A/N: Just like to wish everybody a very Merry Christmas!
(Jenny's POV)
There's just less than a month to go until the wedding and there's still so much to do. I'm spending my English lesson going through the checklist that I made to see what needs to be done. I need to go for a final fitting for my bridal gown – as do the bridal party for their attire, pick up the wedding rings and have them engraved, reserve all necessary rentals for the ceremony and reception, and meet up with the wedding photographer and videographer to discuss any special photo requests and back-up plans in case of unfavourable weather conditions.
There's also the matter of the hen party, which Livi is planning as she is my maid of honour. And we both have very different ideas. My kind of hen party will consist of a pamper day, where we'll shop 'til we drop and receive beauty and massage treatments and generally spend time indulging and pampering ourselves in a spa and salon. But Livi's idea of a hen party will be dragging me and the rest of the bridal party to a male strip club and/or hire a male stripper or a naked butler – not that I have a problem with the latter. I can see it now: a handsome, half-naked man with his muscular chest and magnificent arms, dressed in just a collar, dickie bow, cuffs and a short apron serving drinks and food – and I 'accidently' spill some wine on his apron and he'll have no choice but to take it off, revealing his thick, long and bulbous…
"Jenny!" A loud voice, combined with an equally loud, sudden noise on the table startles me out of my X-rated daydream.
Without thinking, I spring to my feet and exclaim, "What? What? What?" – and find that the classroom is empty, but not too empty. Rose, Oscar and Carrie are at my desk, with Oscar's palm placed on the flat surface. He must have been the one who made me jump out of my skin.
"That must've been some dream you had going," he says. "The bell went five minutes ago."
"Yeah, yeah, sorry about that," I say, smoothing my clothes. "I was, um… thinking about how perfect the wedding will be next month."
"Looks like she was thinking more of the honeymoon," Carrie mutters, sniggering – but a 'be quiet' nudge from Rose forces Carrie to, of course, be quiet.
"Take no notice of Carrie," says Rose. "Despite the stresses of planning a wedding, your wedding will be perfect – immaculate even."
"Thanks, Rose," I reply. "And you're right about the wedding planning – it is stressful. These last few weeks have been a bit tense as we get closer to the big day – especially when you're a spy. Maybe I need to take some time away from the wedding planning. Find time to have a romantic getaway with, Frank, do a little retail therapy, pamper myself with hot bubble baths, French Champagne and candles, continue with fitness schedule and a healthy eating plan to minimize stress and to tone up. Live my life without a care in the world!"
Suddenly, my watch-communicator vibrates.
"Looks like all those stress-free activities will have to wait," says Carrie.
"Wonderful," I sigh, slightly disappointed.
"Huh." Oscar takes out his pencil communicator from his trouser pocket. "That's strange – the light on my communicator isn't flashing."
"Neither is mine," says Rose, holding her communicator.
"It seems that this mission is just for moi," I say, gathering my stuff. "Wish me luck, gang – I'm gonna need it."
"Good luck!" the team chorus, and with that Supergirl swooshes out of the classroom and dashes towards the caretaker's cupboard.
This mission must be one of great importance that only I'm called for and not the others.
And I'm right. When I arrive down at HQ, Frank is waiting for me – along with Stark and Director Fairchild. This must be serious.
"This assignment must be really something that requires me and me only," I say, walking up to them.
"Indeed it does, Agent Brownstone," says Director Fairchild. "It's one of national, or in this case, international importance. Frank?"
He turns on the computer and displayed on the screen is a head and chest shot of a young, fair-skinned girl in her early twenties. She has a soft, oval face with large brown eyes and thin, dark blonde eyebrows. She has golden-blonde hair that falls in soft waves past her shoulders, topped with a silvery tiara, and she's dressed in elaborate and fancy clothing.
"This is Astrid Hjördis Rosa Andreasen, Princess of Faärland," Frank tells me. "And this Saturday, on her twenty-first birthday, she'll be Queen Astrid of Faärland."
"That is, of course, if she lasts longer enough to see that birth-OOF!" Stark gets a sharp elbow jab to the ribs from Director Fairchild.
"I think what Stark was trying to say – and being a complete insensitive arse about it – is that someone doesn't want Princess Astrid to be queen," says the director.
"You mean there's someone out to kill her," I enquire.
