'Are you sure you know how to drive?!' Asher screams as a car drives past us, honking his horn loudly and shouting a cuss word in my direction.

I swerve out of the way and hear the suitcases rattle around in the boot of the car that the agency arrived to have ready at the train station when we arrived this morning. The Greenewood's adjust their seatbelts in the back and exchange anxious looks. It's only around six-am and so there's not that many people on the road except for us, and that rude man.

I scoff at Asher's insulting question, given that I learnt to drive when I was fourteen, and check the rearview mirror to glare at the man who just drove past us, despite the fact that he won't be able to see me.

'Yes! He was just driving on the wrong side of the stupid road.' I shout back and I can already tell everyone in the car is regretting letting me drive. I made a very compelling argument about how no one would expect a princess to be driving herself to the airport, and also I called shotgun, which is very, very important.

'No he wasn't! Marzia move!' Asher shrieks as another car comes our way, directly in front of me, in my lane, 'They drive on the right here! We drive on the left! Fucking move over!'

I yelp and swerve into the other lane just in time to miss the car. Asher and the triplets continue screaming, listening to another long honk from another car. Once in the correct lane, a traffic light stops us. Asher and I fall back into our seats and the triplets let go of one another, a feeling of fear and looming death settling into our bones.

'You're not so good at this protecting thing, are you?' I chuckle, holding my chest and taking a deep breath so that my lungs don't feel so restricted.

'Yes I am, it's not my fault you're inept.' Asher shudders, rolling down the window to let in the cold air and we all take a thankful breath, relieved it isn't our last.

'In my defence, none of us have ever driven in Sweden before.' I say, taking in our surroundings of fields full of tulips. It reminds me of Alania, but we're still a few hours away yet.

The reason the five of us are travelling to the airport alone and without an armed agency escort is that the press have been camped out at every airport and train station to try catch a glimpse of the princess. And my cover would be well and truly blown if I jumped into an armed car with a fake passport now wouldn't it?

Zoë, Quigley and Augustus are joining us for the drive, but they're having to fly in their own plane to avoid any suspicion when we land. We're going to drop them at the airport, and then go give me a princess makeover at the smallest diner with an outside bathroom that we can find.

Asher has been disturbingly quiet ever since last night, besides his most recent outbursts about my perfectly capable driving. I don't understand the huge impact that our parents knowing each other has, but it's clearly messed with his head, because he's been making dumb decisions all morning.

One of them being, letting me drive.

I tuck my seatbelt underneath my arm and take another rattling breath. I can't tell if the tightness in my chest comes from having almost just died again, or the fact that I'm getting ever so closer to being home soon.

The traffic lights change and I move slowly back into driving, a lot more cautious about oncoming traffic from now on. I do appreciate the irony that would be me dying in a car accident instead of being murdered, but I don't think my family would.

It's not far to the airport, and for safety reasons, they're setting off an hour earlier than we are, so they clamber out when we arrive, hardly saying anything on the drive over. I can tell all three of them are exhausted, and Augustus was not quiet about the lack of sleep he managed to get last night because of Quigley's motion sickness.

He still looks a little green around the edges, and I know none of them would say anything, but I think they're regretting agreeing to such a long train journey, only to have to fly after that too. I think they were quite relieved when their mother called to say their private plane was flying over Sweden on her way home from a spa retreat in Norway and she'd pick them up on her way.

After six years of living in London with Emilio and travelling everywhere by bus or tube, the idea of being 'picked up on the way' in a private plane almost makes me laugh. I can tell the idea spins Asher's head too, because we make brief eye contact when they tell us their rearranged plans. Even their quick dress fitting and spontaneous shopping trip to Paris seemed to blow his mind, and mine too.

'Don't do anything stupid in between here and Alania yeah?' Augustus winks at me, 'If you end up heading back to Paris, drop me a text first.'

'Get out of my car.' I laugh as he unloads their suitcases.

'We'll see you over there, okay?' Zoë says and I nod, 'Fly safe bean. Nice to meet you Asher!'

'Yeah, see you soon.' He waves over his shoulder from the front seat.

When they shut the door, they leave the two of us in an uncomfortable bubble of silence. I watch in the taxi lane as they walk towards the entrance and are immediately escorted into a separate line. Without them here, I feel a little deflated once again. I know in my head that I will see them soon, the same as Emilio, but my heart has gotten used to saying see you soon instead of goodbye, and then soon is all too far away.

Last night, Zoë knocked for me, and I spent a little bit of time in their cabin explaining the situation to them, given that Asher hardly said a word the whole night. Zoë even forgave him for pulling the photo from the scrapbook and told me to tell him he could keep it. They didn't have any suggestions as to how to help, and I've drawn a blank myself all morning.

After they completely disappear behind the glass doors and a corridor, I turn the ignition again and pull out into the traffic. The seatbelt is still sitting around my waist so it's not pressing down on my lungs, but even then, the air still feels tight. We don't have a specific diner picked to change, so this morning we decided just to drive out into the countryside and see.

'Put your seatbelt on.' Asher comments absentmindedly, checking his hair in the mirror to check he hasn't pulled it all out a moment ago when I nearly killed us. He adjusts his glasses and flips the mirror back away from him.

'My seatbelt is on.' I reply, focusing on the signs and trying to remember if I ever learnt any Swedish.

Asher looks over at me and then looks down at where my seatbelt rests, then back up at my face. He seems stunned that I could even comprehend putting my life into such severe danger, and I shoot him a scorned look a few times, checking the road in between.

'What is your problem?' I snap.

'We've literally nearly just crashed twice and you decide now is the time to not wear a seatbelt.' He gestures to the road with an attitude.

