Page 38 of The Dandelion Princess

Serving S'mores

MARC

A noise startles me awake. My eyes jerk open to chinoiserie wallpaper, the vines and flowers climbing up to the high ceiling, bathed in moonlight. I’m at Lindenholm and I throw a switch, groping for my phone.

I swipe up to be greeted by an animated genie who shares Ella’s playful expression and curvaceous figure. The sticker nods and winks, arms folded over her chest, while a ponytail bounces over her shoulder. I scrub my face with my hand and text dots bounce.

I’m granting you three wishes, her message reads.I apologized to Alma and she has no plans to murder me. Henceforth, I promise to do whatever you say.

I jerk upright. It is barely five on a Monday morning and I am suddenly wide awake with ideas invading my mind, jostling for supremacy.

She adds a rider.Sorry. Hit send too soon. Promise to do whatever you say so that I can help my family out of this mess and move on with my life.

I shove a pillow behind my back and command my heart to slow down. If Ella needs help, I help.

I sigh, hitching myself up on one elbow.This again? You aren’t a quitter.

Don’t you remember driving us to ballet lessons? I didn’t last a year.

I grin. If I recall correctly, the lessons were taught by a ruthless Russian instructor who spent weeks shouting at Alix to put her shoulders back so her dead ancestors might rest free from the fiery, eternal torments of family shame.

You were good, I type. I’m not sure that’s true. Most of that year I spent slouching in a corner, trying to improve my grasp of English by bingingChicago Lawand thumbing through vocabulary books.

I’m not interested in your lies, Ella declares.Madame Nikolaevna called me a dumpling.

A long-buried memory surfaces and I laugh. Any other princess might have thrown a tantrum and dropped the name of her mother’s legal team, but Ella started wearing shirts printed with anthropomorphic dumplings over her leotard and making disconcertingly aggressive eye contact while rotating through each ballet position. She would still be at it if Alix hadn’t decided that being a prima ballerina wasn’t the vibe.

Back to these wishes I’m granting you, she types. I feel a sharp pain under my ribs and frown it away.

How can I fix this situation for Freja?This is quickly followed by,For my family?

This is the reason Noah asked me to keep an eye on his sister. The monarchy needs Ella to blend into the background, but a question nags at me. What doessheneed?

I glance at the hand-painted silk wallpaper. One-of-a-kind. She was not born to blend in.

I type.First wish: Don’t start fights when you don’t have to.

She responds with a string of question marks.

You go to war over stupid things, I clarify.

Such as?

I can hear the irritation vibrating between the satellite signals, but I fire off a list.High heels, stockings, trousers, contact lenses, trainers, make-up, tiaras, orders. I can go on…

Her answer arrives.Stockings are symptomatic of more serious concerns.

A pair of stockings is a pair of stockings.I haven’t been able to shake this attraction yet, but that’s not the only thing between Ella and I. We are friends. Old friends. I care about her happiness, and don’t simply want to force her into acting in ways her mother finds agreeable.When you fight, it needs to matter.

The thread goes slack between us and I wait until the bouncing dots appear.Your second wish?

Two: Do the best you can with the job you already have.

I accept the incoming video request before I think, and frown into her sparkling eyes. “You are abusing your right to call me whenever you want. What if I wasn’t alone?”

“You’re adorable,” she laughs, shaking a ponytail over a bare shoulder. She’s in the small private gym set aside for the Royal Highnesses, and the spring in her curls is explained by the sound of a treadmill. “To have a girlfriend, you’d need to spend time with actual women.”

I raise the lights in the room. “I spend—”