“It’s bad.”
I lay on Ahren’s bed, curled in a ball while he sat upright, telling me everything Mom and Dad didn’t want to.
“Just say it.”
He swallowed. “It always seems to start in the poorer provinces. They’re not rebelling, not like when Mom and Dad were kids. . . . It’s more like they’re uprising.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“They’re rallying to end the monarchy. No one is getting what they want out of the caste dissolution, and they think we don’t care.”
“Don’t care?” I asked, astonished. “Dad’s running himself ragged trying to fix it. I’m dating strangers for them!”
“I know. And I have no idea where that performance tonight came from, but that was spectacular.” I made a smart face, acknowledging the praise, but I was starting to question just how much of tonight was planned and how much was genuine. “But even then, what are we supposed to do? Perform forever?”
“Ha!” I scoffed. “As if you’d ever be asked to perform. It would always be me, and I can’t. I feel like I’m suffocating as it is.”
“We could all step down,” he suggested. “But then what would happen?
Who would take over? And if we don’t step down, will they run us out?” “Do you think they’d do that?” I breathed.
He stared into the distance. “I don’t know, Eady. People have done far worse things when they’re hungry or tired or unwaveringly poor.”
“But we can’t feed everyone. We can’t make everyone earn the same amount of money. What do they want from us?”
“Nothing,” he said honestly. “They just want more for themselves. I can’t say I blame them, but the people are confused. They think their lives are in our hands, but they’re not.”
“They’re in their own.” “Exactly.”
We sat in silence for a long time, considering what this meant for us. Truthfully, though, I knew it would hit me harder than anyone else if the people followed through on this. I didn’t know how things like this happened,
but governments changed. Kingdoms rose and fell; entire ideologies took over, shoving others to the side. Could I be brushed into the gutter?
I shivered, trying to imagine a life like that. “They already threw food at me,” I murmured. “What?”
“I’ve been so stupid,” I answered, shaking my head. “I’ve grown up believing that I was adored . . . but the people don’t love me. Once Mom and Dad step down, I can’t imagine there would be anything preventing the country from getting rid of me.”
It was a tangible thing, like I was being held aloft by this idea, and now that I knew it was a lie, my body felt heavier.
Ahren’s face grew worried. I waited for him to contradict me, but he couldn’t. “You can make them love you, Eadlyn.”
“I’m not as charming as you or as clever as Kaden or as adorably rambunctious as Osten. There’s nothing that special about me.”
He whacked his head on his headboard as he groaned. “Eadlyn, you’re joking, right? You’re the first female heir. You’re unlike anything this country has ever known. You just have to learn how to use that, to remind them who you are.”
I’m Eadlyn Schreave, and no one in the world is as powerful as me.
“I don’t think they’d like me if they knew who I really was.” “If you’re going to whine, I’ll kick you out.”
“I’ll have you flogged.”
“You’ve been threatening me with that since we were six.” “One day it’ll happen. Heed my warning.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Eady. The chances of people organizing enough to do anything are slim. They’re venting. Once they get this out of their system, things will go back to normal, you’ll see.”
I nodded and sighed. Maybe I was fretting for nothing, but I could still hear the hateful yelling during the parade, and I could still see the hateful remarks from my kiss with Kile. This certainly wouldn’t be the last we heard about abolishing the monarchy.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad I know, okay?” “If you insist.”
I hopped up and kissed Ahren’s cheek. I felt bad for girls who didn’t have brothers. “See you tomorrow.”
He grinned. “Get some sleep.”
I left his room with every intention of going back to mine. But as I walked, I realized I was hungry. Now that I’d been to the kitchens, I kind of liked it down there. I remembered seeing some fruit, and there was cheese in
the refrigerator. Certainly it was late enough that it couldn’t bother anyone, so I trotted down the back stairs.
I was wrong in assuming that it would be completely empty. There were a handful of young men and women rolling out dough and chopping vegetables. I took it all in for a moment, entranced by how efficient and driven they were. I loved that, in spite of the hour, they all seemed alert and happy, chatting with one another as they went about their work.
They were so interesting that it took several moments for me to notice the head of floppy blond curls in the back corner of the room. Henri had hung his shirt on a hook, and his blue undershirt was covered in flour. I moved quietly, but as the staff recognized me, they curtsied and bowed as I passed, alerting Henri to my presence.
When he saw me he tried to brush the mess off himself, failing completely. He pushed back his hair and turned to me, smiling as always.
“No Erik?” “He sleep.”
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
He squinted, trying to piece together the words. “Umm. Sorry. I cook?” I nodded. “Can I cook, too?”
He pointed to the pile of apples and dough on the table. “You want? You cook?”
“Yes.”
He beamed and nodded. Then, giving me a once-over, he paused before grabbing his dress shirt and wrapping it around me, tying the sleeves together in the back. An apron. He wanted me to have an apron.
I smiled to myself. It was only a nightgown after all, but there weren’t enough words between the two of us to argue over it.
He picked up an apple and took the peel off in one long strip. When he was done, he set it on the counter and picked up a different knife. “Pidäveitsi näin,” he said, pointing to the way his fingers held the handle. “Pidäomena huolellisesti.” He turned his other hand into a claw, tucking his fingers away as he held the apple. Then he started cutting.