'I am wearing a seatbelt!'

'Not correctly.' He huffs.

There's a sign that looks smaller than the others on the roundabout diagram and so I take the turn and find us on a long road with fields either side, and Asher looks at me as the road begins to look less and less promising.

'Are you going to make it this difficult to keep you alive all week or should I just go ahead and resign now?' Asher groans.

'I can take care of myself, so if you want to resign, go right ahead. No one's stopping you. My plan is to fire you when I take over eventually anyway.' I snap, realising just how long this week is going to be.

'You'd take over?' He asks in a fit of confusion.

I glance at him, still watching the bend in the road that's coming up. I frown, wondering how he could have formulated a way in which I wouldn't be. Asher seems to shut his mouth rather abruptly and shakes his head, slightly confused by his own speech.

'Why wouldn't I?' I say. Asher doesn't say anything, an event that causes me to push further, 'I'm next after my dad. You know this Ash, it's the whole reason we're going home.'

'What about Charlie?' Asher asks timidly.

I can feel my hands tighten on the steering wheel and the pulse in my wrist quicken so intensely that I can sense the blood pumping faster to my fingertips quickly turning white. I suck air in through my teeth, my arms rigid against the wheel.

'Who?'

'Your brother.' Asher says, leaning forward with a brow full of confusion and eyes that seem to scan over me as if something was wrong.

'Charlie is dead.' I can't help but let my lips turn downwards in both pain and anger that arises at the mention of my missing brother, 'Don't talk about him. He's dead, okay?'

'Loki found him then, huh?' Asher asks.

My mouth drops partly and he looks at me seriously. For a moment, I'm tempted to tell him the truth, because it's not something he doesn't already know. But we're in an agency car, and I have no doubt dad has people listening in on us. Charlie and my dad are alike in lots of ways, but they both have a habit of bugging places without telling me.

'Of course not, there's nothing to find. He's dead.' I reply sturdily, 'And I've not seen Loki in years.'

Asher appears to understand why I'm lying and nods, eyes flicking around for any little red blinking lights. He shuffles in his seat and moves his hands between the linings in the car. There's no point, it'll be too hidden for me to accidentally stumble upon anything, they're not secret agents for no reason. I bat his hands away from the console just as my phone beeps with a text alert.

'Will you check that?' I ask Asher, 'It's probably just Emilio with information about our plane.'

Asher picks up my phone and lets a grin spread onto his face, 'No fucking way.'

'What?' I ask, leaning over to try to catch a glimpse, 'Asher, what?'

'Careful what you say about me, little princess. Tell the triplets I said hello, and tell Zoë congrats from me, C.' Asher relays the message.

'Oh you're a fucking dick, Charles Castille. Stop bugging my things.' I shout, with the aim of making the static in his ears unmanageable and a silent hope that his full name still annoys him as much as it used to.

I know for a fact that Charlie has been bugging random items of mine for years, just to see whether or not I actually care about him, he's very big headed. He's heard me talking for forever, but he hardly ever says anything back. It relieves me a little however that he's here, given that I know he'll be messing with my father's bugs, and that now definitely dad will have no idea that Charlie has been in contact, and I know where he is.

My phone beeps again.

'I liked that photo of you in Paris. I've hung it on a wall. Tell Emilio sorry for scaring him, you just weren't being careful enough.' Asher reads and curses right after he does.

Be careful.

I try not to shout with the twang in relief in my chest. There was no threat on my life when I went to Paris, only my brother trying to remind me that I'm not as invincible as I think I am. It's sweet in the only twisted way my brother can handle. He's spent too much time with Loki.

'You absolute prick, you scared the shit out of us,' I grumble, realising now that the be careful warning Charlie delivered with the photo was just that, a reminder to keep myself safe, 'You're gonna pay for that you know. They talked about not letting me come back, you inconsiderate arsehole.'

I know I'm swearing too much at the brother I miss and want home like crazy, but that's the way we've always communicated. I'm mad at him, that's for damn sure, but he knows I'm glad he's here somehow.

The beep sounds, again.

'Love you too.' Asher relays and I smack the dashboard in frustration.

'If you really did, you'd come home.' I snap.

For a few seconds, the phone stays quiet and Asher peers at me, wondering why I'm trying to piss off the brother that I've been searching for. Charlie does this very occasionally, it's comforting I guess, to know he's safe and in some ways, listening out for me, but I've learnt not to expect anything more than a message or sarcastic comment.

For the final time, my phone beeps again and Asher bites his lip, clearly not wanting to tell me what it is my big brother so desperately wants me to know.

'Asher, tell me.' I push, pulling the car into a tiny car park beside a small diner that, despite the early hour is open.

I grab the phone from Asher's grip and read aloud the words written on the glowing screen.

'Put your seatbelt on.' I huff.

All of a sudden, there's a tiny beep and I know that signals that Charlie is gone. He's dropped the bug's interference and left again. Charlie's so intelligent when it comes to machines, he always was. People however, that's a different story.

I toss my phone into the middle compartment of the car and lean myself onto the steering wheel. Asher stays sitting still, watching my reaction to the few words my brother had communicated with me. I know the longer we stay sitting in the parking lot without getting out, the more suspicious we look, to the waiters and to my father's listening agents, so I sit up and take a deep breath.

'Have you got the bag?' I ask.

'No time like the present.' He responds.

Asher looks at me curiously and hands me the rucksack by his feet. I yank open the car door and storm towards the bathroom, with a LED 'open' sign flashing above it. I lock myself in a stall and set about pulling my wig from my hair and the contacts away from my eyes, happy in the knowledge that I won't have to wear them for the rest of the trip.

