'Zia, you okay?' Asher asks as we leave his car outside Thorne Academy.

'Yeah, sorry. Just tired.' I excuse myself, even though the nerves in my stomach have nothing to do with how much sleep I had last night.

Asher locks his car behind us and guides me, hand on my back, towards the gates, knowing the pressure on my spine has been bugging me ever since he woke us up this morning.

'Did I keep you awake last night?' He asks, concerned.

Suddenly, there's a squeal from behind us. Startled, Asher drops his takeout coffee cup and spins around to see a fifth year staring at us with a shocked look on her face. Behind her are three other fifth years, all with their mouths open.

'What is the matter with you?' I seethe, too tired to deal with their attitude this morning.

Or any morning really.

'We knew it!' She says, in a pitch only dogs and babies will be able to comprehend, 'We knew you were together!'

'We're not together.'

'We're not together.'

Asher and I snap at the same time, both still feeling the awkwardness from having shared a bed the previous night. I look in his direction angrily, 'You should be so lucky.'

'I don't think that's helping.' Asher glares, gesturing to the girls who have started giggling again, 'Why would you think we're together? I'm doing it for extra credit.'

'Oh sure,' The girl rolls her eyes, 'You've only got to get her to attend classes. First you give her a lift to school in your brand new fancy car, and then you bring her to the winter-wonderland-sixth-year-get-together.' She lists.

'You actually called it that?' I ask.

'Everyone does, there was a Facebook group about it.' The girls says as if I'd just admitted I didn't know who Father Christmas was. 'Then you're both mysteriously off school yesterday, and you've just asked her if you kept her up during the night, so you're obviously sleeping together at least.'

'We're obviously sleeping together, I'm surprised it took you so long to figure it out. Now excuse me, I have to go make a scene.' I smile, gripping Asher tightly into a side hug before turning and stomping away from them, leaving Asher to defend us both for me.

Or should be doing. Instead, he's copied the fast pace of my footsteps and is following me into school.

'People are going to talk, Z.' He says, trying to get me to slow down.

'Let them talk, this is my last day at Thorne, don't forget.' I point out.

Asher stops suddenly behind me, presumably only just realising this. For a second, it seems like he looks almost sad, but then he shakes it away, yawning and running a hand through his messy hair.

'I'll see you at lunch?' He asks as the bell rings.

'Sure.' I smile.

He sets off walking towards the science block and I turn on my heel to walk the other way when Asher calls my fake name. I curse and turn around, an innocent look on my face that I'm hoping he won't notice.

'Where are you going? You've got philosophy.' He asks, confused.

'I just have to go and do something.' I lie.

His eyes narrow as if he can sense the deviance in me from half a corridor away, 'Do what?'

'Jesus I need to pee, is that okay with you? You spent so long in the bathroom this morning fixing up your hair that I didn't have time.' I say, hoping my anger will be enough to get him to stop questioning me, 'Is that alright or do you want to follow me into the cubicle too?'

He nods his head curtly, and then sets off again. This time, I wait until he's fully out of view before I look down at the car keys I took from his pocket when I hugged him. It was a good trick to learn, and it's been working for me from a young age when my brothers would steal food from me.

I jog away from the school quickly to avoid being seen. I know Asher is going to kill me for taking his car. He'll probably call it stealing, but I only need to borrow it. I was going to drive Emilio's, but because Asher slept over, I couldn't get out of riding with him.

The car roars to life and within minutes of trying to figure out his automatic pedals, I'm speeding down the road towards the airport.

*

'You're a fucking lunatic.' Loki says, a grin on his face, looking almost impressed.

'Are you going to invite me in, or are you just gonna stand there looking like an idiot?' I ask, my backpack holding my abandoned books and school uniform weighing down on my shoulder.

'Welcome to my humble abode.' He says, stepping aside to let me in, 'You're a day late though. I've been waiting in for you like you're an Amazon delivery.'

Okay, so maybe a time to explain has passed us. You're going to kill me, but just hear me out first, and if you still want to kill me then, just tell Asher that I hate him for me.

Yes, maybe I should be at school and not in Loki's sparse studio apartment in Paris, but sometimes desperate acts call for desperate measures, and I am more than desperate to bring my brother home.

I've known for a couple of years where Loki lives. When Emilio and I visited Paris last year, I actually snuck out of the hotel and came to see him. So when he supplied me a fake passport at the winter wonderland the other night, I knew what his plan was without having to ask.

I could have told Asher, I probably should have told Emilio. But I couldn't risk not being allowed to come. I've left a note. It is a note saying I've run away, but Emilio will get the joke, I hope.

'I wasn't sure you were going to make it.' Loki says as I perch myself on his sofa.

The room is cold and empty, and I know from every place Loki has ever lived that he travels light and could have to move at a moment's notice. He doesn't have affectionate pictures anywhere, or even curtains on his windows, just paper blinds.

His landlady, a kind old woman originally from Belgium has added a few little touches here and there, but nothing Loki has continued to care for. There's a fish tank, but Loki refuses to get a pet, there's a fruit bowl too which had some bananas and oranges when he first moved in that I had to remind him to throw out when they went green and fluffy.

She's put a few decorative pillows onto his sofa and hung some paintings on the walls, nothing Loki recognises or cares about, just one of the sea and another of some leaves. Loki says he doesn't understand why she bothers, but she spends Christmas alone I've heard, and I guess she's noticed that Loki does too.