"Yes. For the last couple of weeks, the princess has been involved in a number of 'accidents' on an attempt on her life – the most recent one was two days ago when she received a dress that was laced with embalming fluid."
"Oh, my God!"
"Luckily the princess had ordered one of her maids to have the dress disposed – unfortunately the maid decided to keep the dress for herself and try it on. She was found dead in her bed the next morning."
I'm so shocked I don't even know what to say. I can't believe someone would be cruel to use a poisoned dress to kill the heir to the throne – or in this case, the maid who serves the heir to the throne.
"I think you know what your mission is, Agent Brownstone," the director continues. "You'll be sent to Faärland to be Princess Astrid's personal bodyguard. You'll be employed to escort and protect her from her assassin – you need to find out who they are and stop them. Any questions?"
"Yeah – when do I leave?"
"You have one hour to pack a bag," Stark says in a brisk, businesslike tone. "A car will be waiting for you to take you to the airport."
"But before you go, you'll need some gadgets," says Frank. He picks up a beautiful crystal peardrop flower brooch. "First, we have the Tracking Brooch Device – the GPS is linked to your watch-communicator so you can track the princess. And then there's this" – he produces a round object, roughly the size of a snooker ball – "the Tangled Net Grenade. It releases a wire net and ensnares the person. Finally, we have this" – Frank picks up a small case with contact lenses inside – "the Camera Contact Lens. The tiny in-built camera embedded along the edge of the lens is linked wirelessly to the computers here in HQ and to the Spy-Pods enabling us to follow your precise gaze without obstructing your view. We get audio too so we can hear everything."
"Amazing," I say, impressed.
"And before I forget there is this." Frank holds up a small black box that contains star-shaped earrings. "The Hologram Projecting Earrings – you don't need me explaining to you what they do."
"I'm sure I can figure it out," I tease, taking the earrings from him, along with the other gadgets. "Now I'm ready."
"I wish you the best of luck on your mission, Agent Brownstone," says Director Fairchild.
"Yeah, good luck, Jen," says Frank. "And be careful."
"Thanks – I will," I reply, and with that I head out of HQ to begin my royal mission.
xxoOoxx
I arrive in Faärland around six o'clock, landing in Schonan Airport – the skies cloudy and rainy. The journey took nearly two and a half hours. During that time, I decided to get the low-down on the country, and this is what I've found out: Faärland is a Scandinavian country in Northern Europe, bordered between Norway and Sweden. It's one of the world's smallest countries with the population of three thousand, five hundred. It has five towns and cities; its largest city is Schonan, which is also the country's capital, and it's located at the very heart of Faärland. The official language is Faärlandic, the demonym is Faärlander and they drive on the right, and their Prime Minister is a guy called Søren Björk.
It's basic knowledge, but I'm sure I'll know more during my stay for the next few days.
I also read the file on Princess Astrid. She's the only child of King Andreas and Queen Celestine… but they are both decreased – the queen died when the princess was three years old following a short illness and the king died last year in his sleep of a heart attack, even though he was in very good health. Princess Astrid has no other living relatives other than the king's brother, Sigurðr, who acted as Head of State until the princess finished her education – but no-one has seen neither hide nor hair of him since last week. This must be the assassin's doing – or maybe Sigurðr is pretending to be missing and he's hired someone to take out his niece so he can be king himself. Either way I intend to get to the bottom of this mission and stop this person from harming the princess.
The plane taxis to a stop. The captain and co-pilot come out of the cockpit just as the stewardess opens the door. I climb to my feet and stretch, and then I collect my oversized white bag and suitcase.
"Thank you for flying with us, Miss Brownstone," said the captain, shaking my hand. "I hope you had a pleasant flight."
"Absolutely – thanks very much," I say, smiling.
"Welcome to Faärland," says the stewardess, holding the jet door open with one hand as I pass her, taking the umbrella that she has opened for me, and head down the steps.
A black car with tinted windows is parked across the airport apron with a tall, slim man with dark maroon hair standing in front of it. He's dressed in a sharp, dapper suit, and holding an umbrella over his head. He must be my chauffeur.
When I get near him, the driver gives me a quick nod and a curt, "Hello, Miss Brownstone."
I nod back.
The driver takes my luggage and loads them into the truck. Then he opens up the back door and I climb inside the car. The driver gets behind the wheel; he starts the car and we drive off.
