'I would like to point out, I'm not above slashing some tyres to avoid going this morning.' I grumble, unbelievably tired and not prepared for the upcoming journey. Maybe if I miss the train, they'll let me just fly over instead.

'I've been living with you for six years, I need no confirmation of your abilities tiny satan.' Emilio says, aggressively yanking my suitcase down the stairs.

This morning has been a haze of unpacked suitcases, an irritated Asher and a stressed Emilio. And, as you might have guessed, yours truly has attempted to find any way to stay in bed, and it's only since Emilio threatened to crucify me that I actually got up.

Asher slept on the sofa (thankfully, after last night) and then proceeded to spend all morning coming into my room every fifteen minutes to pull my covers off my warm body and drag me onto the floor, only to return to find me back under the duvet again.

Which brings us to Emilio, Asher and I dragging three heavy suitcases down the stairs of our apartment block towards the taxi waiting for us in the parking lot. All ready for our big twenty hour adventure, Lord help me. Two of the suitcases are mine, and only one is Asher's, but it's so heavy that it makes up for the both of them.

I dive out of the lobby door and into the awaiting cab, leaving the bags for the boys. I clutch the door handle tightly so that once Asher has loaded my cases into the boot, he is forced to struggle against me, earning us a glare shot at me by the driver. Eventually he huffs and like I hoped he would, he shoves his body into the front seat, leaving the back one beside me for Emilio, who joins us, rubbing his hands uncomfortably on his jeans as he stares into space.

He's muttering to himself as he crosses off items and actions from his to-do list in his head. I loll my eyes in his direction in a lazy and very tired movement.

'How come you didn't just drive us to the train station?' I question as we turn from our road and the driver's SatNav guides us left.

The smell of the leather seats is enough to wooze my head into a never ending headache and yet I know the driver's going to insist on having the automatic voice of the SatNav on full volume the whole time.

'I'm not angry enough to get us through central London at this hour.' Leo says, unaware of the driver's reaction of anger from the seat in front of him. Asher is already tapping away on his phone so it seems I'm the only one who understands why the next him he breaks, he does so a little too harshly.

If it was anger he was worried about, why didn't he let me drive?

It doesn't take long for the tiredness of getting up before midday to kick in and while attempting to shuffle a seat belt from around my neck without flagging the driver's attention, I find myself resting on the window ledge to my left. Asher's phone beeps and clicks annoyingly as he texts.

And emails according to the sneak peak I took over his shoulder.

Emilio stays silent most of the way there with a folder open on his lap and a pen in his hand and occasionally between his teeth depending on the necessity of his signature.

The journey should only takes us fifteen minutes in the traffic and I don't point out that there was no need to set off an hour early, but I would like to. Our driver however seems to have only just got his license, given that we wind up getting lost. At one point, his entire navigational system goes out the window and he tries to follow a big building he remembers.

Emilio spends twenty minutes and then an extra five on top of that reminding me of the time and how I was going to miss my train. I spend it in silent hope that I might miss it, and Leo might have to come with us, or even at least put us on a plane instead.

When we finally arrive at the station, Emilio is practically sky high on the cigarettes he smokes when he's stressed, and Asher and I are bickering on the importance of seatbelts given that mine is tucked under my arm. The driver tried to tell Emilio there was no smoking in the cab, but he shot him a look that universally means 'don't test me'.

The driver pulls up directly next to the entrance, clearly embarrassed about his mishap. I know Emilio will easily charge the taxi fare to the agency, but I reckon he'll still haggle the price down for the time we spent parked in a bus lane when he tried to realign his SatNav.

I stumble out of the warm cab and into the harsh winds blown towards me by the bustle of central London at Christmastime. Emilio yanks open the trunk and I find the suitcases laid like a game of Tetris how Asher managed to fit them in. Emilio looks like he's about to pop his shoulder out of its socket by the time that it gives way and finally allows him to move it.

'Remind me again why we couldn't have gotten a nice agency car, you know, with beds.' I continue to whine as I crack all manner of bones in my back dragging my case towards the entrance, 'Or better yet, a plane!'

'Because, we're trying to avoid drawing attention to ourselves, given that apparently they know where we are now.' Asher begins pointedly and I suppress an eye roll as Leo shoots a warning look my way, 'Also, we have to give you some time to get your photo off the terrorist list, if you'd forgotten.'

'I wish I had.' I bite back, ignoring the chuckle I get from Emilio.

Asher's facade doesn't falter and he shoves me with his spare hand. Emilio walks behind me carrying the last suitcase, still typing away on his phone. He's so distracted that he almost trips over himself on the escalator. I have to admit, trying to get three huge cases through a London crowd proves harder than I assumed.

Asher leaves his case by my side while he walks over to a reception to pick up our tickets. The woman stamps them and hands them back to him before she rings out a shrill 'next!' that makes Emilio jump. He's in the middle of a call when the intercom announces that our train is boarding.

I look desperately in his direction and make short eye contact with him before his eyebrows tilt up apologetically and gestures for Asher and I to go. Without mouthing goodbye or even smiling properly, he drops a quick kiss on my head and then turns around to put a finger in his ear to hear the call better.

I make a pleading look at Asher, but given his stance is already five feet away, there's no hope that he'll give me another minute and risk missing our train. As Emilio hurries back down the escalator given that the noise in here is almost deafening, I grudgingly follow Asher's hurried footsteps.

Having taken charge of my second case in his right hand, Asher and I reach security in seconds, and we're through in merely minutes. We follow the signs towards our train, passing a string of windows where I notice Emilio out of the corner of my eye.

He's still on the phone, but I can tell he's been following us with his eyes because he's able to instantly clock me. I pause for a second, flipping my phone into my hand and dialing his number. It rings beside his ear and makes him flinch, and I wonder how long he's been pretending to be on the phone to someone so that he doesn't have to tell me goodbye.

He looks up at me and smiles, shrugging his shoulders and even from my place far above him, I can see that his face is noticeably damp and his jaw clenched. I mouth the word 'liar' to him and he blows me a comical kiss back. It injects a pain into my chest to have to walk away, and while trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I keep my head bowed to my feet and follow Asher blindly.

The air colder as we get further from the crowds, and I notice how we pass a few similar trains on the way to ours. I peek inside the windows and notice that they're all chairs, there aren't any beds, which is strange considering we're expected to spend the night in it. I keep my fingers crossed that I don't have to sleep sitting up, because I'll arrive back in my country looking like a racoon.

