I know what you're thinking; Marzia, or Raine, or whatever your name is, surely the slight possibility of getting to go home is a good thing? Absolutely not.

You're probably saying; what a load of crap, you're just a drama queen.

Well, there I'd have to agree with you, but probably for different reasons.

I'll tell you why I think this whole situation is bullshit, and you'll finally get the answers you've been really dying to know. Get your pen and paper kids, I'll be testing you on this later, and I'm only gonna say it once.

I am a princess.

I am the heir to the throne of Alania, after my father.

Dun, dun, dun.

Yeah, yeah, what a lie. Well, hang on with your judgments for a second.

This whole story starts with a little country nestled just above France, called Alania. In the current world climate, aside from it's worth of a big bunch of bucks from its natural resources and tendency to produce diamonds, it's one of the last countries with a royal family who actually influence laws, economy and other general country things.

And this story involves my grandfather, Myron Castille who was a mere thirty-two years old when he took the throne. You might be saying, Marzia (or Raine, I still don't have a clue) that's awfully young to be the king of a country. And with that, disembodied voice, I agree with you.

Unfortunately this is where our story starts to go a little sour, and when I say a little sour, I say it with a pinch of salt, given this is the part of the tale where my great grandfather, Abbington and his eldest son, Sterling are assassinated.

Naturally as the last living heir, my grandfather assumed the role and vowed to smoke out the agency that was responsible for the deaths of his father and brother, king and heir.

Myron tried his best, but it's difficult being a king and it's even harder being a king when you're also a husband and recent father to two small children, my aunt Rosemary, born just a few years after my father Perseus, the born heir to the throne of Alania and my father.

Time passed, and while whispers around the kingdom grew and reproduced, the king was never able to hold anyone responsible. And this is where I start to fit into the story a little.

We flash forward to the very long ago year of 1982, where my twenty year old father Perseus Henri Etienne Castille, heir to the throne of Alania, meets my mother, seventeen year old Bonnie Jessica Ainsworth, small time architecture student, in the capital city East Laumant. East Laumant, known fondly as East, is said to be the birthplace of love itself, and can you guess what happens next?

Call it destiny, call it royal protocol, call it a monarchy romance that wasn't thought out too well, but within five years they were married, and within seven my brother Christopher Etienne Perseus Corbin Castille was wreaking havoc around the castle. Personally, I put it down to an assassination attempt, but whatever, call it true love if you want.

Mum and dad's quickie marriage was a reaction to an attempted kidnapping of my mother as a way to hold the royal family to ransom. Of course, my mother rejected the logical decision to maybe, go home to England and marry a boring lawyer, and instead married the crown prince, my dad, believing in her deepest heart of hearts that it was the right decision.

And maybe it was, for a while.

But the bad decisions were soon to arrive, one in 1991, named Charles Abbington Matthew Cody Castille, the second son of the Castille union, and then finally another in 1996, a little unexpected bundle (I was a mistake) named Marzia Minnie Beatrice Erin Annie Castille, the final and only daughter of the prince of Alania.

For those of you who are confused, that would be me. Hi there.

And if you're keeping up with this tale, props to you, but it's about to get a lot more confusing. You're probably asking, but Marzia, if your brothers are Chris and Charlie, who is Emilio and why does he like houseplants so much? I can't answer that last one, but other than that, strap in.

My whole childhood was riddled with kidnappings and attempts on my life, as well as my parents, brothers and the king himself, not forgetting my beautiful and brilliant grandmother, the queen.

Safe to say, my family didn't take day trips much, considering in the twelve years I lived in my home kingdom, I almost died at the hands of a vengeful kidnapper a whopping five times.

And I say at the hands of a murderous attacker, because between the antics I would get myself into, and the situations my brothers would inflict on me, I almost died accidentally thousands more times than that.

And here's where the story starts to really hit home. Aged twelve, with a bright outlook on the world, and an older brother who would rather die than see me get hurt, Chris and I were taken from a family charity event and held captive in a warehouse south of the river for three months.

For ransom, for personal pleasure? No one quite knew why, we still don't.

My brother died in front of me, still trying to keep a smile on his face, even when his chest was filling with blood from a tear to a vein so deep in his lungs there's no way we could've known it was there.

My brother was the bravest man I had ever known, and will ever know.

But our misfortune is not yet finished, my friends. Remember how I told you I had two brothers? That leaves Charlie as your father's heir, not you Marzia, do you know nothing of royalty? Well, keep your snide comments to yourself, I'm getting there.

