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Once I leave the ballroom, I take care to stash my crown behind an obliging bookcase. I plan on spending a fun evening with Myla. Crowns are far too much hassle. After sneaking out a side door, I make the long trek to the back of the mansion. My thoughts segue to scheming mode.
To begin with, there’s Myla.
Then I have myself, newly sprung from an evening that was the definition of claustrophobic.
So the question becomes, how do I separate one gorgeous future queen from a ballroom of nincompoops … and still have an evening of joy left over?
There’s only one solution.
A diversion.
As I close in on the hedgerow maze, I brainstorm different distractions that could allow me to spring Myla from the ballroom. Clearly, Myla’s best exit is via the French doors lining the back wall. I coul