When we finally find our train, Asher shows the tickets to a woman who directs us onto the first doors of the longest carriage. I notice that she's quite pretty and Asher lingers more than is necessary when asking her for directions.

It's a big metal corridor Ash, I don't think we're going to get lost.

Asher helps me drag the suitcases up onto the thin walkway and he starts to make his way down. I almost fall to my knees in appreciation when I realise the cabins we're passing are in first class, and they've got beds that fold out on top of the couches. Some of the blinds are already down and so I debate with the idea that maybe this train journey won't be as bad as I thought.

'We've reserved separate cabins I think.' Asher says, reading aloud the booking on his piece of paper, 'That's odd.'

'Don't question it, please.' I moan, massaging my hand.

'You're in fifty-four and I'm in fifty-three.' Asher says and passes over a key that he pulls out from a little envelope.

With the knowledge that I'm going to have some distance from Asher, alongside the smell of fresh coffee from a cafe right beside us, I feel less inclined to weep for Emilio's departure, and more inclined to settle down in my cabin with a latte and a muffin.

Because of the train's layout, my cabin comes first, so Asher drops the handle of my other suitcase to help me open the door. When I finally unlock it, I drag both cases inside and go to slam the door. Before it can shut the world out, Asher puts his hand in the way to stop me.

'If you want to leave the cabin, knock and we'll go together, okay?' Asher says seriously.

'Whatever Ash, I know.' I roll my eyes.

'Are you okay?' He says, trying to sound sincere, 'I know that must have been hard for-'

I slam the door to cut off his sentence. He shoots me an irritated look through the glass of the cabin and I pull down the blinds so that he can't see me anymore. Chuckling to myself, I shove my suitcases into the corner and step back to look at my room for the evening. It's a small cabin with two fold out beds and a table in the middle that looks like it moves when it's time to sleep. There's huge windows facing the train station that I know will soon be replaced with rolling hills and then black tunnels.

There's a small sink in the corner but no toilet or shower so I assume that's something I'll have to share for the night. I pull down one of the beds and sit myself on it, wondering if a nap might help me to pass the time. When I sit down, I bang my elbow on the table and spend a few breaths trying to ease the shooting pain.

'Next time they want me back, we're arranging for the royal plane, or I'm not going.' I grumble.

*

'That's £4.60 please.'

I hand over a five pound note and tip the barista the rest, even if it's not much because it's about the only cash I have left. I scoop the latte into my hands and instantly feel warmer. I'm wearing a thick jumper, but apparently extremely fast speeds and dark tunnels tend to make trains quite cold.

I was going to go back to the cabin and catch up on the latest episodes of The Walking Dead, but given that I've never been on a train like this before, with latte in hand, I decide to explore the carriages a bit to feed my love of adventure.

My motivation might also have been that I left my phone in the cabin and escaped my bodyguard's attention, so that's a few good hours of Asher-free time.

As I wander in the direction of the front of the train, Asher's confused and bobbing head appears into view. I curse under my breath, ducking low and making a dash for the next compartment. He must have taken my two hour silence as unnerving and discovered that I'd left the cabin without him like I promised not to.

When I'm sure he's turned around to look the other way, I amble through the first class compartments to see what else exists on this train. I first run into the restaurant cart, where someone asks me if I need a table and gets very confused when I try to explain that I'm just passing through to be curious. Behind that, there's a bar area but luckily no one is drunk enough this early in the afternoon to bother that I accidentally spill a little bit of coffee on a seat when the train jolts on the track.

There are far too many screaming children in the carriage behind that one, in what appears to be another little lounge, so I wander forwards some more, passing a gift shop and deciding to stay a while. I spend a few moments wondering why on earth anyone would buy a book on the world's rarest types of moss, especially on a train.

I make the choice halfway through, while admiring a stuffed bear that is so soft, that I should get some presents for my siblings, as a sort of 'please accept me as the sister that's been missing from your life for six years', kind of present.

I keep hold of the stuffed bear, figuring it would be perfect for Tegean, as well as picking up a book about unicorns and fairies for pre-teen Adanna. I almost pick up a history of British prime ministers, given that apparently she's got a flair for politics.

I wonder for a long time what Ansel might enjoy, before settling on a Christmas snow globe, remembering how as a child, it would always confuse me as to how it was snowing in the glass and not outside.

With a cute paper bag with a train and the sun on it, which Ansel might like to slobber on, and will probably enjoy more than his snowglobe, the woman tells me she can get it delivered to my cabin when I tell her I'm heading in the wrong direction. I give her the cabin number and carry on with free hands, which is good considering my balance isn't right normally, let alone when the train begins to slow to a stop.

I look out of the window and find we've stopped in a little town outside Paris that I recognise from a map somewhere; Gare Du Nord. Beside me, I notice a steward prop open a door that leads to a little platform beside some stairs that welcomes new passengers onto the train. It's even colder out here and I really regret not bringing a coat with me.

The train station is beautiful, arches carved from stone with iron railings decorating the walls and support beams. The evening has started to creep into the sky and the dying light comes through the exposed skylights. There's people hurrying about, boarding the train and waving to relatives.

It's so peaceful out here, watching the world move so fast when I get to stand still. I move a little to the right to let someone's suitcase through and I have to hide a smile at an older couple who are holding onto each other to protect themselves from the wind and steep stairs. They smile to thank me for moving out of their way and they remind me of my grandparents.

Speaking of couples, there's thousands of them that I can see from my raised little platform, and I can see a family between a bundle of hats and scarves that are hugging one another and talking, occasionally looking back at the train to check it's not left yet. It looks like a few generations all on one platform, kids running around and being told to stay by the luggage and the parents clinging onto what looks to be their own parents.

'Staring at what you wish you had Castille?' Comes an arrogant voice from behind me.

'Trust you to ruin the moment.' I roll my eyes, 'And careful saying that, we're not in the clear yet.'

As I remind him of this, he leans himself next to me against some railings and I notice he too has a coffee keeping his hands and insides warm. He had the sense to wear a jacket and he's even got a scarf wrapped around his neck that he's pulled up all the way to his ears.

'Why are you all cosy?' I ask him, flicking the scarf, 'Planning your last ditch escape into Paris?'

