Page 14 of The Dandelion Princess
This is worse than a grudge—Ella has a bruised heart. But when the distant sound of a rollercoaster rumbles across the park, she claps her hands, clearing the air. “It’s fine,” she says, an expression she uses exclusively when it’snotfine. “I’m just ticked off at her for messing up my exit plans.”
Not this again. My hand lands on my chest and I groan. “How old are you, woman?”
“I’ll be twenty-seven next month.”
“Is your plan still in a fuzzy unicorn binder with a tiny brass lock?”
She snorts. “Give a girl some credit. My digital records are encrypted and stored in an external hard drive.”
When she scoots closer, a spark of nervousness rolls through me like a chunk of glowing coal. Her voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “Here’s the plan. I’ll take a sabbatical from being a working royal to pursue a graduate degree in computer science, and my mother can temporarily split my patronages between my siblings. When I finish, Mama will try to force me back into tights and tiaras, but I’ll be like, ‘Okay, but my research is literally saving the world.’ And then somebody anonymous,” she laces her fingers over her heart and I look away like I’ve touched a hot stove, “will leak the details of my heroic saintliness and Her Majesty’s hands will be tied.”
I clear my throat. “Quick question, Ells. How are you going to literally save the world?”
“Maybe I’ll create an ultra-efficient kidney donation database or configure AI tools to track endangered species.” Her eyes glint with unrealized schemes, and the sight hits my heart like a bird of prey zeroing in on a field mouse. “What do you think my mother is going to do when faced with a choice between letting entire coconut crab populations die off or forcing me to give a speech to the Association of Medieval Heraldry?”
I touch the tip of her nose with a bent knuckle. “This is the face of a woman prepared to devote her life to saintliness?”
In a flash, her posture becomes prim. Well, as prim as she can manage with all those curves. “After a year of good deeds, I’ll renounce my place in the line of succession with profound regret, set up a trust for Sumatran orangutans or something, get a sprawling, modern place on a sun-kissed coast with excellent internet speed, and become a lady-recluse.”
I lift a brow. “It sounds like a Bond lair.”
She lifts a brow. “If people leave me in peace, I’ll ditch the moat of laser sharks. You’re invited to drop in anytime. You’ll find me on the beach wearing sunglasses that cover half my face.”
Another image walks out of the sea and into my head. My mouth dries up. “And a bikini with a utility belt?”
She flicks my arm. “I’ll be so far away that even if I forget to use a compostable bag to carry my groceries, the editorial board ofThe Holy Pelicanwill have to step all the way off my case.”
I listen to this crack-pot scheme tracing the freckles over the bridge of her nose with my gaze. Ella has been coming up with plans to run away for as long as I’ve known her. I see it for what it is—a security blanket, something to wrap herself up in against the pain of being treated roughly by the people who are supposed to love her best.
“You think you could follow through?” I ask. Research for Noah.
“Thanks to Freja, my timeline has to be reworked, but I’ll never stop trying to escape this funhouse of horrors.”
When I watch the light play over Ella’s face, I feel a seismic rumbling in my chest—the kind that used to send me diving under a table. Signs that the ground beneath our feet is shifting.
“Speaking of,” I say, standing abruptly and striding off. She catches up to me and we pass Thor, her security officer, attempting to hide the fact that he’s standing exactly twenty meters from his asset by holding a massive bag of cotton candy as he sweeps the perimeter. “We’re headed to the funhouse, but we’ll come back this way,” I tell him. “Ten minutes.”
He nods.
I keep talking, trying to avoid the kind of dangerous silences that give my body too much time to react to her. “You’ve done a lot of fashion diplomacy,” I say. Even tonight, herRoar’s Mansionpurse will get a mention in the fashion press once Alix releases photos of her party, bringing the topic around to Seong. No one in Sondmark has been as focused on the ongoing crisis as Ella. “I wanted to thank you. I’m sure it was tricky.”
“You know how much I love disappointing my mother,” she laughs, dismissing my gratitude. “Anyway, how am I going to get my Seongan dramas if the studios can’t rebuild? There it is,” she says, outpacing me. I have to break into a jog to keep up until we arrive at the funhouse entrance, blinking with garish green lights.
“Speedrun?” she challenges.
I scope out the dim interior and the angled mirrors. “How about we take things slow and steady?”
She makes a face. “Boring.”
“Safe,” I counter.
“Same thing. Ready?” The tip of her shoe digs into an invisible line. “Set.” She turns her brilliant eyes up at me and I promise myself that tomorrow I’ll start watching her in ways Noah would approve of.
“Go!”
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