I drop my suitcase on the bed with a sigh and take a sip of my coffee. Fond of tea as I am, I wanted something that would remind me of home.
"Young Prince?" a voice calls from the sitting room.
Rolling my eyes, I explain, "I'm just unpacking, Volger."
The man appears in my doorway, taking in the lavish hotel room with an unflinching scowl. "There are people who can do that for you, you know."
"But then I'll spend just as much time trying to figure out where it all is. And I've got nothing to do until Monday, anyway," I say, taking a seat on the bed.
"Where have you been for the last hour?" he asks skeptically. I'm about to protest that I didn't go anywhere when the man holds up a hand to stop me. "Spare me the cover story, young prince. The sooner you tell me the truth the sooner you can go back to unpacking."
"Fine," I grumble, rolling the nearly-empty styrofoam cup around in my hands. "I was exploring. But I just went down the street!, and it was not an hour. Try half that. Besides, nobody tried to talk to me and I didn't tell anyone anything. I think the reporters are finally leaving me alone."
The wildcount scoffs. "You merely caught them on their lunch break. I'm afraid your story is far from the point when the public will lose interest. I suspect that you will be a topic of high priority for quite a bit longer." He pauses and looks at me sadly. "What is that?" he demands, closing the gap between us with two steps. The caterpillars that sit above his eyes lower.
"It's called coffee." I try to hide my irritation. "If you drank some you might not be such a grouch all the time."
The wildcount ignores my jibe. "Where did it come from?"
I bite my lip. "The coffee shop down the street. Look, I watched the girl pour it from a pot that had probably served twenty other people. I'm fine. So lay off."
To drive my point home, I down the rest of the cup. I know that he's trying to look out for me, and I appreciate the concern, but sometimes he goes too far. As if I need to be reminded how my parents died.
Volger looks me in the eyes, suddenly looking old. "I am just trying to keep you safe, Alek. Forgive me if I come off too strongly."
"Whatever." I shrug the comment off, breaking his gaze. His footsteps retreat, but I don't look up at him. All my anger washes away and then my head drops back and hits the wall with a muffled thump.
Upset that my parents had left me home for yet another of their political travels, there was nothing else I could do. All of my classes were done for the day and I finished dinner half an hour before. My choices were to sit alone in my room all evening-which really wasn't an option; I might have died of boredom-or this.
I crouched in the shadows behind one of the ridiculous curtains that hung heavily around a ceiling-high window. The sun closed it's big eye, and the lightness became dark and the shadows black. Approximately five minutes and someone would be by to turn on the lights.
All I had to do was wait.
Dragging footsteps crept down the hall, and as they grew louder my smile grew wider. Any moment now...
"Hah!" I leapt out into the hall, arms raised high over my head.
The unsuspecting man yelped and bounced back a good meter. His eyes opened out to the whites and the fuzzy creature he carried on his upper lip quivered.
"Got you," I said smugly. Recognition crossed my mind, and I realized that this was no servant come by to flip the light switch. "Klopp? What are you doing here?"
The head mechanic's eyes fell, and the fright of a moment before was swept away by the most awful of faces; sorrow. "Young master, I am very sorry. Something terrible has happened, and we must leave the country immediately. Two of my assistants are already packing a bag for you. Come, I will explain on the way."
After that, much of what happened was a blur. We took a nondescript vehicle to the local airport, and during that drive my life as I knew it ended-as had the lives of my parents entirely. Poison. Klopp and Volger were fuzzy on the details and my head spun faster than a top, but I understood that much. Rebels, some hidden in the government for almost a decade, had decided to overthrow Austria and thought it best to start with my parents. A civil war would surely ensue, and so I'd been spirited away to England to avoid the same fate as Mother and Father. The plan had been to stay under the radar, but we'd barely made it off the plane when a reporter spotted me.
Two days later, and I've barely left my hotel room for all the paparazzi waiting in the lobby. Just now was the first time I had the energy to go anywhere, and I snuck out to the alley through the kitchen.
Telling the girl at the coffee shop my real name was a stupid move, but it hadn't ended badly. She didn't seem to recognize me. In all honesty, she was the only person that treated me like a human being in the last few days. Maybe it was just her job and she didn't really care, but it was nice to see a genuine smile again.
What I ran into outside of the shop was another matter. Literally. A broad shoulder hit my chest as I stepped out the door, and the air in my lungs stayed where I'd been standing while the I fell to the ground with a curse.
"Oh, blisters! I am so sorry, man! I didn't see you. Are you alright?" Wide brown eyes stared at me, and the boy extended a hand to help me up.
I let him pull me to my feet and took a moment to catch my breath. My heart pounded in my chest, sending adrenaline through my limbs like fire. I knew how to fight if I had to.
"Did I make you spill your drink? I can get you another one." The boy wiped off his hands on what I realized was an apron. So he must work there. The name tag clipped to his dark green polo read "Eugene".
I blinked and examined the to-go cup clenched in my hand, lid still secured around the rim. For a moment I scrape my mind for the correct English. "Surprisingly, nothing is spilled. Thank you, though."
"No thanks necessary. In fact, I owe you an apology. Look, I work on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, so come in then and you can get a free drink on me."
He patted my back and retreated into the shop, exclaiming loudly to the girl behind the counter what had just happened. I hurried away, searching my body for bruises and listening devices. I couldn't be too careful.
Strangely, the only part I regret about all of it is not remembering what the girl's name tag said. Maybe she'll be working again sometime I go in there. It was a quaint little place, secluded, and I could see myself spending time there in the future. If I continue to use the kitchen exit, my existence there can stay secret for a while longer.
I sigh and sit up. There's no use in moping, I suppose. My suitcase isn't going to unpack itself. It isn't a big bag-there wasn't time for anything more to be packed-but I need something to do. The only thing I've had to occupy my time is English television, and I don't care for the programs on the hotel channels.
The zipper gets stuck halfway open, and I jerk it the rest of the way, effectively tearing a shirt. I grimace and pick it out of the teeth, examining the jagged edge. I toss it aside. There's more where that came from.
Or are there?
This is all I have. Five shirts and pairs of slacks, a single pair of jeans and a few pairs of socks and boxers. I am so used to having a myriad of clothes to choose from that I don't think of where they come from. But now-I don't have another choice. When I'll have the chance to replace even some of the things I've left behind is a mystery. Even more than that, the only money we have is what we brought with us-a small fortune, but not enough to live extravagantly. Everything in Austria is frozen until the chaos there is sorted out.
I reach for the shirt again, my fingers closing around soft blue cotton and small buttons. The tear only lasts for about seven centimeters, and it's close enough to the bottom that if I tuck the shirt into my pants it will be completely hidden. I attempt to fold it, give up, and toss it in a drawer that will be for shirts.
Sadly, unpacking takes barely ten minutes. I shove the empty suitcase under my hotel bed and straighten up, rubbing my palms on my thighs. Hoffman and Bauer are off getting food to stock in the mini-refrigerator, and Klopp is raiding the gift shop for anything we can use. When they return I will speak to all of them about replenishing my wardrobe-and theirs. There's got to be a cheap store around here that sells the proper attire for the school I will begin attending on Monday.
My chest flutters at the thought. I've never been to a school with other students before. Private tutors have taught me all my life, and the idea of classrooms and a cafeteria is enough to make me dizzy. The name of the place doesn't help with the jitters, either. Thinking it sends a chill of excitement up my spine.
Leviathan.
A/N: And so the plot thickens! I don't really have much else to say other than my apologies that it took so long to get up the new chapter. Let all the new things you've learned (this chapter and the last) roll around in your mind before they start school on Monday! Please review!