The ride is long and silent – but it's also quite pleasant as the car takes us to Schonan. And I have to say it is gorgeous – a dazzling metropolis of art and artifice. Even through the veil of rain. A wide variety of shops, cafés, and restaurants are spread throughout the whole city. The outer portion of the city is lined by tall office buildings and wide brick and cobblestone boulevards, while the avenues of the inner portion are lined by smaller Dragestil-style buildings. The wide roadways throughout the entire city afford safe and easy passage for automobile traffic. A large canal also runs diagonally through the city.
We drive round the edge of the Schonan towards the inland, down a lane that twists between fields. A little village lays before us: roofs, chimney tops, and one white church spire all postcard-perfect.
"The village of Ulsä," the driver says, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
"It's pretty," I reply, straightening in my seat to get a better view.
We are silent once again as we drive through the picturesque village. We drive down one country road after another, sometimes passing a village shop or converted church or row of cottages, but then we are into true countryside, with isolated lonely lanes, tangling branches over our heads, a thick leaf of canopy casting us into an odd green bloom.
It's like the picture of some fairytale. Even the trees have got knobbly bits so that they look like weird faces. And the roots looks like they're reaching out to grab us.
I feel like we're hopelessly lost as we turn down yet another lane, and then another, and then a very windy one up a hill, so we are thrown this way and that, like a fairground ride.
The driver stops the car at the top of the hill. "We have arrived," he says.
I crane forward in the gap between the front seats and see for myself. And I am stunned. There, below us, is a beautiful castle.
It's like a true Disney fairytale castle with spacious green grounds and a fountain at the centre as well as several hedges and plantlife. The main feature of the castle is a rectangular or square shape, with four towers supporting it, made of light cream marble and grey cone-shaped roofs. The highest tower emerges from a wider circular tower underneath – both in the centre of the castle. A pole sits on top of the highest tower, with a flag flying at full mast. It is made up of two horizontal stripes and a circle in blue, dark bronze, purple and dark blue.
"Harvonia Castle," the driver says. "That is where Princess Astrid lives."
"Oh, wow!" I breathe. "It's spectacular!"
"I'm glad you like it. Let's keep going."
He starts up the car and we drive down the steep hill towards Harvonia Castle. I gaze ahead, staring at the building as if it's a heavenly vision as we get nearer and nearer. There's just one road lined with trees.
We get to the great gates at the head of a long gravel driveway; elaborate wrought-iron gates just like the ones in Buckingham Palace. The grounds stretches out as far as I can see, completely empty.
The driver gives a beep on his car horn. The gates open and we drive straight through. The gravel crunches and crackles as the driver drives the car slowly past the fountain while I crane my neck staring up at the great cream-coloured European-style building, awestruck. It's very large, about six-storeys high. It's a castle that just doesn't know when to stop. Above the front door is a fairly large shield with an asymmetrical outward curving sided top and a symmetrical upwards curving bottom is supported by a pine and a peacock. All of which rests on a small island surrounded by ocean. A large crown, or coronet, rests atop the shield, it's a crown of tines with pearls and two rows of similar gems decorate the outer sides. That must be the Royal Family's coat of arms.
As the car pulls up at the main entrance, the door opens and two well-dressed men step out. One of them is short and portly and middle-aged, with light brown hair that's balding at the top and a thick dark brown moustache. The other is even taller and skinner than the driver, with long limbs and a skinny torso. He has a very sharp jaw and a pointy chin, and like his partner has short light brown hair – but it's a full head of hair – that's styled in a sprout-shaped cowlick and a soft and fluffy dark brown moustache. He's dressed in a black suit and tails, like a butler. They both kind of remind me of the Super Mario brothers.
The driver gets out of the car and opens the door for me. I step out and say, "Thank you" to him, just as the men walk down the set of stairs and stride towards me.
"Good evening, Miss Brownstone," the short man says in a strong Faärlandic accent. "Welcome to Harvonia Castle. My name is Niklas – I am Princess Astrid's secretary and advisor, formerly King Andreas' secretary and advisor."
"How do you do," I say, shaking his hand.
The driver takes my luggage to the butler, and then he goes back into the castle. The driver goes back into the car and drives off – probably to park it.
"If you would like to follow us," says Niklas, and heads inside.