I tug my jeans from my body and wiggle out of my jumper. I replace the comfortable clothing with a little nude dress, with white detailing, shoes and jewelry to match, an outfit I have no doubt my grandmother chose. Right at the bottom of the bag, there's my great grandmother's ring that I haven't dared to wear in London, but that I've been dying to.

I slide it on my finger and survey myself in the cracked bathroom mirror. I've never seen myself as a princess, and an adult before. I'm half expecting to look into the mirror and see a twelve year old looking back at me. But no, there she is. A full human adult, looking scared as fuck and nothing like herself.

I swallow down my doubts and toss the bag over my shoulder once more, stomping my way back to the car, which is considerably harder in heels. I notice the look of amusement on Asher's face as I do so, clearly having not seen me in any fancy get up, ever. There's a grin on his face like nothing I've ever seen before.

As soon as I get near the car, Asher jumps out and holds open the passenger door for me, clearly indicating that I can't make the rest of the journey to the airport driving us, for fear that we'll die on the way. He's probably right, especially in heels.

Don't tell him I said that.

'You look like a princess.' He smiles, grabbing his own bag to also change his clothes.

'And what does a princess look like?' I ask, feeling oddly self conscious.

'Like a fairytale.' He chuckles, shutting the door behind me.

I lock the doors, as Asher instructed me to from the inside and watch as he disappears into the bathroom, his jeans getting splashed by the rain that's opening from the heavens. While he's changing, I pull down the mirror and begin to wipe away the heavy makeup that hides the princess in me.

I thin down the eyeliner, and add some sheer eyeshadow above it, just to please the press, and mascara to give the illusion that I have stayed a girl after all these years. I'm just finishing the lip balm (they've packed me lipstick but come on, I'm still me) when Asher emerges from the bathroom.

He looks even better than he did the other night in his suit. He's still not managed a bowtie, but instead he settled for a real tie, something he can manage. His blazer is buttoned at the waist and he clearly spent a long time shining his shoes. His suit is pretty typical for agents, but he's allowed to style his a little more, considering he's ever so slightly more important.

He likes calling himself my Personal Protection Officer, or PPO, but I know he just prefers it to 'bodyguard' because it makes him sound way cooler. He'd probably call himself a super-fast ninja spy if he was allowed.

He walks quickly and jumps into the driver's seat, shutting the door to keep the rain away from his suit. His glasses are covered in rain droplets and I chuckle, pulling them gently from his face and lifting a napkin from my handbag to clean them.

'Jesus Christ, who would have thought Raine Carson would carry a handkerchief?' He laughs, looking at me in bewilderment, his eyes slightly unfocused without their aid.

I finish drying them and lean back over, shoving them back into his nose. He chuckles at the shock that reacts in his eyes, before setting off driving again towards a car park we've been instructed to pick another car up at. It's only twenty minutes away but already sitting in this dress is uncomfortable and I wish I could've stayed in jeans longer.

The agency said it was too risky for my alias to pick us up at the train station, so we had to drive as Raine and Asher to a diner to change into Marzia and Asher, and then drive to get another car to really throw them off the scent. Honestly, I'd rather just take the bullet if they make me do this whole sodding show all week.

When we reach the multistory car park, I jump in the front seat of our new car and instantly crank up the heating that I miss from the old one, which we leave locked towards the back entrance. Asher ruffles his hair with the wind blowing it up and upsetting whatever magic he thinks he worked in the diner bathroom.

I lean over, just as he begins to look pleased again and ruffle my fingers into his fringe. He laughs, and his hand holds my wrist to stop ruining his creation. I leave my hand by his face, resting slightly on his neck, and his loose grip stays on my wrist.

'It's about to get really mad, isn't it?' He whispers, finally focusing on my face.

'You have no idea.' I smile, trying to keep myself calm, knowing as soon as we enter the castle, I'm going to have cameras looking at me everywhere.

'We don't have to hurry do we?' He asks as he completes a long sigh, 'I mean, the plane doesn't leave for an hour, does it?'

'Roughly,' I reply, trying to remember my agenda, 'But what about traffic, or if someone gets in the way, the press have a history of running into the road, if someone sees me.'

'You're scared.' He says, squinting to fully realise this.

'A little.' I admit, knowing that he's going to hold this over me.

But instead, he lets go of my wrist, and places it instead around my waist. He pulls my body closer so that my head is on his shoulder. To my surprise, his heart is beating faster than it should be, and it's completely obvious that he too, is afraid.

'What's scaring you the most?' He asks gently, his head resting on mine, and I can feel his breath in my hair.

'Seeing my dad.' I tell him, 'Mum doesn't fly in until tomorrow, but I have to see my dad today, now. I know once I've seen him, everyone else will be easier, I just have to get through that first.'

'I'll be there the whole time.' He reminds me, and somehow it's comforting to know that.

'What's making you so afraid?' I ask, and he looks at me quizzically, 'Your heart is racing like mad.'

'I'm fine.' He excuses himself but after a stern look, he sighs, running a hand through his hair, 'What if I screw up? Or your dad doesn't like me, or I insult him or something? Or I trip over and throw tea all over your grandmother?'

'I think we'd have to behead you.' I tell him.

'Really?' He panics before his brain thinks it through.

'No you idiot. If it helps, I'll tell all the castle staff that you've got delicate hands that can't hold hot drinks.' I chuckle but Asher looks at me seriously, 'You won't. You've been training for four years for this. And she already loves you, I doubt she'd get mad at you even if you did spill boiling water on her.'

'I thought you said she was a compulsive liar?' He grins.

'I have to get it from somewhere.' I smile.

