Page 46 of A Princess for Christmas

Ideas he would shoot down, she was certain, even though he was doing nothing himself to address the problem.

Mr.Benz entered. Bless him, even though he and Marie didn’t always see eye to eye, he was forever trying to help pick up the slack caused by her father’s... what? She would have said grief, but three years had gone by. It seemed that what really animated him these days was anger. She feared her mother had had more of a tempering influence on him than they knew.

“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, I’ve called the cabinet to come tomorrow and the next day. We can debrief the New York trip”—Mr. Benz glanced grimly at Marie—“and I’d like to discuss strategy for the MPs’ breakfast on the twentieth.”

“That sounds fine,” Marie said. “I’d like to add an agenda item, if I may.”

Both men raised their eyebrows at her. “The UN speech went extremely well. I’d like to discuss follow-up strategy, including raising the number of refugees we accept. And if we come to an agreement, we can informally raise the idea at the breakfast and encourage parliament to take it up in the new year.”

“We’re a small country,” her father snapped. “How many people do you think we can accept?”

Marie took a deep breath and checked herself from deploying her usual arguments: they couldn’t leave the rest of Europe to deal with the crisis. Had he not seen the terrible pictures from the Mediterranean?

Did he not have a heart? Had it died along withMaman?

She knew from experience that those arguments didn’t work. And she had a new idea. “I’ve been doing some reading. I believe our smallness can actually be an asset in this context.” She was going to suggest that they have individual villages come together to sponsor families. She’d gathered some information on American church groups doing that, and she suspected the tight bonds of Eldovian villages could be leveraged in a similar fashion.

Her father was starting to ramp up, but Mr.Benz stepped in to smooth things over. “I’d be happy to put your project on the agenda for the first cabinet meeting in the new year if that suits? We’ve told everyone two half days of meetings this week. Then the MPs’ breakfast. Then we’ll break for the holiday, so I’m wary of overloading the agenda.”

He was putting her off. He was just being nicer about it than Father, who would say that she wasn’t on the cabinet anyway. She could go to New York and do his job for him, but he didn’t see any need to listen to her ideas. It made Marie’s blood boil.

“Why don’t we discussmytrip briefly before cocktails?” her father asked, and the question diffused some of her frustration.

“Yes. I had no idea you were making such a trip.” She was glad he had, though. Her father and the duke were close, if unlikely, friends. The Houses of Accola and Aquilla had battled over theEldovian throne centuries ago, and though there hadn’t been hostilities for generations, therehadbeen a long-standing chill between the two noble families. Riems, the seat of the House of Aquilla, was on the other side of the country, over a mountain ridge, and other than waging political battles by proxy in parliament, the royal and ducal families had essentially ignored each other’s existence—until her father’s generation. The future king and future duke had gone to boarding school together and become friends. As they’d grown up and risen to power, that friendship had extended to include their wives and children—and had become an alliance that was playing out in parliament and that had the potential to see the two houses collaborate economically.

“How is everyone?” she asked.

“Maximillian has announced his desire to take a PhD.”

“I beg your pardon?” She’d spoken too sharply, betrayed her surprise, so she tried again. “I thought he was staying in Cambridge for Christmas.” Like Dani, Max had professed a need to hole up over the break and write—in his case, his master’s thesis. Knowing Max, she wasn’t at all convinced that writing was what he would fill his holiday with, but she didn’t ask questions. As much as Marie adored Max, his absence—over the holidays, and in general—suited them both.

Because that new alliance between the Houses of Accola and Aquilla? Her father and Max’s had a plan for strengthening it, for making sure it outlasted them. A plan she’d known about for as long as she could remember—but one she preferred not to think about.

“Max is in Cambridge for the holiday, yes. However, he hasrecently informed the duke of a newfound fascination with the social history of the Blitz and therefore a desire to stay on in Cambridge for a PhD. Aquilla asked me to come discuss the matter with him.”

She couldn’t have been more shocked if her father had slapped her.

And happy. Shocked andhappy. That would buy them, what? Three years? “And how did that discussion go?” She tried to pitch the question as if she were indifferent to the answer.

Her father narrowed his eyes. “Shall we take this up at, as you say, a more opportune time? We must dress for dinner.”

Well, she could text Max herself. He was a more reliable source anyway. “Yes. I’ll see you shortly. I’ve asked for cocktails to be served in the green parlor.”

He nodded and turned, but he paused with a hand on the door and looked back at her. Smiled. His old smile. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

She sucked in a breath. Thought of those years after her mother died when she was still in university and wanted nothing more than to quit. To come home. She had missed him so much then, but he’d given her no indication that he felt the same. She’d been starving for a kind word from him, but all he’d done was force her to stay in school. They’d grieved apart, and a gulf had grown between them, one she never knew how to cross.

Now, though, he looked so much like her old papa that she was moving toward him before she could overthink it. She reached up and hugged him, even though he was still wearing his snowy coat. “I missed you, too.”

They parted, and he left. Mr. Benz started to followhim—where the king went, generally his equerry did, too—but paused and looked at Marie for a beat. She thought she detected sympathy in that look, but that must not be right. Mr. Benz did efficiency, not sympathy.

By the time everyone had assembled for cocktails, Marie’s father was back to his usual cranky self. She had described him to Leo and Gabby as the sad king, but she actually had no idea where that phrase had come from. Like his mother before him, he was a master of passive aggression when he wanted to be. He could convey an entire cornucopia of negative emotions, irritation and superiority chief among them, without actually saying anything.

Like the way, after she’d introduced Leo and Gabby, he let his eyes slide down Leo’s body and then raised them a tiny bit too high on the way back up. You couldn’t call it an eye roll exactly, but you couldn’t call itnotan eye roll, either.

He had done the same thing to her, issuing a silent rebuke. He had expected to find her in a dress. She’d kept her jeans on, though, in an attempt to make her guests feel more comfortable.

And anyway, Leo looked good. Although he was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, he had added a light blazer. But the sleeves were rolled up. It was like his forearmshadto be free. She stifled a sigh.

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