I follow after him and the butler up the stairs and go through the front door, into a large entrance hall. My mouth hangs open when I'm greeted by the sight of the vast room. The entrance hall is so big you can have fit a whole house in it. The ceiling is incredibly high with a large and grand scale chandelier hanging above us. Right from above, light shines from the chandelier which glows against the wonderful, painstakingly crafted interior decorations. The walls are decorated with the finest materials and craftsmanship. A magnificent marble staircase facing us leads to the upper floors. There is also a balcony above the entrance hall.
I am in such awe that I don't even realize that Niklas and the butler have gone ahead without me. I follow after them up the grand staircase. A truly royal feel is achieved by the rich red tapestry the lines the route to the upstairs rooms.
I reach the top of the staircase to the first-floor corridor that and catch up with them. Two more staircases lead up to the second floor. I turn my attentions back to the secretary and the butler where they both enter an elevator located in the recess in front of me. I step in with them and Niklas presses the button for the fourth floor. The doors close and the lift goes up.
The doors ping open when we reach our floor and Niklas ushers me out into a long and wide corridor that's ahead of us, with polished marble floors and chandeliers. The wall decorations are a combination of fine art plaster work and precious metals such as bronze. A series of cream-coloured doors is punctuated by gold-framed paintings, peering down at us – grim men with jutting chins and women in profile with long noses, all wearing grand and regal attire.
"I wonder who they are," I mutter to myself.
"These are the royal ancestors of the princess," Niklas replies. I didn't think he heard me. "They have ruled Faärland for over seven hundred years."
"Whoa," I murmur.
Niklas and the butler lead me along the corridor to cream-coloured double-doors at the far end of the corridor. The butler stands aside as Niklas opens the door before stepping out of the way. "You will be staying here," he says.
I step inside. My room is large, decorated in a spectrum of red hues, crimson velvets, and silk wall hangings. There's a four-poster bed and a set of windows looking out to a large open space that's calm, green and vibrant. That must be the garden. The overall shape is rectangular – and it's divided in two. The north eastern half is has a huge circular parterre with a powerful fountain in a pond at its centre.
The south western of the garden is itself divided in two, either side of a grassy path that extends along a line from the centre of the castle. To the left of this path is a grove of tall trees. Beyond the trees is a croquet lawn and beyond that is an orchard. The right hand quarter of the garden focuses on two ponds with fountains and a central pyramid garden, in which plants are trained up wooden pyramids.
I can spot a shade of darker green that borders the edges of the garden – the forest, maybe. My bags are lying on the bed.
"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Brownstone," says Niklas. "Dinner will be ready in half an hour. I'll come and collect you then."
He and the butler take their leave, with the butler closing the door after he leaves. I go over to my bags and start to unpack. When I finished I decide to explore my room – and when I say explore, I mean check for bugs. I dig into the side pocket of my white bag and take out a tin case. There's a pen inside the case when I open it. But it's not just any pen – it's a Pen Bug Detector. Zeke gave it to me before I left. As the name suggests, this compact wireless device can detect bugs. When a wireless signal is detected, the red indicator LED will blink. The frequency of the blinking LED will increase as I come closer to the signal source. This system will detect a wireless signal that is video, audio or data. The stronger the original signal strength, the farther away it can be detected. It's portable and inconspicuous, making this unit perfect for an agent on international missions.
I twist the top of the bug detector, activating it, and begin scanning for any wireless signals. I look everywhere: under the bed, the canopy above the bed, the drawers and wardrobes, and the en-suite bathroom. The rooms are clean after spending ten minutes looking in every nook and cranny with the device.
I twist the pen again, deactivating it, and I have a quick shower. When I'm finished, I give my hair a quick drying-off and get ready for dinner. I put on a stunning black-and-golden lace cocktail dress with long sleeves and high neckline. My accessories feature dramatic earrings, a sleek bracelet and strappy black high-heeled sandals. Next, I straighten my hair and apply make-up, and lastly I put in the Camera Contact Lens.
There's a knock on the door. Dinner must be ready. I open the door to find Niklas standing in the doorway.
"Ready just in time, Miss Brownstone," he says. "And I must say you look lovely."
I smile. "Thank you, Niklas."
"Follow me."
Niklas leads me along the corridor and down the stairs to another corridor. We come to one of the double-doors and he opens them for me. The room is medium-sized but grand nonetheless, with a mirror hanging over the fireplace to the right of me and an equally large round table in the centre with silverware and glassware laid out and a floral centrepiece. Six polished wood chairs surround the table.