'You ready?' He asks. I nod.

He kisses the top of my head and I sit up, with both of us acknowledging how slightly unusual it was, but not saying it out loud. I fasten my seatbelt properly this time and Asher copies me and turns the key in the ignition, feeling the engine roar to life.

'Buckle up.' I tell him.

'I just did.' He replies, confused, looking downwards to where his seatbelt is fastened over his chest.

'Not quite what I meant.'

*

'This is ridiculous!' I whine, for maybe the seventh time to no one in particular.

'Once again, I sincerely apologise to Her Royal Highness.' The guard outside our car window says, scurrying around back to his supervisor. Asher rolls up the window to keep the cold out and puts a hand on his forehead. There's a car in front of us and a car behind that were our royal escort once we left the plane, but we're stuck at the front gate.

'I cannot believe that this is how I have to come home. It's not exactly the grand entrance I was anticipating.' I grumble, kicking up one of my feet to tuck under my body considering the little warmth this dress generates.

'It's agency protocol not to have our ID on us when undercover, which we were this morning.' Asher points out for the hundredth time, 'My ID is literally waiting for me up this driveway.'

It's not Asher's fault that the agency didn't warn the front gate that he wouldn't be carrying his agency ID, but it still means that we've been sitting here for ten minutes while someone tries to confirm that he's not a terrorist kidnapper, and that he's actually welcome here.

A few men have already left the car in front of us to say that Asher was checked at the airport and can provide his passport if there's a further issue. It'll be fine, but we're currently coming up on Asher throwing himself off a cliff, so I try to cool him off.

'Calm down, it'll be alright.' I say, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He lifts a hand to take up mine, twirling the ring around my finger.

'Where'd you get this?' He asks quietly. He stops for a second to let his eyes wander to make sure we're alone, and then looks back over at me, 'It's not an engagement ring, is it?'

'No.' I tell him, 'It was my great grandmother's wedding ring, my father gave it to my mother. When they got divorced, she passed it to me. Whatever engagement ring I have will be passed down through the husbands family, so this one is just for me.'

'You never know.' He says quietly, 'What's to say some dashing young man won't come and steal you away?'

'Well,' I say, afraid of my own words, even if we're joking, 'I hope he does.'

He keeps hold of my hand and puts a gentle thumb on my chin, letting it stay there for a second, 'I'll let you know if one gets in touch.'

'Save his number for me.' I whisper, moving so little that I don't disturb his hand.

The delay does give me some time however to look around. It's a tall car, but we were still able to see entire streets worth of people lining up to get their first glimpse of a princess that they haven't seen since she was a child. People were waving flags with our crest that are being made in preparation for dad's coronation.

We drove with blacked out windows so people couldn't see me before my grandmother had a chance to fix me, but the whole concept made Asher grumpy because he said he couldn't see as well with darkened windows. I told him if he kept complaining I'd take away his glasses and really give him something to whine about.

By now, we've far passed the crowds and it's quieter, and I'm too nervous to think about anything else other than my family, just through those gates. Any other day, the crowds would have caught my attention and I'd be pouring over every detail of their waving and smiling figures, but today, all I can think about is those castle doors.

'So, what do you think of my incredible country?' I ask. He looks around at the landscaping that surrounds the castle, decorated with grass that's a hundred different shades of green that you can't find in the city back in our apartment, 'That's a view you can't get in London.'

Asher scrunches up his nose for a moment, looking towards the green horizon, 'Why is the cement green?' I shove his shoulder and he chuckles, 'It's amazing. It feels... familiar.'

'It's home.' I finish quietly.

Eventually, the guard comes running back and Asher rolls his window down to glare at him. He hands over some paperwork that Asher has to quickly sign, before he checks everything is in order and nods at us.

'All complete, go right ahead.' He babbles, as the gates slowly swing open, 'Merry Christmas.'

Asher stops my upcoming sarcastic comment by thanking him curtly and driving through the gates. He smiles at me nervously, but my focus is solely on the building in front of me. It's where I grew up, it's everything I've been trying to get back to for six years. It's home.

The whole plane journey was pretty quiet. I had some time to do something with my neglected hair and Asher did some paperwork that he'd brought with him, but didn't get round to doing last night. He hardly slept a wink, I know, because neither did I. I closed my eyes for a minute while we were flying, but it felt like they were open again within seconds.

I was too nervous to think about something as trivial as sleep. I'm here, I'm home.

It's huge, but at the same time it's nowhere near as big as my grandparents castle closer to the city centre. No, this house is by the cove, it opens out right onto the beach, it's where I learned to swim, it's where Chris, Charlie and I built sandcastles in the summer.

The flag above one of the turrets is waving in the wind, to represent not only my father's presence, but also the king and queens, who have obviously come to see me. Or probably Asher, in my grandmother's eyes, since she's spoken more about Asher's visit to the castle, than my own return home.

The ivory has grown significantly since I last saw it, and it's conquered another two more stories of wall. It's decorated with blue Picasso Calla Lilies that have grown in Alania for hundreds of thousands of years. They make an appearance at every royal occasion.

The fountain is running, but slower because of the freezing cold. I wish I could witness a white Christmas, but in my entire seventeen years of life, and fifteen-ish years preceding that, there's been no snowfall to hit Alania. And people still think climate change is a myth.

As Asher brings the car around the driveway, the front door opens and in formulaic method, the various maids and butlers assigned to Asher and I position themselves on the stairs preparing for our arrival. The men in the cars behind and in front also get out, and stand as security as we come to a still.

Asher parks just beside the fountain and within seconds, the men in fancy suits approach our doors to help us out. More swarm the back to collect our belongings and they're hurried inside to avoid the rain. Asher and I are brought under the balcony so we're protected from the weather.