Even with my inexperienced eyes, I could see how he was using the minimum amount of force to do his work and how his simple stance protected his hands.
“You,” he said, passing me the knife.
“Okay. Like this?” I curled my hand up like he had. “Good, good.”
I wasn’t nearly as fast as he was, and my slices weren’t half as uniform, but by the way he grinned, you’d have thought I made an entire feast by
myself.
He worked with the dough and mixed cinnamon and sugar and prepped one of the fryers along the wall.
I wondered if he was in charge of desserts at home or if they were simply his favorite.
I helped toss the apples and stuff the dough, and though I was terrified of the hot oil, I did sink one of the baskets. I squealed when the oil came alive, popping and dancing all over the place. Henri only laughed at me a little, which was kind.
When he finally placed the tray in front of me, I was dying of hunger and nearly too excited to wait. But I did, and he gestured that I should try, so I plucked up one of the fritter-doughnut-pastry things and bit in.
It was heaven, even better than the rolls he’d made the other day. “Oh, yum!” I exclaimed as I chewed. He broke into a laugh and picked one up himself. He seemed pretty satisfied, but I could see in his eyes he was evaluating what he’d made.
I thought they were perfect. “What are these called?” “Hmm?”
“Umm, name?” I pointed to the food. “Oh, omenalörtsy.” “Ohmenalortsee?”
“Good!”
“Yeah?”
“Good.”
I smiled to myself. I’d have to tell Kaden I was seriously mastering the names of several Swendish desserts.
I ate two, feeling a little sick once I was done, and then I watched as Henri passed the plate around to the cooks, who all praised his skills. In the deepest core of myself, I hated that he didn’t understand the words they were using.
Delectable. Flawless. Perfection.
I got the sense that if he had understood, he’d have said they were being too generous. It was hard to be sure though. That was just my assumption about who he was. I really didn’t know.
And, I reminded myself, you don’t want to.
There were times when it was getting harder and harder to remember that.
When Henri finished his rounds and the plate came back with hardly a crumb left, I gave him a shy smile.
“I should sleep.” “You sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good.”
“Um. Tonight? The Report?” I asked, trying to keep things simple. He nodded. “Report, yes.”
I placed my hand on his chest. “You were so sweet.” “Sweet? Umm, the sugar?”
I laughed. “Yes. Like sugar.”
He brought his hand up to cover mine as it was still pressed against his heart. His smile dwindled as he looked at me and swallowed. He shrugged as he held me there, seeming only to want to make the moment last. He held my hand for the longest time, and I could see he was sorting through words in his head, trying so, so hard to find one that he knew I might understand. . . .
But there was nothing.
I wanted Henri to know that I saw what he felt. I could tell in every smile and every gesture that he really cared about me. And, despite my best efforts, I cared about him, too. I worried about how much I would regret it, but there was only one way to express that feeling.
I closed the distance between us and placed a hand on his cheek. He stared into my eyes as if he’d discovered something truly valuable, something rare that he might never see again. I nodded slowly, and he lowered his lips to mine.
Henri was scared. I could feel it. He was afraid to touch me, afraid to hold me, afraid to move. I didn’t know if it was because I was a princess or because he’d never done this before, but that kiss was so vulnerable.
That made me love it even more.
I pressed my lips into his, trying to tell him without words that this was okay, that I wanted him to hold me. And finally, after a moment of hesitation, he responded. Henri held me like I was delicate, like if his grip was too tight, I’d crumble. And his kisses were the same way, only now, instead of being driven by fear, they were motivated by what felt like reverence. It was an affection almost too beautiful to endure.
I pulled away, slightly dizzy from the kiss, noting that his eyes looked pained, but he wore the tiniest smile.
“I should go,” I said again. He nodded.
“Goodnight.” “Goodnight.”
I moved slowly until I was out of his sight, then I ran. My head was swimming with thoughts that I didn’t understand. Why did it bother me so much when Gavril picked at Henri? Why did I have to keep Fox when he
should have left? Why did Kile—for goodness’ sake, Kile!—keep popping into my mind?
And why was it so terrifying even to ask those questions?
When I got to my room, I flung myself into bed, feeling disoriented. As angry as I was at Gavril for bringing it up, it did bother me that I couldn’t speak to Henri, that I couldn’t communicate anything intimate to him because of how uncomfortable it would be to go through Erik. As unnerved as the thought made me, if I was going to tell anyone something personal, it would probably be Henri. I felt safe around him, and I knew he was smart, and I admired his passion. Henri was good.
But I didn’t speak Finnish. And that was bad.
I rolled over onto my back in frustration, yelping when something dug into my spine. Reaching around, I felt that it was a knot. I was still wearing Henri’s shirt.
I untied it and, despite how absurd it was, pulled it up to my nose. Of course. Of course he smelled like cinnamon and honey and vanilla. Of course he smelled like dessert.
Stupid Swendish baker with his stupid spices. This was making me asinine!
This was why love was a terrible idea: it made you weak. And there was no one in the world as powerful as me.