After our brother's death, we were both allocated protectors, Emilio, the best prodigy agent of his time and our cousin if you looked far enough back in our family tree, would live in London with me, and Charlie was told he would be going to live with a retired bodyguard in New Zealand who had cared for us when we were little.

But when the time came to part with our brother for the final time at his funeral, Charlie's escort car was blown up.

Wait, Marzia, both brothers died?

Well, no. But also, kinda yes. My brother escaped the blaze with minor injuries but it was 'leaked' from the hospital that the young prince had died from complications from the explosion.

In a desperate attempt to protect Charlie from the same fate as his brother, my grandfather and father decided the best way forward was to pretend my brother was a victim of the deadly attack so people would stop attempting.

You can't kill a dead person. Their logic was impeccable.

And it worked, but seemingly a little too well. No word has been heard from my brother in the whole six years since his disappearance. Disappeared being the key word. The day he was supposed to turn up in New Zealand to start his new life, he went missing.

We would've suspected foul play, had it not been for a note that emerged, written in his scrawny seventeen year old handwriting, 'Zia, I love you. Try not to terrorise Emilio too much, he's a good guy. Don't look for me, I'll be back when the time is right - C.'

To the world he is dead. To the world, princess Marzia lost both her brothers and had to flee the country to deal with the loss. To the world, I am prince Percy Castille's only remaining heir to the Alanian throne.

And that's how little Marzia Minnie Castille, the second heir to the throne of Alania became Raine Olivia Carson, a poor and lowly student from London who had been pitied and given a scholarship to the most prestigious academy in Britain.

It's how I went from a castle with my family in my very own country, to a crumbling apartment with an eighteen year old distant relative in London, Emilio.

But props to Emilio, he wasn't your average eighteen year old graduate, but a member of a secret society (which never seems all that secret actually) the ACS, Alanian Civil Service. I have suggested many times that it should be renamed Alanian Secret Service, but apparently ASS doesn't evoke the same amount of fear.

Emilio's high intelligence, accuracy in combat and excellence in finding ways to entertain a recently orphaned twelve year old made him a perfect fit for me.

And he really has been the perfect fit. Forgetting that he is paid to keep me alive, he is my best friend and the most genuine twenty-four year old homosexual that I have ever had the pleasure of spending time with.

Understandably, we couldn't tell my school that he was there to keep me breathing, and so the cover story we have lived with the past six years has been me and my brother Emilio, together against the world.

Oh, you have another question? Go ahead. Marzia, why can't you just pass up the throne if it's so dangerous? Surely no one would blame you. Ah little one, so naive. But I'm glad you asked, imaginary other half of this conversation. Remember how I told you my birth was an accident? Shall I tell you who's wasn't? My other three siblings.

Yeah, that's right, the story doesn't quite end yet folks. I was correct in telling you I was the last of the Castille children, but I was not the last of my mother's children. Bonnie wasn't quite yet finished unloading her offspring upon the world.

Around my eighth birthday my mother decided she couldn't carry on living in the castle with my father, apparently five assassination attempts on her children were too much for her to handle.

So low and behold, like fifty percent of marriages, they got a divorce. And with that same statistic in mind, I was the bridesmaid at my mother's second marriage to Lars Wilquette the Third only a year later.

I would now like to take the time to introduce my other three siblings, Adanna, aged a whole nine, Tegean, the little age of half a decade, and Ansel, who is yet to have his first birthday. You're probably wondering why my mother would keep having babies given what happened to the first three. I can't answer that in the slightest, and I couldn't even begin to try.

But back to why I can't give up the throne, thank you for waiting patiently. If I reject the throne, with no other heir to fall back on, it passes to the Moreau bloodline, and that would - well, that would be wonderful and solve most of my problems actually.

Except for the fact that the Moreau bloodline intensely dislikes the Castille clan, and would blatantly refuse to keep us in any way protected. That means exposing my mother and her new family, my little sisters and baby brother and Charlie, wherever he is in the world. Now you probably understand why I'm a little stuck.

Also, I love my country and my people. It's sometimes just as simple as that.

So there we are, all caught up on the tragic life story of Marzia Minnie Beatrice Erin Annie Castille, or Raine Olivia Carson, however you want to look at it.

'Leo, I missed the bus again.' I hiss.

Since last night's revelation, I hardly slept a second and it made this morning all the more difficult to wake up. And, it made it all the more difficult to walk to the bus, shown by the fact that it just pulled away, with me not on it.

