Page 90 of The Midnight Princess
Karl drills the crown prince, going over key dates in the Soviet invasion and eventual fall of Vorburg, and my mind wanders. I’ve spent all these weeks trying to make Jacob more like me—someone content to sit primly with her hands folded in her lap while the thing she wants most in the world lies within her reach.In some ways I’ve succeeded. His appearance has sharpened. His grasp on protocol is growing comfortable.
In all other ways, it’s been a disaster. I’ve changed far more than he has.
Karl asks a follow-up question about the rise of the dissident movement, and Jacob’s hand brushes mine under the table. I close my eyes. This isn’t an accident. We’ve traded these covert gestures all week, becoming more reckless.
Karl crosses the room to consult a research library for the answer, and Jacob leans over. “Announce the broken engagement,” he whispers.
I want to pull a fire alarm and alert everyone to the fact that I haven’t been engaged for weeks, but I grip the edges of the table, drawing my hand away. “Have sense.”
I’m not that reckless. Not yet. Though I want to find out what these feelings between us will become, I can’t publicly cut Pietor loose until after the trade negotiations. Keeping us a secret is a mutually beneficial solution to an attraction that could easily get out of hand, damaging the long-term success of his country and mine.
Karl places materials in front of Jacob. “Memorize the main points, if you will, sir. I’ll fetch a book with more details from my room.” He excuses himself, leaving Jacob and me alone.
Jacob plucks up a page, and I lean over his shoulder, my hair brushing the side of his neck. He freezes, like one of the carriage horses before a parade.
“Alma.” His head tips back and his jaw sets, I see the effort he puts into holding himself back.
I touch his upturned face as we watch each other. “You’re not the only one trying to change someone’s mind.”
An alarm beeps on my phone, and I straighten. “I have to go,” I say, reaching for my portfolio, my color high.
Are we just trying to persuade each other when we touch? Maybe it’s simply that we can’t help it.
I mull over these questions at the family meeting, even as the wheels of Mama’s constitutional monarchy grind around me. No one asks about Pavieau and the strange softening Mama exhibited when she sent Freja to meet our family. We know how to be patient while Mama decides what to tell us. At the conclusion of the meeting, she holds me back. “How is His Royal Highness doing?”
I guard the truth that I’ve never withstood a temptation like the Crown Prince of Vorburg, that we are in a standoff about whether we’re going to start kissing at regular intervals, and that I would give anything this minute to forget I’m a princess of Sondmark.
“Have you managed to sew a satin bonnet from the bundle of rags?” she smiles, amused at the folk saying.
I swallow. “He’s a diligent student. King Otto will have no cause for complaint.”
“That’s the most important thing,” she says, “to clear us of this debt. We can’t be rid of him fast enough.” Her chin tips away, and she asks, “When does he return to Vorburg?”
“A fortnight,” Caroline supplies. “We just received the itinerary from Djolny.”
I knew it was coming, but to have it spelled out so clearly is like a hand on my throat.
“It can’t come too soon.” Mama touches my cheek and shakes her head. “While your sisters are exploring the novelty of pursuing their own self-interest, I miss having my steady right hand.”
Caroline taps a few strokes on her tablet. “His Royal Highness will be receiving little more than a week of Vorburgian court training in conjunction with briefings on their end of the state visit. They don’t have much time.”
“They should take him now and do a proper job of it,” Mama declares. “Perhaps I should mention it to the embassy.”
“No,” I say. My eyes shift away. “I have more to teach him.”
Mama nods and turns to go.
Caroline shoots me the briefest glance. Heaven knows what she sees. “He’ll be back before long,” she murmurs.
He won’t be back in the same way. When King Otto’s royal motorcade pulls up to the front entrance of the Summer Palace, a tiny flag affixed to the roof of the car, he won’t be arriving with Jacob. He’ll be accompanied by His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Jacob of Vorburg. Our roles will be clear, defined, and constricting.
Whether he wants them to or not, his priorities will shift. His allegiance will be to a hostile throne, and these feelings between us might evaporate into nothing. No matter what promises he wants to make, he’s a future monarch who may never have any use for a Sondish princess. In the face of so many risks, it’s wise to choose discretion.
When I return to my suite, I find him kneeling in front of my dollhouse, a tiny paintbrush in his hand, daubing glue along a loose chair railing. In the weeks since he took up the project, several rooms have returned to their former glory, the staircase in the Great Hall as sturdy and elegant as the real thing.
“Finished?” he asks, intent on his task. “How did it go?”
I dump my portfolio in a chair. “Noah is getting grouchy in his old age. He hates Karl for reasons I can’t understand.”
