2. Jensen

CHAPTER 2

JENSEN

I t turns out that this sailing thing is easy after all. I don’t know what George was making such a fuss about — the boat practically sails itself. I spent all morning driving in a random direction, then stopped for lunch, and I’ve been chilling ever since.

I wish I’d packed more appropriate clothes in my rucksack, but I didn’t really stop to think about what I would need before I got out of Sólveigr.

But whatever. I’m all by myself, so it’s not like anyone even cares about me lounging around in my underwear.

This was a great idea.

I get no cell service out here, no internet, no messages. I have nothing to do except enjoy the vast collection of movies George has on board, sit on the deck and stare at the water, sunbathe, and generally just relax.

This, as they say, is the life.

After two days of movie watching, I’m starting to get bored. Picking a random direction to sail in has started to lose its appeal, so I’m basically just sitting here, vibing. I figure that I’m saving fuel, at least, by hardly turning the engine on.

See? I’m not totally stupid.

God knows I can take a bit of boredom because nothing is as boring as royal dinners. I don’t think I could stay out here forever without losing my mind — it would probably be less than good for me to go more than a week without speaking to a real human being. But for now I’m just enjoying the alone time. I don’t get very much, usually; everyone always wants something from me. Whether it’s to appear at their school charity event or to endorse some product, someone always wants something.

And because I’m the prince of Sólveigr, but not the important one, that means I’m the one who gets shipped out to all the events no one else wants to attend but that we need to have a presence at so people don’t start hating us. It’s all political and I don’t care for it. It feels like such a waste of time.

I know I should be grateful or whatever for having been born special, but being special is so tiring. Just once, I’d love to be normal .

Whatever. I’m not here to think about real life.

I’m here to watch the eighth installment of the blockbuster spy film series Jane Green Strikes Back . The first one was a stupid parody, but it was so popular that it’s been built into its own franchise. I can’t confess to anyone else that I actually enjoy these movies, but while I’m all on my own, it’s the perfect time to get caught up.

I’m just finishing Jane Green and the Cavern of Crystals when the boat jolts underneath me.

“What the hell?” I mutter, crawling over to the porthole to see if I can see anything. It just looks cloudy out there.

The boat shakes again, and it almost feels like we ran over something.

I pause the movie and head upstairs, where I’m immediately buffeted in the face by a huge rainstorm.

I yell out a string of expletives, spluttering and trying to wipe my face.

This wasn’t forecast. Well, it might have been, but I haven’t looked at the forecast recently. I just assumed the weather was going to be good.

I dive into the cockpit and stare at the controls. I’m not really sure what to do now. I feel like there’s probably a setting I should press, some sort of lever I should pull — something .

Instead of figuring it out, I start pressing buttons at random. The windscreen wipers come on, thrashing back and forth like a dying bug. Outside, a great crack of lightning makes the sky a blinding white, followed by the low groan of rolling thunder, which is then followed by an enormous wave that rears up like an open mouth before it crashes down over the hull.

I’m thrown forward, smacking my head on the window and catching my arm on a corner, tearing a chunk of skin out of it. I swear hard, my vision blurring and my arm throbbing.

Outside, plumes of smoke have started rising, and an alarming amount of water is filling the deck. This is bad.

This is really bad.

I make a last-ditch effort to save myself, pushing the directional controls as far forward as they go, but all that does is throw the ship nose first into another wave, which starts sinking it properly.

George is going to be furious with me.

If I even get out of this alive.

I can’t afford to think like that, so I rush out of the cockpit, coughing as the rain lashes my body again, then race down the stairs of the cabin.

It’s totally dark down here now. Not even the emergency lights are on, and the acrid stench of wet electrical fire sticks to everything. I’m not sure if the haze is my vision or the smoke, and to make things worse, a thin layer of water coats all the floors, getting deeper all the time.

Time to abandon ship.

Fortunately, one of the things I do remember is where the life raft is located, and the emergency kit. I snatch the kit and strap it to my back, then grab the raft, hauling it up to deck. It’s heavier than it looks, but I grit my teeth, using all my might to drag it to the water.

As soon as the raft hits the sea, it inflates, and the sound of it makes me flinch. It’s almost like an explosion, but right now I know I’ve never seen a more beautiful shade of orange in all my life, or a more attractive-looking dinghy. Carefully, I wade along the sinking deck to it, and, half-pushing, half-falling, I manage to drag myself into it and start drifting away from the yacht.

The rain doesn’t stop, but the wind dies down as I start floating, hunched under the flimsy canvas roof. I’m sure it’s not actually that flimsy, but a thin layer of water-resistant canvas overhead and a thin layer of inflatable rubber underneath doesn’t fill me with confidence.

I just hope George didn’t go cheap on this.

I just hope someone will come to rescue me soon.

With a shaky sigh, I curl my knees into my chest and try my best not to move, shivering as I watch the yacht vanish beneath the water, leaving only a stream of bubbles behind.