To Steal a Prince by Cora Caraway Page B

“It flows into my pool.”
    Craning my neck, I take in the pool that hangs over the side of the palace. Its sides are made of glass, and the water seems to float in the air. No one could ever convince me to swim in that thing. It looks like a death trap.
    I edge away from the pool, as if it could reach up and take me in its watery claws. Damon beckons me to follow him, and we walk over one of the bridges to his bed. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s a bed. It could be a landing strip for small jets.
    “I believe you were saying something about a shell game?”
    “Yes.” I clear my throat, trying to ignore the ostentatious display of wealth around me that my family couldn’t hope to attain if they worked for a million years. “Sorry, the shell game.” The crown sits on a nightstand beside a bottle of 1975 Petrus. “May I?”
    “Of course.”
    Though I’m tempted to take a swig of wine, I only take the crown. I also retrieve the fake from my bag.
    “This one’s real.” I hold out his crown. “And this one’s fake.”
    “With you so far.”
    I switch them in my hands a few times. “Now which one’s real?”
    “That’s easy.” He points.
    “What about now?” Turning my back to him, I block his view. I make it look and sound like I’m moving a lot, but really I do nothing. I face him. “Now which is yours?”
    He frowns, pondering. I can’t blame him. In this light, the gems are the same color. “That one.” He points again, this time to the other crown.
    “Are you sure?”
    His forehead wrinkles in frustration.
    “Don’t worry. That’s the whole point. Only we are supposed to know which is which.”
    “You still know, don’t you?”
    “I always know.” Adrenaline tingles in my limbs. Even the prince can’t always tell these crowns apart. “Now, show me where you’d put the crown if you were trying to keep it safe. Be very public about it.”
    “That would be the Jewel Room, I suppose. I was going to take it down there soon anyway. What do you mean by being public about it?”
    “I don’t know…” I look around his room. “Do you have some kind of throw pillow we could carry it on?”
    He plucks one of the approximately 10,000 pillows from his bed and hands it to me. It looks very regal, covered in crushed velvet. Stuffing one of the crowns into my bag, I set the other on the pillow. It looks very official.
    Damon’s eyes narrow as he looks at the crown, then at me. “Let’s take the elevator this time.”
    We stride to the silver elevator, the prince nodding at every servant we pass. They all gawk at the shining crown. I’m sure they see plenty of stunning accessories, but surely none this important. A bell dings softly as the elevator doors slip open for us. We step in, and Damon pushes a button for L1. It looks like there are nine levels to the palace: L3, L2, L1, floors one through five, and R.
    “What’s on the lower levels?” I ask.
    “I could tell you, but I’d have to set a lion on you.”
    I don’t press him. I’m sure a royal family has plenty of secrets to keep.
    The elevator sets us down softly, dinging again to let us know that we’ve arrived. The lights that run along the ceiling are harsh and clinical, discouraging the desire to linger. Damon turns down a sterile hallway that ends in a black door.
    “This is as solid as they get.” He hits the door, his hand making a dull thud. “I’ve heard this thing could stop a rocket launcher. Father won’t let me test that claim, though. He’s no fun, as you must have already noticed.” The prince raises a finger to the digital pad beside the door.
    I turn away politely, wondering how hard that lock would be to crack. Though I try, I can’t help but count the number of digits Damon enters. Nine. Waits for a beep. And then five. But what’s the point in breaking in when you’re friends with royalty?
    There’s a loud clunk, and the door swings open.
    “After you,” Damon says.
    I step in, barely aware that