"Okay, pause! Right there!" Phil instructed excitedly, her brown eyes glued to the flat screen TV mounted to the wall. "Can you zoom in right here? Now can you enhance it? Clean the image up a teeny bit? Now reverse the image!"

"You know this a TV, right?" Renning asked dryly with a minor hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I can't do any of that."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, I know, but I've always wanted to say something like that. It always sounds so cool on TV."

"Does it though?" I countered, staring at the paused color image of my ass and short legs in the air poised to follow the same path of my upper body.

At least my ass looks good, I thought, making a note to take better care of the jeans.

After Renning mentioned the video, Phil and I were escorted to a small windowless conference room that contained a large flat screen TV and sleek modern black table for six. Thing One and Thing Two, who surprisingly preferred to be called by their real names, Archer and Keating, were posted outside before one of them dropped off an assortment of delicious scones and more blended coffee drinks.

Phil and I laughed hysterically at our stylish but dumb butts, watching ourselves a dozen times sprint toward the stone, trip over the industrial chain, and fly awkwardly across the boulder. Due to the placement of the three small cameras inside an ornate decoration at the top of the majestic water fountain, the angle simply showed our backsides.

According to Renning, the cameras' audio features were turned off during the warmer months because the sound of running water drowned out voices and other background noises.

Our amusement faded when Renning pressed pause the moment my hand wrapped around the sword.

"How did you feel when you touched the sword?" he asked quietly and calmly.

Looking at the screenshot that would probably be forever imprinted in my mind, I immediately understood the meaning behind his question. An explanation. An odd fleeting sensation. A haunting or fading vision. The tiniest of clues to help him understand what happened.

Except I didn't feel anything remotely supernatural at the time. I wished I had felt a strange or brief spark, but I didn't. Nothing about that moment had been magical. Just embarrassment. And desperation. And horror.

We watched, paused, and studied the footage about a hundred times, searching for anything out of the ordinary and seeing absolutely nothing. Even abandoning the chairs from behind the table to sitting on the edge with our noses practically pressed against the screen, Phil and I discussed at great length how and what we felt at any given time and honestly answered Renning's questions.

"So, what happens now?" Phil asked with her feet firmly planted on a chair in front of her as she rested her elbows on her knees. "Does the royal family know what happened? And, oh, wait! Shouldn't someone notice the sword is missing by now?"

I frowned and shot Renning a curious look. Why was he with us when he should probably be at some historic meeting, carefully crafting an announcement or something?

"So," he said slowly as his brown eyes stared at us, betraying no emotion. "I need to show you one more thing."

"What?" Phil demanded as I mentally instructed my racing heart to calm down.

With a silent nod toward the paused image on the screen, Renning resumed the short clip and we watched the rest of the familiar footage in silence.

My body disappearing over the boulder.

Phil strolling around to check my well being.

Two police officers shining flashlights at us.

The nicer cop slowly helping me to my feet.

The meaner and impatient official picking up the sword.

The four of us heading toward the hospital.

The video ended with one last look at the stone before static filled the screen.

"What did we miss?" I asked, tilting my head to look at the hesitation on the security guard's face.

"The stone is gone," Renning said simply, methodically tapping the remote control against the table surface. "A few minutes after you guys left for the hospital, all three cameras stopped recording for about five hours. When I got the call, I unfortunately took my time believing the guys were playing a prank. I arrived at the scene about an hour later, and the stone had dissipated into rubble."

"What?" Phil shrieked, her brown eyes wide with confusion.

The cheddar and bacon scones I had scarfed down moments dropped to the bottom of my stomach with a silent thud. Even if I felt a bit nauseous, my tushy could not be moved from its seat on the table. My poor mind frantically chased the hundreds of questions suddenly floating around without success.

My belief in the supernatural was completely based on the fictional capers of two super hot brothers fighting demons and ghosts. If Phil and I managed to escape our own adventures relatively unharmed while looking pretty and solving mysterious circumstances, then I would one hundred percent believe in the mythical realm.

