated beside her husband, the king.
Then there was Arthur. The sign above the date of his birth and death read, In Memoriam of HRH Arthur, the Prince of Ersovia. I had seen him online and in photos and could see the similarity between him and Gale. They shared the same eyes. It was clear there was no escaping the royals here. And the more I saw, the more it hit me that I could never be part of that. By the time I entered the first-class customs line, I felt more dread and regret at coming. Everything felt as if it were screaming, You do not belong.
“Next,” the female customs officer said as I came forward.
“Gerchen,” I said in greeting, sliding over my passport.
“Gerchen,” she said, taking the passport and sliding it through the machine. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“Tourism,” I lied.
“How long do you intend to stay?”
I have no idea. However long it takes me to get your prince to sign divorce papers? “Two weeks.”
She nodded, stamped the passport, and gave it back to me.
“Grazne,” I said, thanking her before leaving.
It wasn’t until I was outside with my luggage that it hit me. I was a little stunned that I was here. I had spent the last six months reading and learning as much about the city as I could. Why? Because of Gale. It made me feel better to know about the country he would one day rule. My mind was reeling with information. Ersovia was a nation of 38.6 million people. The capital was Erelis and had a million residents living within its city limits. They drove on the same side of the road as Americans and spoke Ersovian, French, English, and Italian. I could go on. But as I saw the darkening sky, I rushed to the taxi line, part of me wishing I had called for a private car. I was doing my best to be discreet; however, I may have overdone it.
“Where to?” the older man said when he got back into the front seat after loading my luggage into the trunk.
“The Lal-et-Loire Hotel please,” I said in Ersovian, hoping my pronunciation was correct. I knew how the words should sound in my mind, but it was a different story when it came out.
He nodded at me, grinning. “You speak, Ersovian?”
“A little. Still learning.” I smiled.
“Wunillosa!” He gave me thumbs-up, letting me know how wonderful he found it that I was learning his language, and I took pride in that.
He spent the whole ride speaking to me. His English was as good as my Ersovian, but we understood each other. And he took it upon himself to explain everything as we drove out of the airport toward the city’s center. My eyes remained glued out the window, and it was just as Gale had described. A country of rolling green hills and tall green grass. In the distance, I could see old ruins or older homes on the side of the hills. There were even roman aqueducts in the valleys between the trees.
It took us almost an hour to get into Erelis, and on the bridge that led us there, were two winged angels blowing into horns at the top of two pillars. The city was just like Europe—the old and new mixed together into one. There was a perpendicular, gothic-style building that looked like a medieval castle on one side, French baroque-style arches and chateaus on the other, along with cobblestoned homes and streets, a building made of only glass, and skyscrapers that shot up into the sky.
“And this is Bellecoeur Palace,” he said as we drove past a breathtaking, massive, cream-colored, baroque-style palace with a red roof. The palace was U-shaped, as in one long front building, then two attached on each side. I could not even count the windows on one side. From the rows, it looked like there were only three levels, but I doubted that was the case. There were columns on pilasters between every window, and at the uppermost level, there was a golden clock.