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A movie about a princess is to be made.

When auditions take place, Jenna is shocked to be chosen over her much more talented friends. Curiously, even her strict mother gives her permission for Jenna to fly off to begin filming in the small, romantic kingdom of Scandia. But soon Jenna discovers things aren’t what they seem. She’s the spitting image of the real Princess of Scandia – who’s mysteriously gone missing.

An extraordinary coincidence, or is Jenna caught up in some sort of conspiracy? Lies, camera, action: and another sort of shooting begins …

Introducing bestselling international author, Kirsten Boie, second only to Cornelia Funke in Germany. Boie has sold millions of children’s books in her native language, topping the bestseller charts. She is also a past winner of the prestigious German Youth Literature Award.

Jenna’s bare feet made practically no noise on the marble floor of the corridor. Wasn’t it strange that she now felt so at home in this great house? She turned a corner. Even the darkness didn’t frighten her any more. There was no light in the corridors, and nobody in the house apart from Tobias, Mrs Jarkas and herself. No cook, no servants, and no one to see to the garden. Why should there be? After all, Osterlin hadn’t been a royal residence for decades.

Tobias and Mrs Jarkas would be in the side wing … in the library, at the end of the corridor. If they hadn’t gone to bed yet, she would find them there.

Jenna suddenly stopped. Long before she reached the door, she heard voices.

‘If I’ve said no, then it’s not just no for one or two months!’ cried the regent. His voice sounded agitated.

He must have arrived this evening, thought Jenna. That was a real stroke of luck. Now she could ask him who the boy really was, and if he really did believe the business about him being mad. If she was to act the part of Malena, the Little Princess, she must also know who her friends were. And perhaps her enemies.

‘Be sensible, Norlin!’ said Bolström. Jenna knew it was him even without seeing him. She had almost reached the library now, and the door was slightly open. ‘The rebels are certainly not going to wait a second longer. Up to now everything’s gone well, better than we could ever have imagined, in fact. The child has played her part wonderfully well.’

Jenna stood still. Although no one could see her, she felt a red glow spreading over her face and neck. Of course they had all praised her before, but nevertheless it was nice to hear it again when they were talking about it among themselves. She knew she should now knock on the door and go in. Mum would have been shocked if she’d known that her daughter was eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation – and what’s more, a conversation about herself.

‘And she’ll play it just as wonderfully in a week’s time, I’m sure of that. So you’ve achieved everything you set out to achieve. But so long as you have him …’

‘No!’ shouted the regent, and Jenna was astonished to hear the fear that echoed in his voice. ‘I simply don’t want that. Even if he were to lead the rebels … even if they got more and more followers … no massacre, I’ll have no massacre in my country.’

Jenna pressed herself tightly against the wall. Gradually the blood ran out of her face, and she felt herself getting giddy.

‘Nobody’s talking about a massacre, Your Highness,’ said a female voice. Mrs Jarkas was there as well, then. ‘A massacre is what we want to avoid. Bolström is right: so long as he’s living up there in the forest and only has to snap his fingers to let loose the rebels, then every day we have to reckon on‑’

‘Why not simply go for a straightforward solution?’ Bolström intervened. ‘One bullet. He won’t even know what’s hit him. And without him, they won’t dare start anything. Good God, Norlin! As regent it’s your duty to protect your country. Do you want a civil war in which far more people would have to lose their lives? Hundreds, maybe thousands? That’s what you would have to answer for, Norlin – these deaths would really be on your conscience. One life, or lots of lives. If you give me the go-ahead …’

‘No!’ cried Norlin. His voice was cracking. ‘No execution. I’m telling you once and for all! We shall find another solution to the problem – I can’t see any problem, because there’s no evidence he’s going to attack us. Nothing’s happened yet, despite the fact that we haven’t executed him. He’s not that powerful yet. I am the regent, and don’t you forget it! And I say no.’

‘Norlin,’ said Bolström, ‘you’re too sentimental for your own good.’

Jenna tried to leave as quietly as possible. She had heard something she should never have heard. And no one must ever know.

As soon as she reached the wing that contained her room, she began to run. On reaching it, she pulled open the door and flung herself on her bed, then she got up again and turned the key in the lock. She left the light burning and slipped under the covers. Her feet were like ice.

During the drive that afternoon Mrs Jarkas had said there was nothing to fear from the rebels. All the same, she had not wanted Jenna to see the crater next to the parliament building, or to know anything about any civil unrest. The situation must be more serious than Jenna had been led to believe. Otherwise they would not be insisting that the leader should be shot. Massacre. Civil war.

One life or many, thought Jenna. Is that how it is? Do people really think like that, do people decide to kill one man in order to save many lives? Is the regent right, or are Bolström and Mrs Jarkas?

She got up and went to the glass door. The storm had died down and it was raining, gently and evenly. She didn’t want to stay in a house with people who were arguing seriously about whether they should kill someone.

This was not a film, and it was not a book, it was real life. This was really happening, and the quarrel frightened her.

‘Please, no,’ whispered Jenna. She had wanted to help the princess, and she had wanted to play the part in Bolström’s film. But now she wished she’d never come here.