'Your Highness, allow me to express our deepest sympathies for the weather greeting you, I assure you, your beautiful country looks even more so in the sunlight.' A man steps forward. But he's not just any man.

'Humphrey.' I beam. His features are warm, with wrinkles around his eyes, clearly pleased that even after six years I haven't forgotten my favourite hide-and-seek companion, 'Been taking good care of my father I hope?'

'Just as promised.' He smiles, looking a little startled when I hug him, because he knows it's not protocol, but he doesn't object in the slightest, 'Miss, if you don't mind me saying, what a wonderful young woman you have grown to be.'

'Humphrey.' I say, watching him dab away at a tear that is running down his face.

'I only wish I could have assisted this change.' He tells me, keeping a tight hold of my hand, but also shaking Asher's, 'Agent Thorne, we extend our welcome to you also, and if there is anything we can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.'

Humphrey lets go of my hand and steps back, just in time for the doors to swing open and a maid usher us inside away from the cold. There are around ten staff standing on the steps, but I only seem to recognize half of them from the last time I walked these stairs.

As soon as we're inside, something hits me in the chest and I almost fall over. It's nothing physical, there is nothing and nobody anywhere near me. But I am home, and despite not thinking they would, I find my eyes overspilling with tears as I gaze around the room.

Still hanging over the fireplace to the front of us is the painting of my family, my mother and eldest brother included, even though I know it's painful for my father. Seeing his face looking down on me makes me bite harder on my lip to keep in a sob.

Maids and butlers are scurrying around us, picking up our luggage and closing doors, and depositing umbrellas into buckets that I almost don't notice the figure standing beneath the archway towards the west wing. It's only when all of a sudden, all of the staff bow themselves that I realise who has joined us.

'Marzia.'

Asher watches as my breathing hitches and and steps ever so slightly closer to me, reminding me of the words he told me in the car, he's going to be there the whole time. It's not as comforting as it was a few hours ago. This time, it's so much more real. Because when he said that in the car, it was just us two. Now, it's not.

There's my father.

He's grown taller, but made more noticeable by the fact that he's much more wide. He's not put on that much weight, he was always muscled, but he's become even bulkier, if I even thought it possible. His hair's going grey, instead of the brown that so perfectly matched mine.

He's had to start wearing glasses apparently, given that there are some spectacles shielding his eyes from me. He's starting to look so much like my grandfather that I double take, checking it is actually my dad, and not his father.

'Dad.' I say, not able to find any other words.

He strides towards us purposefully, but I can tell there's hesitation in him for the little girl he let go six years before. I'm nothing like her, and I can see it in his eyes. He doesn't know how to act around someone he's never met before. I'm not what he was expecting. I'm not his daughter anymore, and he seems to realise it in an instant.

'You're here.' He says, keeping a distance of a few feet from me. He's crying, something I never became very used to, even before I moved away, 'You're here. You're, you're all grown up.'

He reaches out and takes my hand but quickly decides that is not enough for him, given that he pulls me close to him and crushes me in a hug. His arms are so big they almost wrap around me twice and my feet don't touch the floor anymore with the strength of him picking me up.

My father smells exactly as I remember him and it's not even seconds before I'm burying my head into his jumper and throwing my arms around his neck. I can see Asher smiling from behind me, my worst fear from the car thrown away with the wild abandon that I hug my father with.

'Marzia!' Comes a delicate but determined voice from behind.

My father puts me down but doesn't let go of me as my grandmother, quickly followed by my grandfather come charging towards us. My grandmother puts both hands on either side of my face and stares at me, tears showing in her eyes, as well as her husband's who stands just behind her, staring at me also.

'Oh my Marzia.' She gasps and pulls me into a hug. My grandfather holds me over the top of my grandmother, so we're in a jigsaw of limbs and crying. 'You look just like your brother, Marzia.'

I nod, and watch my father close his eyes to keep in more tears. I know that Chris, Charlie and I were identical, with our matching brown hair and grey eyes, and the same heart. Part of me wished I had kept on my disguise to keep them from being constantly reminded of the hole that is my brother's presence.

'Give the poor girl some room.' My grandfather booms and reluctantly, my family lets me go, 'Marzia, darling. I can't tell you how long we have waited for this moment.'

'Oh Myron, you're making her cry.' My grandmother tells him, batting his hand away from my teary face. 'We really have waited a lifetime.'

'Me too.' I say, brushing the wetness away from my face, 'The palace hasn't changed at all.' I say, spinning around to prove to myself that this really is happening.

This is more than my thoughts ever thought it would be, and looking between my grandparents and my father, and the faces of all the relatives that came before me, my brother, I wish he could be here to feel this. Because it's every sad moment of the past six years, it's every accomplishment I didn't get to share with them, it's now.

I'm back where I belong.

I'm home.

'I'm so sorry, Asher darling, we've neglected to welcome you to our home!' My grandmother suddenly says to Asher, even though we both know this isn't where she lives. Asher bows as dad gives me another squeezed hug, 'Oh nonsense, you're a friend of my granddaughter and here you are protecting her, if that doesn't mean we skip the formalities, what does?'

Carefully, Asher smiles at my grandmother before shaking hands with both my father and grandfather. My grandmother puts a hand on his shoulder as she formally introduces the family to him. He sends me a look of absolute content and I have no doubt that I'm smiling with the same emotion. He moves to stand beside me, putting a hand on my back briefly and leaning close.

'No boiling water yet.' He whispers and steps back again, locking his hands in a formal way in front of him.

