The Forgotten Princess

°•○Three○•°

Leon was convinced that he would be taken to the small town's police station he had glimpsed in the square, situated not far from his hotel.

And he didn't mind, really, he was innocent. He only disliked the notion of being led away from Elisabetta-- Lis!-- now that he finally found her... He wished to have this over, he needed to be alone and think, it seemed like coming into this place had dislodged something in his mind and memories he didn't know he possessed were starting to seep into his conscious thoughts for him to sort through and try to understand...

He raised his eyebrows at the young guide in surprise when she, instead of accompanying his escort, the apparently armed guards walking at his sides, towards a police car waiting outside, led them towards another office, a long corridor and a flight of steps away from the first.

She pushed her head through the door and when she found whomever she was expecting to find inside, asked the guards, speaking in German for the first time since Leon met her, to wait outside-- a request that the young artist, to his surprise, understood despite never having studied the language-- and motioned for him to enter.

A police officer sat at a long desk, which held a large monitor-- the screen divided into several squares, offering views from cameras situated throughout the castle-- and a laptop.

Two more police officers, a man and a woman, appeared in the doorway before the guide could close it. They walked into the room and stood by the door, silent like shadows. Or ghosts, Leon mused, the thought followed by a shiver rippling through his entire body, and he startled when the guide's hand touched him.

"Please sit down," she said, motioning to one of the two chairs placed across the table from the officer who now stood up and inclined his head to Leon in greeting, a small smile passing between him and the guide as they all sat down again.

"Your name, sir?" the officer demanded, his fingers beginning to fly over the keyboard of his laptop even as the painter spoke.

"Leon du Lac."

"And you came here from...?"

"The town of Monteloupe, in France. I left home before sunrise yesterday and checked in in the hotel in the square after midnight last night, this morning, really. I entered the castle with the first tour," he looked to the guide who had been watching him intently for confirmation, and she nodded.

"Have you ever been in this castle before?"

"No. And in Germany, neither. This is my first visit." In this life, he thought, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched and not by the guide or the police officers. There was something... someone else deeply interested in him. Lis.

"Your passport and driving license please, and any other document you have on you," the officer demanded while he dialed a number on his phone and spoke to someone-- the receptionist from the hotel where Leon was staying judging by the one sided conversation the artist heard as he placed his wallet filled with cards of all sorts on the table.

He took several of them out and pushed them towards the officer, all carrying his name and address, adding his driving licence and the ID when the man put the phone down and typed something to the previously written notes on his laptop, then, reaching into the back pocket of his trousers placed his passport on top of the other documents.

A sort of a silent exchange seemed to have passed between the policeman and the guide after he checked Leon's documents. He nodded to the girl imperceptibly, then shrugged at his colleagues stationed by the door.

"It's all good; he's telling the truth. There's nothing at all suggesting he has anything to do with the theft. Our other trail looks more promising. So let's not waste time. You two go, and I'll finish here and catch up with you later."

As if this was their normal routine, the two officers greeted their friend and the guide whom they seemed to know very well, then left without questions.

"Please tell me, sir, how did you know about our Princess? There's only a few people who know about the portrait as yet," the young woman asked the moment the three of them were alone in the office, her warm brown eyes staring into Leon's grey orbs eagerly.

"Call me Leon, please, and you can speak German if you prefer," he added, missing the sound of the language the instant she slipped back into English for him.

"I'm Ines. Can you speak German? I thought... As you've never visited before..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"It seems I can. But it's... strange. I've never spoken it before, nor studied."

"My name is Hans. Ines is my wife, we married last month," the police officer interrupted them, showing Leon his wedding band proudly when the artist looked back at him. "So how did you know about the painting? There are hundreds of legends surrounding the lady in that picture, but we won't tell you anything unless you speak first."

"Let me show you," Leon said, reaching inside his backpack, which he had placed under the table at his feet, pulling out his tablet. It didn't take long before he showed the stunned couple photographs of his paintings, tens of the views of the castle, dozens of portraits of the mysterious lady... Just that she wasn't a mystery anymore. She was Elisabetta von Habsburg. Lis.

The mystery was her connection to him. And that was something the newlyweds who were apparently in love with the legends surrounding her might help him with.

After another exchanged look, Ines walked around the table and sat next to her husband, then typed something on the laptop he had used before and turned it around for Leon to see.

There were several pictures of another portrait, the sight of which took Leon's breath away.

"This is the missing painting. We think it's the autoportrait of her husband's court painter, Elisabetta's lover. The only man she really loved, according to the legends."

"He looks... very much like you, don't you think?" Hans asked, his hand closed around his wife's.

Leon, not trusting his voice, nodded. He had no idea how it was possible, but the man in the picture, dressed in the medieval finery, looked like him. And not only that, he felt like him. For Leon, it was like... looking into some magic mirror.

But... how? He needed to hear everything the couple knew and obviously believed.