'Get the next one.' He whines back.

I feel bad for waking Emilio. I know there's been some long nights in preparation for last night and after the new meeting tonight, I don't think he got to bed until early hours this morning.

For this meeting he needs to know everything about my life. My height, my weight, my diet, and even how often I shower. You can imagine how long it all takes.

'I'll get detention tonight if you make me do that, I've already had a late mark this week.' I grumble, 'Can you at least call and say I've had a dentist appointment or something?'

After some shuffling which I simply deem Emilio rolling over in hope of blocking out the light from his window, he yawns loudly.

'Marzia, do you realise what the agency would do to me if I did and hadn't written it in the report?' He replies snappily.

Without any more fuss, I hang up, muttering something about being late home. I stub my boots into the gravel and utter a few cuss words to myself before sitting down on the stupid tilted bus stop seats and pulling my hood over my head to protect my ears from the cold.

Then there's a toot of a horn in front of me. I ignore it at first, car horns aren't exactly rare in London. But when it happens again, I look up to see what all the fuss is about. There, parked in front of me, is Asher Thorne, window down and staring at me.

'Carson, do you need a lift?' He shouts through the drizzling rain and background of traffic noise.

I squint my eyes and walk to lean over his car. He doesn't seem to have any explosives or cameras, or anything else to indicate he wants to kill or embarrass me. He's actually looking at me as if I don't repulse him.

'Not to be dramatic, but I'd rather die.' I grin.

Surprisingly, Asher actually smiles back and unlocks the door, 'Just get in Carson.'

I couldn't tell you why I actually did. Maybe I was hoping I wouldn't get detention given that it's already been a long week and if I'm late for the meeting tonight, Emilio will murder me. Maybe it was because of the rain, or maybe I couldn't be bothered waiting for the bus. Either way, I got in.

The first few minutes pass in silence until Asher turns the radio on, playing with the buttons on the fancy console in the middle. A top charts song comes wafting out and I realise how grateful I am for the lift, especially with the heated seats warming my butt.

'How come you're not taking the bus?' I ask.

Asher looks at me as he changes the heat settings for his windshield, probably wondering why I'm asking him this. I can't say I know why myself, but hey, it's better than an awkward silence. And these warm seats have really relaxed me.

'I have an appointment with a tailor after school so it made more sense to drive.' Asher shrugs. I nod along as we reach the suburbs, then slowly the more countryside scenery that surrounds Thorne Academy.

'Well you're a good sport.' I chuckle, kicking my boots up on the dashboard. With hardly a second's difference, Asher's hand swats at my knees so they come tumbling back down to the footwell. When he's not looking, I knock the gear stick into neutral and the car makes a sound like metal scraping against metal. Asher's hand shoots down to fix the problem.

'When is being a good sport going to actually start benefitting me?' He whines.

'Such a humble and selfless spirit.' I roll my eyes, 'How on earth are you still single?'

'Who says I am?' He grins.

'I have reason to believe that you're talking out of your arse.' I tell him.

'And what reason would that be?' He raises his eyebrows.

'There's an entire website dedicated to your previous girlfriends and potential love interests. Grace Settlby was coming up in first place if I remember rightly.' I grin.

'Sounds like you've spent a lot of time on this website.' He suggests.

'I'm the photographer, I'm credited right at the bottom, you just have to look really closely.' I laugh, 'All those ones through your bedroom window and in the shower in the gym changing rooms.'

'I'll be sure to keep an eye out for you next time.' He jokes and I shudder at his implication, 'You could come join me.'

'I'd rather stick a fork in a toaster, or more preferably, your eye.' I squirm and he laughs at my reaction.

The radio has now moved to talking and I can't help but prick my ears up when my family name comes through the speakers. Asher looks over as I increase the volume, confused as to why I'm touching his precious car. He moves his glasses further up his nose, almost as if thinking his eyes must be faulty and tricking him.

'...And after this classic from Adele, we're going to talk about the hottest topic this morning. We've got huge news coming out of Alanian royal family, the Castille clan. All coming just after this...'

Normally, I'm all for Adele, she can serenade me any day of the week. Today however, I'm desperate to not be the last human being on earth to know what's going on with my family. Asher glances at me as my mood stiffens and I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat.

'I wonder what they've done now.' Asher says.

Ooh, this boy is pushing it.

