21
LINCOLN
Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.
The next morning, the guards are at it again. Someone is at our suite door.
I roll onto my side and face Myla. She’s curled up all the covers to sleep—as she calls it—burrito style. Best to let her snooze. After slipping out of bed and into jeans and a T, I make my way to the main door.
Nine knocks and ten minutes. That’s the rule. If we don’t open the door after that, then the guards send whoever it is away.
I open the door to find Gertrude back at her post. “Your visitors are here, your Majesty.” She glances over her shoulder to a troop of angels.
“That’s fine. Allow them in.” I lower my voice. “Any word?” There’s no need to add, from my mother.
“She’s aware.” Gertrude says that the way a general might say, the enemy cavalry is re