Loki doesn't understand gestures of kindness, probably relating to his abusive single parent upbringing and his blindingly obvious abandonment issues, but I'm sure that's what she's doing. Loki laughed when I told him, so I kicked him in the shin and he shoved me over.

Standing in his living room, it's hard to remember that it's still December, given how bleak it makes me feel. I want to rush outside and find the nearest Santa Claus and tell him all my problems and have him give me a candy cane, but I decide I'll do that on the way home instead if I have time before my flight.

The only personalised area of his apartment is the inside of his wardrobe, where the doors are covered with his notes and scrapings of paper, trying to find my brother. I know somewhere in the room he keeps a photo of Chris and him, but it's nowhere that anyone could ever find it, believe me, I've tried.

'How'd you get here?' Loki asks, and hands me a glass of water I didn't realise I needed.

'I flew.' I say, swallowing the liquid, 'I figured that's what the passport was for.'

'Anyone know where you are?' He asks, knowing the agency aren't the biggest fans of Loki after what he did when I was fourteen, especially since they don't know the truth.

'I told Emilio I was going somewhere, but not Paris, and I paid for the plane ticket in cash, so they can't trace it.' I say, 'I parked the car a while out of the airport and got the bus in, so they can't find me that way.'

'Well Castille, I'm impressed.' He says, sipping his espresso, 'If I thought you were ballsy when you were fourteen, it's nothing on you as an adult.'

'They'll know I'm with you, but I can't do anything about that. You made quite an impression the other night, with Asher.' I point out, noticing the slight discolouration on Loki's nose, stretching underneath his eyes.

'The pet has a name.' He muses. I roll my eyes, 'Hey, has he been your bodyguard before? He looks familiar.'

'Nope, he's brand new.' I tell him.

'A virgin.' Loki raises his eyebrows, 'Cute.'

'Alright focus. My flight home is in four hours, you better start talking, and fast.' I demand.

Loki crosses to his wardrobe and swings the doors wider open so I can see his research. I stand behind him, eyes scanning over maps and red string. It's only a few seconds later that I see the polaroid in the bottom corner.

'Is this him?' I ask, unhooking the photo from it's paperclip. Loki nods.

The photo is slightly blurry and he's not central, but he's there. He's dressed all in black, the way he always does, and his hair is even darker than it used to be. It's the first picture Loki has ever managed to get of him. It's the first time I've seen him in six years. He's grown a stubble beard and his face is so familiar that it takes my breath away.

'He looks exactly like-'

'Chris, doesn't he?' Loki finishes, gazing at the photograph.

'The beard will have to go.' I chuckle, musing at how much it ages him.

'Oh absolutely, I almost risked my cover just to reach out and tell him how ridiculous he looks.' Loki laughs.

He says it as a joke, but I know how difficult it has been for Loki to keep his distance from Charlie. While Loki was Christopher's friend first, he's always had a soft spot for his troublesome little brother, and when Loki promised to watch over him, it was a promise he would do anything to keep.

He spent a few years with Charlie, dotted here and there over time. He helped him disappear from Alania back when Chris died, and ever since he's spent occasional months hauled up in an apartment with him, or sometimes Charlie has needed Loki's help, and he's all too willing to lend a hand.

Loki is a violent, dangerous person, and if my brother hadn't have trusted him more than life, I wouldn't ever have gone near him. Since I've known Loki, he's given me every reason to run, but I have to trust that Chris believed in him for a reason, and maybe I'm just yet to see it.

A buzz vibrates in my pocket and reminds me that I need to switch it off. Emilio's name flashes onto the screen just before it turns black, and it gets pushed to the bottom of my bag where it can't bother me.

'It only took them three hours to realise I was gone.' I count on my watch, 'I hope one of these days, nothing actually happens to me, or I'll be dead before they even notice.'

'Let's just do this, then we can get you on a plane and back home before they send the SWAT team to my apartment.' Loki says, pulling a stack of papers onto his lap, 'They always make a mess.'

'Speaking of mess.' I say, spreading papers across the desks and the floors.

I watch Loki's face scrunch up at the disturbance to his usual pristine and empty flat, and within minutes he's already trying to clear unnecessary documents away. The mug that holds my coffee salvation keeps spilling on the uneven carpet, which only serves to irritate him more.

There's a few minutes where I flick through folders and every time there's a photograph my heart skips a little bit, in hopes that it might be my brother. There's a polaroid of Chris' grave but other than that, there's nothing I recognise. Loki disappears into his room, muttering something about getting a sweater, as I carry on unloading things from his wardrobe.

Realistically, if Loki was to be broken into, by the people he falsely pledges allegiance to, they'd of course check the wardrobe that sits a few inches away from the wall in the middle of his living room. It sticks out like a sore wardrobe, especially since the only other noticeable thing in his apartment is a set of trainers next to the door.

I look up, completely lost in my own thoughts staring at the photograph of Chris' grave, which I have never seen in person. Loki hasn't come back, and there's something written in his shorthand and I can't decipher it. I quietly move across his floor, with the carpet that seems so new. I know Loki spends as much time as he can outside this apartment, but he's lived here for three years, and still never really broken it in.

I knock on his bedroom door and poke my head around as the latch clicks and swings back. I check by the wardrobe but can't spot him. Then I notice his hunched frame sitting on the very edge of his bed. He doesn't hear me, so I sit down beside him, wondering if his heavy breathing might in fact be crying.