'Meaning?' I reply angrily. The tone causes Asher to smirk, knowing one of my famous rants is no doubt on its way, 'With what they've been through, do you want to cut them a little bit of slack?'

'No, don't get me wrong, I'm Alanian myself, and I love the royal family. I admire them a lot actually. I wrote a politics paper on the princess.' Asher says, defending himself.

This I didn't know and it excites me greatly.

'Marzia?' I ask, even saying the name in front of Asher sending a shiver of mischief down my spine. He nods, 'What was your paper on?'

This is a dumb question and it's dangerous. Asher knows better than anyone my lack of interest in our studies, and more than once I've made fun of him for his political dedication. There's no way he's going to believe I'm just interested in Alanian royal bloodlines all of a sudden.

'Well the project was about an admirable political figure, as opposed to most of the people we see now. I was going to write it about the king, Myron, but I just thought the princess was more resilient. I wrote about her upcoming responsibilities within the monarchy.' Asher says, 'I wonder where she is now.'

'She's probably closer than you think.' I mutter to myself.

'What?' Asher asks, not hearing me. I shrug away my comment and within seconds, Asher continues to cover the silence, 'It's gotta be hard to go through what she went through. It's basically a bad childhood on steroids. Almost everyone's parents get divorced, but how many twelve year olds have to go through the death of a brother and then complete loss of a family too?'

The irony of the situation makes me uncomfortable. If my cover wasn't so permanent and solid, I'd suspect Asher of maybe knowing more than he said. But he can't. I stay quiet to be careful for a few seconds until something strikes me.

He said one brother. He said, 'the death of a brother'. According to the whole world, Charlie is dead too. Marzia lost both brothers, ask anyone, everyone knows. It was huge news. The only people who know Charlie's alive are those really high up in the ACS but-

'We're here.' He announces.

I break from my thoughts to find Asher parked in the school lot. Already Cade, Phineas and Lennox are making their way towards us. The confusion crosses their face as Asher and I leave the car, both of us with no anger on our faces or any life threatening injuries.

'Do you want a ride home after school?' Asher asks, 'My tailor lives around your area.'

I blink. Then I blink again. He's standing halfway out of his car, the door tucked under his elbow. I wait a few seconds for him to tell me it's a joke, because surely he can't be serious.

By now his friends are standing just behind him, waiting for the punchline to be revealed. After a few more seconds, Asher sighs and puts a hand to his forehead.

'Okay, clearly you're in the middle of a psychotic break from reality. If you want a lift, meet me by the car tonight.'

And with that, he strides away, taking his posse with him. They instantly crowd around him, keeping our conversation between them so as not to ruin Asher's pristine rep. It takes a second for the intense shock to wear off for me to set off towards the building.

It's not until second period when I'm smashing clay onto the mixing table in art that I start to feel a sense of normalcy. Mainly in the words being thrown my way.

'Raine you're getting it everywhere!'

'You're splashing me!'

'It's all over me!'

Ah at last, some familiarity.

All of a sudden, a small first year comes bumbling into the room, a slip of paper in his hands and a fear on his face at the sixth years. The teacher lifts a lazy head in his direction and without a word he hands over the note and scurries away.

'Raine Carson.' Sir announces, reading aloud. 'Miss Van Doren wants to see you in her office right away.'

I tut. Guaranteed this is Asher's doing, he must have set me up this morning. I knew he would. I hear gasps of relief from the other students whose uniforms are already very dirty from my exploits with the clay.

My uniform is also ruined and I look around, suddenly cautious that there are cameras and Miss Van Doren is secretly watching everything we do. Actually, I would love that, I might be able to play back some of the gems of the times I've screwed with Asher.

I throw my bag over my shoulder and stomp away from class. Normally I love art, I have canvases all around my room, and Emilio and I like to paint things on walls, but when it's for a grade, I suddenly lose all interest.

By the time I reach the office, it's already been five minutes from the vast length of the school, and even then she's still busy with a student, so I'm told to wait in the chairs by her office.

Beside me are two fourth years, both pouring over a newspaper. They're arguing about who gets to hold it, and eventually one snatches it away, promising to read it out loud. I internally groan, brilliant.

'...It is said that the King of Alania has stepped down due to his declining health, and a spokesperson for the family has told the press in a conference that this has nothing to do with the recent threats made against the royal bloodline. Myron Castille was the longest ruler of the country, and said to take his place is his son and heir, Perseus Castille. The coronation is rumoured to be scheduled for December 25th, however this is yet to be confirmed.'