Up until now, we haven't encountered anything suspicious, which even included spending a night in a so-called haunted house.

"What about the cameras in the shops and restaurants in the area? Maybe one of those caught something," Phil suggested desperately.

Renning shook his head. "All of the security cameras in the downtown area mysteriously went offline at the same time."

"So, what happens now?" I asked hoarsely, lacing my hands together and cracking my knuckles.

"We have a little bit of time," he said, glancing at the fancy watch on his wrist. "The rubble has been swept and taken to the historical society for inspection. For the time being, a sign has been posted saying the sword and the stone have been moved to a new location until further notice. That's the official police statement right now."

"Will people believe that?"

"I doubt it, but it gives us time to figure out the next step."

"Which is what?" Phil asked, sliding off the table, and yawned loudly. "Could we at least head back to the hotel now?"

"Sorry, but until I get some definite answers, you two need to remain with security. Archer and Keating will escort you two to a temporary residence near the castle."

"What about the video?" I asked suddenly, watching Renning stand and remove a flash drive from the TV. "How many people have seen this so far? And will you show it others?"

"Only four people have seen the footage. You, Ms. Cooper, me, and the IT guy with the police department. I have the only copy and will show it when necessary."

"Is there any chance it will hit the internet and go viral?" The video had the potential to not only ruin my nonexistent reputation but also heavily damage the island's history of royalty.

"With all due respect, Ms. Copeland, I have no plans to release the footage to the media," Renning said carefully, resting his hand on the doorknob. "If I had my way, I would destroy the drive right now and simply tell everyone you pulled the sword from the stone. Simply omit it was an accident."

But the integrity and sense of duty in the security director's eyes emphasized he played by the rules to keep everyone and the island's prestigious reputation safe. And probably to keep a clear conscience.

Maybe my dirty mind was a little more corrupt than Renning's, but I would destroy the drive if given the chance. Even though my ass looked fine as hell, the world honestly didn't need to watch it tumble over a rock.

"Phil, am I absolutely bat-shit crazy to be doing this?" I asked with a frustrated huff.

Despite catching a few hours of sleep and indulging in a long hot shower, my mind continued to chase unanswered questions and my body wired with tension and anxiety. Even wandering around the bright and cozy two-story gray stone cottage – our temporary residence – did nothing to alleviate my fear of the unknown.

After leaving the police station, Archer and Keating escorted Phil and me to the hotel to pack our stuff before heading toward the house in the countryside. The guys kept silent and their distance when we ate a light lunch in the kitchen and crashed onto our beds for much needed naps.

"You would be bat-shit crazy to not do this," Phil answered, running her index finger over the spines of hard covered books lining a wooden wall shelf in the library. "Millions of people would jump at this chance with both feet without even reading the fine print."

"Would you do?"

"Honestly?" Phil glanced in my direction as I plopped my weary body into a comfortable oversized gray chair.

"Have I ever asked you to lie to me?" I countered, narrowing my gaze on my best friend of eight years.

"Asked no, but I have lied to you."

I gasped dramatically with feign surprise, slapping a hand over my chest. "You bitch!"

She chuckled and shook her head, returning her attention to the books in the room we declared to be our favorite. If we couldn't venture outside the house, I imagined we would spend most of our time in here, reading books or playing games on our tablets.

Because Phil spent most of her time snoozing during our economics class and I edited photos on my phone, we met outside the lecture hall to work on papers and study for exams. How we both passed the most boring class ever with Bs still escaped me to this day. Most of our study sessions were spent bitching about our annoying roommates, checking out the hot guys in the library, and arguing how the movie Inception ended. For the record, she thought the film ended perfectly while I firmly believed it was complete crap.

But what cemented our friendship was our reluctance to buy tablets, knowing we would cheat on the beloved physical books with ebooks. Our respective advisors recommended tablets for editing photos and drawing sketches.