'I could ask you the same thing, considering you're the one who's currently not on the train itself.' He chuckles, 'I know what you're like for not paying attention. If I weren't here, I'd drive past you daydreaming on the platform.'

'I just wanted some air.' I tell him honestly.

'How did you get past my cabin without me noticing?' He smiles, 'Don't tell me you crawled.'

'On my hands and knees.' I chuckle.

'That's an image that I'd like to keep.' He says closing his eyes, and I slap him on the arm.

He looks over at me, pointing down at the hoodie I have on. It's the one piece of clothing Emilio tried to convince me not to bring, it's covered in little paint marks that he hasn't been able to wash out and the sleeves have holes in where my wrists have rubbed against canvases.

'Why aren't you dressed?' He asks.

'Did I forget clothes again?' I shriek, causing the man passing to stop and second glance us as I wildly flail my arms to cover my chest, 'Asher, please! Don't look at me!'

'Zia.' He hisses, raising his eyebrows at our combined inability to keep ourselves quiet and unnoticeable, 'I mean, because we have dinner plans.'

'It's a train.' I deadpan, because he's wearing a jumper but somehow my hoodie isn't acceptable. I know his is a fancy knitted pullover and mine has holes in, but they're still the same premise.

'But the restaurant is fancy-'

'It's a train.'

'Yes, we've established that it's a train, but you can't wear an old sweater, it's not appropriate.'

'Old sweaters are always appropriate.'

'Come on Zia, I booked us a table.'

'This might take you by surprise,' I pause, 'But it's a train.'

Asher groans and me and leans his head back. I can see his breath billowing out in front of him against the dark blue sky, and he's almost blocking my view of the family that I was watching with such content. He follows my gaze and a small smile appears on his cold and pink face.

'What do you think they're saying?' He asks.

As Asher asks, the grandparents bend down and grab a child each, and we smile at the way that their laughter reaches us from here. The parents begin to double check their luggage and tickets but never take their eyes off their children or the smiles on their faces.

'Something in French, I reckon.' I muse, chuckling at them, 'I'll bet one of them starts crying.'

'Nah, no way.' Asher replies, shaking his head. The bridge of his nose where his glasses rest is bright red from the chill of the evening, even in the station, 'Come on, it's four days before Christmas, they'll be visiting family and coming straight home.'

'So you don't think people can love each other enough that they cry if they don't see them for a few days?' I ask and he shakes his head again.

'No, I think you and Emilio proved that earlier.' He says pointedly, 'No, I think they'll just hug and leave.'

'Are you willing to bet on it?' I raise an eyebrow.

'Stakes?' Asher asks.

'You give me your jacket.' I say, bitterly noticing how warm Asher actually looks.

'You know if you had asked, I would've just given it to you.' He says, looking at me in a way that I don't recognise.

'Even through the cold?' I ask, grinning.

'Through anything.' Asher replies honestly. He falters in his cocky attitude for a second and I can't explain the look in his eyes. It looks like affection.

'It's my job.' He spits out.

I flinch, not expecting his sentence, and his forehead creases in concern. He doesn't act on it however, and turns back to the family. I decide, somehow, with whatever courage I can stirr, that this weird awkwardness isn't going to happen. For what it's worth, I have a week left with Asher, and I refuse to spend it all in silence because he can't get his words out. So I grab his shoulder and hold it tightly, keeping my eyes fixed on the family.

'Okay Ash, you're on.' I grin, 'If one of them, any of them, starts crying then your jumper is mine for the rest of the trip.'

'But it's my favourite jumper.' He whines, clinging to the blue fabric underneath his coat. I shoot him a pointed look, 'Okay, okay you win again.'

He chuckles to himself, hanging his head towards his coffee. He nods and mutters something which I don't hear. I keep my eyes on the family, and realise after a few moments, that Asher isn't looking at them, Asher is looking at me.

I glance at him, and because of my grip on his shoulders, our faces are so close. The condensation from our breaths entwine and after a few seconds, Asher moves my hands away from his shoulders and wraps an arm around me, running his hand up and down my sides.

'Would you just let me give you my jacket?' He groans and I can feel the vibrations of his voice run through my body.

'No I want to win it fair and square.' I refuse, 'And I'm not even cold.'

He knows this is a lie, and so pulls me even closer so that his shoulder is underneath my head and his hand has snaked around my waist. I think back to our night at the winter wonderland when his touch freaked me out, and felt like ice instead of heat. I can't tell you what's changed, maybe because it's colder in France, but today it feels nice and comforting and I don't want him to let go, even if it means I'm right.

The family below us start to finish their double checking and checking again, and they exhale heavily as they realise there's nothing more they can procrastinate before they have to leave. The man takes his wife by the shoulders gently and seems to reassure her that everything is okay. He pats the bags and gestures at their two little boys, and smiles, to remind her that they're ready.

I realise suddenly that if the young couple looked up at us, the way we're looking down on them, that they'd probably assume we were a couple too. I look at Asher and notice the easy way that his hand stays on my body and the smile on his face that he has looking out over the milling crowd.

All of a sudden however, he freezes and I notice anxiety pooling in his eyes, his hand gripping tighter on my waist. I look down at the family and see the grandmother beginning to dab her cheeks with a tissue. Asher groans, 'No, no, no, no, no.'

'Maybe she just has something in her eye.' I gloat, patting his chest and watching his eyebrows knit together. The woman lets out a sudden sob and envelops the smallest child in a hug, 'Or not - you lost! Pay up!'

Asher unwinds his hand from me and unzips his coat, ready to pull away his jumper. As he lifts it over his head, his shirt is pulled up and I can see goosebumps on the smooth lines of his defined stomach.

I shake my head away, looking back at the crowd and wondering what had suddenly come over me. Asher pulls his jumper away from his body and quickly puts his coat back on, the cold winter weather nipping at his skin through his threadbare shirt, leaving his glasses askew on his face.

'Your Highness.' He smiles, handing it over.

I pull the blue jumper over my head and as I do, my wig moves slightly and I have to hurriedly adjust it before anyone notices. Luckily, I think we get away with it and Asher is left looking at me in his jumper, longingly, wishing for it back.

'It brings out the brown in your eyes.' He jokes, pointing at my contacts. 'Are you warmer?'

'I'm all toasty.' I say snuggling into the extra long sleeves and large body. It's still warm from having been on Asher and it smells of him too, which I can't say is too horrible.

