Page 12 of The Dandelion Princess
I blink. It’s jet lag, the way my mind rocks between hyperfixation and the inability to focus where I need to. Just jet lag. I’ve only been back five days.
I reach for another piece of stroopwafel, but Ella holds it high above her head, just out of my reach. “Ask nicely.”
Doesn’t she know me? We tussle for a brief but intense moment, her laughter turning into a piercing yelp as my hands band the sensitive skin at her waist. Her great weakness.
She lands a hard blow against my chest with her elbow but I narrow the gap in one quick jerk, reaching for her wrist. Gently, but firmly, I drag the stroopwafel between us and take a huge bite, wolfing it down.
“Whui-ho,” I taunt, brushing the tip of my tongue along my lip. It’s a Seongan phrase, meant to encourage.You can do it.
Ella shoves my chest but I don’t budge. “You’re a pest.”
“You never win that game. I don’t know why you play it.”
She slides me a look. “You’re going to lose a hand someday. And you’ll deserve it. And I won’t cry when we give it a Viking burial. I’ll shoot the flaming arrow myself.”
“Ella,” I admonish, resting my arm across the back of the bench, playing with her curls again. Technically, we’re in public, and this is where Noah specifically told me I was to get Ella to behave.
I grip the wooden slats and try for another piece of stroopwafel. She’s faster this time, slapping my hand, capturingit, lacing her fingers through mine. I don’t even try to twist out of her grasp.
After she polishes off the rest of the treat, she releases me, brushing her palms with exaggerated elegance, and flashes a look of triumph. Holding a small fist between us, she gives me a tart smile. “Whui-ho.”
My stomach tenses with desire. Just a flash. Nothing particular to her. In the past months I haven’t had time to think of women, and this must be a sign that I finally do.
I’m no danger to Ella—Noah made me promise to keep clear of staff and sisters, and she is no danger to me. Even before I left for Seong, Ella and Alix started spending more time in Handsel than Lindenholm. When I visited the Summer Palace, I would see flashes of her on her way out the door, and it’s obvious that she makes no effort when I’m around. One time she went on about cufflinks so long I started to wonder if kissing her would make her shut up.
On the whole, however, Ella has made it as easy as possible to keep my hands to myself. A furrow gathers on my brow. Why is it that I never have to calculate how easy Freja, Alma, and Clara make it?
I locate a rational answer, looking to dissolve these unsettled feelings. For months, we’ve been almost as far apart on the globe as two people can be, but Ella was the first person I messaged when I woke up in the morning and the last person I texted before going to sleep. Of course there’s an added frisson of awareness when I am right next to her. Eventually, I’ll get used to it and we’ll figure out how to go back to the way things were.
The furrow deepens. The sight of her figure poured into curve-hugging jeans isn’t helping.
She wonders if I’ve ever been at the mercy of something warm and feral?
Yes. I’ve acquired some recent experience, princess.
My friendship—a brotherhood, almost—with Noah is the closest relationship I have, outside my family. He warned me away from his sisters in direct, straightforward words, and this is nothing but jet lag—this night that seems to be nudging categories and definitions sideways.
I lift my hand to brush the curls within reach, so softly she can’t feel it. In Sondmark, public opinion polls can’t agree that the sun rises in the east, but they all agree that Ella is everyone’s favorite princess. Statistically speaking, these feelings I’m trying to tamp down are nothing special.
She leans forward, her curls spilling out of my hand. “It’s time to ask you those substantive questions about your time in Seong,” she smiles. “Do you want to talk?”
I shake my head, then I nod.
This week, I gave a brief report to Queen Helena and the Secretary of Foreign Affairs that amounted to a series of facts and proposals. Ella doesn’t need that. She was there with me every day and knows more than anyone. A memory edges through my mind and my mouth tucks with a smile.
Ella: Do you think I won’t notice that you haven’t sent me a check-in photo in six days?
Marc: Hey, Ells. Busy here. Relief workers belonging to the Seongan Statebuilding Party were found misappropriating funds and funneling them to supporters. My mother is on a tear.
Ella: Check-in photo, Marc.
Marc: *photo of the left side of my face, grubby with upland dust*
Ella: I could text Amma, if you want, and force it out of you.
Marc: *photo of the right side of my face—faded bruise on my cheekbone, and a new chunk taken out of my right index finger with a grimy, bloody trail down my wrist* A tree trunk rolled the wrong way. I didn’t want to worry you.
Ella: Not worried. I’m certain you’re communicating to me from the line outside the infirmary.
