Page 74 of The Dandelion Princess
I release a frustrated breath. Didn’t I make it clear that I wasn’t going to wear one of her clunkers, just for a private party? “Is this from the queen?” I ask.
“No, ma’am,” she replies. “It arrived with a note.”
I finger the heavy stationary, sealed with the wax cipher ofNeerheidvan Heyden, lord of Lindenholm, and open it with hurried fingers. To my slight irritation, the penmanship of the handwritten note is flawless.
My mother wishes to lend this to you tonight. You can’t say no when I know how much you want it. —Marc.
I undo the latch and flip the top open. What I see makes me clutch Caroline’s arm and suck in a measure of air. “Is that what I think it is?”
Caroline’s rare smile peeps out. “I see a tiara, ma’am.”
Notatiara.Thetiara. Gold-plated cut steel in a dandelion motif on a bed of dark velvet. The one I offered to place on Jang Mi’s head when the words out of my mouth felt like a blade sliding over my skin.
“Will you be needing any assistance, ma’am?” Caroline asks, eyes speculative.
I nod and she scoops up the delicate metalwork, placing it on my hair. I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of featherlight material resting on my curls, and when I open them again, I find my reflection. The gold picks up the highlights in my hair and the added height makes me look like a character out ofForced Marriage of the Fairy Realms—a divine lawgiver, destined to save my people by forming an alliance with my worryingly irresistible enemy.
“Tell me if it’s straight,” I say, swallowing away the thickness in my throat.
Caroline adjusts the frame, and I decide that this is the most magical tiara that has ever existed. I love it, and it’s just a loaner.
Alma pops her head in. “Oof. That’s gorgeous on you. Is that the van Heyden tiara?”
“The good one. Is it time to head down?”
She holds her hand out and we join Freja and Clara in the hall. “Ready?”
Me and my sisters pause at the top of the staircase in an unbroken chain that seems to hum with feminine power. The menfolk turn at the sound of Clara’s laugh. Max, Oskar, Jacob, and—my heart kicks into an unsteady rhythm—Marc.
My gaze skitters away from the intensity of his stare, and I dimly register a fifth man leaning lazily against the doors,brooding darkly as we descend the stairs with Caroline trailing behind us. Noah. Probably totting up how much this is costing the Crown.
Jacob curses under his breath, grabs Alma’s hand, and peels off the wrong way with a shouted, “Happy birthday!” over his shoulder. I wonder if they’ll ever make it to the party. Max, strides after Clara when she laughingly slips past him, his long legs narrowing the distance. Oskar meets Freja on the bottom step and puts his elbow out, bending his head to whisper into her ear. Caroline follows in their wake, her posture unbending, and Noah frowns after her.
“The dress isn’t that bad,” I say, reading his expression. “It’s just that we’ve seen it a million times.”
Noah drags a deep breath into his lungs, gives me an absentminded glance, and crooks his arm. “Come along,” he says, “I’ll take you out.”
“Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm,” I answer, slipping my hand through his elbow.
Marc moves to my other side, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing mine as we walk, the slightest twining of our hands, his fingertips grazing my palm. My stomach tightens. He’s playing with fire in a hall full of reflective surfaces, and geometry is going to get us caught.
“Couldn’t find a date?” Noah speaks over my head, taunting his best friend. I slowly shift my arm, my heart in my throat, but Marc resists my effort to make space between us. For a brief moment, his fingers lace through mine, sending a shiver up my arm.
“Still living with your mother?” Marc grins.
“I have my own cottage,” Noah counters.
Marc places two fingers behind his ear, bending it forward. “On the grounds of where now?”
Marc catches my look in one of the mirrors, eyes blazing with how much he has kissed me this spring and how much kissing he still intends to do. He bumps his chin. “Later,” he mouths, moving forward to the party.
Eventually, the path narrows and Noah and I follow the row of torches to the lower gardens. We’ve been lucky with the weather. The day is cloudless and warm enough for a garden party around a long stone swimming pool dating from the 18th century. Spring-fed and wild, the pool contains frogs, newts, and all manner of slimy things. Clusters of wildflowers, reeds, and marsh thistle provide a soft border against the cropped, velvety lawn, where ruthlessly-manicured trees dot the perimeter. Lights crisscross high above the water, and the sun dances into the horizon, kisses it, and eventually sinks.
A more lavish event wouldn’t strike the right tone in the midst of Freja’s succession crisis, so there won’t be fireworks or dancing, but the party has a string quartet playing a succession of songs sampled on Pixy videos. Wondering glances linger on the Dandelion Tiara, but I say it’s a loan fromAmma. Nothing to do with my mother’s dynastic matchmaking. Princess Ella hasn’t swept Marc van Heyden off the market. I can almost hear the sighs of relief.
When the early stars begin to peep out, Oskar finds me talking with distant cousins. “Can we cut the Kindercakes?” he asks. “Freja is tired.”
“Have you tried giving her a canape?”
