Page 112 of The Dandelion Princess
Heuhmsandohms, but in the end we shake on it. His daughters are Saint Sissela girls now. They are under my protection forever.
I catch glimpses of Marc on public access television during this time, entering the Grousehof in his parliamentary robes on business I can’t guess at. When he doesn’t have to keep running home to see me, I suppose he has loads of time for extracurriculars. The sight of him makes my heart hurt.
Clara and Alma, possibly noticing that something is off, take me running—which is about the meanest thing they could think of. Worse, it doesn’t even keep my mind off Marc. I think about how he would have made me climb onto his back a couple of kilometers in and jogged me up to my suite and told me how brave I am in between giving me kisses.
It’s three days before Alix’s wedding when I corner Caroline in her office, desperate for some occupation. “Are you in trouble,” I bump my chin at my mother’s door, “since your brother admitted to leaking the photos of Alma off your phone?”
Her lips press. “She knows it was really you because of the prime minister.”
“Yeah, but I’ve not been—” I slice a thumb across my neck. “Why?”
Caroline lifts her palm. “She asked me if you knew Linus, if he had a drug problem, and if you two were…seeing each other.” Her lips twitch with a barely-suppressed smile. “I told her she had nothing to worry about on that score.”
“They’re talking about you in the press,” I whisper. Caroline isn’t important enough to be a headline on the front page, but the social columns are full of items like, “The Queen’s Right Hand,” “The Power Behind the Throne,” and “What Else is onVrouwTiele’s Phone?”
She waves her hand. “They’ll move on to somebody more captivating.”
“We all have reasons to pray that Noah will get serious about somebody,” I smile.
I hear my mother clear her throat with a tiny cough, and I just about leap out of my skin. From the doorway, she beckons me into her office, and I take my spot on the carpet while she leans against the front of her desk. She tells me I’ve been endangering the monarchy, and that I’ve been irresponsible when it comes to my online activities. She tries to put some of her old bluster into it, but it rings hollow.
“The gamer…name?” she says.
“Tag,” I supply.
“The gamer tag is dead, and you’re suspended from social media until further notice. A member of staff will run youraccount until you rediscover what little sense you were born with. Have I made myself clear?”
It’s adorable, really. I can’t take any of thisQueen Helena wielding a bloody swordstuff seriously anymore. IknowI am her precious child. I know that sword will be turned on my enemies. I nod and give her a big squeeze she isn’t entirely comfortable with. “Sure thing.”
I return to my suite, but there’s a lump in my throat and my chest feels hollowed out. It feels like grief. I don’t know why. Torbald has been neutralized, my mother has let me off with the smallest rebuke, and I have taken on my royal role with a new sense of purpose and determination.
A tear slips down my cheek.
Things have never been better.
35
Kissed Again
ELLA
I open the door to an insistent knock, and Clara bursts into my suite, dragging Freja behind her. Alma slips in and shuts the door, locking it for good measure. “We saw you leave Mama’s office,” Clara says. “What’s going on?”
I sink against the arm of my sofa, more lost than I’ve ever been, and twist the toe of my shoe on the floorboard. “Nothing.”
“There it is,” Alma says, pointing at my foot. “You’re lying. She’s lying. Marc told me what to watch for.”
Traitor. I kick off my shoes and grab the remote, powering up the television.
“You’ve been weirdly punctual,” Freja says, right on my heels.
I scramble onto my bed and sit with my back on the headboard, scrolling to that one episode ofUnwritten Destinywhere the female lead kisses the male lead upside down really thoroughly before he goes in for triple bypass surgery. The waythe camera lingers on his craning neck has never failed to pull me out of a crisis.
Alma and Freja crowd onto the bed.
“You showed up to that tea party in a ballgown,” Alma says, tossing a bag of peppermint puffs into my lap.
Clara piles on last, chucking a box of the good tissues I keep in my bathroom into the middle of our circle. “You’re getting low.”