I can't imagine Loki having a soul.

I put my hand on his shoulder and he flinches and straightens his back. It takes me a second, and he tries to cover it up with his hand, but I can see the thick rubber strap around his elbow and the protruding veins that are covered with track marks. I can't see the needle, but we don't need to discuss what he was about to do.

'What the fuck are you doing in here?' He snaps, shoving my shoulder so that my body faces away from him. He stands up and rips the arm of his jumper down. His black strands fall in front of his flared eyes, and they seem to be almost glowing green, 'I told you I was getting a jumper, get out.'

'You're not getting a jumper, you're getting high.' I snap, standing back up, 'I get that you're addicted and I can't do anything to help, but just give me a couple of sober hours and then you can do whatever you want. Chris wouldn't want this and you're scaring me.'

I feel bad using my brother to protect myself, but it seems to do the trick, because he boots closed his bedside drawer and stalks back out to the kitchen and starts to brew himself a few shots of espresso just to keep himself going. I try to ignore the fact that Loki seems worse than last year, worse than ever, and just keep focused.

After a couple of hours, I'm laid down on his floor, my drink empty and a map in front of me. Loki stands beside me, leaning against a chair, a whiteboard pen in his hand, ready to write down our findings. He's quietly simmered in his withdrawal sweat and shaking of his leg and we've said no more about what he was going to do.

'There's no way we can pin down how long he'll be there Zia, your only chance is before you go away.' Loki says carefully, knowing this isn't good news, 'There's no pattern to his movements, he could leave in a week, he could already be gone.'

'Loki, I can't go to Brighton, I leave for Alania tomorrow.' I gesture, angrily, 'I will go as soon as I'm home. Unless, you want to go for me?'

'I can't,' He tells me, 'I'm in the middle of something, I can't go. Plus I already had to leave the country to come find you in London, I can't go to Brighton too. They'll figure it out and find the both of you.'

'I'll go the day I get back to London.' I decide.

I take a notepad and pen and jot down the address that currently holds my big brother. Loki rubs away the details we have written on the whiteboard as soon as I have those too.

'I better get going, my flight leaves soon.' I say.

Loki stands up properly, as if he was going to hug me, but then changes his mind, and doesn't. He gives me a smile that I think is genuine, but Loki is one of the best actors I've ever seen so I wouldn't put it past him. I've noticed the complete itching and irritability he's had ever since I arrived, and I bet he can't wait for me to be gone.

There's no bad blood between us, there never has been, but we're not good with emotions, and so there's only a quick goodbye, promise of future communication and a warning to be safe, before I'm back on the streets of Paris, in a taxi on my way to the airport.

My fake passport is tucked in the front pocket of my bag and it stays there until I hand it over to the woman at the front desk, alongside my boarding pass. She's already confused as to why I've entered and plan to leave the country within a few hours, as well as not having any luggage.

That's why when her face scrunches up, and she types away on the keyboard with her little manicured nails, before the computer makes a beeping sound, I know it can't be good.

'I am sorry Miss,' She begins in her heavy french accent, 'But you are on the registered no fly list, I cannot allow you to board the plane.'

'Could you check again?' I ask, pulling out my phone to check to make sure there is no criminal background for Raine Carson that I didn't somehow know about.

Loki's good at this stuff. He's kept my name and all my personal records true to my passport, but just altered the details slightly so that it cannot connect to the passport I already have. It's like I'm Raine Carson's identical long lost twin.

Again, the computer beeps and the woman looks at me, 'I am sorry madam, your name is registered as being unable to fly with our airline.'

'What about another airline?' I ask desperately as my phone springs to life.

'Miss, you are labelled dangerous for a reason, I could not possibly allow you on any flight, with any airline.' Her tone has become harsh and cold, 'If you could step aside please, you are holding up our other guests.'

Dick.

I move myself to the side of the desk, sitting harshly down in the seats by the door. As Emilio's name flashes up on my phone again, after thirty-seven missed calls from him, and twenty-one from Asher, I suddenly realise what must have happened.

'Emilio?' I say into the receiver, to hear a gasp and the sound of me being put on speaker phone, presumably for Asher to hear.

'Zia, are you okay?' He asks quickly, and the urgency is evident in his voice.

'Yeah, I'm fine-' I begin.

'Good, but you're not going to be when you get back.' Emilio snaps, although I can tell he's relieved, 'I fucking hate you.'

'You have no leg to stand on.' I reply grumpily, 'You put me on the terrorist list.'

'It's actually the no fly list-'

'It's the terrorist list.' I interrupt, furious with him.

'You're not listed as dangerous, just more of a public nuisance.' He excuses himself.

'I didn't realise there was a hierarchy to the terrorist list.' I snap back.

I realise Emilio must have caught on to Loki's scheme by now. This isn't the first time I've ducked out of the country on the back of his passport trick. I guess today Leo just blocked them all. If there's another Raine Carson out there trying to fly today, they're gonna get a pretty nasty surprise that some Alanian agent they've never met has labelled them a terrorist.

'I was trying to stop you from leaving the country. Clearly it worked, where are you?' Emilio asks, typing away on his computer, probably trying to track me.

'You didn't keep me from leaving the country, you're stopping me from getting back into it.' I hiss, looking around to make sure no one can hear me beside the phone.

