Page 13 of The Winter Princess
No, I didn’t have a chance to see anything. I was likely too busy checking out Freja’s figure. My lip curls and I lift my head.
She jerks the tie again, and so help me, I like it—the assumption of authority, the way the image of the polite, remote princess slips. A shiver works across my shoulders.
No. I can’t like it. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I tug the tie out of her hand, smoothing the Italian silk. I ignore the way my blood feels hot.
“Sorry,” she whispers, as though damaging a piece of fabric is a crime far worse than destroying my peace of mind. “They’ve been coming up with cost-saving measures. Did you see the list?”
I know better than to raise my head.
“Three bullet points,” she says, lifting one slim finger at a time. “Absorb the Restoration Department, cut significant numbers of staff, and cancel the Romantics Exhibit.”
Damn. In this scenario, the Restoration staff would be placed under Roland’s management, slimmed down, and no longer in need of a head. I would be out on my ear. I begin to calculate the level of support I can expect from the other staff members. Freja was right. I can’t afford to miss this meeting.
Her stomach gurgles, and she clasps a hand over it, frowning at me again.
“It’s not my fault.”
She blushes. “I forgot to eat anything before I left the palace.”
I shake my head. Better to appear dismissive than amused. I can’t afford to find a princess endearing. I begin to straighten and Freja releases a breath, hand wrapping around my forearm. Warmth spreads from her touch. Just as it did last night, my chest tightens.
“If you have even a speck of charm, today is the day to summon it.” Her eyes are level with mine. “The museum is in danger of losing its main source of funding, and nothing is safe from the chopping block. Not my exhibit. Not your job.”
I can’t take my eyes off the way each expression chases over her face. “Speck?”
She shakes her head, refusing to be drawn. “Even an idiot can see we both have something to lose in that meeting. So what are you going to say,” she asks, “to keep your job?”
My mouth hardens. “I won’t beg for something I’ve earned.”
She lifts her eyes as though praying for patience. “That attitude will get you sacked.”
“What do you know about being sacked?”
Freja catches her lower lip between her teeth, releasing it in a blink. My job is on the line. My citizenship. I can’t afford to go soft on someone who doesn’t need it.
I nod my head toward the conference room. “I’m going to say getting rid of the exhibit would be the fastest way to show the prime minister that the museum is tightening its belt.” My glance flicks to her hand on my arm. It’s supposed to be a show of irritation but my eyes trace over the bones of her wrist and the slim gold watch banding it. I’ve never been this close to Freja. I was right to keep my distance.
“Throwing my exhibit to the wolves won’t earn you any friends,” she counters.
“Why are you concerned about me having friends?” My eyes narrow as an impossible idea forms in my mind. “Wait. Are you trying to form an alliance?”
“I don’t need an alliance,” she says, drawing herself up to her full height. “I just wanted to know.”
She’s a princess now, and I’m the subject who shouldn’t forget it. Only, I’m not her mother’s subject. Not yet. I tug her into a crouch. “You need someone’s help. The exhibit must mean something to you—all that work with gallery models, curation research, time spent conducting interviews. You won’t just abandon it because a politician is working out a personal vendetta against your family.”
“How do you know—”
Please.I tip my head. “I know a grudge when I see it.”
“You would.”
I didn’t mean us. Pavian culture is built around the ability to hold a grudge for centuries. It’s too late to put her right.
Her eyes flick to the doorway. “I won’t abandon the exhibit, but I’m sure I can save it without—”
“Without a no-account Pavi backing you up?”
Her brows snap down and she stops even trying to hide her anger. “I didn’t call you that. I would never call you that.”
