Page 28 of The Winter Princess
“Yes,” Freja answers. “The idea is that every person who works at the museum has a different answer to the question, ‘What’s your favorite thing?’ Hopefully, your excitement and animation about the contents of the museum will spark a desire for more people to visit.”
Freja scrolls through several slides, explaining the basic ideas in simple terms. “Two hundred thousand patrons in the middle of a cold Sondish autumn is a lot to hope for but, as you can see, we’re not without resources.”
I look around, gauging the effect of her speech. Lynda has been taking copious notes. She’s practically bouncing off her seat.
I catch Freja’s eye and bump my chin at Lynda.
Freja smiles. “Does anyone have more ideas to add?”
Lynda’s hand shoots up. “Oooooohhh. I have one.” She swallows a deep breath. “Every time I walk through the jewel galleries, I feel—” Her hands adjust the seasonal charm necklace draped over her chest, each leaf and raindrop glittering in the low light. “I want to take to my bed and clutch the smelling salts. It’s so depressing.” She looks around, whipping up agreement. I find myself nodding. “I don’t even care when it’s art or medieval weaponry locked in a case. It’s fine. But jewels are meant to be worn, and seeing them behind glass is murdering my soul. Literal murder.”
My brows lift slightly. Freja asked for animation. She’s getting it.
“What I want—what I’ve always wanted—is to introduce a lottery where patrons can win a chance to be photographed with a featured piece. If you come to the museum, your name is entered. We’d have to choose the most structurally sound pieces, but if we do a drawing once a week—”
“We’d get repeat business,” Agnes finishes. I try to read her expression. It isn’t that she hates the idea. It’s more that she hates herself for not hating the idea.
Freja doesn’t hate the idea either. “Can I enter for the Wheatrose tiara?” she asks of the silver and sapphire headpiece, one of the largest in Europe. I hate how easy it is to imagine her wearing it.
She tucks away a slight smile. She’s relieved that the shouting has stopped. “Any other ideas?”
“I have one.” My eyes shift away as soon as she lifts her face to mine. “We could take advantage of the upcoming Christmas season by traveling to the scenes and settings of our Christmas and winter-themed art.”
“For instance?”
I shrug like this is coming off the cuff. “The hill inThe Baron and His Hunting Dogsis an actual hill south of Vaado. Not much of the village remains anymore but it would be an interesting contrast. That particular piece has a lot of detail. If we show some of it, people might come to see the rest.”
She nods. “Can you compile a list of appropriate pieces?”
Once we’ve agreed on several short-term projects, Marie breaks us up into leadership teams. Was this part of her air hostess training? What To Do In Case of a Crash: Assign a team to collect firewood, another to build a shelter, and another to make a distress signal. Keep us busy and feeling like we’re doing something to stave off anarchy and cannibalism.
“Oskar, Freja, let’s put together a calendar of events.” Assign one team to dole out the rations. As the room begins humming with ideas and collaboration, I join Freja. She looks up, and I brace myself while Marie slaps a calendar between us. The theme: a felted otter family positioned in a 70s-inspired dollhouse.
“Marie—”
She sniffs. “I apologize for nothing.”
I smile and inadvertently catch Freja smiling, too. For a half second, I’m overcome by brilliant light jolting through my limbs and leaving me weak. I put the smile away.
For the next hour, we start filling the boxes in with dates and events, taking notes about whom to call in favors from and which teams will assume which tasks. From time to time, Freja touches my arm to clarify a point or bring something to my attention. I could shift away but leave my arm where it is, precisely within her reach. I’m a fool in an open field holding a copper rod, waiting for a lightning strike, every nerve prickling.
She pulled her exhibit, sacrificing the thing she wanted most for the good of the museum. For my good. I didn’t think she was capable of that. The thought clashes with all my ideas of what a princess of Sondmark is like.
As we near the end of the planning session, one of the interns flops into a nearby chair, sharp elbows digging into the armrests as he squirms upright.
“I’ve got an issue,” he says. “There’s a fine line, right? Between ‘I threw this together. Come see how relatable and breezy we are’ and ‘I don’t care about this because it’s garbage.’ Our branding should be as tight as possible. Same colors, same filters, same fonts on all these posts. Like, there should be, like, a last edit before anything goes out the door.”
I exchange a look with Freja, and she lifts her shoulders. We’re new to this.
“Are you volunteering?” Freja asks.
“I mean, I’m just saying.”
“Congratulations. You’re hired,” I tell him.
We finish our calendaring, and Marie promises to send out color-coded copies to each department. If we’re on a deserted island with a flaming wreckage, at least it finally feels like someone salvaged the snack trolley.
“Here’s the thing,” Rik says, leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have a snowflake’s chance in a bonfire if we don’t tell people what we need. Two hundred thousand of them, through those doors, by New Year’s Eve,” he says, pointing in the direction of the museum entrance. “It’s no time to play coy.”
