Page 12 of The Midnight Princess
Mama’s brow lifts.Alma. Get yourself in hand.
I scrub away every vestige of panic fighting for a piece of my voice. Taking a breath, I adjust my tone. “Everyday?”
“Weekdays,” Mama says, as though her plan to foist him off on Clara hasn’t been destroyed. She sounds friendly and conversational, but I’m not foolish enough to believe this is a request. “You’ll have to work efficiently in the short time, and I’ll haveVrouwTiele redistribute your assignments among your sisters.”
My heart thumps so violently that I wonder if I may have an undiagnosed medical condition. This man has seen me tipsy and undisciplined. He’s been subjected to needy romantic advancesI’ll have to explain away as mere Sondish tradition. He knows what my breath smells like.
I nod, inhaling through my nose.
Jacob reaches over, placing his hand over mine, and a war breaks out in my chest. His touch is improper, but it feels so good. “Are you okay?”
I look into his warm gray eyes, coating my answer in the thinnest crust of ice. “I am well, thank you.”
Mama glances between us, at our hands. “Perhaps you’re worried about the wedding.”
At Mama’s words, I pull my hand away, tucking my hair back and straightening my spine. This is the moment she’s decided to tell the world about my broken engagement? In front of the man I kissed last night?
He’ll see what a disaster my life is.
I smooth my skirt and lace my fingers gently together. Soothing actions.
“Don’t worry,” Mama goes on, pinning me with her level gaze.Bear up.“You did the most important part by choosing the groom. We’ll leave the planning to a team of professionals.”
She makes it sound like I’m still engaged—that Pietor and I only have to choose the seasonal flower scheme and recessional music instead of sorting out how I’m going to get his monstrous ring back to him and move on with my life.
Mama keeps up her easy-going monologue, allowing me to get used to the idea before expecting me to take my part in this exchange. “You can certainly be spared from your wedding plans to perform such an important task for our close ally.”
When Crown Prince Jacob speaks, it’s a single word, bare as a stone. “Wedding?”
Sondmark and Vorburg have a well-documented history of sinking each other’s ships over minor slights, and Mama’s lie makes me look like I’m a cheat. This is bad.
Mama smiles. “I don’t expect the engagement was big news in Vorburg. My daughter’s fiancé is His Royal Highness Pietor, Hereditary Grand Duke of Himmelstein.”
I can feel Jacob’s eyes on me, but I can’t correct my mother. I wouldn’t dare.
Silence stretches, and then Jacob nods. “Thanks for giving me so much of your time, ma’am. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead.” Though he’s the guest, his royal position conferred through a judicial process instead of Divine right, he’s in total command. “Are we good?”
4
Runaway Wagon
ALMA
“Are we good?” Mama spits. She sails through Caroline’s office and into her own. I follow like a tin can tied to a newlywed’s bumper, my nerves jangling and battered.
“Clara was supposed to be his tutor.” I venture.
The official reason was that my little sister has few official assignments, but I know my mother. Having Clara tutor the prince would mean that the crown prince would be looked after, Clara would discover less free time to spend with her Navy-hero boyfriend, and, in teaching best royal practices, my little sister might be moved to remember what constitutes proper behavior.
Mama stops abruptly. “Plans change.” She lifts her queenly chin. “Putting up with that man is the price of Freja’s hasty elopement, and he wants you. My options are limited.”
He wants me. I shake my head imperceptibly. Not like that. The Crown Prince of Vorburg is sparring with Mama and I’monly a piece to be moved around the board as the game demands.
“Still, it presents an opportunity,” Mama continues. “You can collect valuable information on the Vorburgian mind as we move forward with the trade negotiations.”
Okay. This is the assignment. Turn Jacob Gardner into His Royal Highness Crown Prince Jacob, report significant findings to Mama, and spend day after day with a man who holds a deadly attraction for a significant part of my subconscious.
To get through the next three months, I’ll just have to hit that part over the head with a shovel and bury it in a shallow grave. When King Otto’s royal entourage rolls into town and attempts to soft-power their way into favorable trade conditions, I only hope the wind turbine industry appreciates my sacrifice.
