Page 10 of The Midnight Princess
“Who?”
“The new crown prince of Vorburg. News sources in Djolny don’t have much more than a name—Jacob Gardner. King Otto locked down his heir as soon as the verdict was released because all we have is a street view image of his workshop, an extremely blurry photo of someone who might be him at a school reunion, and the barest biographical sketch from the lawsuit.”
I lean over her shoulder. “Didn’t he have to show up in court? I’m sure there were photographers.”
Ella shakes her head. “He was an anonymous litigant, and the court case wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. It was all done under his mother’s name.” Ella taps the keys and pulls up an old picture of a young woman in a sequined costume, her face made up for the stage, and another photo of an elegant middle-aged woman with ashy blond hair, exiting the courthouse inlarge sunglasses. “With their typical tact and generosity, the press call herLudivo Nerzka—The Leggy Dancer. Her court case languished in dark judicial dungeons until, for reasons known only to himself, the king decided to let her win it.”
Ella scrunches her nose. Her glasses slip, and she pushes them back. “The prince was supposed to arrive last night, but I’ve seen no sign of him.”
I clear my throat. “He came. Late.”
“Ooh! What does he look like? Does he have the Biron nose?” Ella shapes the air around her face, outlining the comically prominent feature inherited by a string of Vorburgian kings.
“I only met his aide,” I say, a blush climbing up my neck.
Much about last night is hazy, but the details of that kiss are like a Lalique vase. They are clear, they are gorgeous, and they are going to cost me.Vede, I remember sighing against his lips and going in for more. I must have lost my mind.
A tingle travels up from my fingertips, and I frown. Returning the cup to the saucer, I think of several bracing, fortifying words that sound suspiciously like my mother.You don’t even know that man. His hair probably doesn’t feel like anything special. It meant nothing.
It has to mean nothing. If I developed an interest in such an unsuitable person, my mother would probably assemble a crisis management team.
My brother Noah would disapprove as well. I don’t know when he became the Grand High Inquisitor of Royal Human Resource Irregularities, but he has taken to reminding us that it’s not the Middle Ages. That royal secretaries and housekeepers can’t be expected to live for us, and us alone. He’d say the aide and I didn’t share a kiss. We shared a power imbalance, and I abused my side of it.
Ella leans toward me and puts the back of her hand against my cheek. “Are you all right? You should drink lots of fluids. It’s the best way to get it out of your system.”
I remember the kiss. There’s not enough water in the North Sea for that.
A sound at the door jerks me to attention, and I see Mama’s secretary, looking like she allows herself a single glass of sherry every Christmas Eve to toast the holiday. Calm. Sedate. I used to look like that.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highnesses.” She bobs a curtsey.
Ella bucks her chin. “Hey, Caro.”
Caroline’s gaze shifts to me. “Her Majesty requests a moment of your time, ma’am.”
“Are you in trouble?” Ella’s laugh follows me out the door.
Caroline escorts me to my mother’s too-bright sitting room. My eyes sting, and a sheen of perspiration washes over my neck and up my face. Thankfully, a curtsey is second nature and, when Mama offers her cheek, I lean in for a kiss.
“Good morning, Mama.”
“Alma, may I present you to His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Jacob,” she says in the Vorburgian way,Yah-cup, “and his aide,PaneKarl Nowak.”
Aide? No, no, no. It’s too soon for this. My heart spirals to my toes, dragging every bit of color from my face as I reroute vital functions to make it possible to appear regal and self-possessed. One breath. When I think I’ve just about got it, I turn, smile set, eyes darting away from the dangerous minefield that is the tall, semi-feral figure who looks like he escaped from his bedroom in the middle of a natural disaster. I fix my gaze on the reasonably-sized man with creased trousers, meticulous tailoring, and a nose that seems to have escaped the worst outcomes of the genetic lottery.
I make a curtsey and offer the crown prince my hand. “A pleasure, Your Royal Highness.”
A bark of laughter escapes the Vorburgian giant, but I don’t break my concentration.
“Ma’am,” the prince says, hand at his throat.
I’ve already turned to the aide, who doesn’t look anything like a Karl. “PaneNowak, welcome to Sondmark.” I extend my hand and he takes it, eyes dancing with laughter.
A flutter of panic stirs my sour stomach.Stultes es,why is he smiling? Has he snitched on me? Is the prime minister going to get a briefing?
“Alma.” My head swivels at my mother’s sharp command.
Her posture is terrifyingly correct, her lips pressed into a flat line. Mama always looks queenly, but when her irritation is ignited, she’s the picture of Queen Ageltheld, standing over the body of her fallen king, holding the enemy back with a bloody sword. I can almost see the Wolffe family motto burned into the wall behind her. “Conquer, if you dare.” Something has displeased her.
