Page 87 of The Midnight Princess
JACOB
The rest of the night is hell.
Alma emerges from the kitchen, her cheeks pale and drawn. I turn away before I give into the temptation to carry her into the landing and say I changed my mind, tripping over the words, and get back to the kissing.
Instead, I rope Max into a conversation about his cottage and the kind of sport fishing he goes in for. He offers to have me up again, but I can never go back there with Alma. I don’t trust myself with her in that much seclusion. Oskar wanders into our circle and presses cold drinks into our hands, content with not saying much.
A dark dress catches the edge of my vision, and I grip the glass. There’s a famous story about a Scandinavian ship, the largest of its kind, sailing from the harbor on its maiden voyage. The crowds were waving, and the ship-builders were still slappingeach other on the backs over their excellent craftsmanship when it abruptly sank. It never made it out of the harbor.
Ella taps my shoulder. “Alma has a headache.”
I look over the room. “Where is she? Can I get her some water?”
She lifts her brow. “She’s having security run her home, but she’ll send the car back for us.”
Alma doesn’t bail on events just because she has a headache. I give a tight nod and return to my drink.
The week that follows is a test of my resolve. I am polite and professional. The tutoring sessions hum with activity as we cover royal procedure and diplomacy. Karl is puzzled when he catches me being too obedient. Alma is the Alma I met weeks ago—rigid and careful. The difference now is that I see the effort underneath.
I do the only thing I can do to ease her burdens. I force myself to absorb every scrap of information she imparts and learn every lesson she has to teach. She is polite, but there is frustration in the line of her shoulders and the way her eyes linger. The toll this takes on me is that this is hell—knowing she wants me and that my stupid pride is the only thing keeping us apart.
She continues to be seen with Pietor.
One morning, she drives me in a golf cart to a large garage with rows of vintage Bentleys and several Mercedes. She’s wearing a blazer and slacks, and as usual, I can’t stop checking her out.
“Today we’ll be working on cars—exiting, entering, and security protocols,” she says, parking the cart out of the way. She greets Nils Helmut with a warm smile.
“I know how to get out of a car,” I tell her, forgetting my resolve to be easy.
“Oh?” She gestures toward a customized Mercedes town car, parked sideways in a wide-open area. “Show me.”
The head of palace security watches us behind dark glasses, and I feel self-conscious when I enter, dragging the door closed. “Now get out,” she calls, voice muffled through the thick glass.
I hop out and slam the door, jogging over to her.
“Wrong,” she chirps. I swear she enjoys it.
“I got out of the car.” The air between us crackles with all the things we’ve said and done, all the things we’d like to do. Even as we fall into the familiar pattern of teacher and student, there are new layers.
“Would you show him, Nils?” she asks the security officer. He points two fingers in a pattern between me and two orange cones on the other side of the parking stall.
“Those represent the ‘entrance’ of whatever event you’re arriving at,” he says, “which makes this the most dangerous stretch of ground, from a security standpoint. We can secure that”—he points at the car like he’s deploying soldiers through a strategic pathway—“and the venue. We’ve got bomb-sniffing dogs and security perimeters to lock it down. This”—his fingers sketch an outline of the concrete—“has more variables. When you follow the protocols, you give your team a better chance of keeping you safe.”
“This isn’t about you,” Alma tells me. “You’re not Jacob who runs a business. You’re the heir to the throne—the representation of the state made manifest in your blood. If anyone injures you, they’ve injured more than a man.” She lifts her brows, deadly serious.Got it?
I love you.I shake my head.Got it.
“Watch me.” She takes my place in the backseat of the car and emerges from the opening in one smooth movement and sweeps forward. “Don’t go on a walkabout unless you’ve cleared it with your security first. Security doesn’t like surprises.”
Nils closes the door and nods along. I can imagine him putting a teenaged Alma through the same paces, forcing her to recite his words like a litany.Security doesn’t like surprises.
I nod, taking my place next to the car. “Get out, shut the door, proceed to the venue.”
“No.”
“I messed up already?” She laughs, which is the first one of those I’ve heard in days. My heart stumbles, and I grin. I can’t help it. “I thought I wanted to be a man of the people.”
“The merits of being a man of the people are debatable, but the reason you can’t shut the door is because they lock when they’re closed.”