I chuckle as I watch my grandfather tell my grandmother that he's suffocating me, and I need space to breathe. My father is too busy checking with a maid that our rooms are ready to notice Asher and I, contently watching my family.

My family, in my home.

'Does it feel good to be back?' Asher asks, grinning at me.

'You have no idea.' I reply, smiling.

I instantly check myself and turn my head to Asher who is nodding, tears swimming in his waterline through his smile. Because I'm right, he will never have any idea what this feels like. His parents are permanently gone. I'm a dick.

'I'm so sorry-'

'It's okay.' Asher cuts me off gently, nudging my elbow, 'I think it would feel just as happy to see you with your family, as it would be seeing mine.'

Although I know it's a lie, I don't push the subject, especially in front of my father and grandparents. Speaking of my father, he takes a moment from barking orders around to clap Asher on the back, pushing him accidentally into my side with the force he puts into it. Asher smiles through the obvious wince.

My father leads us both over to a seating arrangement by one of the large windows and within seconds there's tea laid out for us and an assortment of breakfast items, even though we ate on the plane on the way here. My grandmother settles herself in an armchair, talking to one of the maids as I sit beside my father, Asher taking his appropriate stance next to me, hands clasped behind his back and awaiting further instructions.

'Asher, my boy. I cannot tell you how pleased I was to hear of your and Marzia's friendship, even in spite of her alias. Shows truly the strength of the Alanian blood.' He beams, and Asher and I share a knowing look.

'Thank you, Your Majesty.' Asher says, and I shoot him a look to ask permission to continue with his request.

'Asher please, call me Percy, Your Majesty is my father. At least for another few days.' He interrupts and I smile encouragingly, knowing Asher is going to find this incredibly difficult, especially if it's an answer he doesn't like.

'Dad, Asher has something he'd like to ask you.' I say, giving him no choice but to ask.

'Of course my boy!' My dad smiles, 'Is everything alright?'

Asher smiles, 'Marzia and I were looking over some old photographs with the triplets yesterday-'

'Ah of course, the Greenewood grandchildren, how are they?' My dad exclaims, rubbing his hands together gleefully, clearly not grasping the serious nature of the question.

'Fine, good, staying with their grandmother tonight. Dad, focus.' I say, determined on Asher's behalf.

'Sir, we found a photograph from your wedding. The place cards had my mother and father's names on them. Did you happen to know my parents? Rusty and Pandora Thorne?' Asher asks, and I notice how his grip on his twisted hands tightens behind his back as he says their names.

'I heard about your parent's disappearance Asher, Rusty came from a very long and very loyal bloodline. However, I must regrettably inform you that I never had the pleasure of meeting either of them.' My dad tells Asher, who tenses.

'You never met them?' I ask, watching Asher's mouth unable to find the words.

'I can't say I ever did, they definitely were not at our wedding, I remember going over those place cards four hundred times with your mother, Marzia.' My dad tells us. 'Asher, if you can find that photograph, I can ask the ACS to look into it for you. I don't think I can promise they'll be able to find anything but if you think it's worth it.'

'No thank you sir, it was just something I was curious about.' Asher smiles, and acts as if this picture means nothing to him. He stands back to attention, staring straight ahead at the wall, occasionally flicking his eyes to the entrances and exits.

I could warrant a good guess as to how much this means to him, considering how shaken he was last night. Given that we were forced to share a bedroom, he spent his entire evening and nighttime absolutely silent, not even laughing at me when I slipped and smacked my head trying to get myself comfortable in bed.

'What are you doing?' I whisper to Asher as my father turns away to my grandmother, 'You've been obsessing over it all night, my dad can help.'

'Not now.' Asher tells me. He looks away at a maid struggling with a suitcase of his. I swear his bag is the Tardis, I don't know how he fits everything in there. He mutters something to me before going to help her, 'He said they weren't there, it must have been a mistake.'

'Oh my sweetpea, I bet you're both exhausted.' My grandmother tells me, her hand holding my shoulder and smiling at me, 'I shall have the maid take you and Asher to your bedrooms, and I'll have Gaston to whip you something up for lunch when you wake up.'

I half smile, because however tired I am, I'm not sure I want to let my family out of my sight just yet. My dad senses my hesitation, as Asher watches from a few feet away at the way I stay rooted to the tiled floors.

'Marzia,' my father tells me, cupping my face in his massive hands, 'We will be right here when you wake up.'

Asher smiles, and follows me quietly towards the staircase where a maid is waiting to show us to our rooms. My father still keeps close to me, and follows us, and I can tell how much he's afraid to let me go, no matter what his words say.

'I just can't believe you're really home.' He muses, running a hand along the banister, 'I wish your brother could see this, he would be over the moon that you're finally back where y0u belong. Oh sweetheart, Chris would be so proud of you.'

'Can I go visit him?' I ask, and Asher conceals a frown in confusion.

'Sleep, get some rest. And I'll take you soon, okay?' He smiles, and I can tell by the fear in his voice that he doesn't visit Chris' grave much, 'I cannot tell you how excited people are that you're home. Not just the public, but your mother too, she's been on the phone every day since we made the decision.'

'Mum's called you?' I ask, surprised. Dad smiles shyly, having always kept a soft spot for the love of his life, 'Is she still as insufferable as ever?'

'As insufferable as the day I married her,' Dad chuckles, 'She can't wait to see you.'

'She sees me on a webcam every two days, it's not exactly like we're strangers.' I point out, never really having missed my mum's company, because she's good at managing to be as irritating online as she is in person.

'Strangers like us, you mean?' He says, solemnly.

'Dad.' I start, trying to keep this conversation at bay.

