Page 109 of The Midnight Princess
I slip one into my mouth, controlling my features with superhuman strength. “I hope you enjoy the Pankedruss custard when it comes. I added it to the menu for you.”
“Alma,” he reproves. My name on his lips is enough to give me hope through the cheese course.
Dancing follows the dinner, and I have to watch Jacob escort the daughter of a Sondish ambassador through a waltz. He moves with strong, sure steps around the floor and I turn my back on it, weaving from group to group, shaking hands and laughing about fishing rights or old wars—whatever it’s diplomatically expedient to laugh at. We’re in the same room, but protocol keeps us apart. The clock above the band is a mill stone, grinding me into chaff with each passing hour.
At the ragged end of the party, Caroline halts at my side. She’s wearing a severe black dress with a nipped in waist and carrying herself with the unmistakable air of a woman who could point any guest to a bathroom.
“Good evening, ma’am,” she says. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
I’m in love with the crown prince of a foreign country and see a bleak future bearing down like a freight train. But, other than that, I’m fine, Caroline. And you?
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” I say.
“Please don’t linger at the end of the party,” she observes. “The logistics are well in hand.”
She slips back to her duties, no doubt to organize the catering staff or manage the loading and unloading zone, her steps brisk and efficient. I imagine her donning a reflective pinny and taking up lighted batons to untangle potential parking snarls when everyone else has gone to bed. I’m thankful for it. If I can’t be a perfect right hand for my mother, Caroline will. She can always be counted on.
At a quarter to midnight, King Otto is persuaded to retire, and my mother endures his effusive farewells. Jacob follows his father’s resolute steps, and I dip a curtsey as they pass. A burden shifts onto my chest, and I almost stagger under its weight. Jacob and I won’t speak again for the duration of this visit. Not alone. I know the schedule better than anyone and can accountfor every minute, from the moment he wakes up tomorrow until the moment he boards that helicopter again.
Caroline has promised to manage the details of the party, and I need rest. I need to figure out how to get through to Jacob, even if he’s blocked my number.
I slip out of the ballroom and scurry up the staircase in the Great Hall, nodding to the extra security detail placed at the head of the private wings. The palace exhales with the sounds of a retreating feast, and I halt in my tracks.
I’m in a centuries-old palace. I pick up my pace, almost running down the darkened hall, eyes trained on the carpet.
We have secret passageways.
33
Secret Passageways
ALMA
“Your posture,” I hear, the voice low and amused, as familiar as my own.
Jacob is leaning up against the wall, still in his tuxedo, the tie loosened, crumpled against his white shirtfront, and I’m hit with a wave of longing. He’s waiting for me, just like always.
He clicks his tongue several times against his teeth. “What kind of impression do you hope to make if you can’t put your shoulders back?”
I recognize the words as some of my own. Blood races through my veins, too fast for sense, and I push through the door of our suite. He rolls behind me, and I feel the weight of his gaze like a touch. Jacob is back.
“How did you get here?” I ask, continuing to my room, knowing he won’t ask permission to follow. Counting on it. Every nerve in my body is sparkling like a firework. “Thefootmen wouldn’t have let a son of Vorburg up the staircase in the Great Hall on a night like this.”
I perch on a chair, and he steps behind me. “Does your tiara hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not much.”
He puts his hands to my hair, drawing pins from the complicated knot one by one.
“Caroline was in charge of assigning rooms,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the sensitive skin around my ears. “She gave me the Tower Suite and made sure I knew where the amenities were. She even offered up a history lesson about the wars of succession while she was at it.”
“Why are we talking about the wars of succession?” I ask, a furrow in my brow. We could be talking about us.
His gray eyes dance, and he gives me his infuriating American grin. I lose my train of thought for a moment but, when it returns, I bolt upright and turn in my chair, mouth agape. “Did she actually show you where the secret passageway was?” The location of every hidden passage in the Summer Palace is almost a state secret. I’m surprised Caroline didn’t take the information to her grave.
Hands on my shoulders, warming my skin, he turns me around to face the mirror. “She didn’t have to, once I knew it was there. I’m familiar with traditional construction techniques and was”—he gives me another grin—“pretty motivated to work it out.”
He removes the last hairpins and lifts the tiara from my head. With careful hands—hands I could trust with my life—he places it into the box along with the earrings. A knock sounds on the outer door. “You’d better do it,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss into the crook of my neck. A blush blooms from the spot and blood rushes through my veins. “The Cyclops wouldn’t suit you at all.”