"When have you lied to me?" I asked, running a hand through my damp hair, as I leaned back in the wide-striped chair.

Phil raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow in my direction. "You really want me to answer that?"

I shrugged.

"Um," she said, clearly conflicted about lying or telling me the truth. "I don't like your version of cheesy potatoes. I think Lord of the Rings is kinda boring. And Chris Evans is way overrated."

"You take that back!" I snapped, half jokingly, because those closest to me knew better than to criticize my favorite actor in the whole entire world.

"Most upset with me about not liking Chris Evans, right?" Phil smirked, tossing her long black locks over her shoulders.

"You'd be just as mad if I said the same thing about Charlie Hunnam."

"You take that back!" she shrieked, her brown eyes widening in horror. "That man is a national treasure!"

I rolled my eyes. "He's not even American!"

"Because of Sons of Anarchy, the world is a better place."

"Is it though?" I questioned, tilting my head.

Phil took a deep breath before pulling a book from the shelf and plopping into a matching chair next to mine.

I threw my short legs over one plushy arm and leaned against the other. "Seriously. What would you do? Would you become queen?"

"Yeah," she said honestly, tucking her long legs underneath her. "Win, it's not like we lead fabulous lives back home. I don't think you'd be giving up anything by moving here. If anything, I think you'd regret not taking the chance."

Agh, I thought, chewing my bottom lip. Phil knew me way too well.

"What's really bothering you besides wondering if the legend is true or not."

"I can't help but feel like this is an elaborate prank or something. Why me?"

My best friend shrugged. "Shit happens. I know you like logical answers, but some things can't be explained. Stop worrying about what you don't know and focus on how you feel and what you want to do."

Being the voice of reason for each other was one of the many facets I loved about our friendship. She was more spontaneous, outspoken, and adventurous while I preferred to be somewhat grounded, cautious, and organized.

Other than the small white lies, Phil has always been honest with me. I suspected her terrible taste buds never really liked my cheesy potatoes because she never dug in for seconds. I figured Lord of the Rings bored her to tears since she always asked the same questions – "Who's that guy?" or "Where are they now?" – anytime we watched one of the three movies.

"Would you move here with me?" I asked, ignoring the idea of not living in the same city – hell, the same country – as my best friend. "You could be the queen's official companion or something."

Phil wrinkled her nose in distaste. "As long as you come up with a better title than companion. It makes me sound like I follow you around like a lost puppy or something."

I sat up straighter, feeling my heart beat a tad faster. We frequently joked about her being the queen's confidante when we believed the situation wasn't real. Was she serious about her answer? Was she seriously willing to move to a new country just to hang out with me and keep me grounded?

"Really? You'd move here with me?"

"Of course, you idiot," she said, looking at me as if I was the biggest dummy in the world. "Like I said before, Win, we weren't exactly winning at life back home. We're 26-year-old single women with absolutely no attachments to anyone or anything. Why wouldn't I follow you here?"

For lack of a witty answer and to prevent myself from tearing up at the life-changing decision, I shrugged and held up my hands in defeat.

"I mean I'd be more offended if you didn't ask me to stay," Phil said with a smirk. "And, besides, who else is going to smack some sense into you when you spiral?"

"I don't spiral." I scowled at her.

She rolled her eyes with a loud humph. "Also, why should you have all the fun of looking pretty, indulging in amazing food, and prancing around in gorgeous ball gowns?"

I snickered. "So, you're just moving here for the pretty dresses and the sake of our friendship?"

"And the food," Phil added quickly, opening the book in her lap. "Those scones this morning almost gave me an orgasm."

"I know right!"

"Also, I've always wanted to live in a castle."

"So, I'm basically making all your dreams come true," I joked but feeling a small wave of relief run through my mind.

She shrugged casually, flipping to the first page in the book. "What are best friends for?"