'Speaking of toast, I'm hungry.' Asher says, leaning himself next to me again, keeping his hands to himself, but making sure his shoulder is up against mine, 'I booked a table in case I forgot to mention.'

'Tough, we're not leaving yet.' I say, returning my gaze to the couple.

Asher pauses for a moment, looking between me and the family who are now all holding onto one another, despite the whistles from the train conductor. He nudges my arm so that I look at him, and he nods at them with his head.

'What is it about them?' He asks, 'Why the sudden interest in French families?'

'They look happy, don't you think?' I ask him.

'It seems so, yeah.' He admits, slumping his shoulders down slightly as he looks at the way the parents hold onto one another, 'Do they remind you of your family?'

'I don't remember my family ever being like that.' I reply, in response to his question, 'I don't think I've ever been that certain.'

'What do you mean certain?' He asks, looking at them with his head at an angle as if it will reveal a whole new side to them.

'Certain in themselves, certain in each other.' I smile sadly, 'The children seem happy, they can run around and always know that when they look back, they'll always see their parents. The parents can always be sure that the grandparents will do anything for them. And the couple, they're certain that they love each other.'

'You think you can see true love?' Asher says, doubtfully.

'Of course you can, look at the two of them.' I tell him, 'She trusts him when he tells her everything's okay. How could she trust him, and not love him?'

'You can trust someone without loving them.' He suggests but I shake my head.

'Not fully, I don't think.' I disagree, 'In the end, it's a fundamental human fear to be rejected, or unloved. But right now, the way that she looks at her family, the way that they hold each other? She trusts that everything she has, is everything she's ever going to need.'

'I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.' He mutters.

'You can't give your everything to someone if you don't trust them completely. There's always a story of a cheating husband, of an unhappy kid, or a parent dying.' I say, lost in thought, 'But right now, she trusts that all of that can stay away, as long as they just keep holding onto each other. They're lucky.'

'I trust you.' Asher says simply.

'Yeah, but that's because you're secretly in love with me, and you know I'm the only thing you'll ever need to be happy.' I wink and Asher rolls his eyes, putting an arm around my waist again, 'You can deny it all you want, but alas, we both know it's true.'

'You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the alas.' He chuckles.

A comfortable silence settles over us again and for a while we just take comfort in watching the family. I can't decide if they remind me of my childhood. I don't remember mum and dad together that much, but I have to believe that they once looked at each other that way. However it feels to me, there's something incredibly comforting about this little family hugging each other goodbye in a mess of scarves, arms and tears.

'For what it's worth,' Asher says to me after a while, 'I think you trust me.'

'Oh you do?' I turn to him, raising an eyebrow, 'Go ahead, why do I trust you?'

'You've started to call me Ash, instead of Asher. You've done it twice today.' He points out, and I realise that I hadn't even noticed, 'You're telling me your opinion on love, you're letting me in, I even get a nickname. You trust me, Zia.'

'But by my logic, that must mean I'm in love with you.' I smile, cocking my head.

'Not just yet, but you will be.' He jokes.

'You willing to bet on that too?' I reply but he shakes his head.

'If there's one thing I've learnt from these last six years Castille, you're unpredictable.' Asher says, affectionately looking at me, 'I don't want to lose anymore jumpers.'

'You never know.' I smile, wagging a finger in his direction.

'What are we going to do next? We've covered family and relationships, is our next topic sex, drugs and rock and roll?'

'Yeah, like you could teach me anything about rock and roll.' I chuckle, 'Your playlists are all symphonies, aren't they?'

'No they're not.' He snaps jokily, 'But if we're putting bets on sex, I want my money on that couple.'

He points over to a younger couple, who are walking down the side of the train, holding hands and occasionally leaning over to whisper in each other's ears.

'He's cheating on his wife. Only one of them has a wedding ring.' I shake my head, pointing this out to him, 'And that one's far too obvious, he's pretty much got her up against the windows. So I guess that's sex and rock and roll that you know nothing about. Want to take a stab at drugs now?'

'Who says I don't know anything?' He chuckles looking over at me suggestively.

'You're funny.' I laugh, 'I have it on good authority that you're a virgin Thorne. '

I don't, but it's always fun to wind him up.

'Implying that you're not?' He asks and as a joke, I wiggle my eyebrows and chuckle to myself. Asher's jaw drops and he pokes at my ribs, 'Who? Tell me!' 

'Of course, I forget we're best friends now. Tell me, am I braiding your hair first, or you mine?' I roll my eyes and Asher falls quiet, grinning at the idea of a secret.

I go to take another sip of coffee but realise it's cold, and wince in disgust. Asher passes me his cup, and as soon as I take it, my hand is considerably warmer than it was before, thanks to the steaming liquid inside given that he bought his after me.

'You don't have to give me everything, just because you work for my dad, you know.' I roll my eyes and just as I'm about to warm my insides with Asher's drink, he snatches it away from my hands.

'I'll have it back then.' He says, making a grab for it.

In my attempt to keep it from his grip, I lean over the railing. The whistle of the train blasts above us, causing my body to jolt in surprise and within seconds, I'm falling, unable to stop myself. Asher grabs my waist and drags me backwards to his body. My hands pull his shoulders closer to me and I'm back on solid footing, with Asher's coffee falling downwards through the air.

We watch in horror as the cup spirals towards the one-married, one-not-so-married couple, the lid abandoning the cardboard holder, and the remaining contents landing by the feet of the poor people we were just taking sex-bets on.

Their faces whip around, and Asher pulls me out of their sight, onto his lap as we fall onto the stone floor, hardly missing the steps. I bury my face into his shoulder to muffle my laughter, and Asher holds me tightly so that I don't slip away. The family turns around to see the commotion and I duck my face further into Asher's shoulder so they don't see me. There's something about them that I don't want to spoil.

I'm expecting Asher to move, but he makes no intention of doing, and instead his face gets slightly closer to mine. I flinch, and Asher's eyes flicker to meet mine once more, cockiness dancing around his hazel irises.

'What are you doing?' I ask nervously.

'Are you going to punch me?' He asks, his voice dropping to a deep level and the intensity around us rises considerably.

I pause for a second, suddenly realising what he means. My head starts to spin and his warm breath brings me back to reality only a second later. His eyes move around my face, trying to gauge my reaction.

'I don't think so.' I whisper.

