Page 118 of Between Despair and Hope

“Ah, that’s why. If only she remembered that I actually hate yellow.”

His eyes widened as he took in the goldenrod bedspread, the pillows on the sofa, the wallpaper. “Oh gods, I’ll have them—”

“I’m teasing! I love it. Yellow is perfect,” I said, feeling bad for upsetting him. He was so nervous. I smiled and set down my book before standing.

Should I hug him?

A grin spread across his face, and it made me feel infinitely better. He was always joking and bantering with Dewalt when he’d sat in on our training, and he’d seemed funny and kind even the very first day I met him. I’d wanted to make him feel more comfortable with me, but his panic made me regret it.

“Oh, you got me, didn’t you?” He laughed.

“Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You get that from her.”

“Get what from her?”

“The inclination to vex me,” he replied, grinning. I giggled and gestured to the sofa beside my armchair for him to sit. Though he appeared startled, he recovered and we both sat.

“And what do you think I get from you?” I asked it before I could stop myself.

“I’ve heard you’re quite stubborn, but I suppose you could get that from either of us.”

“True.”

“I think I’m far more charming than your mother. And you’re quite charming yourself.”

“You think I’m charming? I would not have said that.”

He shrugged. “You’re funny without being unkind. Easy to like. I think that’s charming, although definitions may vary. You get your charm from me.” He winked.

“Isn’t thinking yourself charming, in fact, not charming?”

“Another thing you get from your mother—contrarian.” He chuckled, and I realized I wasn’t so nervous anymore. He sighed and adjusted, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. Seated on the sofa like that, he didn’t look quite so royal. He wore a plain button-down shirt tucked into brown breeches, and the black boots he wore weren’t new, but worn in.

“I’m sorry the paints and canvases haven’t arrived. I realize it looks like I know very little when all I supplied was an easel. But I promise more is coming. I didn’t know what kind to get you, so I ordered a little bit of everything from a shop in the artist quarter. The shopkeeper suggested oils might be too much at first for you to master, but I got them anyway.”

His smile was sheepish, and I didn’t know what to think. “Mama and I just mixed our own. I read somewhere about using egg whites as a base. The shopkeeper might be right.” Thinking of all the things Papa used to buy me—books and jewelry to gain my affection—I turned to Rainier. “You don’t have to buy me things, you know.”

“I know.”

“Mama did good, even though we didn’t have a lot of money. I was happy. She always got me whatever I wanted.”

“I know she did. That doesn’t surprise me at all. I just—” He leaned forward, clasping his hands together between his legs as he stared at the floor. “I know this is a strange transition for you, and I wanted to help. I knew you liked to paint, so I wanted to give you the space and supplies to do it.”

“Uh, well, thank you. I really appreciate it. Do—Do you like to paint? Do you have any hobbies?”

Lifting his head, a smile brightened his features. “Well, when I find the time, I like to stargaze. It’s something my mother did with me when I was very young and something your mother renewed in me when she was your age.”

“Were you the one who taught her all the constellations?”

“I won’t take credit for all of her education, but I definitely used it as an excuse to spend time with her.”

“Oh, of course,” I said, fighting a smile. “Did you, uh, did you really love her that whole time?”

“Absolutely. It was quite inconvenient, but yes. I fell in love with her while showing her the stars, and I’ll love her until the last one falls from the sky.”

It was strange to think about Mama being with me and Papa, all while the Crown Prince of Vesta pined after her. All along, he loved her. It was the kind of love from my stories; I never thought it could be real. A memory of Mama crying popped into my head, sudden and surprising. I’d forgotten how often she used to cry. But she hadn’t in a long time, had she? Or maybe she just got better at hiding it.

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