"The princess will be here shortly," Niklas says, and leaves.
I walk over to the set of windows opposite the doors and look to the lush, friendly view that I see from my newly-appointed bedroom window. Darkness has fallen, but I can see that some of the trees near the castle are lit with coloured lamps so they glow royal blue and emerald green. It looks strange yet magical at the same time.
I hear the door open. I whirl around in time to see Niklas and two manservants enter the room.
"I present to you Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Astrid. And her lady-in-waiting, Ophelia Ingebreston," Niklas announces.
The two women enter the room. Princess Astrid looks even more beautiful in the flesh. She is of average weight and height, albeit she's slightly shorter than me. Her golden-blonde hair cascades effortlessly across her shoulders. Astrid is wearing a strapless cocktail dress with shirring details, paired with a matching bolero jacket with shimmering black and gold overlay. Matching belt with diamond buckle cinched at the waist, diamond earrings and bracelet, and black peep-toe shoes complete her flattering ensemble.
Her lady-in-waiting, Ophelia, is taller than the princess and me, and full-figured. Her skin is gold like honey and her hair is a very dark shade of brown, pulled back in a low ponytail. Her right eye is dark blue while her left eye cannot be seen as it is covered by an eye patch. Ophelia is dressed in a stylish ensemble composed of a sheer black chiffon blouse with built-in bustier and smart black high-waist trousers. The look is completed by black high-heels and earrings.
I do a small curtsey in the presence of the princess. She steps towards me, walking diligently and swiftly on her toes like a ballerina, despite wearing high-heeled shoes. A polite smile spreads across her face. "As you people say in Britain when meeting someone, how do you do," she says, extending her hand.
She's being reading up on British etiquette.
I shake her hand and smile back. "How do you do, Your Royal Highness," I say. I shake Ophelia's hand. "How do you do?"
"Hello," she replies.
"I take that you are the person the British government sent to protect me," says Princess Astrid.
"That's correct, Ma'am," I respond. "My name is Agent Jenny Brownstone of MI9."
"Pleasure to meet you, but there's no need to be formal with me. You can call me Astrid."
"Oh." I surprised that someone of a royal status would want me to address her by her first name. "Um, all right… Astrid. You can call me Jenny – or Jen."
She continues to smile at me. "Let us be seated."
Niklas and the two manservants pull out chairs for Astrid, Ophelia and me. I wait for the princess to be seated first, followed by Ophelia, and then I take my place. The three men bow at us from the neck and leave the room, closing the door behind them.
"You must forgive the sombre attire that Ophelia and I are wearing," says Astrid. "We have just returned from the funeral of Apollonia."
"Apollonia?" I question.
"The maid who died two days ago," Ophelia tells me.
"Oh yes, I was told about… that," I say, not sure how I could put it. "I'm very sorry for your loss. How long was she here?"
"Nearly two years next month," the princess replies. She shakes her head and sighs. "It's so tragic – she was only twenty-six. And it's that madman's fault – the one who's out to get me."
"You mustn't get so stressed about this, Astrid," says Ophelia. "It's not good for you."
"But I can't help it! There's a maniac who is out to kill me, and he sent a dress that was meant for me. What would have happened if I was the one who tried that dress on? I could have been the one lying dead and buried, not her."
Astrid strives to be strong, but she looks like she's about to cry.
"Did the coroner tell you how the poison got into the maid?" I ask.
"The doctor who examined her said he found traces of formaldehyde in her body that had soaked through her pores when she wore the dress," Ophelia explains.
"I thought the dress was laced with embalming fluid."
"Embalming fluid largely consists of formaldehyde."
"Oh. Where is the dress?"
"It has been disposed of – I saw to it myself."
"If only Apollonia threw away the dress like I told her to, she might still be here," Astrid mourns.
"You can't change what has happened, Astrid," I tell her. "But rest assure I will find the person responsible for Apollonia's death – as well as the person who is out to kill you. You can count on it."
The princess gives a small smile. "Thank you, Jenny. I am very grateful."
There's a knock at the door and Astrid tells that person to come in. Niklas and the two same manservants enter the room, each holding silver platter with dome cover. They place the dishes in front of me, Astrid and Ophelia, and then they remove the cover, revealing the dish.
"Ladies, I present to you barbecued basil and mint pork with dried honey and almond rice, and simmered ginger chutney, with dry-roasted beets and lemon oysters on the side," Niklas announces.
