Page 116 of The Dandelion Princess
“Not yet.” He lifts his watch to check the time. Half past the hour, and a little bit over. “Alma, be a dear. Look up some parliamentary news I embargoed until about a minute ago and read it out.”
She’s already scrolling.“‘In a stunning turn of events, Parliament voted for the repeal of’—”She shrieks, tosses the phone to Clara, and pushes me out of Marc’s arms, hugging him around the waist. Clara stares at the screen, then shoves the phone into Freja’s hands. My littlest sister is bawling by the time she works her way under Marc’s arm.
Freja, who hugs no one but her husband, passes me the phone and reaches for Marc’s hand, holding it in a death grip. Her face is twisted with emotion.
I pull up the news and read.“‘Hereditary peerNeerheidvan Heyden introduced an act of parliament to overturn a significant portion of the Marriages and Succession Act of 1798…’”
I fan my face with both hands, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Does he know what this means? No man could possibly understand as he does. A massive boulder, pressing in on me and my sisters with each breath for as long as we have been alive, has shifted.
Even with his hands full, Marc reaches out to me, brushing his fingers across my cheek. I catch them, kiss them, and continue to read, leaning into his palm.“‘It passed with overwhelming support, bringing the number of royal personages who must secure government permission to marry from five places in the line of succession down to one. Parliamentary watchers suggest it was due, in large part, to recent overreaches by Prime Minister Torbald,VrouwVelasquez’s pregnancy, as well as an interview with noted Sondish artist, Linus Tiele, also known as Trash Panda Princess.’”I choke with a laugh, the words tumbling from my lips.“‘Though the heir to the throne,Crown Prince Noah, must still, by law, seek Her Majesty and her minister’s permission to marry, the amended act will allow the royal princesses to choose whom they wed,’”my voice has risen to a shout,“‘without the consent of the government.’”
I squeeze my eyes shut. All my life I imagined my wedding as a gauntlet of legalities. I imagined that my tender feelings, if I was allowed to have any for my future husband, would be smothered by article this and subsection that. I imagined myself in a sheath dress and pearls on the steps of the Grousehof, emotions withering under the dark, unblinking glare of a thousand cameras. But now— I take a breath and then another, my lungs burning as I try to wrap myself around this new freedom.
“What about Freja?” I ask.
“It’s not retroactive,” he murmurs, his words carrying regret. “I tried. I—”
“I don’t care,” Freja declares. “I don’t. Oh, Marc. Ella is crying.”
Marc rubs a thumb over my cheek, chasing away tears. I scrub a hand under my chin, catching more.
This is the life I choose. My family is still difficult—and I still have to get up next month, wrangle myself into heels and stockings, and sweat through every kind of ridiculous engagement. I shake my head. But this life— I can love it now.
Another tear slips down my cheek.
“There are too many people on this balcony,” I say, peeling through my sisters, aiming strategic kicks to get them moving. “You all need to leave, right now.”
Alma grimaces as I slip into Marc’s arms. “I can’t get used to this.”
“Getused to it,” I tell her, working my way in more deeply, only truly content when I hear the soft close of the mechanized door.
“Did you mean it?” I ask. “Do you really want us to start—” He climbed up the side of a palace for me and I can’t even complete a sentence.
“Yes.” His tone is firm. “I want to date with a view to matri—”
I slap my palm over his mouth and my face flames. “We haven’t even been on one date.”
The words ring false as soon as they leave my lips. Of course we’ve been on dates. It didn’t matter what we called them. It didn’t matter what little story we told ourselves about our motives and goals.
I think of my avatar inBRIx, hefting one block at a time, each pixelated segment mined and moved. It doesn’t look like anything up close, but when you stand back, you see a castle. All spring, kiss by kiss by kiss, Marc and I have been building a future.
He peels my hand from his mouth, lacing our fingers together. “I’ll give everyone a minute to adjust to the idea of us. When we seal this deal, I don’t want to be tearing out of the Grousehof just to beat the news. I don’t want to be in a rush.”
“Rush?” I laugh, placing a kiss in the smooth hollow of his throat. He makes a low sound and curls against me. I look up and hook a slim finger under his sleeve. “You made time to find the tiniest shirt in Handsel.”
He grins. “I didn’t want to risk showing up in a suit and tie, bearing roses and your mother’s stamp of approval. You would have run me off.”
“I wouldn’t,” I say, suddenly serious. Here it is. No more trying to be cool. “I would have told you I love you.” There is a catch in my throat. “I do.”
I thought I knew Marc’s face, memorized its lines and expressions over years of patient study, but I’ve never seen it like this. Like a saint at his prayers and a child on his birthday. Likehe has counted the days of his life and found them too few. Like he believes in forever. Like he has to.
“I thought you were going to get me out of your system,” I say.
He releases a broken breath. “I thought you wanted to run away and never come back.”
I go up on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “My father is going to ask about your intentions.”
“Scope creep,” he answers, giving me a wolfish wink. Then he holds his pinky between us. “I want dates and family dinners and being hounded by the press to make it official. I want to be caught kissing where we shouldn’t. Do we have a deal?”
