A Tale of Two Kingdoms by Victoria Danann

plannin’ to share?”
     
     
    During pizza and beer, Innes took a look around at the state of Duff’s bedroom with maps and papers strewn everywhere, also noting the dark circles under his eyes and the two days growth of beard.
    “Duffy. Can’t help noticin’ there’s a lot of movin’ parts bein’ put into play here. Also can no’ help noticin’ that your groomin’ is in a wee state of decline.”
    “Just a minor speed bump while I work out details. No’ to worry. In fact, in many ways I have ne’er been better. Do your part in this and I’ll be eternally grateful in ways that mere fees can no’ express.”
    “A sweet speech, lad. But I am worried nonetheless.”
    Shaking his head, the prince motioned toward the door. “Come let me show you the way out. I can no’ have you gettin’ lost,” he laughed. When they reached the guides’ break room, they shook hands outside the door.
    Duff said, “Call or text me as soon as you have some good news.”
    He was referring to the British Columbia property that Duff had shown him online. As the prince had rightly said, people in the business of buying and selling real estate were actively engaged in commerce on weekends.
     
     
    Back in his room, alone again, Duff was thinking Innes was right. There were a lot of moving parts, which meant there were a lot of things that could go wrong, which meant that he had to be excruciatingly meticulous about every detail. He went back to work planning the last big step. How to get there.
    He spread the biggest maps he could find out across the floor and then set the portaputer down on top of that with his notebook, ready to start the flight plan. He smiled to himself.
    Before the days of airplanes, the word flight was only used in reference to humans to describe fleeing. As Duff planned their escape it occurred to him that both meanings of flight applied to their elopement.
    They were fleeing by flying.
    How he wished she was with him.
    Right then.
    He wished she was sitting next to him on his bedroom floor helping to calculate the flight plan as they conspired together about their getaway, imagining their new life, whispering about strawberries and caribou between kisses and touches while the rain beat against the casement windows of the northeast wing where fae royalty had slept and made more royal fae for three hundred years.
    The critical calculations began with cruising speed, which fully loaded and fueled would average a hundred fifty-five miles per hour. Cumulative endurance range equaled four hours or seven hundred thirteen miles. In layman terms, that meant whatever came first.
    He had to calculate what “fully loaded” meant, which included Aelsong’s weight. He knew it would be hopeless to ask her that and trust that the answer would be correct. He did know a little about females. So the only way to solve that problem was with a guess.
     
    Day One.
    Starting with Aberdeen, ninety-two miles from where he sat, they would take off from a small airfield and be over land for about fifteen minutes, over the North Sea for about fifteen minutes, over the highlands of Scotia for another fifteen minutes and then they would be flying north by northwest over the Norwegian Sea en route to the Faroe Islands.
    The Faroes were under Danish sovereignty, which could not be better for Duff. He and the Danish prince had both been educated at Eton and had gotten along well. If there was any issue at the airstrip in the Faroes, a phone call would resolve it. Three hundred sixty-eight miles. A little over two hours.
    Of course he could go further, but they needed to stop because of the way the next two legs would play out. If they didn’t spend the night in the Faroes, they’d be forced to stop at Rekjavik where he would be recognized and pandemonium would follow. They had to get to Canada before the hounds of Hades, otherwise known as paparazzi, were set free. And, he thought, they could do worse than a staggeringly beautiful,