Page 17 of Royal Reluctance

“Because it’s frigid in here.” Her lips are a faint tinge of blue and she doesn’t protest as she tugs my hat over her ears.

“Do you want my coat? I can—”

“No, we’re almost back. Just fly the plane.” She sounds irritated. Why does she get to be irritated?

And then I forget it all as Hettie pulls her hair out of her coat, hanging long and reddish-brown over her chest, and begins to braid it.

She would always fidget with it when she was nervous. When she was writing exams in class, her fingers would tangle in the long strands without realizing it. The first time I took her for fish and chips, she put her hair up and took it down seven times.

I counted.

It’s funny, the things you remember about a person. With Hettie, I have perfect recall about the way her eyes light up when she laughs. The scent of her perfume. The feel of her hair between my fingers—thick and silky, but a little coarser than mine.

I used to play with her hair whenever I got a chance. She taught me how to braid it a few times, but my fingers were too thick and clumsy and only resulted in a nest of tangles.

I remember all of those things and more, but I won’t remember the touch of her lips against mine.

I’m pretty sure I tuned that out so it wouldn’t play on repeat in my head.

“Your hair. It’s… longer,” I manage. Conversation might be better than me raking through my memories to dredge up one of me kissing her.

“I don’t have much time to get it cut.” She finishes with the first braid and a hair tie appears from somewhere before she starts on the second.

“No. I like it.” Deep breath because my stomach is starting to roil again. “What do you do… there?” Hettie was the focus of my life for years and now I don’t know how she spends her days. How she provides for our daughter.

I could have found this out years ago, with a few phone calls, but I never bothered. I could have had one of the castle security team, or even Spencer track Hettie, or Abigail, and I would know all of this and wouldn’t have to ask like I’m making small talk with a stranger.

But I didn’t bother because Hettie left me, right when I needed her most.

I made her leave, the voice inside me corrects.

“I work in a real estate office,” Hettie says. “It’s a good job. I’m happy there.”

“You wanted to work in a library,” I remind her.

“They didn’t pay as well.”

The fact that Hettie spent the past eight years alone raising our daughter eats at me, like squirrels destroying a pumpkin. Why did I never track her down? “They treat you okay?”

I hear her sharp inhale. “Yes.”

“And Tema? What does… She’s in school?” I silently thank her for not laughing at the inane question. Of course, she would be in school. She’s seven-years-old, so that means she’d be in… “Whatgrade is she in?”

“Grade Two. She loves reading and math. She takes after you with the books. I swear, she could bankrupt me for all the books she wants. Thankfully, we have a library close by.”

“Do you want money? Does she need things?” Hettie has been providing everything for our daughter when I was sitting back in Laandia buying aplaneand renovating the cabin. I could have been helping.

“We’ve managed. Me and Abigail.”

“I could have helped.” Now it’s my turn to sound irritated.

“Bo—”

“What else does she like?”

This time Hettie’s inhale is shaky, her fingers rebraiding her hair. “We tried dancing, but she’d rather fool around. She plays soccer. Baseball. She really likes that. I thought—”

“Kalle played baseball.”

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