The delegate huffs. “Is that so? We interpreted your announcement to be quite resolute.”
“If anything, I am glad it brought you to my doorstep.”
Dad pauses, and I note the reporters clustering at the edges of thefoyer. Not just our Christmas ones; some of the broader Holiday publications too, and I’m shocked Dad let them follow him in here—
Disquiet eats at me.
Hewantsthem in here.
The delegate clocks the reporters too, or maybe he did already; now, he openly looks at them, and eyes my father. “Are you?”
“Yes.” Dad steps forward. “I am the first to admit that Christmas has for too long been a source of contention for Halloween.”
We have? When have we ever interacted with Halloween? But the envoys share a look that confirms whatever Dad implied, and my confusion manifests in a scowl.
“We have more in common than we have differences that divide us,” Dad continues. “But I know well how distrusting Halloween is of us, and I do not expect such distrust to be easily bridged. We all have the same goal: to be the mightiest sources of joy possible. I am not wrong in assuming that both Easter and Halloween, two equally substantial Holidays, would benefit from a union.”
Both of the delegates seem at a loss. “What are you suggesting?” one asks.
“Return to Halloween with this message from Christmas: that we are apologetic for the perceived threats and do not wish to incite further discord among autumn Holidays.” He pauses to smile. “My offer is that I would serve as an intermediary, if your superiors agree, to oversee a union—between Easter and Halloween.”
“What is he doing?” I hiss at Kris, but my brother is stuck in shocked silence.
The delegate’s eyes widen, the first sign of true surprise, and he cocks his head. “You are honestly proposing a marriage between the Easter Princess, your son’s betrothed, and—”
“The betrothal is not finalized, I told you. My announcement was that Easter had begun searching for a partner for Princess Iris, and Prince Nicholas has long been one of her close friends. But I have spoken with King Neo at length, and his goal for Easter is whatever will be best all around, which could, if you choose, be Halloween. Your objection to the arrangement between Christmas and Easter is beingtaken quite seriously.” Another pause. There’s something he’s communicating in those pauses, because the envoys share another look.
I also note that Dad still isn’t putting Kris up for sale in this fucked-up arrangement rather than dissolving the Easter engagement—why isn’t he? He’d get everything then, tie everyone up together. Why is he sacrificing Iris?
“If Halloween is so concerned about the power Christmas would amass in joining with Easter,” Dad says, “then you are welcome to come and vie for Princess Iris’s hand. My palace is open to Halloween.”
One delegate twists to whisper to his companion. With a tight smile, he faces my Dad again. “We will take this offer to our monarchs.” He bows, but it feels like a mockery. “Santa.”
My dad doesn’t react. Not as the delegates turn, facing the door they came through—still open, rimmed in palpitating shadows, a dark-cloaked hall beyond.
One of the Halloween delegate’s eyes snaps to the top of the staircase. “Princes,” he calls with a smaller bow.
They leave, the door shuts, and I bolt down the stairs.
“Nicholas—” My dad tries to intercept my outburst, but I’mdone.
“Now you’re giving Iris to Halloween?” I demand. “She isn’t evenyours—”
He clamps his hand on my arm bruisingly tight. “Contain yourself. Come.”
The reporters are still there. Watching. Recording devices at the ready.
Dad drags me out of the foyer, ducking into a side sitting room. The curtains are pulled wide, showing the front of the palace, snow-coated landscape stretching out in rippling hills that settle around the bulk of North Pole City in the distance.
As he turns to shut the door, Kris slips in. Usually, my brother concedes to me as the one who yells at our father—but his whole face is red, his fists clenched.
“You can’t do this,” Kris says. “You can’t treat her like this!”
Dad seems momentarily stunned thatKrisis the one talking backto him. His eyes dart between the two of us, noting our rumpled outfits from last night, and he sighs heavily.
“It’s business, boys,” he tells us. “It’s a ploy to appease them until we can finalize the marriage between Nicholas and Iris.”
I jerk back. “Wait—what?”
