Page 33 of Her Royal Christmas

And yet somehow, saying out loud I need this felt more vulnerable than any of that.

She’d settled on a sort of hybrid strategy by the time she reached their door. Step one: check the room. Step two: hot shower, because she currently felt like she was wearing three layers of damp stress. Step three: find Alex, lure her here under some plausible pretext involving documents or tea or both. Step four: lock the door.

Foolproof.

She opened the door.

The first thing that hit her was the heat.

Their suite was roasting. Not the comfortable, fireplace-cozy kind of warmth, but the aggressive, electrically-baked kind that dried your eyeballs.

The second thing was the smell.

Wet. Damp. A faint hint of singed fabric.

The third was the sight.

The triplets had built a snow fort.

Indoors.

“Oh, for?—”

Erin stepped fully into the room and just… stopped.

Someone—several someones—had dragged every spare towel, blanket, and spare throw they could find into the centre of the room and constructed a kind of lopsided igloo against the side of the bed. The duvet had been pulled halfway off the mattress to form a roof extension. Pillowswere stuffed into gaps. A chair had been requisitioned as a “defensive tower,” its back draped with one of Erin’s T-shirts.

And in the middle of this chaotic masterpiece, an electric fan heater wheezed away on full power, blowing hot air into the enclosed space.

“Triplets,” Erin said aloud, to no one in particular. “Future special forces or future arsonists. Jury’s still out.”

“Mummy Erin!” a voice shrieked from inside the fort. “Intruder!”

Three heads popped out of three different openings like some kind of deranged whack-a-mole.

Matilda’s face emerged through a gap in the duvet drape, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up wildly with static. Frank stuck his head out from the bottom, near the floor, his light chestnut curls flattened on one side and suspiciously damp. Florence peered out from a gap between towels, blinking like a mole blinking at daylight.

And next to Florence, far too calm, Hyzenthlay peered out as well, a book in her hands and an expression that said she’d like to apologise for absolutely nothing.

“So,” Erin said after a second. “This is… new.”

“It’s the snow cave,” Frank announced. “We’re training.”

“Training for what?” Erin asked.

“The blizzard,” Matilda said, as if it were obvious. “We have to learn how to survive in extreme conditions.”

“By… using up all the towels in the entire wing and attempting to cook yourselves?” Erin said.

“We were cold,” Florence said. “Hyzzie said we had to ‘simulate environmental stressors.’”

Hyzenthlay nodded, unrepentant. “If they learn to regulate their body temperature in a controlled environment, they’ll be more resilient later.”

“You’re five,” Erin said. “Why are you talking like a survival podcast?”

Hyzzie shrugged. “Mama J. listens to them when she folds laundry.”

Erin opened her mouth, then shut it again as her brain caught up with all the sensory information. Hyzenthlay was too smart for her own good.