'You're not in the country anymore?' Emilio asks, sounding more angry than I've ever heard him before. 'Where the fuck are you, and why?'

'I'm in New Mexico. I hear it's better than just regular old Mexico.' I shrug.

'For once,' Emilio hisses, 'Just give a straight answer.'

'I'm in Paris.' I reply, deciding the only way Emilio is ever going to forgive me, is if I'm straight with him now. No jokes would be appreciated by this point.

'What the fuck are you doing in Paris?' Leo snaps.

'I needed to talk to someone.' I tell him, and I can hear Asher cuss in the background, realising exactly who I mean.

'Okay, I don't know if you forgot during your psychotic break, but we live in the 21st century, with phones.' Emilio tells me, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

'Yeah I have a phone, but he doesn't.' I snap, excusing myself.

'If you mean Loki, you're grounded for the rest of your life, so you better start coming up with a really, really good excuse.' Emilio says, desperation getting more and more evident with every word.

'He's the only one who could help me.' I tell him gently.

'I would have helped you.' Emilio snarls, and then sighs heavily, 'Right, I'm getting us on a private plane and Asher's coming to get you. Get your ass in a cafe, and stay there. Keep your phone on, and I swear to fuck Marzia, if you do anything else than sit pretty and drink a latte, I'll hand you over to your father myself.'

And with that, the line goes dead and Emilio's anger ends there, but even without his voice, I know how mad he is. The feeling is uncomfortable, every stupid decision I've made before has been forgivable, but maybe not this one.

This is the only choice I've made that could mean Emilio might lose his job, or I might lose Emilio. All for nothing. I can't go to Brighton until I'm back, and after this, maybe I won't be able to go at all, if I'm under twenty-four/seven supervision.

Emilio is more of a brother to me than Charlie has ever been, and here I am, in a cafe in Paris waiting for Emilio to come and rescue me, and I've thrown it all away for nothing.

Charlie doesn't want to be found.

I've known it for years. I've known it ever since he left. I never wanted to believe that my big brother, who was always so protective of me, could leave so easily, and not look back. But he did. He left, and he's not coming back.

He asked me, in his note all those years ago, not to look for him. I didn't want to believe what he had asked, I didn't want to think that he could sign himself up for a life without me, I was his only sibling left, and we needed each other.

We didn't need each other, we don't. I need him.

Emilio has never left me. Emilio has never given up. Even when I screamed at him, even when I told him that he could never live up to Charlie. Even when I asked him to leave. He never has, and I doubt he ever would. But maybe I've made it so it's not his choice anymore. Maybe, in an afternoon of impulsive flights and studio apartments, I've ruined everything we've built together.

'Zia?'

I look up from my seat in the corner of the cafe to see Asher. For the first time I realise that my face is wet with tears, reflected in the worry in his eyes. I'm not really meant to like Asher, we're not meant to be friends, but I can't help myself.

I stand up, fully aware that he has never seen me cry before but Asher's arms catch me before he can comprehend it, and he's holding me in a comforting embrace, even if it is just to hide my tears in his shoulder. For a few seconds, he stands there, unsure what to do, but after a moment, his hands cradle my back and he's stroking the ends of my hair.

'So by 'do something' you meant fly to Paris?' He laughs, to which I hit him, but he can tell there's no force behind it, 'Hey, it's okay.'

'Is Leo here?' I ask.

'He's back at the airport on the plane, it's a lot to work through, getting a private jet onto a runway without explaining why you're there.' He chuckles, 'I mean, you came all this way to pee? We have bathrooms in England you know, there's like twelve back at Thorne you could've chosen.'

I push myself away to arm's length, out of Asher's warm hold as he makes fun of my earlier lie. He has a smile on his face intended to cheer me up, but I can see the concern in his features.

'Is he angry?' I ask fearfully.

'He'll get over it, he's just glad you're okay.' He replies, then he puts a hand on my face and wipes away a stray tear, 'I'm glad you're okay.'

'You might not be, I've probably just lost you both your jobs.' I say, realising my stupidness will probably also ruin Asher's career too.

'No one's losing their job.' He smiles, wrapping his arms around me again as he senses more misery in me, 'Leo didn't call the agency, we knew this was about Loki. We're just going to have to make up a lie about how we needed a day trip in Paris to train me up on travel plans or something. Emilio's already writing fake emails that we got it all organised months ago.'

'How is that possible?' I grumble, 'It takes thousands of people to organise a trip where I leave the country.'

'We're not telling anybody you came with us.' Asher tells me, rubbing my arm comfortingly, 'As far as anyone knows, you had your final day at Thorne under the watchful eye of Miss Van Doren. We're just telling the agency that Emilio and I came here and then came straight home to you. It only takes a handful of people if Emilio wants to go somewhere.'

'Won't they notice the passport blackout? I'm on a terrorist list, I think that might throw up some red flags.' I ask.

'Putting you on the no-fly list-'

'-It's the terrorist list.'

'-No-fly list,' Asher continues, 'Well, let's just say it wasn't entirely legal. Emilio has ways around things like that, they'll never know it came from us, I doubt they'll ever know at all. We've covered you Zia, don't worry.'

'So I haven't ruined anything?' I ask.

'You've not ruined anything.' He repeats after me. His phone beeps and he looks at it, silent for a few seconds before he lets out a billowing breath, 'But we are going to have to go, Emilio can only lie about your whereabouts for a little while longer.'