My mouth is practically slavering like a waterfall at the sight of the extremely appetizing food in front of me.
"Jonathan has done it again," says Astrid, taking in its glorious smell. "Give my compliments to him."
"Yes, Ma'am," Niklas says with a bow, and exits the room. The two manservants also bow and follow Niklas out of the room, with one closing the door behind him.
"You are going to love Jonathan's cooking!" says Astrid raves to me. "He has been serving my family for many years, serving up dishes that are out of this world. He is a cookery god."
I'm about to take a spoonful of my food when a thought comes to me. This person who wants to kill Astrid will try anything to have her eliminated – even maybe poisoning her food!
I watch in horror as the princess is about to take a bite of her barbecued basil and mint pork. "Wait, Astrid!" I cry, startling her and Ophelia.
"What is it, Jenny? What's wrong?" she asks.
"I'm sorry to have scared you, Astrid, but I need to inspect your food," I say.
"What?" she and Ophelia say at the same time. "Why?" Ophelia asks.
"There may be a chance that someone could have slipped something into your dish," I counter.
"You mean poison?" Astrid asks, and I nod. "Then by all means," she says, pushing her plate over to me.
I pull up my sleeve to reveal my watch-communicator. I open up the device and use the digital watch face to scan each of the food on the plate while I look at the screen to see if anything comes up. But after about a minute, I come up empty. I also check the wine, but it's clean.
"It seems that I was wrong," I say, pushing Astrid's plate back to her. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize – you were just doing your job," she says. "And I think that's what you should do before I have my meal, so I'll know it's safe to eat. Speaking of which, let's dig in!"
We settle down and have our meal. Astrid is right when she said that Jonathan's food is out of this world. I can taste all the flavours of the food explode on my tongue like Pop Rocks. My compliments go to him too. While we eat, Astrid tells me about life on Faärland as a princess, and its traditions. Ophelia doesn't say much about her life, other than the fact that she comes from a family in 'good society', she wears an eye patch because she has ptosis (the drooping of one eyelid) and she's been the princess' lady-in-waiting for almost three years – though Astrid considers Ophelia as a companion to her rather than a personal assistant (which is what a lady-in-waiting really is). Afterwards we have dessert – chocolate and wine fruitcake – and it was scrumptious. I had to scan Astrid's fruitcake to see if was safe to eat – and it was.
When we finished our dinner Astrid suggests we go to the parlour for some after-dinner drinks – but Ophelia declines, saying that she would like to have an early night. She bids us goodnight and heads to her room. I choose to stay for a nightcap, and Astrid takes me to the parlour.
It is exceptionally large and lavishly decorated. The room displays the best furnishings, the finest works of art I have ever seen and other status symbols. I'm impressed by how grand the room looks – but stop when I see a portrait that catches my eye.
It's a huge gold-framed oil painting that's hanging over the fireplace of what appears to be a very happy couple and their daughter. The girl looks to be about two or three years old, with golden-blonde, neck-length hair, large brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and a tiny nose. Her dress appears to be pink with a lighter skirt section, and white tights. On her footsies is a pair of red baby dress-shoes. The girl is sitting on the lap of the woman who looks elegant and delicate-looking, possessing captivating hazel eyes, full red lips and rosy cheeks. Her complexion is fair and flawless, and her face looks refined, giving her appearance of maturity. She is dressed in a beautiful light blue, ivory, and golden gown decorated with lace and a golden bow. Her luxurious platinum blonde hair is upswept. Finally, she wears dangling golden earrings, a golden ribbon choker, and a regal crown to show her royal station. The man is lean, fairly well built and strikingly handsome, with dark brown hair and very neat facial hair (kind of like Robert Downey, Jr. when he plays Tony Stark in the Marvel films), and odd-coloured eyes – the left eye is a dazzling shade of green and the right eye is a dark blue. He's dressed in a royal outfit that consists of a cream royal jacket, red trousers with a gold stripe, golden belt, black boots and white gloves.
Unlike the other portraits in hanging in the room, this one looks like it was painted only recently – nearly twenty years ago, maybe.
"That's me when I was around two years old with my parents," I hear Astrid say. "The portrait was commissioned before my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It's beautiful, don't you think?"
"It truly is – as was your mother," I reply. "And your father looks very handsome."