'Dude, find me someone who cares about foreign affairs.' The other whines, attempting a grab for the sports section.

My heart stops beating and for a moment, it feels like I'm underwater. Across from me, the boys have noticed my staring and now glare at me, their wrestling halted.

'What do you want Carson? You should try reading a paper, or actually writing one sometime.'

I roll my eyes, is there one person in this hellhole who doesn't hate me?

At that minute, Miss Van Doren appears and summons me.

'Yeah, I'll get right on that.' I say, snatching the foreign affairs section of the paper and marching away from them.

Miss Van Doren beams at me, but still manages to raise an eyebrow at the state of my uniform, untucked and covered in now dried grey clay. Just as I approach her, Asher appears in the office, also walking towards his aunt.

'Raine, I have your brother at the front desk, he says he's here to pick you up for your dentist appointment today.' She says.

I instantly realise why Miss Van Doren has called me here. Emilio must have read the papers, or listened to the radio, anything I've managed to avoid doing this morning. He's come to bring me home because within the last six hours, the worth of my life has increased by half.

Asher is standing behind me, his eyes narrowing behind his lenses, knowing full well that I said nothing about a dentist appointment this morning, and was expecting a lift home at the regular time.

'Oh, Asher darling, I need you in my office right away. We have some things to discuss about this evening.' Miss Van Doren grins and Asher steps her into her office.

She gives me one last smile before closing the door, but not before I notice a paper in Asher's hands, identical to mine. Just before the door slams shut, he holds the paper up to Miss Van Doren and begins to gesture to the front page.

With my new fast pace it takes only moments before the cold air of the courtyard hits me and I spot Leo in the corner of the parking lot. He's leaning against his piece-of-shit car (which you can't call a piece of shit to his face because he'd probably cry).

He's also holding a paper that seems identical to mine, and the one Asher was showing his aunt. The news is apparently everywhere today.

His roof is down and I can tell he broke a few speed limits getting here considering his hair is wild and untamed. He's wearing a suit again, except today it's beige and looks like the 90's infected him before breakfast.

'Have you seen this?' I say as soon as I get within shouting distance.

His head snaps up and he gestures his arms wildly, seeming to also signify his blindsightedness.

'What does he think, pulling this without telling me?' I snap.

'It's fucking nuts, get in the car.' Emilio says.

He slams his newspaper into the back seat of his car and shoves his body into the front, running a stressed hand through his hair.

'Sorry I had to pull you out Zia, but I figure there's some people that owe us an explanation.' He says, pulling away so fast from the lot that he leaves tyre tracks on the tarmac.

'Don't sweat it, you probably got me out of-' I cut myself off, knowing how much Leo disapproves of my behavioural record at school.

His concern feels brotherly, except for the knowledge that we are only very distantly related through some removed cousins and bastard children dotted here and there.

'Where are you taking us? The Alanian embassy?' I ask, recognising the familiar road back into the centre of London, forty-five minutes away from Thorne Academy if you sped and got lucky with the traffic.

'No, I'm taking you home.' Emilio says, a little too forcefully, 'I got a call, you're not to be out of my sight until the meeting tonight.'

It's the first time that I notice that something is off with Emilio and his eyes won't quite match mine. They dart around as if expecting that someone was going to jump out and scare him any second.

'Leo, what are you not telling me?' I ask.

He pulls up at a traffic light and I watch the colour red dance around his irises as he avoids glancing in my direction. A few seconds pass and he exhales, pushing a hand onto his heating forehead.

'They're sending you home.' He breathes.

'What?' I blow, swirling around in my chair.

'Only for ten days,' He gestures a hand to steady me, 'A trial week, over Christmas. But, I can't come with you.'

'Why not?' I ask, the anger and anxiety bubbling up.

'Apparently it's too dangerous. If people notice that all of a sudden, we both go missing, it might make it too difficult if you need to escape back to London. Also, it's easier to move one person, than two.'

'So I'm going completely unguarded?' I ask.

'Of course not, they're sending you a bodyguard.' Emilio soothes, 'He'll go with you for the week, then you'll come home, and then we'll evaluate whether or not London is permanent or you move back to Alania.'

'But that's moving two people, that makes no sense.' I argue.

'Kid, they'll explain it better okay? Just know that I'm trying.' Emilio sighs.

I stop pestering him then, the situation too high stakes to risk him getting too into his own head without my questions on top. There are thousands more things I'm dying to ask.

