Page 94 of The Dandelion Princess
My stomach roils, and I press a fist against my midsection. This reminds me of the video feeds from the Seongan earthquake showing areas of liquefaction—of sandy soil turning into water and rigid building foundations beginning to flex and buckle. Unthinkable destruction followed.
I knew this was coming. Knew it was possible as soon as Freja ran off to be married, if I’m honest. If she did that, she might do anything. But the knot in my throat grows harder by the second, and I feel a wish form at the cellular level. Marc. I need Marc.
“It’s fine,” I manage, sounding like this happens every day, talking around the painful ache. “This is what she wants.”
Caroline looks over her shoulder at me. Her glance flicks to my fist before retreating in discreet, sympathetic silence. Does she also know what it’s like to have emotions that have no easy outlet?
When the broadcast concludes, Noah pokes his head around the door of Mama’s office. “Come on in,” he says, leaving it ajar even after we stride past him. There’s likely nothing we could say that Caroline hasn’t heard already.
Mama’s hand is tucked into Père’s steady grip, knuckles stark white against his tan, but I don’t make the mistake of getting my hopes up. She has been a giantess my whole life, and if the lastseveral years have made her hard, the last hour has made her fragile.
She leaves it to Noah to guide the discussion.
“The interview didn’t do any more damage than Freja’s departure will,” he says. “It probably helps in the long run that it appears to be her own idea. The press will make itself ridiculous for a few weeks, talking about the baby, but the main thing is that we need everyone to lock in. No elopements.” He looks at Alma, who utters an outraged gasp, and moves on to Clara. “No gloating when you win your lawsuit.”
I am on the edge of losing it and his aggressive certainty makes me bristle. “You know what would be really helpful?” I reply. “If you picked a girl, got married, and gave us an heir.” It’s easier to have these kinds of spats than face the storm of emotions brewing in my chest.
Noah’s jaw sets, but Mama raps her knuckles on the desk. The air shivers with power.
“Your brother is correct. We have asked for circumspection time and again this year and,dominanstid, we’ve had little of it. The press will run with stories sourced on the thinnest material. We can’t afford to give them any.”
Père releases a breath. “I’m proud of ourdonninafor putting her marriage first.”
Silently, pointedly, Mama slips her hand out of his. She aims a blind nod to no one. “There are to be no comments to the press. No leaks.” She aims a scorching glance at me. “It’s certainly not the time for levity, Ella. You are all dismissed.”
While the administration wing is in fight mode, my sisters elect to raid the kitchens for ice cream bars. I tell them that I’d prefer to blow off steam by exploding space lizards on my computer.
I run up to my suite, and instead of reaching for the gaming controller, I kick off my shoes, frozen in place. The ancient woodfloors creak under my shifting weight and I feel…I feel... Every tear crowding my throat comes wrapped around a nucleus of knowing that Freja is right.
I jump when an urgent knock sounds. “I know your code,” Marc calls through the door. “Just let me in there.”
Vede.Painful pressure gathers behind my eyes and in the roof of my mouth. I open the door a crack. “Where is security when you need it?” I mutter.
He scoots me backward and presses the door shut. “They think I’m harmless.”
He’s not harmless to me. We watch each other across a short expanse. The pressure builds and builds. “You saw the broadcast.”
“You knew it was coming,” he says, narrowing his eyes. He’s figuring this out now. “And you didn’t tell me.”
I wave a hand, but the careless effect is ruined by the stiffness of the motion. “I didn’t know anything four hours ago. Didn’t Noah tell you?”
He shakes his head.
“Then you should be banging at his door.”
I swear he growls. “It’s not Noah I’ve been kissing.”
My eyes burn, but I think of how my mother will appear in public tomorrow, as cool as ice.
“That’s no reason to babysit your best friend’s little sister,” I say, pushing him towards the door. He doesn’t budge and my feet slip.
“Ella,” he protests.
He’s a wall of muscle and vastness, impervious to my attempt to shift him. I think seriously about investing in a moat or posting snipers at the head of the staircase.
“We’re friends,” he says.
Stultes es.The ground beneath my feet is shifting and my fist rests against his heart. My own is going to break into a million pieces.