'Okay, let's go.' I say, grabbing my bag.

I expect Asher to let go, but instead, his hand gets tighter and he leads me with confidence around the streets of Paris. It makes me wonder whether or not he's been here before with the certainty of his direction. It also makes me wonder if he hates the country, considering how fast we walk and how serious his face seems.

I keep trying to stop to peer at shop windows where there's beautiful Christmas decorations, but either Asher is suddenly green and his heart has shrunk three sizes, or I'm really in trouble, because he doesn't let me stop even once.

At the airport, Asher walks us to a man stationed at the entrance who leads us straight through the check in desks. We still have to go through security, but we jump the queue so we're with Emilio on the runway within half an hour, and Asher stays weirdly quiet and alert the whole time.

I know I've never run away to Paris before, but I'm pretty sure Emilio wouldn't be checking exits and windows if he'd been the one who came to get me. I know Asher can't have a gun on him, he'd never have gotten it on the plane, but he holds his waistband sometimes as if pretending he has one soothes him.

When we board the plane I notice it isn't one of the Alanian royal family's private fleet, so that means even more explaining for Emilio who seems to be on the phone and by his hand gestures, he's defending me, again. However, as soon as he sees me come through the doors of the jet, he slams the phone down onto the table and pulls me into a hug.

At least his anger isn't so overpowering that he doesn't want to see me.

'Don't you ever dare do that again, okay?' He says, shaking my shoulders, 'You could've been killed, I might not have made it in time.'

'What do you mean?' I ask.

Emilio looks over to Asher who shrugs uncomfortably, 'You got my text, you didn't tell her?' Leo says to him, and Asher shakes his head.

'What's happened?' I say, urgency overtaking my voice.

'The agency received a threat, a threat on you.' Emilio tells me carefully, 'It's a photograph of you in Paris, with a warning, 'be careful'. They thought it was today, but the weather is different, and you're wearing different clothes. And, well. See for yourself.'

He passes me his phone and the photograph flashes up, it's similar to the one painted on our wall. Except, that photo Emilio took, this one has him in it. He's standing off to the side with the camera in his hands and I'm holding my bright red umbrella.

It's the picture from our trip last year.

'They found us last year?' I ask, realising what this all means.

Be careful.

'They found us, but the lucky thing is, it seems like they only have ties in central Europe, they've not come after us in London. And they knew you were in Paris today, just not exactly where, that's why they sent the photo.' Emilio says grimly, 'Right now, we're one step ahead, but we have got to be so careful.'

'Why not kill us last year then?' I say, tossing Emilio's phone back to him and sitting down heavily in one of the leather seats of the plane.

'For the exact reason you came here today Z.' Asher tells me, 'Why just kill you when you could lead them to every family member you have, and kill you all at once? They just failed at following you back to London last time.'

'Alright.' Emilio says, trying desperately to stop the words coming from Asher's mouth, 'It's going to be fine, I promise. As long as we can keep you alive between now and you arriving at the palace in Alania, you're safe.'

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, 'What a small task.'

Be careful. I repeat in my mind. Something about it strikes me as odd. Be careful. Why warn me at all?

Be careful.

'I have an idea who might be able to help with that.' I pipe up, trying to get back into Emilio's good books. He gestures for me to continue, 'Triplets?'

Leo smiles and ruffles my hair, 'I'll see what I can do kid but you're quickly running out of favours, you know.'

*

'One more time and I'm going to kill you, I swear.' Asher says, glaring with hard eyes at me.

He bends over and picks up the clothes I've just kicked to the floor. They're my clothes, and he tosses them back into a pile, before starting to fold them again.

For the past hour, I've been laid watching Elf, while Asher has packed my clothes for me, all ready for tomorrow. You might be asking, Marzia, why are you not packing for yourself, are you ill? And the answer is no, I just hate packing.

And while that doesn't explain exactly why Asher is packing for me, I'll let you in on a little secret you might have already picked up on. Asher gets very stressed when people are not prepared, and this doesn't diminish with travelling whatsoever.

But that still doesn't explain why I'm kicking all of his hard work to the floor. Well, that's just fun, isn't it?

'Want one?' I ask, offering him the bag of the crisps I'm currently tucking in to, considering I'll bet my stupid Alanian castle won't stock them up in preperation of my return.

'Disgusting, no.' Asher grimaces as I lick my fingertips, 'You know I treat my body like a temple.'

'I really don't tend to think about your body.' I grin and shove his shoulder with my foot so his arm jerks around a pair of jeans.

Asher finishes folding my clothes just as Buddy gets everyone to believe in Christmas again (does that count as a spoiler?) and then flops down on my bed beside me, exhausted. The lines are neat and pristine and my leg almost spasms slightly with the urge to destroy the order.

We're both pretty tired from the rest of our afternoon. Emilio spent the whole flight on the phone to various people about the level of the threat. Right now, it seems they know nothing other than our trip last year and somehow they thought I was there today when I wasn't. It didn't stop us doing several circles around regions of England before landing in London and getting several random tubes and two taxis home.

Leo spoke to my dad personally apparently. He's not too pleased that he wasn't informed himself of their travel plans, but there's no proof that the threat is any more than that. Just a threat. Those fake emails worked a treat too.

'Oh, shit.' Asher notes, sitting up suddenly, glaring at my packing.

