Page 63 of Royally Matched

“How about you start at that end, and I’ll start here?” I point at the thrones before I gesture with my thumb to the other end of the room, and she nods before she turns on a heel and heads to her end.

I make my way back to the doors, which I close after a surreptitious sweep of the hallway. All clear.

The first painting is of an old king, probably from five hundred or so years ago, and I spot jewels on his feet, on his crown, and dotted right across the full breadth of his jacket.

That’s a lot of jewels.

I reach up inside my singlet and stretch the material to press against each of the gems on his feet, then try to reach up to his chest, but there’s only so much stretch in a tank top. It dawns on me what I’ve got to do.

I glance back at Sofia. She’s concentrating on pressing my shirt against a portrait of a king and queen, immersed in her task. Without second-guessing myself, I pull my tank top over my head, ball it up in my hands, and begin to use it to press against the painting.

And yes, I know that means I’m shirtless in the nation’s throne room, but needs must, and right now I need the cloth from my back. Literally.

There are at least seventy-five gems on this painting alone, and as I work away I begin to wonder whether this is a fool’s errand, after all.

I move to the next painting. This one has only a collection of jewels in the kings crown and sceptre and orb. I work quickly, pressing each and every one of the gems, but come up with nothing as I move onto the next painting and then the next.

As I’m reaching up to press a gem in a crown atop a queen’s head, Sofia clears her throat, and I look over at her. She’s got her hands on her hips, giving me an odd look.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re shirtless,” she pronounces.

I lower my gaze to my bare chest and then back up at her. “I needed my tank top to press against the pictures.” I jab my tank top-covered fingers against the painting to demonstrate why.

Her gaze lingers on me for a moment too long, and I swear I see her cheeks reddening before she lifts her chin in what I’m fast learning is one of her characteristic moves. “Let’s hope no one walks in on us here, with you looking like that.”

“Probably best if they don’t,” I reply with a smile, enjoying her awkwardness. I might never have graced the cover of a magazine in my shirtless state, but I’m aware that with my physical work I could hold my own against those guys.

She returns her attention to her work, which is exactly what I do, making my way around the room, pressing my vest up against every gem I spot.

As I approach the far end near the two thrones, I spot a large ruby, the color of Ledonian royalty in an odd place on a more modern painting. It shows the current king and queen, sitting on a couple of oversized red velvet cushions with gold tassels, smiling at one another as they hold hands under a large tree. Judging by the way they look, the painting must only be a handful of years old. I press my vest-clad fingers against it and, to my surprise, a concealed door in the wallpapered wall pops open a couple of inches.

“Sofia! I found it!” I call, and she dashes across the room, clutching my shirt in her hands.

We both stare at the door that has suddenly appeared, seemingly from nowhere.

“Two hidden doors in one day,” I say, shaking my head. “Who’d have thought? The palace is a veritable Narnia.”

“Well, go on, open it,” she says, and I reach around the edge of the door and pull it open. We’re met with a narrow passageway, with rough, old stone walls and a set of stairs that descend steeply. The ceiling arches low, covered in patches of old brickwork. There’s a rusty iron railing that runs along one side.

Sofia gasps.

“What the—” I turn to her. “Did you know this existed?”

She shakes her head, her eyes the size of golf balls. “I’d heard about secret passageways under the palace but assumed it was just a myth.”

“They don’t look that mythical to me. Do you think these stairs lead to the dungeons?”

“The dungeons are on the other side of the palace, near the stables.”

“Do you want to go down to see what we can find?”

I know what I want her answer to be—a resoundingheck, yes.

“It’s awfully dark.”

“Nothing a flashlight app can’t fix.” I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans and illuminate the first few steps.