Page 118 of The Dandelion Princess

He scans the room. “I can do better than that.”

Marc takes my hand and secrets me out of the wedding tent, leading me deep into the orchard. He shrugs out of his tuxedo jacket and throws it across my shoulders before I have a chanceto feel the chill, and when the sound of the party is low and distant, the stars winking brightly overhead, he pauses.

At the base of a cherry tree, he finds a dandelion and brings it to me, holding the delicate puff between us. The seeds glow in the moonlight, full of promise, a dozen possibilities shivering on one slender stem. This is our new tradition.

“I’ll give you all of your wishes,” he says, secure in the knowledge that I won’t wish to be anywhere that he isn’t.

I blow, and the seeds drift in the night air, glinting under the moon. I think back on a moment I’ve been turning over since it happened.

“What is it this time?” he asks.

“You’ll laugh,” I say. I’m laughing myself.

There is no such thing as a Lutheran shaman, but I can see the future. I can see my roots planted deep in the soil of Lindenholm. I can see Marc and I weaving our lives together, the threads strong and unbreakable. I can see the generations to come, stamped by the both of us. I don’t waste wishes on a sure thing.

I have vowed to work for the monarchy as long as my family needs me, even if I prefer living on my own terms. It will happen naturally as I become a peripheral member of the royal line, and there’s only one way that’s going to happen. “I wished that Noah would fall in love and get married.”

“Why would I laugh about that?” he asks, swaying me gently to the distant sounds of an American ballad, something from Sinatra.

“Because I wished he would do it with Caroline.”

I laugh and expect him to laugh with me. I expect him to say, “Caroline Tiele and your brother? Try wishing for the moon.”

Instead, he pulls me into a kiss and whispers against my lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”