The Shield (Prince Harry fanfic #2)

Chapter Ten

"Harry," William called before walking in. The heels of his shoes clacked on the hardwood floors and then stopped. "Why are you staring at the window?"

His blue eyes stayed rested on the people coming in, as well as the people who exited slowly. People jumped up and down with excitement. "A tour group is coming in," Harry informed his older brother.

"So you're watching them like a creeper?" William's words were slow. Harry flashed his eyes over to his brother, and William backed up. "I'm not judging." He shook his head. "I have a charity event, and by your attire, I assume you're not coming?"

"I can't right now, Wills."

The Duke of Cambridge clapped his brother on the back. "Take your time. No one expects you back now."

"I want to be back soon."

He applied more pressure to his younger brother's shoulder. "We all want you to be." William nodded, before leaving.

Harry watched his older brother go, and then his eyes went back outside. Tour groups lined up and started to come in. All of them were so focused on the doors in front of them, to come forward and be apart of this kind of world, and none of them dared to look up at the windows, to see if their Prince Charming was watching. His eyes scanned the crowd and then flashed up, to the shadows, as far as he could see. He couldn't tell for sure, but his heart fluttered. Somehow his heart knew, like it felt her presence. Her outline was there, tall and real. After a moment, her legs took her away, bringing her out of the shadows. Her back was turned to him, but he knew. It had to be her.

She came all this way, right? Did she come for him? Did she care? Did she want something? His heart pounded in his ears. It grew very quiet around him. He couldn't breathe as he watched her. She was elegant, unimaginably lovely. Perhaps the world revolved around her, Harry thought.

"Turn back," he whispered, as if she could hear him. His whispers weren't enough, and he wished to yell them. "Look back, please. Luce, look back."

Perhaps he thought he saw some hesitation in her steps, as if she slowed, but she never looked back. Her long legs in her lengthy strides took her away. He questioned if it was even her, if she came all this way, and why had she come? Perhaps it was a mind, or just another tourist. There were apparently seven people in the world that looked like you, and it easily could've been one of them. But his heart believed it was her, and it lurched toward her, to go running to her.

Harry laughed at that thought, because she would've laughed at him, saying that it was weird. It would not make a good impression on her.

Quietness filled the room, when he was all alone. Whatever hopes he had toward her or for her, he couldn't go running after her. He couldn't escape the walls here, and he wouldn't be able to even make it to her. There were too many people in the way, his life story really. And she wouldn't take it: no proclamation of love or even the thought. And perhaps it was for the best, for her to walk away. Perhaps it was best for her to get away, because she wouldn't get what she wanted.

Somewhere along the way, Harry lost sight of Lucy, and she was truly gone.

The buzzing of the television returned to Harry, and he took in the words. "We have more information about American Lucille Smith, the hero who took down the gunman on a train."

Harry glanced back, and there was a picture of Lucy on the screen. Her features were light still, smiling, and it was taken before he met her but after the mass shooting. He could tell because there was something dangerous in her eye. It wasn't a professional photo, but rather one taken as a selfie and a face had been blurred out beside her. The face may have been posted on some social media website, taken off of there, and a story beside her.

"We know not a lot about Miss Smith, but we know that she survived a school shooting within the U.S." The news anchor tried his hardest to pronounce the name of Lucy's town, but failed, unable to actually know. The city housed forty-thousand people, and still held the name of the chief of the Native Americans that held that land before them. "We also know that she was called the hero of that attack, two years ago, after she was able to injure the gunman herself. Miss Smith was injured in the attack, shot multiple times. Many people believe this is why she was not scared in the face of danger."

Harry agreed with that. Lucy wasn't scared of idiots.

However, with the picture of Lucy, she couldn't escape anywhere. Lucy didn't fully match anymore, because in the picture she had been dolled up in glamour and fun. Though, compared to some other blurry faces in the picture, Lucy only did half the work that the other girls did. With this picture, she was to be recognized. But, Harry knew it was only for a short while. In a week, people wouldn't remember her face, and easily no one ever really learned her name. She would be welcomed home, back to America for meaning, but she wouldn't like it. There she would get the recognition, and she would get the awards. Undoubtedly, people already called for her to get awards around her, and she wouldn't take them. Lucy knew her best option, and it was to lie low for as long as possible.

Harry's eyes tried to find her again, but she was gone. He wondered if he missed his chance, like he may never see her again. Perhaps, she was meant to run away, and perhaps, he was meant to chase her.