Page 109 of Royal Icing

“Let’s walk toward the castle,” she said.

He put an arm around her and drew her in. Her arrival had extinguished his anxiety. With her by his side, everything seemed possible. “Are you hoping to get another verbal lashing from my mother?”

“Don’t get mad when I say this,” she said slowly. “I know you’re not interested in being seen as a royal.”

“Correct,” he said flatly.

“But it’s part of who you are. Part of your brand. And it’s going to get you a lot more attention than being some random guy who’s mad about something. Leveraging your identity is going to help save the community center.”

Leo’s mouth opened, ready to refuse. But seconds later, he snapped it shut. “I don’t like it. I’m not some attention-seeking sellout like John.”

John had a very active Instagram account with twelve million followers. The vast majority were staged photos carefully taken by Beatrice or a royal photographer. Why would he want to be a part of something that celebrated that kind of vanity?

“I know,” she said. “It’s just for a little while. When we win, we can delete it. Or migrate it into an account for community news or something. Give me your phone.”

He pressed his lips together but handed it over.

“Remember, this is for your people.”

The sun was creeping into the sky, enchanting everything in a golden hue. How long had it been since he had slowed down enough to admire how beautiful the village was at the first light of dawn?

She pulled to a stop next to a wooden fence and seemed to be calculating a perfect shot with the castle and the lake in the background. The tips of her ears were pink from the cold, and she was still wearing her hand-stitched jacket. Someday he’d get her a new one.

“Stop scowling,” she chastised.

“Do we have to do this?” he asked.

She looked up from the screen. “You asked me for help. Do you want to get this project built or not?”

“Fine.”

She instructed him to turn this way, then that way. Glasses on, glasses off. He leaned against the fence, staring over his shoulder at the castle grounds and lake. He felt like an idiot.

Emma eventually gave him permission to relax and flicked through the pictures. “Oh, man. You are so stupidly hot. People are going to go feral over these. You’re going to have so many groupies.”

“I don’t want groupies.”

“Groupies will get this protest off the ground. Trust me.”

He scowled and looked over his shoulder at the castle. Though he had lived there his entire life, it had never felt like home. It was a prison. An albatross. A reason for constant supervision and criticism. Everyone he met treated him differently because of the family he was born into. Everyone except for Emma.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. She must have noticed his space-out.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For coming here. For not treating me differently because of who I am. And for putting your life on hold. I know it wasn’t part of your plan.”

“Plans change. This is worth it,” she said with a squeeze of his hand. “But you won’t be thanking me in a minute.”

“Oh, god. What now?”

She averted her eyes to stare out over the snow-capped mountains. The sun had just burst over them, bathing the village in brilliant light. “Making an account isn’t going to be enough. We have to ask someone for help.”

“Who?”

“What’s your brother’s schedule like today?”