Page 84 of The Dandelion Princess
“What about Alix?” I remind him. He needs people, even if he doesn’t need me.
He releases a breath. “I’ll think about it.”
26
Separate Accommodations
MARC
Noah leans against Minty’s mahogany bar, fresh from an urban revitalization summit in his suit and tie. A pair of crystal tumblers rests in front of us, each with a single sphere of hand-carved ice clinking against the glass.
My friend releases a breath. “This succession fight…” he says, when we’ve exhausted the topics of sports and weather. “I know how busy you are. Thanks for keeping your eye on things.” He tips his glass and takes a swallow.
Though my parliamentary duties are supposed to be strictly ceremonial, I have been seen stalking down legislators in the halls of the Grousehof, my robes billowing around me like the wings of a black dragon. It’s not difficult to perform any office that might take that tense, anxious look off Ella’s face.
“How are things at the palace?” I ask like I don’t know.
Noah makes a juvenile noise. “Alma is worse than useless. She goes jaunting off to Djolny every other weekend to crash on Jacob’s mother’s sofa.”
I smile into my whiskey.
“What?” he clips.
“The idea of Alma, of all people, going all that distance to make out on a couch. It’s funny.” I shake my head.
Noah glances around the shadow-blurred interior of the private club. “It’s not funny.”
I nod, mock-serious and he punches me in the arm.
“I don’t think she even cares that he’s the crown prince.”
“Peopledofall in love,” I counter. It’s no longer an abstraction for me, but Noah has an answer for that, too.
“Alma isn’t people. I’m not people. None of our family is. Love is not a reason to lose your head, and you know the rule. First comes the crown, then comes the consort.”
“That’s some highly refined Wolffe garbage,” I say, stretching my back. “You’re going to pick a wife by how well she knows her place?”
His brows gather. “Don’t be availys.”
“Who’s the lucky girl who gets to walk two paces behind you for the rest of her life? One of those models?”
“What is your problem?” he asks, but there isn’t much heat in the question. “You know there will be compensations for accepting the role of a future queen. Connections. Jewels. A title. Respect.”
I cough through a laugh. “Chilly bedfellows on a frigid Sondish night.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I am in a mood to kick down some doors. “I mean that it’s stupid how hard your family runs away from happiness. Love matters, even if you’re a future king.”
Noah and I were both born into the privileges of wealth and the pressures of rank, but I don’t understand a man who could be happy and won’t.
I stare into my glass. “Did she not care for your compensations?” I ask.
He knows exactly who I mean. I can see it in the stone-carved set of his shoulders. I don’t even have to say Caroline’s name, but still, she’s there.
He’d like to think he’s too good for love, but even the heir to the House of Wolffe can’t practice emotional austerity all the time.
A hum of light conversation lays over a lazy piano melody, and the atmosphere of the bar is warm, inviting patrons to sit and talk. But between me and my oldest friend, the air seems to shimmer with heat.