Before I can comprehend what he's doing, Asher's eyes close and almost in fear, mine do too. His face is inches from mine, and I can feel his breathing closer than ever. Just as I feel his body move impossibly closer, something lands hard beside us.

'Excuse me, what the fuck is your problem?'

I stand up faster than I think anyone has ever, in the history of all time. Asher looks around bewildered, and his hands drag himself up from the bars along the balcony. The man we just dropped coffee on is standing opposite us, furious. His French accent makes the words even more harsh and I babble out no response.

'Why did you throw your coffee at us?' He says, gesturing to the empty cup he threw down beside us.

'I'm really sorry,' I babble helplessly, noticing the drops of stains on the ends of his trousers, 'We didn't mean to, I slipped-'

'She tripped, she didn't mean to.' Comes a voice from behind me, 'Your trousers are hardly wet. Take our sincere apologies and get back to your friend. The train leaves any second, you only have a few precious moments left to grope one another, incredibly publically.'

The man folds his arms but then turns and walks away, towards his girlfriend as if he'd put us in our place. Asher whips around, confused at the sudden introduction of a boy we weren't told was going to be joining us. I turn around to find one of my oldest friends, a grin on his face and a big coat protecting him from the cold. He was always smarter and more practical than me.

'Emilio said you weren't gonna make it.' I smile, wondering why he would surprise me given that he's probably still mad about yesterday. My only explanation is that they turned up last minute without telling either of us.

'Emilio told us what you pulled and thought we'd be more wise to your escape plans than your bodyguard.' Another voice, a girl's comes, as she emerges from behind her brother, having always been the smallest of the three, 'We just so happened to be in Paris to catch you.'

'You're not the only one who's impulsive, you know.' A final voice says as I notice him leaning against the railings beside us.

'I cannot believe you guys.' I chuckle, lunging towards them.

Zoë is the first to dive into my arms, my best friend since our birth weeks apart in the same royal hospital ward. Augustus is next to pile on, the stunning and unfortunately-for-me gay triplet, and finally Quigley manages to fit his frame around us all, always having been the big buff one of the three.

Asher stands away from us very awkwardly, pulling on his jacket to entertain his hands. I drag myself away from the Greenewood triplets and move to stand beside him, noticing the painful tension between us.

'Asher, meet the Greenewood triplets, Zoë, Quigley and Augustus. Guys, this is Asher, my bodyguard.' I say, gesturing between them.

'He's definitely more than that.' Zoë mutters under her breath at me, before plastering a smile on her face, 'Asher! It's so lovely to meet you, we've heard so many wonderful stories about you.'

'No you haven't.' I snort.

'No, we haven't.' Zoë bites back before turning back to me, 'If you don't want him, I'll have him.'

I jab her in the ribs as she moves to the side so that the boys can shake Asher's hand. They make a little small talk, but their eyes are excited and they obviously noticed the almost-moment between Asher and I. If that's what it was. He asked if I was going to punch him, but I don't know how unusual that is for us. I've definitely punched him a few times over the years, once I broke his glasses I think.

'So what were you doing on the floor?' Gus asks, frowning with a mischievous smile.

'Dinner!' I cover quickly. Everyone looks at me and my outburst and Asher subtly leans his head back with the awkwardness, 'Asher made reservations.'

'Nice save.' Quigley mumbles before pulling on one of his suitcases that is far smaller than ours, 'Grab a case.'

The triplets agree, each taking a bag, except for Zoë who lets Asher drag hers even though I'd bet my life that it's the heaviest. As we walk towards the inside of the train, Augustus wraps an arm around me, and listens as I gush about how pleased I am that they're here. Asher walks silently behind us, yet to say anything since we were interrupted.

I'll bet Asher is wondering who these people are, considering he's probably too slow to have connected these Alanian dots, back to when I talked to him about my best friends when we were dancing at Thorne. Even if he has, I'm sure he's then wondering what the hell they're doing joining us on our train journey over to Sweden.

If you wanted the explanation Emilio will have given to the agency, both the boys are ACS agents and can be two extra pairs of eyes and ears and hands, made easier by the fact that they're coming to Alania anyway. The real reason is that these three are my best friends and if I needed any support going back to my country, it would be from these three.

The Greenewood family rank about third in importance out of all the clans, but to my family they're pretty much tip top. Their father Roberto, and many of their fathers before have been among the most respected judges of the royal courts, but more importantly, brilliant friends with my ancestors.

So when the triplets were born in the royal hospital only a few weeks before I was, our mothers became inseparable. Every summer before I was twelve, we would vacation together at either their estate or ours, or somewhere that their mother Kat had decided was the 'it' place that year.

When the triplet's father died when they were ten, their mother decided the best place for them to heal was with her parents in Kent which happened to be only an hour away from London. I like to think that their new home played a part in where my dad hid me away, but I had to apply to visit them, so I think maybe not.

I've been able to see them almost every month since I moved over, with the only exceptions being when threats on my life were critically high and I couldn't risk travelling on the train over by myself (or with Emilio when he had a spare day and fancied living the high life for a few hours). In the last few years though, they've taken to spending the winters in Kent, and their summers in Alania, so I've seen them less than I would've liked. They've always made it home for Christmas though, Christmas time in Alania is not something to be missed.

When Emilio and I would visit, Kat would always ply us full with food, and spend dinner times at the table testing me on politics and the royal clans to make sure I wouldn't forget. Emilio likes going round because Kat sees him as a hero, and has no problems treating him like one. They're my substitute family, and they're just as brilliant and wonderful as they always were.

As we enter the dining cart the woman from earlier smiles and asks how my adventure went. I tell her it was rudely interrupted and Gus shoves my elbow. Asher is deadly silent, and it concerns me. I want to say something, but I can't find any words. I repeat his name but the woman takes us to a table much bigger than one Asher would've chosen, given our unexpected guests.

It's a bizarre restaurant, the tables are extremely close together given the small width of the train, so when we sit down for dinner we're almost on top of each other. Zoë quickly takes a seat beside me, Gus and Quigley opposite leaving Asher the space on my right. He sits down carefully, pulling his napkin onto his lap and looking straight down.

'So Asher,' Quigley grins and my head snaps up. I send him a pleading look for him to be kind to him, but knowing Quigley as well as I do, the only diplomatic triplet of the three, I know when he smiles that he's not the one I need to be worried about, 'How's your first few days gone as little Satan's bodyguard?'