'What? Do my socks not match my jumper?' I chuckle, trying to hide my jealousy of all those people singing Christmas songs in the park.

'I haven't packed.' He says, fear overtaking his features.

'Yeah you have,' I say confused, gesturing to my clothes, 'I just need to put it in a suitcase.'

'No,' He huffs, 'At my house, my things. I haven't packed anything for me to wear. I was supposed to last night but I stayed here by accident.'

'Well, go do it now.' I say, turning the subtitles on the television on so that I can pretend to listen to Asher's whining while still watching.

'Okay, I'll go let Leo know.' He says, jumping up.

When he opens the door, Neighbour strides his way into the room, and jumps up on the bed, winding himself around until he's comfortable. I lean over and begin to stroke his back, watching how he purrs even though he is a grumpy old man.

'I'm going to miss you.' I grumble into his fur and he lays silently as if he can't hear me. I know it's going to bother him as soon as there's no one here to fatten him up with biscuits when we're gone. I try not to picture him at the window, waiting for the new tenants to open it up and invite him in, because it makes me sad that we can't bring him with us, 'You know, technically, if you had some proof that I was a princess, they might make you go into hiding. I know a lovely castle where you could camp out.'

I'm in the middle of considering shaving my real name into his fur, when Asher comes back, a guilty look on his face.

'Emilio says you have to come with me.' He says. Before I have the chance to protest, he holds his hands up defensively, 'He says he's very stressed, and very mad at you and just please don't fight him on this.'

I pause for a moment, maybe, just once, Asher might be right. I don't think Emilio needs any extra problems from me. I reluctantly agree, telling Asher to go make us coffee for the trip while I change out of my very comfortable pyjamas.

It only takes us a half an hour in the London traffic until we're pulling up outside Asher's house and his aunt is already on the stairs, ready to embrace him. This is in spite of her being in her nightgown, which she's clearly uncomfortable in, given my unexpected presence.

'Asher, darling!' She exclaims, pulling him in, 'And Marzia, my lovely, I didn't even realise you'd be joining us!'

'Well since she can't be trusted to be left alone without fleeing the country, she had to come too.' Asher says, gesturing irritated at me while Mrs Van Doren takes her turn in hugging me.

'Asher, don't be so rude to our princess,' Miss Van Doren scolds him, slapping his arm playfully even though there's seriousness to her words.

'She's not your princess, she's mine, she's actually the princess of an entirely different country than yours - what - ow!'

Asher's recoils, gripping his shoulder as Miss Van Doren smiles sweetly at him, but with eyes that warn him to stop talking now. He's right, Asher's Alanian heritage comes from his father's side. His mother, and by extension, Miss Van Doren, her sister, actually have no links to the country besides Asher, but still.

Knowing Asher in the not-so-personal way that I do, even I can tell that he's not himself all of a sudden as Miss Van Doren, who asks me to call her Ursula, shows me through to their kitchen. It's so fancy that I think it might even rival the one in the castle back home.

'Darling, you go pack, Marzia and I can manage ourselves from here.' Ursula says, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

He hesitates however, almost as if unable to decide whether or not to leave me alone. It could be because of his legally binding contract job, he does take it seriously, but I can tell that's not it. He's worried what Ursula will tell me if we're alone.

'Asher sweetheart, we'll make some tea and be right up, the poor girl looks parched, aren't you parched dear?' She asks, but doesn't even look up for my response that I'm really quite alright.

Before he leaves the room Asher holds a photo frame in his hands and attempts to hide it in his jacket as he disappears upstairs. He fails miserably.

Ursula holds a hand against her chest as his footsteps fade into echoes and the water in the kettle begins to brew. She conceals a look of upset at her nephew's secrecy.

'I apologise for being so inappropriately clothed, had I known I would be entertaining guests, I would have dressed accordingly.' She excuses tugging angrily at her dressing gown.

'It's fine, really.' I say quickly, 'Is Asher okay?'

'He's troubled, he has been for a long time.' She sighs, 'That photograph? It was of his parents, I'm assuming you know very little of them. He doesn't like me having pictures of them around the house.'

'Wait, he doesn't have pictures of them?' I ask, shocked given the way they departed from his life.

'Hates little mementos and such, he can't bear the idea of missing his parents.' Miss Van Doren replies, pouring water into three mugs, 'It's odd, when he first came to me, back when he was seven, he was the most loving boy.'

'What happened?' I ask, even though everything she's telling me, I almost wish she wasn't.

'A few years after he joined the ACS, right around fifteen, he suddenly switched. All of a sudden I was 'Miss Van Doren' instead of 'Ursula' or 'auntie.' I figured it was emotional growth, puberty, you know.' Ursula explains, handing me my tea, 'Do you know what happened to them Marzia?'

I shake my head. Ursula, to my surprise, smiles.

'I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds, but you're going to be good for him.' She smiles, 'He's been curious about you for a long time.'

'Curious?'

'Take care of him for me, will you?' She asks, to my complete confusion, 'He acts all tough, but he's still that scared fifteen year old underneath it all. He needs someone like you, he has done for a long time. He just doesn't know it yet.'

'Zia?' Asher shouts from upstairs, 'Can you come help me with something?'

Ursula nods her head towards his voice and beams at me. I smile politely and take mine and Asher's mugs of steaming tea in my hands.

'Second floor, first door on the right.' Ursula says, 'You know where I am if you need me.'

