Page 104 of The Dandelion Princess
“It’s not like that,” I insist.
Père glances past me, but Marc shoves his hands in his pockets, cheerfully hanging me out to dry.
“What’s the agenda for today?” I ask him with a newfound commitment to schedules and timetables.
“The prime minister is meeting with your mother now,” Père says, brushing his knuckle on the end of my nose with a look that is both happy and sad.
“Is he accepting her proposal for Freja’s position?”
“She will handle him with such delicacy that he’ll think it was his idea all along,” Père grunts.
“He’s dangerous,” I venture.
Père touches my hand, the dull gold of his Pavian signet ring glinting in the light. “Your mother is a world-class diplomat,” he assures me. “Shall we go see how she is getting on? I’m her greatest support, you know.”
I feel a tug of pain at his words, lifted from countless news articles and opinion pieces. This sentiment—once sacred and true—he’s turned into a joke.
We enter the palace through the administration wing and find it oddly deserted.
“Where is everyone?” he asks, peeking into Caroline’s office. “The prime minister’s security officers should be—”
We hear a sharp exchange from the sitting room where Mama customarily receives the prime minister, and Père gives me a look of surprise before he moves swiftly into the room, ready to pour a little Pavian charm on the situation.
The door is slightly ajar, and Caroline isn’t here to keep me from doing it, so I creep closer. Marc is on my heels, and I lean closer to the wood paneling because the voices are frustratingly low. I leap out of my skin when Mama shouts, “How dare you, you bureaucratic reptile. You dirt-sucking snake.”
Through the narrow crack in the door, I see Mama rush the prime minister. I gape, but Père swiftly intercepts her, scooping the Mother of Sondmark and the Sonderlands up and striding her away a few paces. She struggles to free herself from the arm banding her waist. Wordlessly, Marc slips his arm around my waist, holding me fast.
“Your Majesty,” the prime minister shouts. “Madam, contain yourself!”
“You threatened my child,” Mama roars.
I take it in, frozen in disbelief. Where is the diplomat? Gone. There is something primal in the way words tear from her throat. A line of the national anthem runs through my head.None will bridle the dragon of Sondmark.Her fury ispowerful enough that she might even recover Freja’s HRH—but,dominanstid, if it ever gets out that she shouted at an elected official…
“Did you expect me to take that meekly?” she thunders, completely unhinged. The sound of her voice rattles the walls as Père holds her.
My mother’s priorities might be disordered, but it is a rare joy to hear her voice, billowing with ancient power and royal rage, fighting for the Crown and its prerogatives.
“Her online activities are outrageous,” the prime minister blusters, snatching up his briefcase. I roll my eyes. Freja’s Pixy videos encouraging more visits to The Nat aren’t a scandal. He points a shaking finger. “If you have any hope of holding your present role, Princess Ella must be sacrificed—”
I straighten, bumping into Marc’s solid mass. Princess Ella is me. They are talking aboutme. I grapple with the arms around my waist but Marc’s hold tightens as Mama’s voice, low and menacing, carries through the door. “How dare you speak of my precious child.”
I gasp, and Marc puts a hand over my mouth, whispering a hush against my ear.
Slowly, his restraining arms become an embrace, holding me tightly.Precious?I turn the word over, examining it for flaws and conditions as a jeweler would search for fractures and clouds. Mama doesn’t put anything before the Crown. Not herself. Not her family. Certainly not a child who battles her at every turn.
But through the narrow opening, I see evidence that tells another story.
Marc folds me against his chest, keeping me steady and secure even as my mother rages. “If you threaten my daughter, you will get a fight.”
32
Scruples Evaporate
MARC
“And you, Madam, should prepare yourself for a press conference,” Torbald spits. “I intend to reveal her online identity tomorrow.”
Ella tears at my fingers, trying to get me to release her. No chance. The exposure of her gamer tag and social media handles will be a dark day for the monarchy, but it wouldn’t be in the same league as strangling her mother’s minister. I pick Ella up and throw her over my shoulder, jogging silently down the hall. When a door opens behind me, I dive into a supply closet, shutting us in.
