Page 58 of The Impossible Princess
“How long?”
“A month.”
She drags in a deep breath and scoots away, sitting on the edge of the old loveseat like she’s listening to one of her mother’s speeches. “I understand,” she declares, giving me a princess smile.
I reach for her, but she gets to her feet. “I have to pack tonight.”
I stand. “Clara. You’re upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
She’s upset.
I catch her gently by the wrist.
She takes a deep, cleansing breath, and I see her look inward, coming to terms with what this will mean. “I am going to worry. Just resign yourself to that. But six weeks apart, Max. I knew it would happen, but so soon—” She exhales and chews her lip. “Whenever my parents would go off on a tour, it was easier if I made a clean break. But I miss you already.”
“I’ll miss someone stealing my clothes, eating my food…” She chokes on a laugh and walks into my arms. “I’ll be back before you know it. You can tell me about how you’ve been such a rockstar princess that your mom overturned the succession and insists on making you the heir.”
That earns another laugh, but she reaches the salient point.
“We can’t text or email?”
“Radio silence this time.”
I stroke her back and feel the rise and fall of another large breath.
Finally, she nods. “You’re going to tell me that you’ve been lieutenant commander-ing so well that the captain gave you the ship.”
A smile tucks my cheek. “That’s exactly how it works.”
We stand holding each other for a long while, listening to the crackle of the fire and the gentle sound of the lake.
“Max, I’m not ready to tell anyone about us. Let me establish more of a track record. I’ll get past the next few engagements and hope my mother will be pleased enough to accept the idea of me dating you. Then when you get back, we can figure out how to break the news to our families and your commanding officer.”
I nudge her chin up and close the distance. “Fair enough.”
The next morning, I’m on duty. A corner of my computer screen displays a breakfast news show. The smiling hosts comment on a kilometer-long manifesto painted on a coastline cliff by a Vorburgian ecological protest group. The activists, standing too near the edge, have let off flares and smoke bombs simultaneously, the wind whipping banners and flags. It looks like something out of an 80s music video.
“I know it tied up traffic on the A76, but the visuals are stunning,” a host laughs, pivoting to another camera. “Now in royal news…”
They run a short clip of the royal photocall, speculating on Crown Prince Noah’s love life in a giggling, morning mimosas way, before announcing that the summer holidays have begun for the royal family and that there’ll be no important news from that quarter for weeks.
I nurse a cup of coffee, filling out reports, when there’s a rap on the door. Moller enters at my call, and he makes his reports in a crisp, direct manner. I put him at ease and indicate a chair.
He hands over the mechanical report, annotated with his own notes. He only missed one or two points, and when I call his attention to the lapse, he supplies the information off the top of his head.
I nod, satisfied.
“Good job. Now go back and include all of this into the report. It’s tedious but we need the records.”
While we’re talking, the captain barges into the tiny space. “On your feet, Moller.” Moller springs up, tipping the report into my hands. I stand as well. “If you’re finished here, get yourrivback to work.”
“Aye aye, captain.”
The door closes and Captain Dusstock rounds on me. “Do you not like your lieutenant commander bars?”
I stand at attention, fists clenched at my side. Treating those below my rank with decency is one area where the captain and I will never see eye to eye. If he doesn’t like me being friendly with my subs, he’s going to hit the roof when he finds out I’m dating Clara.