'No, Marzia. I need to apologise.' He says, and continues to cut me off as I protest, 'Letting you go, even to keep you safe was the worst and hardest thing I have ever had to endure, losing your brothers, then losing you. I promise, for as long as I live, and as long as I am king, you will never be sent away again.'

'Promise?' I ask, finding myself not quite believing that anymore.

'I promise you.' My dad says, and he smiles. 'Now, I take it you can find your way around your old room?'

I look up and find myself in the most familiar corridor in the castle. I run my hand along the wooden panelling of my door, with my name hung in mosaic tiles. I look across and see my brother's names in the same coloured letters even though Chris was a young adult when he died. Asher stands quietly beside the wall as I step closer towards Chris' door opposite mine.

'Is it-'

'Exactly the same as it always was.' Dad nods, 'The maids clean it of course, but they've been under specific instructions not to move anything for the last six years.'

'Asher, I'll catch up with you in a little while.' I tell him and he nods professionally, following Humphrey as he leads him away.

I turn the door handle and find it stiff from the lack of times it's been visited in recent years. The door swings open and gently stops against the wall. The smell that I hope will hit me doesn't, and a waft of cleaning products welcomes me instead. Dad also looks down, noticing the difference.

'His wardrobe.' Dad says, pointing. I look at him, confused, 'His wardrobe still smells like him. They don't clean in there much.'

Before I step into his bedroom, I wiggle my feet out my heels and step lightly onto his cream carpet. I know it's been cleaned several times because the mark at his doorway from when Charlie and I put a bucket of tomato sauce on top of his door to fall on him has gone.

I walk gingerly to the centre of the room, looking outwards. My father stays leaning against the door frame and just watching me. I take note of the made bed, something I don't think Chris once did in his whole life, the stack of CD's beside the player, and the books he never got around to finishing.

I remember the last night I was ever here. It was a few weeks before Chris died. After we were saved from our captures, I was taken to a safe house, and then straight into hiding, and never got to come home. The last time I stayed here, was the safe haven before the worst few weeks of my life.

It wasn't anything special, Chris and I had no sense of oncoming danger. Mum was staying in the castle ready for the fundraiser the next day, and rushing around to organise final dress fittings and frantically calling makeup artists and tailors.

Chris, Charlie and I stayed sitting on the living room sofa, absentmindedly watching the film, Love Actually, just before Christmas as mum barked orders at us. Chris had been bragging all week about the Christmas gifts he had gotten us, and how brilliant they were, it was going to be a Christmas never before and never seen again.

We instead spent Christmas in a warehouse on the south side of the river, bleeding and broken.

'Christmas presents.' I blurt out, remembering that part of our miserable history.

'Do you have any requests?' Dad blunders, confused as to my selfishness in this quiet time of reflection for my brother.

'No, no.' I shake my head, 'That year, that Christmas, Chris was bragging about how good his Christmas presents were for us.'

'I looked, for a while.' Dad smiles sadly, 'I never found any Christmas presents, just a list with nothing ticked off yet.'

I grin, widely and unexpectedly, 'He made it up?'

'You know your brother.' Dad tells me affectionately, 'Always had to be the show off. I bet he was going to come out with some grand excuse on Christmas morning about their magical disappearance.'

'No, not Chris.' I say to the empty room, 'You always came through for us.'

'Do you want to know what his idea for a present for me was?' Dad asks. I shake my head, 'He was going to get me a dog.'

'That's only because that's what he wanted for Christmas and you wouldn't get him one.' I chuckle, knowing full well that given the chance, Chris would have bought my father a puppy for Christmas.

'I think maybe it's time to give him that present.' Dad smiles. I look at him, eyebrows raised, 'This big old castle gets quite lonely sometimes, and I think maybe a dog would annoy me less than your brother did.'

'It'd make less mess too.' I muse, noticing the happy and relieved feeling in my chest, an emotion that's been missing for years. 'He was happy, wasn't he dad?'

'I've never seen anyone more so.' He tells me, then pauses. 'I can't believe how much you're grown up.'

I look at him, expecting to see disappointment in his eyes.

'It's so strange, you're the exact same little spirit, but you're a whole adult now.' He smiles, and I sigh out my laughter, 'Who would've ever thought someone could get my little girl in a dress?'

I laugh out loud, so relieved at my father's words. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him. He squeezes me so tightly that I feel like I may pop, but I never want him to let go again.

'You can blame the queen for that one, believe me I'm not happy about it.' I grumble and my father laughs, a noise that I have missed so much.

'Well you're clearly far more mature that I remember either of your brothers being at your age. I always dreamed of the day that we'd be able to talk like this, as equals. About your brother, about your country, about anything. I thought you would remind me of your mother when she was your age, but you're the exact same as Chris. We'd spend hours just talking in here.' He hums, and I smile, but stifle a yawn into his shoulder, 'You might be very old now, but I can still tell when you're tired. Come on.'

He picks my heels up from the floor and closes Chris' room behind us. I cross back over to my room, and push gently on the wood. It swings open and my toes sink into the springy carpet. It's almost exactly like I left it, and it's nauseating.

When I was younger, and far more impressionable at the will of my mother, 'we' decided my walls would be pink, a pink that's not bright enough to blind me, but still vibrant enough to make me feel queasy.

The drapes and the duvet covers match the shade and the throw pillows are decorated with small cartoon characters from shows I used to watch. It's so familiar, but it seems a thousand miles away.

'I suggested to your mother that we redecorate, but she wouldn't hear of it.' My dad laughs as I gingerly pick up one of the pink cushions, 'You'll have to take it up with her when she gets here.'

'What time does she arrive?' I ask him, dropping my shoes at the foot of the bed, and pulling open my suitcase to grab something to sleep in.

