Page 30 of The Midnight Princess
“Alma?” a low voice calls.
The pain comes roaring back when my hand drops. I straighten my spine and arrange my face. “Jacob.”
Vede.I haven’t spoken his name until now, even if that’s who he is in my mind. HeAlmas me at every turn, but I haven’t budged, keeping this thin crust of ice between us.
The Sondish have a saying about thin crusts of ice, posted on a sign at every canal-crossing in the city.Begeert um Ees an dem falsh Sigheit so geb. Beware of ice and the false security it offers.
My chin tightens with the effort to appear normal. He can’t possibly see it in this light. “Good evening. I hope you had a pleasant day.”
He falls into step with me, hands in his jean pockets. “I took a car and ran out to the ruins at Felslot.”
The castle, besieged by the Vors and left half razed, sits on a broad, grassy plain. Even in the summer, the wind, unbroken by hills and mountains, scours across the landscape. In January, it would be frigid. I blink heavily against the pain and keep my question short. “Climb to the top?”
“I ran up with a Vorburgian flag and claimed it again,” Jacob says, his smile uneven. “It’s mine now.” He gives my shoulder a bump and looks me over, lifting his brow. “That’s quite a dress.”
“We need to work on that,” I breathe, trying to sound mildly amused instead of on the verge of passing out. I just need to last until I’m safely in my own room.
“What?” Another shoulder bump. The contact is soft, but a shaft of pain lances behind my eyes.
I gather the edges of a smile. “Your diplomacy. Amateur hour. You hate the dress.”
“I don’t hate the girl in it,” he smiles, and then it drains away. His gaze sharpens as I pass him in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
Vede.“I’m a little tired.”
“Is it the crown?”
“Tiara.” I add to the list of things he doesn’t know. “The queen’s dresser will be around in a few minutes to pick it up.” I glide carefully up the narrow hall to my private door and put a hand to my hair. The hand-shakes. In this light, he won’t see.
He does see.
Without a word, he pushes through the door of my room and presses me into a chair.
“Pain relief tablets?”
“Second drawer.” I gesture to the bathroom, unable to claw myself out of the well of agony dragging at my temples. With eyes screwed tightly shut, I breathe deeply, slowly. This will pass. It always does.
A glass of water is pressed into one hand, a couple of tablets dropped in the other.
“Drink,” he commands, standing over me until I do. Jacob sounds like a crown prince—steeped in privilege and used to being obeyed.
I tip my head back, and the weight of the tiara shifts, dragging a whimper from my throat. I press my lips together, but tears gather in my eyes. He’s got to go. I have to get him out of here before I fall apart. Before I can form the words, Jacob moves behind me. I feel his hands on my hair.
I reach to stop him, and our fingers touch, tangle, pause. A tear slips down my cheek, and silence fills the room for the space of five heartbeats.
“I’ll be careful.”
I can’t even talk, but I drop my hand.
“This is something I should learn,” he says, voice resonant and soothing, placing me back on my pedestal as his tutor. His second pass at diplomacy is better than his first. “Won’t my wife wear one of these things?”
“Amber,” I whisper. His fingers dig into the thick coils of hair, and I grip the edges of my seat.
He withdraws a hairpin and drops it on a side table, bringing a tiny measure of relief. “What about amber?”
His question keeps me talking. “Vorburg has the richest amber deposits on the North Sea. Unless your father sold them off, the crown jewels include a whole parure in amber.” More hairpins scatter on the table, and I sigh, leaning into his hands.
“Parure. I don’t know that word.”
