Page 98 of The Winter Princess
As soon as the door closes, Mama turns, her brows gathering. “Freja, explain yourself. The prime minister is poised to lose far more in this deal than you are. You should take it.”
Tears crowd my throat. “No. I have to meet with the board, convince them—”
“Why? You won.”
I bite my lip, my chin pulling with the effort of not weeping. “I lost. If he gets fired, the likelihoodNeerVelasquez will be sent back to Pavieau is high.”
Mama, utterly at sea, lifts her hands. I’m one of her easier children. I’ve never frustrated her like this. “Pavieau is on its way to becoming a thriving constitutional monarchy with the best weather in Europe. It’s hardly banishment for a man who was born there.”
Time slows and my sight seems to sharpen, bringing a host of things into deep focus. My gaze is level. “How can you say that? He came when he was five,” I say. “He likesGlogg, for pity’s sake.”
Mama is puzzled by my anger. When she speaks again, she sounds tired. “Sometimes, Freja, leadership requires us to make hard choices. Sometimes it requires us to sacrifice the personal in favor of the political—to put aside the needs of the one for the needs of the many.”
“Are we still talking about Oskar?”
Mama turns, her silhouette outlined against a steel-gray winter sky. I’ve seen her rigid control this past year, the way she watches her words among the family, the way her eyes follow Père from the room. My father left his family and his homeland to be her prince consort, and when there were sacrifices to be made, he made them.
Mama rests her hand lightly on a side table. “Your father understands the position I’m in.”
“No, he doesn’t.” I see. For the first time, I see. “You didn’t fight them about the funeral, Mama. He had to meet his family secretly,” I breathe, the intensity of emotion rushing through me like a tide. “People can tell when they matter.”
The surge of the ocean roars beyond the windows, the fire snaps in the hearth, and the bronze mantelpiece clock tick, tick, ticks. I think of Oskar’s shy enjoyment of Sondish Christmas traditions and how he stands between his two cultures, a little outside both of them. The way he gripped my hand when he thought about his parents. The way we fit together.
Mama lifts her head like the dragon of Sondmark, loosed from her crest and shaking off droplets of rain. Whatever impression my words made, she’s in control again. “Take the deal. Having this funding will benefit you, the entire staff, and the whole country.”
“No.” I don’t budge. She can’t move me. My spine is titanium. “When you decide you have to treat people like chess pieces to be manipulated around the board, it doesn’t matter what the goal is. You’ve already lost the game. Oskar isn’t a pawn the prime minister can discard because he wants to advance a policy.”
“Oskar?” she repeats, her eyes narrowing. “What’s going on, Freja? I thought your familiarity with him was an act for the cameras. I didn’t say anything because I thought I could count on your discretion.” There’s an edge to her voice I’ve never been on the receiving end of. “Freja, he’s Pavian.”
“I don’t need the reminder.”
“Clearly you do. The royal house of Sondmark doesn’t have parliamentary authorization to normalize relationships with Pavieau. You won’t get what you want from the politicians, no matter how many likesNeerVelasquez gets on social media. If you expect to keep your place in the succession, any connection you form with this man can never be anything serious. I get no choice in the matter. You have to forget him.”
There it is, the hard boundary—a thousand feet high, a thousand meters thick. Mama offers no help. Maybe she would sacrifice me for Sondmark, just as she sacrifices my father.
I have dipped countless curtsies to Queen Helena but in her role as my mother, I’ve only ever felt her hand on my back, lifting and supportive. I’ve lost that support, the suddenness of it like those first tentative steps on my own after surgery and the months afterward of learning to trust my body, learning to be strong. I did it then. I can do it now.
I gather my coat. “I have to go to The Nat and—”
“Would you do this for any provisional resident?”
I capture my lip in my teeth. “I don’t know. I hope so,” I say, imagining Oskar’s hand in mine, giving it a squeeze to keep me from falling to pieces. “I won’t let him think he doesn’t matter.”
Mama almost growls in frustration. “Of course, he matters, but we all have to come together to make a deal.”
I shake my head. Will my family ever make sense? “You hold the sword and he lies at your feet, but the important thing to remember is that you were both at the massacre?”
This is fruitless. I won’t change my mind. I cross to the door, reaching for the handle when Mama’s voice arrests me.
“I suggest you take the deal, Freja. I mean it for your own good.”
I train my eyes on the intricate paneling carved centuries ago, thinking of the men and women ushered into Mama’s presence, bowing before her. Stronger people than I am. Better. Wiser. Many of them bent to her will.
I wish I could.
“I love him.” A tear slips down my cheek, but she doesn’t see it. “Whatever comes next, you need to know that.”
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