Asher looks at me quickly and then nods, 'Good, thank you sir.'

The triplets let out a little laugh and Zoë leans over to put her hand on Asher's arm, 'You don't have to worry about any formalities with us Asher, we're Zia's best friends before we're royal clan members. Feel free to insult her as much as you want to, I know your week won't have been easy.'

'Especially with your little trip to Paris.' Quigley says, raising his eyebrows disapprovingly of me, 'Emilio filled us in. The next time you decide to fly to another country to get your head kicked in, let me know first. We've been in Paris a few weeks and I'd be more than happy to take Loki's place. Maybe I could knock some sense into you.'

'Yeah, why are you guys in Paris?' I ask and Gus chuckles.

'That's a good way to change the subject.' He points out, but lets my distraction work anyway, 'There were some dress alterations that Zoë needed doing before the coronation, and Quigley and me came along to do some Christmas shopping in the city.'

'Why didn't you fly back up home instead? You know this train takes another fourteen hours to arrive in Sweden, and then another plane journey back down?' I ask, 'I have to do it to cover my ass, but you guys don't.'

'Oh please!' Zoë laughs, 'It's the first time in six years we've been able to see you for longer than a weekend. You're going to be so busy with interviews and fittings and seeing your family, that we thought if we could get seventeen hours with you first, then we will.'

'Speaking of busy, how much running around after you have you made Asher do so far?' Gus asks. Asher smiles, and seems to relax a little bit.

'I've been no bother at all!' I interrupt.

'Apart from the occasional fleeing of the country, it's not been that much different to school so far.' Asher says and Zoë frowns a little.

'You guys go to school together?' She asks.

'Yeah, six years.' He nods, keeping his voice low so that no one but our table can hear us.

'You went to Thorne? Wait - you're Thorne?' Augustus splutters, pulling out his phone, 'As in, Thorne from Thorne Academy? You're an agent!'

'No shit, maybe keep the volume down Gus.' I whisper, noticing the anxious way Asher looks around the room. He does however, nod.

'Oh my God.' He laughs, suddenly out loud. Zoë squints, trying to catch up.

'Wait, your first name is Asher?' She asks again even though she's said his name more than once already. Again, Asher nods, 'Oh Zia, oh my Gods.'

'It sounds like you actually have heard of me?' Asher asks, trying to understand why everyone at our table, minus the two of us, are hysterically laughing.

'Darling, we know you better than anyone, we just never knew your name.' Zoë hicks from laughing too hard, 'Every single story about Thorne Academy that we've heard has featured the 'Thorne golden boy'. Zia's just failed to mention that it's you.'

'I can't believe you didn't tell us.' Gus says, swatting at my arm.

'I only just found out the other night. It's all been a bit sudden if you hadn't noticed.' I grumble, watching the way Asher's eyes glimmer with amusement, 'Also I could have told you if I knew you were coming.'

'We have phones.' Zoë chuckles before adding under her breath, 'We're not Loki.'

'I actually think I might have heard of you guys.' Asher says slowly as if we haven't spoken about them before, 'I think I might have run into one of you a few years back, on a training course?'

'Berlin, you're right! I knew I recognised you.' Gus comments, snapping his fingers together. Asher nods happily, 'I was going to come and introduce myself, but the golden boy was always surrounded by people gushing over him.'

'People actually do that?' I grunt and Asher kicks my ankle under the table. I wince and lean my head on my hands, grumpily.

'You'd be surprised how fast word circles the agency these days. Fresh blood is always exciting, especially blood as successful as yours.' Quigley says and I wonder what benefit he thinks there is to kiss-assing him, 'You're the Thorne bloodline, right? From the royal clans?'

'Yeah, descended from.' Asher nods.

'Well I'm sure lots of people will be happy to hear you're coming back.' Gus tells him.

'I'm actually not supposed to tell anybody about my heritage while we're over there.' Asher says and I looked over at him, wondering why he didn't tell me this, 'It's no good being a secret agent if everyone knows who you are. Plus people are used to seeing us together at school, the ACS are worried people will make her in London.'

'So you two hang out a lot then?' Zoë asks, trying to sound as innocent as possible. Luckily, I don't think Asher picks up on it.

'No, not really.' He grins, 'But my friends might notice and things, it's just better for me to keep my mouth shut.'

'Asher, I don't mean to be rude, but your reputation in the agency and your reputation from Marzia are vastly different,' Quigley says, out of his silence, 'Can I ask something.'

'No, you can't.'

'Of course.'

I look over at Asher who tries to not to gloat that my friends are listening more to him than to me.

'Marzia has always had a flare for exaggerating her stories,' He continues, ignoring my protests, 'Are you really arch-enemies?'

'You're trying to mock me, but I never said that.' I input and Asher turns to me, 'I actually called you my nemesis, there's a big difference. You just happen to be both.'

'Alright, are you her nemesis then?' He asks again.

Asher looks at me for a moment, amusement in his eyes.

'Something like that.' He chuckles.

I can't hide the stupid grin my face at his sarcastic reply. Not understanding the joke, the triplets exchange a look and Zoë coughs beside me. I jump a little, accidentally ramming my knee into the edge of the crowded table. My foot jerks out in reaction and collides with Asher's shin, so the two of us are left swearing and rubbing our limbs when the waitress comes over to take our orders.

'So Z, is anything you've told us about Asher true?' Zoë asks, returning to the original question that was interrupted by my clumsiness.

'What?' I ask, deeply offended.

'Well you told us he was a good-for-nothing, and here he is, keeping you alive. You said he got you in trouble all the time, but he seems like a stand up guy.' Gus says, looking at me, 'You also greatly downplayed how attractive he is.'

'You said I was attractive?' Asher turns to me, propping his head up on one of his hands and grinning wildly at me.

'Not once have I ever said that.' I bite back, 'And no, everything I said was true! He really did do all of those things!'

'I can't believe you told your friends I was attractive.'

'No I didn't, shut up.'

'How could be mean to such an attractive face?'

'I'll hit you.'

'Hit this wonderfully attractive face?' He blinks innocently.

'Can't you see how annoying he is?' I gesture to the triplets and Quigley's head flops to one side.

'I can't imagine our country's best agent stealing your clothes after gym class.' Quigley says, doubting me.

'I actually did do that.' Asher winces and they turn to look at him. I wave my hands to prove my point and he laughs at me, 'We have sort of tortured each other for the past six years, but it's behind us now, right? We're friends.'

