Cynthia withdrew to the next room where the handsome Prime Minister, Hans Borge, waited anxiously on video call.
“Her Majesty is not available at the moment, sir,” Cynthia apologized.
“Can I come to the palace to wait for news?”
“Her Majesty said to consult with Sir Wolf.”
Hans Borge fell silent, his expression revealing subtle sadness and worry. “Sir, I believe Her Majesty will understand your feelings,” Cynthia said.
“Thank you, Miss Steiman. How is Her Majesty?”
“She’s relatively calm but looks guilty… they had just quarreled.”
“I can imagine,” Hans replied bitterly. “Thank you, Miss. Please take care of her.”
“I will, sir,” Cynthia replied, moved by his concern.
A female attendant entered and asked, “Does Her Majesty want dinner, Miss Steiman?”
Cynthia glanced at the closed door. “It would be good to at least persuade her to eat a few bites.”
The attendant pushed the meal cart as they entered the sitting room, where Wilhelmina sat up wearily.
“I’m not hungry.”
“At least have some soup, Your Majesty,” Cynthia gently persuaded.
Wilhelmina looked at the dim sky outside. “Any news yet?”
“We’ll have news soon, Your Majesty,” Cynthia said, handing the hot soup to the Queen. “We believe the Prince must have injured his foot and can’t walk, which is why he sent the horse back to report. The Prince has experienced gunfire on the battlefield. How could anything happen in the royal gardens?”
Wilhelmina barely swallowed two spoonfuls of soup. The tangled emotions made her feel nauseous. After that, despite Cynthia’s persuasion, she ate nothing more.
As the sky darkened, the first search team returned with disappointing news: they had not found Prince Albert. The search personnel decided to expand their range, and police hover cars were deployed for thermal detection and lighting.
By nine in the evening, there was still no news of Prince Albert. After advice from Palace Interior Ministry officials, Wilhelmina finally agreed to meet with the Prime Minister and cabinet ministers, especially those from the Security and Intelligence Bureaus.
Hans Borge, receiving the notification, was clearly stunned. “They still haven’t found him?”
“Apparently not,” Fax said. “The palace specifically named the Security Bureau. Do you think this might be a kidnapping?”
“I’m not sure,” Hans Borge replied, darkening as he stood up, grabbed his coat, and strode out.