Who's my bodyguard going to be? Lord knows, before I lucked out with Leo there were some horror stories about bodyguards who couldn't quite live up to their job expectations. Either that or they were paid off to accidentally lose me in a park.

Is my mum going to be at the coronation? After six years I am finally going to meet my siblings, finally see how much Adanna has grown, not over pixels on Skype.

Maybe my brother will show up.

Due to Emilio's insane driving and breaking of several speeding limits and maybe even federal laws, we arrive back outside our apartment block in Camden Town far too quickly, a little area with a park elegantly named Primrose Hill.

Life, altogether in Primrose Hill, London is simple. It is so boring in fact, because nothing ever happens, that if you dropped someone off on a street corner with a blindfold on, they wouldn't expect that they were in busy, bustling London at all, let alone one of the busiest markets by the river.

The houses aren't overly fabulous, and the flats that stack on top of each other move with the wind on a particularly miserable day. Most of the windows of the abandoned warehouse at the end of the street are smashed, or graffitied, or sometimes both.

The west-side-story rival gangs like to have their 'face-offs' there, and some of the time, the shattered glass is just a result of a mis-aimed brick, intended for someone's skull. We're lucky if that's all that happens.

There are nights, weirdly usually a Tuesday, when there are fires and sirens and shouting, and those are the nights when Primrose Hill bonds together as neighbours to collectively hate the west-siders.

But today, even the almost deaf couple in the flat beside ours, look outside their window when they hear Emilio's car roaring down the road. Leo, despite being my best friend doesn't say a word the whole ride home, except to shout at traffic lights or people getting in his way.

'What's the plan?' I ask as we climb the stairs.

The question probably shouldn't be asked, Leo probably won't know the answer, but I can't stand the crippling silence anymore. Emilio stays quiet, as if he hasn't heard me, until after we enter our apartment and he falls against the closed door behind him.

'You'll get your protector tonight, and then I'm history for a week. You're all his.' Emilio shrugs, 'I'll come for the coronation, but otherwise I have to stay here, and you'll be there without me.'

There's a hidden sadness in Emilio's tone and it pains me that for the first time in six years, I'm going to be without him. We've been out of the country, on holidays and business trips that needed him, but we've never been apart.

We've been all over the world together, Japan, China, the Caribbean that time dad thought Emilio deserved a rest, or a reward, we weren't sure. We've been to places we didn't know the name of, and some that were so insignificant we can't even remember.

Of all the places Emilio and I have been, we've never gone a day without each other. Of course we've fought, who doesn't? But there hasn't been a second in my existence with Emilio that I ever wished for someone else.

He's my best friend, and I'm really going to miss him.

'Hey,' Emilio says, noticing the deflation in my shoulders, 'It's gonna be okay. It's ten days, and then you can come home.'

He crosses over to me and gives me a hug, quickly showing me that there's nothing I need to be worried about. I pause before talking again, not wanting to hurt him.

'My dad's going to be king. I'm going to be crown princess. I'm next in line.' I pause, as Emilio looks at me with concerned eyes, 'I need to be there for my country. I need to go home Emilio.'

'I thought you were going to say that.' He says and bites his lip, almost trying to hide a smile, 'I already brought it up. If that's what you want to do, then we're all going to support you.'

'But you-'

'Zia,' Emilio grins, 'If you want to go home, you can. It would actually be a positive for both of us.'

'I'd have to leave London. I'd have to move out and leave you here.' I push, anger rising from his nonchalance to me leaving.

'Marzia, I'm saying this would be a good thing, because I would get a promotion.' He smiles, 'You're looking at the royal protection agent for the crown princess of Alania.'

'You're already the royal protection agent for the crown princess of Alania. That's not a promotion.' I point out, dubious.

'Yeah, but this time I'd get to tell people about it.' He chuckles, 'If you go home, I come with you.'

'But my dad-'

'Stop.' Emilio takes my shoulders and keeps me at arm's length, 'It was the first term of the agreement all the way back when you were twelve. If you got settled with me, and it all worked out, I'd get to keep protecting you.'

I breathe a sigh of relief. My only reservation about leaving London, and finally going home was Emilio. I don't think my heart could stand losing another brother, even if this one wasn't related by blood.

'I'm going home.' I say, suddenly feeling so much more optimistic, 'And you're coming with me.'

'Only those who leave can come back.' He smiles, repeating a sentence he used to use to soothe me all those years ago, 'Your country awaits you kid.'