Page 22 of The Dandelion Princess
“It’s a costume party,” my sister says.
Ella doesn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”
Alix turns to me. “And you?”
I don’t have time for this. I’ll have to work late tonight—and every night—to earn my rest. My duties are demanding and clear. But another thought chases this. I promised Noah I would keep an eye on this princess. I tell myself I have no choice.
“I’m in.”
7
Collecting Myself
ELLA
It’s as though my mother is running one of those mouse colony experiments.
She furloughed me for a season and gave me everything I thought I wanted—abundant, nutritious food, modern heating and cooling, all the high-speed internet a girl could ask for, and vast oceans of time. As a result, I’m about to go out of my ever-loving mind.
In the week after the STEM event, I amuse myself by firing off anonymous chirps criticizing the government. I lead virtual campaigns to capture a castle, a relic, a crown... I may be having an existential crisis, but mySquadRunnumbers have never been better.
Each day is as smooth as a dish of Pankedruss, until one evening my doorbell sounds. “Dragon, you’re in charge,” I blurt, tossing down the gaming controller. I race to the door rather than buzzing my guest in.
“Clara,” I say, pulling her across the threshold and through to my office with a galloping dance.A person.An actual, flesh-and-blood person.
My little sister’s hair is silky smooth and smells of peaches. She perches on the edge of my gaming chair wearing stilettos and a cocktail dress, looking me up and down, and I can see her swallowing her words. “How much do you love being off the clock?”
I sniff, wadding up an empty Spicy Ostepops package and pushing it deep into the waste bin. The air smells as stale as a sealed crypt after a plague burial. “Living my best life.”
She glances at the monitors, seeing aSquadRuncampaign and several ReadHe threads. “Marc nudged me to check in on you. Are you plotting the revolution?”
I perk up. “Where did you see Marc?”
“He came to one of the Ragnar Prize lectures last night.”
He could have texted. We used to text everyday. I tell myself that I’m off that drug, but my biofeedback loop must be broken, because when I scratch the surface of my thoughts, Marc turns up every time—deep in the soil, impossible to sift out. There are so few topics I can think of without thinking of him.
With desperate energy, I twist my hair up to fasten it with a claw clip. “I could use some fashion advice, if you have a sec.” I drag her chair around to face the computer screens properly. “Alix and Tom are throwing a party and I have to find a costume.”
“Pull up ThumTac,” she commands.
“There’s no reason to stick with humanoids,” I say when the lifestyle site pops up. I navigate to a board dedicated to the cosplay of my favorite fandoms and tap on the picture of a calico cat in the shape of a bus.
“Um… That’s ambitious,” she says. “You do know that most of the girls will be in lace masks and skimpy outfits. It’s okay to just want to look hot.”
“This isn’t my first Viking raid,” I mutter.
“Okay, well, what do you want to achieve?” she continues. Such a princess thing to ask.
When the event is one of my royal engagements, the answer is easy. I want to defy my mother and move the dial on what constitutes acceptable behavior for a princess of Sondmark.
“I don’t want to steal the spotlight from Alix or anything, but a princess doesn’t get to dress like a cat bus everyday.” I sweep some crumbs off my desk and into the bin.
After the STEM engagement, Marc and I barely made the news. The caption of a single photo on page five read, “Old friends reunite to share science message”. Still, there was some fallout.
“Did you see that Mama is back to checking my wardrobe when I represent the Crown?” I ask, my tone level. “Maybe she won’t freak out when I’m at a private event.”
Clara touches my arm with the same sympathetic gesture we use when we are tasked with managing public grief. “We should do a movie night soon. I know I’ve been busy. We’re about to break ground at St. Leofdag’s for an interactive garden, I’m taking on new patronages, and then there’s—”