I nod, and begin my way up the stairs. Trying not to spill the tea on their cream carpets and tiled floors. I knock gently on the door to Asher's bedroom, being unable to open the door myself with our tea in my hands.

Asher swings the door open and for a second, I'm taken aback. He looks shockingly handsome, in a tux that holds tightly on his legs and chest, and a bowtie that hangs around his neck, untied. His hair is wild from pulling his shirt over his head, and his eyes have pooled darker in the dim light of his bedroom.

His curtains are still open, overlooking their garden, with a fountain in the middle. The sun has disappeared from the sky and Asher has neglected to turn his light on, so the only light being cast is the moonlight across his face, and even then his eyes are glowing.

'What's wrong handsome?' I ask, brushing past him and setting the tea down on his desk, that's exceptionally neat despite being packed with his extracurricular work.

'Oh, so now she thinks I'm handsome?' He grins, raising an eyebrow.

'Screw you.' I chuckle back, taking a long drink and leaning against his chair. He's pacing around to different cupboards and drawers and running his hand through his hair as he stresses, 'Are you having a heart attack?'

'No, this is just what I look like when I pack.' He breathes.

'Could've fooled me, pretty boy.' I roll my eyes.

'I don't know what to wear for your father's coronation.' He says, turning around and facing himself in the mirror, 'I don't have anything half as fancy as what people will be wearing there.'

'Well, that's okay. That looks good, but I'm sure my grandmother's already booked you for a fitting, and if not, we'll go before the coronation.' I say.

All of a sudden, I realise that Ursula's right. Underneath it all, I can see the fifteen year old, desperate to prove himself to the big bad world. His hands are fumbling around his bow tie and they're shaking.

'Hey.' I say crossing over to him and taking his frantic hands away from his suit. 'The coronation isn't until Friday, that gives us a whole week. I know a suit designer, we'll go visit her as soon as we get there. And as a back up, bring this one, just in case, that way we're completely covered, okay?'

'Okay.' Asher says quietly.

'It's just a week, then you're home and I'm gone forever.' I remind him.

'Don't say that.' He says, scrunching his eyebrows up and closing his eyes.

For a second, I don't know what to do. It's never seemed to bother him that I'm leaving and now the idea seems to actually hurt him. He moves his eyes down to the floor and runs a hand through his hair. Not quite sure how to react, I bring my hands to his bow tie and begin to knot it between my fingers.

'You don't know how to tie a bow tie?' I ask and Asher stays quiet but shakes his head, watching as my fingers lace around the fabric, 'It's a-'

'Don't tell me it's a shoelace.' He laughs, 'I know it is, I just can't do it somehow.'

The laugh causes his breath to flutter over my shoulder and it's only then that I realise how close we're actually standing. My hands finish his tie and stay rested on his chest, and his have somehow found their way onto my waist as I worked. I haven't noticed given how thick my woolen jumper is.

'I'm sorry about my aunt by the way, she can be quite the suck up when she wants to be.' He mutters, moving his eyes to the door for a second, and then back to me.

'That's pot calling the kettle black if I've ever heard it.' I chuckle.

'Bite me.' Asher grins, swaying slightly, and making my body move with it.

'I would like to go back to when you admitted that you don't know how to do something.' I say, adjusting his bow tie again.

'Shut up.' Asher tells me, but for almost the first time, I can tell he doesn't mean it.

Something downstairs clatters and Asher chuckles. It's the first time Asher shows any familiarity to his home life, as if hearing his aunt knock over bowls and mugs is a normal, everyday sound. It's comforting to see him genuinely smile.

I look away from him, for some reason quietly shy. That's when I notice the photo frame that he took from the kitchen, he's thrown it on his bed and dumped a pillow on top to conceal it, but I can see the corner. I once again try not to doubt his ability to keep me safe. If an attacker comes for me, what's he going to do? Hide me behind a curtain? Put a pillow over me too?

He doesn't tell me to stop when I pick up the photo and steady it between our chests, but I can tell that he tenses and keeps his eyes anywhere except their faces.

'Are these your parents?' I ask, even though he must know that I'm only asking to be polite.

Even if Ursula hadn't told me, it would be blindingly obvious that these people are his parents. For one, he's pretty much identical to his father; they share the same floppy, curly hair and their build is very similar. Asher's father must be a lot older than him in the photo because his mother has a swollen belly that holds their son, but I avoid telling Asher that Thorne men must age well, because you can hardly tell.

'Yeah.' He says shortly, exhaling a breath that reaches my face, 'They're the folks.'

'You look so much like your father, Ash.' I tell him, peering at a man that could easily be stood in front of me.

'You think?' He asks, and I can tell he's fighting the urge to take the photo and reprimand me for interfering. I wonder if he's been waiting this whole time for someone to push the limits of this conversation and let him finally talk, 'Miss Van Doren says the same thing, but she says I remind her so much of mum when she was younger.'

'You've got the same eyes,' I tell him. Somehow, the way the woman looks in the photo glares at me the way Asher does sometimes when I've pissed him off. I don't know the context to this picture, where they're stood side by side in sophisticated outfits, but Asher's right, the mother and son do remind me of each other and it's surprising because I know next to nothing about either of them.

His mum could be a figure way in the back of the photo, but those hazel eyes are familiar to me anywhere. She's his mum, no doubt. Maybe Asher looks for those eyes when he walks, does he look for a face so similar to his own? Does he miss them?