"Thanks. People say that I look like my mother when I like to think that I'm really like my father. He was a bright, spirited man with a strong passion for adventure and exploration. I remember when he once told me that many years ago when he visited London for a state visit, he snuck out of the Buckingham Palace for a night out on the town and he didn't come back until the early hours of the following morning."
"Wow. Your father was a bit of a rebel, wasn't he?"
"He sure was." Astrid sighs. "I still can't believe he's gone. I miss him so much – mother too, but she died when I was young so I never really got to know her like I did with my father. I had a close relationship with him, and I adored him. What will I do without him – especially since there's something out there who wants me dead? And there's also the other matter of me being crowned Queen this weekend. How can a rule a country by myself? I wouldn't know what to do…"
"I'm sure your father taught you everything you need to know about ruling Faärland before his untimely death. He knows that you will be an amazing Queen, and even though either he or your mother is no longer here to see you be crowned Queen, I'm sure that are watching you from Heaven and that they are both very proud of you. Besides, you will have Niklas and Ophelia by your side so they can teach you what is necessary to be a monarch."
Astrid is momentarily speechless. Then she breaks into a smile. "Thank you, Jenny. Thank you for those kind words."
"You're welcome."
We settle down in front of the fireplace and Astrid pours us some brandy. She raises her glass and says traditional toast and we both take a deep swig of the brandy. Then Astrid spends the next hour talking more about her parents and her other relatives – Sigurðr, too. I decide to wait until tomorrow to talk about her uncle and his disappearance as she's already emotional about her parents and the burying of Apollonia.
Soon it was time for us to go to bed, with Astrid promising me a tour of the castle tomorrow. We head upstairs to our rooms – it turns out that the princess' bedroom is a couple of doors away from mine. We say goodnight to each other and go into our rooms.
I sit at my dressing table and remove my jewellery, make-up and shoes. I'm about to unzip my dress when I realize that I'm still wearing my Camera Contact Lens. I don't want people who are watching the feed right now see me undress – unless it's Frank. Maybe I'll treat him to a little striptease – I bet he's missing me already. Perhaps I should give him a call and find out how he's coping without me.
Then a thought occurs to me.
What if someone has come into my room and placed a bug in here? I know the room was clean when I first got here, but I've been gone for a few hours. And during that time, the person could have used the opportunity to come in here and hide a bugging device. I need to give this room a quick sweep before I do anything else.
I go over to my bag that's in the wardrobe and take out the Pen Bug Detector. I twist to activate it and swing it around me, following the lines of the walls. The red light suddenly starts blinking. I walk forward, holding the Pen Bug Detector along the wall. The light blinks faster, more intensely. I reach a portrait, hanging next to the bathroom, depicting an innocent scene of a ship at sea. I twist the top to deactivate and carefully lift the canvas off the wall. Just as I thought – a bug is taped behind it, a black disc about the size of a ten pence piece. It's obvious that the person who placed the bug is someone in this castle – and this person wants to know what I'm doing every minute of the day and night during my stay here.
I put the painting back. There is only one bug in the room. The bathroom is clean.
There has to be a way to contact MI9 without the person listening in on my conversation. Then an idea comes to me. I can use the Camera Contact Lens to send messages!
I go back to my bag in the wardrobe and take out an A4 notepad. The Pen Bug Detector works as a functioning pen so I use it to write my message. I return to the dressing table and start writing.
When I'm finished, I hold the notepad up in front of me with the following message:
Hi Frank, I hope you're OK.
Sorry I can't get in touch with you. As you saw with the Camera Contact Lens, my room has been bugged. It seems that the person who's plotting to assassinate Astrid is someone in the castle.
Anyway, I wanted you to know that I'm all right as I know you're worried about me (don't lie). I love and I miss you.
Hugs and kisses,
Jenny
After a minute of holding up the notepad, I tear the paper out and rip it up to pieces. Then I take off the Camera Contact Lens and put them away in its case. I change out of my dress to my pyjamas and I get into bed.
I lie in bed and close my eyes to get to sleep, but questions keep floating around in my head. Who in the castle planted the bug in my room – the same person who is plotting to have Astrid killed? Why do they want her dead? What could have Astrid done to make this person do this? Whatever it is, I'm the only person who can stop them – and I hope I can do it before the coronation.
After spending five minutes of tossing and turning and sighing and pummelling my pillow, I finally settle down and fall asleep.