Page 13 of The Dandelion Princess
My next photo was of a clean bandage and a clean face.
There’s nothing we left out of our texts, but I find myself talking, telling her again about the mad scramble for supplies and order in those early days and all the ways Seong is still in trouble.
“I’m glad to be back,” I say at last, watching Ella, her chin tipped toward the fairy lights and the blossom-laden branches. “I am.”
“But?” She brings her gaze down to mine.
“But I was able to hop a flight and get out of it. For those with deep roots, there’s nowhere to run.”
She reaches for my hand, holding onto it in silence. Eventually, she turns it over, inspecting the right index finger and the slightly wonky fingernail, and grunts when the healing meets with her approval.
“Now you,” I say, liking the way she cradles my scarred hand. “Tell me about Freja.”
She shifts her weight and rocks forward but I hook a finger through her belt loop and anchor her to the bench.
Her muscles tense, and from over her shoulder, I catch a glimpse of an illuminated sign on the midway. “Try Your Luck.”
“If you run, I’ll chase you and we’ll end up wrestling in the grass.” I crane my neck, gazing doubtfully into the gloom. “You look too cute in that sweater to ruin it.”
Her cheeks pinken and a sudden wave of definitely jet lag rolls through me. Looking at Ella that way is a mistake I won’t make again.
“What do you want to know?” she asks.
I give the loop a little shake. She’ll tell me everything. Alix is her best friend, but the first time Ella ran away from the palace as a ten-year-old princess who talked the palace chauffeur intodriving her to Lindenholm with a pile of bespoke luggage and her favorite gaming console, she ran to me. I was the one who carted Ella off to the stables, where she groomed the goats, told me how her mama was “going to be gone for three whole months this time,” and cried her eyes out.
I was the one who fixed it so that she could stay withAmmainstead of her nanny. I was the one who made a pinky promise that she could come to us every time Freja was in the hospital or the queen was on a diplomatic mission. I remind myself of this past, using the solid wholesomeness of it as a shield to keep my thoughts in line.
Ella shifts sideways on the bench, folding her arms over the backrest, and leans her chin on top of stacked fists. “I don’t have the right to be mad. Freja’s happy—more than happy. She’s,” her brow gathers in thought, “radiant. What kind of terrible person can be mad at radiant?”
A smile teases my mouth. Ella is radiant when she’s not even trying.
“Are you mad aboutwhoshe married orhowshe married?” I ask. I stretch my legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and fold my arms over my chest. No more touching.
“Oskar’s fine. He’s got great hair. He frowns an unholy amount, but he feeds her when she’s hungry. I mean, he’s not my type, but I get it.”
Wait. “You have a type?”
She ignores my question and closes her eyes briefly, curly lashes resting on her cheeks. “I don’t even mind the elopement, in theory. No one was invited but—”
“You’re her twin. She might have made an exception.”
“Thank you.” She pounds my arm to emphasize the point, adding, “It’s wild that Mama isn’t out for blood, but of course there’s one rule for Freja and another for me. Can you imagine her city-leveling wrath if I eloped?”
“You are not going to elope,” I snap. A brief silence follows and I clear my throat. “I’m surprised you’ve held onto so much righteous fury for so long.”
“Four months is no time,” she mutters.
I think of the friend she once put in a headlock. “You’re bad at holding grudges.”
“I’m trying to hold this one.”
I nudge her shoulder with my own. “Have you talked?”
“We see each other probably once a week. I’m not giving her the silent treatment.”
I read between the lines, a power I only have when it comes to Ella. “Let me guess: you’re always in a group. There’s always a show on in the background. You can’t talk. You’ve got a meeting in five.”
A dimple tucks the softness of her cheek. “It would do terrible things for my grudge if I let her have her say.” Then her smile fades. “It feels like I’ve been trying to get close to Freja since we shared the same womb, but I exhaust her, she thinks I’m too loud, and her hugs last microseconds.” She swallows hard. “You know she doesn’t flinch away from Oskar?”
