Page 59 of The Midnight Princess

She tilts her head the other direction, and I revise my thesis. This angle is also sexy.

“An old friend is getting married a few hours south. We have to set out early.”

I feel for my back pocket with the top of my phone, sliding it in. Wanting to talk to Alma is bigger than how much I don’t want to talk about weddings with Alma.

“Another royal?”

“Adel. That’s what we call the hereditary noble houses in Sondmark.”

“Are they combining their lands and wealth like you and Pietor?” I have to turn her wedding into a joke, or I’ll say something I mean too much.

Her smile falters but she moves on. “The bride is a primary school teacher for one of my cousin’s daughters. My brother set them up.”

“I thought he didn’t do commitment.”

“For other people, he does.” Alma looks uneasy. I open my mouth to offer her a glass of water or bite of Pankedruss when a knock sounds on the door.

“Coming,” she calls, skirt twirling against her legs as she turns.

That’ll be Noah.

It’s Pietor.

He spots me over her shoulder, and I flex my hand. Leaning forward, he gives Alma a brief kiss. “Ready, darling?”

“Mm,” she says, giving me a brief, polite smile before she goes.

The feeling of wanting a fight sticks to me throughout the day. In the afternoon, Karl brings me my limp suit, fresh from dry cleaning, and demands to see my wardrobe.

“Have you even tried on your new clothes?” he asks.

I lead him to the closet where they hang in garment bags and Karl emits a noise of frustration and despair.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks. “An embossed invitation?”

Thanks to weeks of fittings and endless instruction covering everything from the history of the bone button to the innovations of the canoe pocket, I realize the clothes are going to be nicer than anything I’ve ever worn before.

“New clothes, new man,” Mom used to say when we went shopping for back-to-school things at the department store in Blackberry. A twenty-four pack of pencils would sit in the cart next to stiff, dark jeans.

I cross my arms. “I don’t get why we’re trying to dress this up. We won’t fool anyone.”

Karl inhales through his narrow nostrils. “No, no, no…sir. You don’t get to have an existential kick-up now. Are you the crown prince of Vorburg?” he asks.

“By some cosmic joke, I am.”

“That’s it, then.”

“I didn’t know what I was getting into,” I counter.

Karl rips the plastic from the hangers and begins arranging the items by color and type. He lifts a blue suit and gives the hanger a shake. “This is your destiny,” he declares. “Figure it out.”

“Figure it out? A master craftsman taught me how to do carpentry. Where’s the illegitimate crown prince who is going to teach me how to dothis?”

“You have Princess Alma,” he counters.

“I don’thavePrincess Alma,” I roar.

I don’t have her. My chest rises and falls with the enormity of it. I don’t have her, and I don’t want anyone else.