Page 117 of The Dandelion Princess
“We have a deal.” I wrap my pinky around his and press his thumb. “I would take you if it meant tiaras and military parades every day. I would take you if I had to wear sky-high heels to serve school lunches. If you want me,” his embrace tightens, “they’ll have to wrestle you out of my cold, dead hands.”
“Tiaras everyday? You do love me.” His smile is lopsided. “At least the Dandelion Tiara won’t give you headaches.”
I do a little internal squeal. Very chill. Sort of chill. My spiritual fingertips are prancing. The Dandelion Tiara will be mine. Oh, yes, it will be mine.
Marc leans down until we’re forehead to forehead. His breath comes with a shake. “I have missed you so much. I had Werner start shopping for an island.”
“Why do you need an island?” I lead him to the sofa. Sealing this deal might take some time.
“For whenever you need to run away.”
Marc has covered all his bases. “What else should I ask for, since you’re in a mood to grant my every wish?”
“Hurry and decide,” he tells me, placing soft kisses on each eyelid, and on the end of my crinkled nose.
I don’t think about how much Mama will approve of this or what Alix might say. I have mentally consigned Noah to the endof the long meadow where he can overlook the dark ocean and consider what he owes his Viking blood.
I sink against Marc, and his hands band my waist. My eyes drift closed as his mouth covers mine. When he holds me, he keeps on holding.
I think,Whui-ho. We’ve got this. There’s nothing left to wish for.
Epilogue
ELLA
On the day before her wedding, I break the news to Alix while we’re sitting in side-by-side pedicure chairs at Esther Hong’s. When I say, “I need you to know that I’m dating your brother,” her massage feature switches to “vigorous,” and it sounds like I’ve induced a seizure.
“How did he manage to talk you into it? Do you know that he paints miniatureSiege Bladefigurines to relax? Never mind,” She shakes her head. “He’s perfect. You’re perfect. The important thing is that we’re going to be sisters,” she declares, her voice pitching up into a near-squeal.
“Alix, we’re just dating. You can’t put the cart before the horse,” I say. Of course, there’s a bonus feature inRunaway Wagonthat absolutely allows players to do such a thing.
It doesn’t matter where the cart is. I see the future as clearly as I see my own toenails, painted Seongan Spring just for the wedding. It’s always been Marc, and it will always be Marc.
To her credit, my mother is trying not to appear elated. Her official position is that her daughters will be the death of her. That this is a difficult time to manage yet another boyfriend for the House of Wolffe, and could I please think of the monarchy and keep things well in hand over the coming months? Her unofficial position peeps out in the form of a dimple whenever his name is brought up or she crosses his path and he gives her one of his courtly, old fashioned bows.
“What?” she asks, when I catch her eye on these occasions. “It’s rare to see a young person do it correctly.”
Ammadoesn’t make a scene when we tell her, but she gently edges Marc out of her way and holds my hands tightly, brushing my cheek with her own. The thin crust of her Lutheranism must have evaporated during her time in Seong, because as soon as Alix told her such an event was possible, she collected the precise moment of my birth and consulted a shaman. When we pass her in the halls or gardens of Lindenholm, in the midst of these last minute wedding preparations, she murmurs things like, “Next summer is an auspicious season.”
Marc handled Noah. I am not privy to the particulars. I don’t know if anyone wrestled anyone else into submission. The only thing Marc will say is that no punches were thrown. He must have given Noah something to think about, because my brother paces the halls of the Summer Palace with his “Isn’t there a foreign country we can wipe off the map?” face and growls irritably when Marc walks through the Great Hall like he owns the place.
“Don’t worry about him,” Marc says. “This really isn’t about us.”
I promise Alix that Marc and I will keep things private until well after her wedding, but she begs us go public. “I can’t buy that kind of buzz,” she says, which isn’t even true. She hired a pair of juggling fortune tellers off of Pixy Shopfront for thereception, and invited acclaimed artist Linus Tiele to recreate the bride and groom in bottle caps as her guests watch.
Marc and I are another kind of spectacle. We hold hands and don’t let go, not even whenVrouwWOW’sphotographer trains his lens on us. I feel the moment we’re captured. Marc scoops me into his arms and lifts my hand to kiss the back of it. I straighten my shoulders and give the camera my best angle, but I can’t stop smiling long enough to look elegant. It was a nice track record while it lasted, but I very much doubt I’ll be winning any popularity polls with readers ofVrouwWOWnext year.
When Yasmin sees us, her mouth forms a tiny cupid’s bow of shock. Soon, though, her expression shifts into the determined look of a town crier, bent on sounding the news through every hamlet and village in Sondmark that Princess Ella has thrown her cap over the windmill at last.
By morning, everyone in Sondmark will know that Marc and I are a couple.
Tom gives a speech and presents his bride, now on her fourth wedding outfit, aCreature Catchingaccount, filled with all the life points he’s collected while taking business calls. “I’m never not thinking of you,” he says, dipping her into a kiss.
I move my hands in a series of tiny claps, my shoulders lifting in a happy sigh.
“Think about the private island, Ella.” Marc leans over and gives me awhui-hofist.
I look up at him. “All that time, Marc. Think of how many digital butterflies he had to catch when he doesn’t even like video games. I think I love him.”
