Page 76 of The Midnight Princess
“Never?” I murmur, knowing very well what the implications of that are. The queen is a reflection of her people. What is it the crowd sang at the football match?One Sondish princess but not one more.Even if her daughter wasn’t already engaged, Her Majesty wouldn’t want Alma to get involved with a Vorburgian nobody, even if he is a prince.
I push the thought away.
Ella stretches. Her eyes are apologetic. “Alma doesn’t like risk any more than Mama does. She’s got to be certain about something before she makes a leap.”
Her words are unequivocal. Uncompromising. Tough luck. Move along. I get it.Chol, how transparent have I been?
“It’s a ridiculous way to live. I won’t let my father arrange my marriage.”
She shrugs. “Easy to say you wouldn’t bend to pressure when you’ve never felt it on your back.” She delivers this morsel of wisdom as she methodically obliterates a boss in a complicated series of jumps and flips.
We rest through a cutscene.
“So, who can we expect to be the next crown princess of Vorburg? What’s your type?”
I give a mirthless grunt. “Taken.”
I train my eyes on the screen, intent on hacking apart marauding turtles. Ella’s gaze bores into my skull. Finally, she performs a hard pivot.
“What did Alma say about the leak?”
“She said she’ll handle it.”
I return to the suite, pausing by Alma’s door and moving on. When morning comes, I shower and dress in a dark suit, doing my best with the tie. By the time I make my way to the administrative offices, it’s late.
The hallway is full of aides and secretaries striding with purposeful steps in every direction. Tablets are displayed, cellphones are hovered over. I see Alma coming from the end of the corridor, and I stop in her path, waiting for her to see me. It comes so late that she has to go up on her toes to stop herself from bumping into my chest. I steady her with a light touch, and she steps back.
She’s wearing the ring, touching the tiny top button of her blouse. Not undoing it. Just letting her finger slide off the little pearl over and over. Flick. Flick.
Yesterday she slipped into my arms like she belonged there.
“Do you want to do this today?” I ask. I’ll run away with her again. I’ll do it every day, if she wants.
Her lashes flicker. “No reason to cancel.”
No one disturbs us all morning. Mr. Tumwater messages us about the tuxedo but plans to stay in the workroom. Karl is monitoring the chaotic creation of the palace’s official response before it’s pushed out onto an unsuspecting public. Taking notes, I expect. Vorburg is a relative backwater while Sondmark is in the big leagues.
I play along with Alma, pretending not to notice that everyone has lost their minds. I want to make a joke about how catastrophic the situation is. Compare it to nuclear war, a second invasion from the east, or the crack-up of international superstars Lars and Bianca. I observe her pinched, white face, and hold my tongue.
Around noon, Caroline taps on the door and enters, giving her customary curtsey. “I have the response, Ma’am.” Handing over the paper, she waits while Alma scans the text.
Finally, Alma nods. “Good. Send it out.”
Caroline takes off and Alma chafes her arms. “Back to our lessons.”
“You’re not going to tell me what it says?”
She lifts a shoulder and puts on a newsreader’s voice. “In planning for an event of this magnitude, there are many variables. Some of them have yet to be resolved. Her Royal Highness appreciates the interest and warm wishes of our citizens, etc., etc. Final plans will be communicated through official channels. Now,” she wraps up, switching over to her usual tone, “we need to return to history. Where were we?”
“We’re still on the War of the Amber Cross,” I supply. “Why are we going over it in such detail? I know the bare bones.”
She loves putting me right. “Because we hate you for it, and you hate us. You have to know why so you don’t stumble into any tripwires.”
Alma’s phone vibrates and her eyes dart to the screen, lower lip caught between her teeth. The official response has been released, prompting a flood of personal texts.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say.
“Of course it is.” She touches the top button, finger flicking off the top.