I dare myself to ask.

'I was really young when they disappeared. I don't remember much about them at all. I don't think I miss them consciously, but-' He stops himself, but then carries on, 'My heart misses them.'

'You never talk about your family.' I say quietly.

'I've never had family to talk about.' He smiles and swallows to stop tears that he tries to pretend I can't see.

I put the photo down, standing it up by the side or his bed, and while he watches, he doesn't stop me. I stand perfectly still as he stares at his parents, slowly blinking back at two people that should be here with him.

'What colour are your eyes?' Asher asks out of the blue, looking closely even though my contacts are in the way, colouring them dark brown.

'Blue. Sort of, they're so pale that they're more grey.' I reply, blinking at the disruption to our silence, 'Like my brothers.'

'Can I see?' He asks, still so close.

I look away for a moment, and pull away the contacts, tossing them into the bin beside Asher's desk, figuring it'll be so dark by the time we go home that it won't matter anyway. I turn back to him and he takes them in for a few seconds.

'Am I going to find out that yours are contacts behind those glasses now too?' I smile, pulling the frames from his nose and tossing them onto the bed.

'No, real deal.' He says with a subtle smile on his face.

Suddenly one of his hands moves away from my waist and he brushes a piece of my wig away from my face. He pauses for a second, and then gently pulls on the strands so that my natural hair cascades downwards over my shoulders.

'I'm never going to get used to that.' He mutters.

'I didn't think so either, but you just have to give it six years, and then it's fine.' I remark, trying to bring the conversation back from the brink of whatever emotion is happening between the two of us right now.

'I'm not going to get another six years with you to know.' He points out, and this time I know I'm not imagining the sadness in his voice.

His face is only inches from mine now and I don't remember getting this close. The regular beat in my chest turns to hammering and all breathing seems to stop. Asher's eyes remain fixed on mine, but I can tell he's not calm by any means either.

'Knock knock!'

Asher and I spring apart and he spins around, a hand shaking around his hair as he walks to the other side of the room, Ursula's smiling face appearing around the door. He moves so fast that I can't quite comprehend it, and am left standing like an idiot.

'Everything okay in here?' She asks sweetly.

'Can I use the bathroom?' I say, intending to sound calm, however it comes out as a squeak and Asher even looks over in concern of my question.

'Just in there, my love.' Ursula says, pointing to a door in the corner of Asher's room.

I move faster than I have in the past six years and lock the door behind me with a speed that would insinuate that my life depended upon it. I lean my head against the wooden frame and breathe until my lungs return to their normal capacity. I'm in the middle of holding a deep breath when I hear the whispered voices.

'What were the two of you doing?' Ursula asks in a hushed tone.

'Nothing!' Asher says far too quickly.

'Asher, I come in here and the two of you are like shrapnel.' She replies. 'Don't tell me you're falling for this girl.'

Not wanting to hear the answer, whatever it might be, I flush the toilet and come out, seeing the look on Asher's face mimic a deer caught in the headlights. Ursula smiles at me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

'Asher, you're done packing?' She asks and Asher nods, furiously turning back to his bag, 'Wonderful, just get yourself changed and Marzia and I will wait downstairs for you.'

And with that, I'm pulled from the room where Asher does nothing but glumly watch as we leave. It takes a few minutes before Asher actually emerges from his room, only to find that he's wearing comfy running trousers and a hoodie, attire that I've never seen him in before. He picks up his car keys as he comes towards us.

'Oh, you don't have to drive me home, I can walk, it's really not that far.' I say, grasping at straws to keep my distance from him.

'I'm sleeping at yours tonight.' Asher says slowly, as if I should have already known this information, 'There's a lot to sort before we leave for our train tomorrow.'

'I'm sorry, leave for the what now?' I snap.

'Our train?' He says, once again confused that this has escaped my knowledge, 'To Sweden?'

'Has Emilio hit his head?' I squint, 'He does know I'm the princess of Alania, right? Why the hell is he sending me to Sweden?'

'It's your cover story - Swedish boarding school? He mentioned it.' He says, 'We're getting the Eurostar to Sweden and then flying from there, just in case anyone is wise to where you are after today.'

'He's done this to punish me.' I grumble.

'He's done it to cover for you.' He corrects, 'But if it stops you from flying to Paris without telling anyone in future, I'd be okay with it.'

I grumble my way towards the door, noting that however angry Emilio was with me, this was mean, given that a plane journey to Alania is a little under two hours, but the Eurostar to Sweden takes seventeen, without the three hour plane journey to Alania on top of that.

I watch from a distance at the car as Asher bids his aunt farewell, after her too-long embrace of me. She holds his face in her hands and whispers something which he rolls his eyes at, but still politely kisses her cheek.

She stands and waves at us from the door frame as we back out of the drive and stays until we've driven out of sight down the street. Asher stays quiet for most of the journey until I decide I can't take the silence anymore.

'So Leo told you the plans for tomorrow?' I ask and he nods.

'He told me on the plane ride over to Paris.' He says and shoots me a pointed look, 'We're getting the train tomorrow at two, and then we'll arrive in Sweden the following morning at seven. The royal plane will be waiting for us, so we should be Alania by no later than ten.'

'It's going to be a long day.' I say, blowing out a puff of air.

'Longer than flying to Paris and back?' He chuckles.

'Bite me.'