'Not anymore.' I winge and slump back in my chair, 'I would like to take the opportunity to point out that you're supposed to be here as my friends, not my bodyguards.'

'Don't get arsey,' Quigley says, leaning over and grabbing on my hands, 'We're absolutely here for you. In the last eighteen years, when have we ever not been?'

'The last ten minutes.' I reply sarcastically. Quigley rolls his eyes and drops a kiss on the back of my hand as an apology.

'Oh I almost forgot, Emilio said he gave you our cabin key?' Augustus clicks, reminding his siblings, 'Can we grab it? I'll run our suitcases over before the food arrives.'

'No, Emilio only gave us ours.' I say, looking over to where Asher and I have put our cabin keys down on the table when we sat down.

They look between each other before Quigley clears his throat, and I prepare for whatever bad news he's getting ready to tell me, pulling his hands away and keeping his shins a safe distance from my aggressive kicking. I lock my fingers around the keys protectively.

'Emilio told us you and Asher were sharing, and we have the cabin next door.' He says with a slight grin on his smug little face, 'He didn't tell you? We're cabin number...'

'Don't say fifty-three-'

'Fifty-three.' He finishes checking their tickets, 'Sorry kid, that's ours, thanks.'

He reaches over and snatches the key from my hand. I look desperately over at Asher, wishing for him to jump up and save us from having to share a room together again, given how awkward and annoying it was the last time. I almost reach for my phone to send Emilio a text, letting him know that if he steps foot in Alania, he'll get beheaded.

'Why can't Zoë and I share instead?' I plead. 'Asher snores really loudly.'

'You're really selling it.' Augustus drawls.

'I don't!' Asher defends himself.

'Isn't Asher meant to be here to protect you? How is he meant to do that from next door?' Zoë says, but stops suddenly, 'Wait, how do you know what he does while he's asleep? What exactly is happening between the two of you?'

'Zoë, stop it, she's not doing anything.' Quigley points at me, 'She's the princess of Alania for heaven's sake, and it's so unbelievably against the agency's rules. Asher would be fired so fast his head would spin.'

As Quigley points this out, I realise just how right he is. It's potentially the worst thing Asher could do besides let me get killed. I don't know what almost happened on the train platform, but I remind myself that nothing like that can happen again. If anyone even thinks we're looking too close, Asher could be in real trouble. I shuffle my chair a little further away from him and I notice the sudden way he's resigned himself to looking at his plate instead of any of us.

'So Asher,' Zoë says, trying to alleviate the silence, 'Have you been stuck with security for the coronation, or will you be sitting with the rest of us?'

'I'm walking Marzia in, and back out, but I'll just be standing at the side for the most part.' Asher tells her.

'That's rubbish.' Zoë says, 'Well, for my wedding, you can sit front and centre with Marzia if you like. She'll need someone to walk her down the aisle, and we've not got enough groomsmen as it is.'

'You're engaged?' Asher splutters.

Zoë grins happily and Augustus mumbles something incoherently under his breath. Asher's eyebrows can't help but shoot up, wondering who thought a marriage this young would be a good idea.

'Yes she is, Asher.' Quigley interrupts Zoë before she opens her mouth, 'Please feel free to tell her what a stupid idea you think it is.'

Asher squirms uncomfortably.

'We're thinking of a spring wedding.' Zoë gushes, ignoring her brother and twirling her ring around on her slender finger before she has to take it off for the coronation, per her mother's orders. They're currently debating the idea, but I'm sure Zoë will win.

It's actually a very impressive ring, and given that she's marrying a boy from one of the richest royal clans, I wouldn't expect anything less. Zoë on the evening of her eighteenth birthday, was proposed to by her boyfriend Bertie, the grandson of the Penderson clan. The Penderson's are American-Alanian and made a shit-tonne of money in the twenties. And that's me putting it politely, so her beautiful ring and elaborate wedding plans don't surprise me.

It's too young to be getting married, we all know it. But between me, Quigley and Augustus, Bertie's family and Zoë's mother Kat, we've all tried our hardest to convince the pair otherwise, with no success. There's no way to stop this wedding, they're in love. I think it's quite sweet how determined they are, despite their age.

I mean, my mother got married at eighteen and look how that worked out, but I'm hopeful.

'Spring sounds great, how about spring of 2030?' Augustus mutters.

Zoë rolls her eyes at her brothers, rendering all their criticisms meaningless. Quigley and Augustus managed a small negotiation with their sister, she promised to be engaged for at least a year before the wedding, but I think it had the opposite effect than they'd hoped. Zoë just sees it as more time to play the wedding. I think they're taking the win anyway.

'Asher, ignore my insolent brothers,' Zoë smiles, 'For generations, Greenewood women have married young and started families early. I love Bertie, and so the boys, they just worry that I'm putting our traditions above any practicalities. I'm marrying Bertie because I love him.'

'That's all well and good, you can still love him when you're twenty-eight.' Quigley says.

'Zia understands, don't you Z?' She says but I shoot her a pleading look not to follow up with her sentence. As usual, she misses my subtlety, 'Zia has to be engaged before she's twenty-one, and I don't see how that's any different. I don't know why I can't get married before I'm twenty-one, but Zia has to.'

I can't help but turn to clock Asher's face. It looks, for a second as if he crumples, however he puts on an exterior front like he always does. She's made this argument a couple of times, and each time I've reminded her that she would be lucky that she's not supposed to be married at a ridiculously young age.

Quigley sighs, 'Another ridiculous tradition.'

'You have to get married before you're twenty-one?' Asher asks, seemingly having not even heard Quigley.

'Not married, just engaged.' I say, grasping at straws, 'It's not a law or anything, it's just what's expected I guess. It helps the kingdom if I marry someone well connected.'

'An arranged marriage?' He chokes out.

'More of a betrothal. I can say no if I have a valid reason.' I say. The boys have also noticed the change in atmosphere, shown by the way they send Zoë warning looks for her not to say anything else. She's incredibly intelligent, and a complete socialite, but sometimes I wonder how she's lived so long being so obtuse.

'Who are you marrying?' Asher asks, almost as if he's forgotten that the triplets are even there.

'I don't know for sure yet.' I reply honestly, 'There's talks with Francesco of Italy, or the prince in Germany, Arthur.'