'Tomorrow, in the morning, with Lars and the children.' Dad informs me. He watches me rumbling through clothes items and crosses over to my wardrobe.

'There won't be anything in there that fits me anymore, I know I'm short but I like to think I've grown a little since I was twelve.' I chuckle as he pulls out dresses from when I was eleven that still give me harrowing flashbacks.

'You've not changed at all since you were twelve.' He tells me, as if knowing that I needed to hear it, 'And there's one thing that will definitely fit you. Ah, found it.'

He throws a garment my way and it takes me a few seconds for me to register what it is. It's a thick but soft sports shirt. I flip it in my hands to read the words on the back, Christopher Castille. It was his old hockey jersey that he grew out of and handed down to Charlie.

Charlie of course was too cool to wear his brothers hand-me-downs, and had no interest in sports whatsoever, so just before it was thrown out, it was salvaged as rags for me. I can't say I ever wore it much, but on days when Chris would try to teach me tag rugby, he would force me to wear it.

He even had a photo of me in it, framed at his bedside at our grandparents.

'We have a press conference scheduled for five so I'll come wake you up around four so you can get ready. I have no doubt your grandmother will want to come up sooner, but I'll do my best to keep her away.' Dad smiles, 'You remember how stressed she gets.'

He walks up to me, kissing me on the head, before he pulls my chin gently into his hand, and looks at me, his eyes gleaming.

'I have missed you more than you can ever imagine.' He says, voice almost breaking, 'I'm not letting you go anywhere ever again.'

And with one quick last hug, he leaves the room, leaving me standing in the silence. It's unnerving, and I have to take a moment to remind myself that he's only a corridor, or a staircase away, and not entire countries. I quickly pull away the dress, thankful to be rid of it, and settle myself into Chris' jersey.

I sit on the bed, running a hand over the curtains that surround the four poster bed, and remembering how much I used to hate them, because when I saw shadows on them at night, I would get scared. Dad tried to get rid of them once, before my grandmother saw that he had knotted them and nearly murdered him.

The sun has appeared and is streaming through the windows and landing in patterns on the carpet. I walk to the doors and turn the key that has been left in the lock. They swing open and even though the rain is still spitting down, the sun cuts through the droplets.

The hammock my grandfather set up for me hangs where it used to, and I fondly remember the warm Alanian nights where I would lie there for hours, reading a book or playing cards on the off chance that Charlie was bored.

I remember my cousin Jonathan coming here once and snapping the rope. I was so angry that I locked him in the library for four hours until my aunt realised he was missing. I run a hand over the duct tape that was my father's brilliant solution to the damage.

My mind wanders to our makeshift balcony in London, the metal fire escape that could never balance a chair between the slats. Emilio and I used to lay out cushions in the summer, and ignore the warnings from our landlord that it was an emergency exit that you shouldn't block. I think of Emilio, and especially of Neighbour, not bearing to think of them lonely.

I wonder if, when Emilio has moved out here, Neighbour will feel like I do. Looking from the outside in, and trying to remember the old feelings, and the old memories. I remind myself that he's a cat, but the analogy stays with me, and I rethink, for the thousandth time, if I can convince Emilio to bring Neighbour over for me when he comes.

I can't now, if dad's getting a dog. I don't think about the fact that it's definitely cat-napping, because I miss him too much to think logically.

'You shouldn't be out here.' Comes a voice.

I turn around to see Asher sitting on a balcony beside mine, clearly signalling that my father has put us in neighbouring rooms. He's got a book in his hands and has his feet propped up to keep himself warm. His glasses have slipped down to the end of his nose and he looks at me with amusement.

'You okay?' He asks, putting the book down on the ornate outdoor table that matches the rest of the furniture provided for him.

'I don't think I can be in that room on my own.' I admit, looking back towards the bed and seeing every fear that I had as a child come flooding back.

'Want me to come and read to you?' He asks.

A week ago, I would've told him very violently where he could shove his book, and his offer, but today, feeling so overwhelmed, I shrug. He takes this as a yes, and disappears for a few seconds, reappearing in my doorway. Any other day I'd be embarrassed that I was letting him see me in my brother's jersey, feeling so vulnerable, but today it doesn't bother me much.

'You gotta be careful,' He tells me, guiding me back inside as if I were made of glass, 'There's reporters everywhere and if they get a photograph of you before you've been reintroduced, your grandmother might just explode.'

I chuckle and pull back the duvet covers of the bed. They're stiff and cold and nothing like my bedding at home. I try to push all thoughts of Emilio to the back of my mind, but they're still there, knowing he'd be sitting all by himself right about now.

Asher slides his shoes off and leaves them beside mine, before sitting himself comfortably on an armchair that he drags from over by the window. I lean over and realise that he's reading Alice in Wonderland. I frown, pointing from underneath the covers.

'That's a little young for you, isn't it Thorne?' I ask, 'Don't tell me the reason I've been beating all your final scores this whole time is because you never learnt to read.'

'Shut up Castille, it's actually a very good book.' He comments, 'It also coincidentally happens to be your favourite childhood fairytale.'

I shoot him a look, knowing something that insignificant would never be in my agency file, and I definitely haven't told him. Emilio couldn't have, I'm not even sure he knows himself.

'How'd you know?' I ask.

'You've told me before.' He smiles even though we both know that I haven't.

I smile, rolling my eyes at my diminished resistance given my tired head. I roll over to face the Asher as he begins to read. The sun is still hitting my face gently, and I'm not sure how long it takes me to fall asleep.

But as Asher reaches the tea party chapter, I begin to realise just how happy I am to be home.