'At least it's not Niklaus Germaine.' Quigley muses from his seat and I take a second to be extremely grateful for that.

Asher gulps and adjusts the napkin on his lap just as our food arrives. They place Asher's steak in front of him, and my pasta in front of me. The triplets receive their food and by the time the waiter disappears again, our silence still hasn't been interrupted. Augustus manages to distract Asher with the details of the training course where they first met, before a calm lul returns to the table and we eat somewhat quietly.

'Anyway, speaking of weddings,' Zoë begins, as the silence becomes deafening. I roll my eyes, painfully aware that this conversation is not wanted, 'I have a question for you Z.'

I look over at her, her eyes suddenly lit up with excitement. Her grin is uncontainable and I guess exactly what she's about to ask me as soon as she pulls something from her bag. Her hands pass me the scrapbook and I take it carefully, unaware quite how much work we must have done as children.

'I can't believe you kept this, I haven't seen this since we were kids!' I gawp, turning the front and back cover around in my hands, completely aghast. The front is pink and the back is yellow, reflective of the colours we chose to theme our weddings when we were six. Thankfully, Zoë has moved onto less neon colours, but I refuse to let go of the yellow.

'I found it in our apartment in Paris.' She giggles, looking fondly at it.

'What is it?' Quigley asks, leaning over to look as I start to open the pages.

'It's our wedding book.' I chuckle, 'Back before I hated all of this stuff, we used to cut out pictures of women from magazines, and princesses on their weddings days, like Diana, and our mums. I think there's photos of our bridesmaid dresses in here too, from some royal clan weddings.'

'Page four.' Zoë grins, watching as I skip through the delicate photos, 'Zia, the reason I'm showing this to you is because if there's ever anyone that I need to help me plan my wedding, you've clearly been preparing yourself for the job since infancy.'

I look away from the book to face her, trying to avoid any sarcastic comments because I know she'll kill me if I ruin any of the special moments of her wedding planning and big day. I don't realise how much this moment was going to mean to me until I feel tiny tears in my eyes and unbelievable love and pride for my best friend.

'Will you be my maid of honour?' She says, clapping her hands together as if she's praying that I'll agree, given that she knows me all too well.

'Do I have to wear a big poofy dress?'

'Yes, of course.' She nods.

'I don't want to.'

'That sounds like a personal problem.'

'Fine, but can I at least make a speech?' I ask.

'If I can proof read it before you do.' She replies.

'Absolutely not.' I counter.

'Fine.' She agrees, begrudgingly, 'Is that a yes?'

'Zoë, it would mean the world to me.' I grin and she leans over and gives me a big hug, 'As long as I get to help you taste all wedding cake condenders.'

'There's no one else I'd ask.' She grins, 'And don't worry, I've asked Esther to be co-maid of honour so you don't have to plan everything yourself. You remember my cousin Esther, don't you?'

I nod, despite the fact that I know she's not asked us both to ease the workload, but because she knows I'll hate wedding dress shopping, and she wants to try on a million different gowns. Either way, I'm grateful for it. The last time I saw Esther, we were only little, but I remember her fondly from our summers at the Greenewood estate. It helps also that she's absolutely beautiful, per the Greenewood genetics.

Asher looks at me with amusement, having clearly never thought in a million years have agreed to willingly participate in a big fancy wedding. But it's Zoë, I'd do anything for her. With anyone else, I would've rejected it faster than they could've finished their sentence.

Zoë has been my best friend since we were babies and she's the only one who's never asked me to be anything other than myself. The least I can do for one the world's most incredible human beings is throw on a dress and walk behind her down an aisle, and I'm honoured that she'll even let me.

Plus as kids, we signed a 'legally binding contract' stipulating that we had to be each other's maid of honours, or the wedding was not allowed to happen.

'I can't believe you had a wedding scrapbook.' Asher coos, moving to look over my shoulder at it.

I keep flipping through the pages, abandoning the rest of my dinner. I see the dramatic photos of Kat and Roberto Greenewood's wedding, the dress she wore, the bridesmaids outfits. There's a photo in the middle of me crying at my christening and Asher laughs at me.

'Is that you?' Asher asks, pointing to the crying child.

'Grumpy since day one.' Gus laughs.

'We can just skip that page.' I say, flipping a few further to my parent's wedding.

'Oh look, there's my dad!' Zoë says, pointing to a figure in the church, 'He looks just like-'

'Wait.'

Everyone at the table looks up, to see Asher taking the book from my hands and inspecting a photograph we weren't even paying attention to. It's from my parents wedding but it's just an innocent photograph of their table decorations. Asher's eyes flicker back and forth slightly, holding the photograph close to his nose.

Without another word, he stands up, ripping the photograph out of its place and storms back towards the cabins. The triplets look between each other, then to me, bewildered at his sudden disappearance and vandalism. Quigley gestures for me to follow him, so I grab his jacket and follow quickly in his direction.

I can tell Zoë wants to shout after me to get the photo back from him, but knows it's probably not acceptable to do so. There's only a small amount of food gone from both our plates, but I toss my purse over to Zoë, knowing she'll find me at some point to give it back.

By the time I catch up with him, he's almost closing the door to what is now our cabin. His eyes don't even seem to notice me, as he keeps focused on the photograph that he's torn away from its spot. He's discarded our keys on the bed and clings to the picture in his fingertips, but gently as though it's a bomb.

'Asher, what is going on?' I ask.

He pauses for a second, then passes me the photograph. I look it over, it's a photograph of my parents wedding, the table decorations and place card settings. There are people vaguely dancing in the background and everyone appears to be having a good time, but I can't make out many faces that I recognise. We printed this off because Zoë liked the flowers in the centrepiece. Unless Asher has some particular aversion to blue tulips, I still don't understand.

'You told me my father never knew your family.' He says, still pacing around the four foot cabin and I frown, even more confused, 'Miss Van Doren did too. He had never been to Alania, my grandad moved to England when he was my age. My mother had never even heard of the country for Christ's sake!'

'Asher, I don't understand.' I press and he points at the photograph in between his furious and panicked breathing.

'Why would they have kept this from me? Why did everyone lie to me?' He says, before looking at my worried face, 'The place cards.'

I squint at the words written in fancy calligraphy and suddenly I make sense of why Asher is running around our tiny cabin doubting the very foundations of his family's Alanian history.

Rusty & Pandora Thorne.