She presses her lips together, tilting her head as she watches me. “Breckenholt is much safer than Invem if one goes by the reported crime rate.”
“Like I said, I’m fine.” We have plenty of men to keep areas secure while the princess gives a speech to the townspeople everywhere we go, and I’m curious if any rallies for Grimstad will pop up outside Invem. I’m not anticipating trouble but will be ready for it.
Freya’s smile grows. “I admit I do not believe you, Mr. Reid. You are allowed a modicum of anxiety, as this is your first foray into—”
“Okay, we need to work on that.” I sit forward, eager to change the subject before Freya makes me focus more on my discomfort from being trapped in this car. “I know you were raised in a palace, but come on.”
She frowns. “What?”
“You can’t tell me you’ve been friends with a bunch of Americans for years but haven’t picked up a more casual way of speaking.” I kind of like the way she’s so proper, but this whole campaign came about because she wants to get closer to the people of her country. I wrinkle my nose when she narrows her eyes at me. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve brought this up. “This is the twenty-first century, Princess. Try to talk like it.”
She scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. This is the first time I’ve seen it down—half of it, anyway—and it’s longer and thicker than I expected. I overheard her complaining to her attendant, Runa, that it would inevitably become a tangled mess before the end of the day, butRuna insisted on a more casual hairstyle for her first campaign appearance.
I’m so glad Runa agreed with me when I suggested she try to help Freya loosen up a bit over the next two weeks, but I’m surprised she had the courage to stand up to the princess. I was out in the hall this morning, discussing some details with the two guards I have taking point so I can focus on the princess, but I could hear the argument happening inside Freya’s chamber.
Freya was adamant that having her hair up is crucial to her appearance. Runa argued that Freya would be happier if she were comfortable. Freya insisted her comfort included her hair being up and out of the way. I get the feeling her hair is a sort of shield, and I wonder what she hides behind it.
Shifting her hair again, Freya lifts her chin high as she says, “I hardly think my manner of speech will—”
“If the people of Candora think you’re elitist, talking like you’re from the British aristocracy of 1830 is only going to prove them right.” I grit my teeth when the car hits a bump in the road, and my anxiety spikes as I’m reminded once again that I can’t see where we’re going. There has to be a better way to travel while still maintaining proximity to the princess.
Freya huffs and folds her arms, as if my comment has no basis of truth. “Mr. Reid, I—”
“Elliot.” I slip out of my jacket, hoping that will help me cool down. “Call me Elliot.” She’s done it before, and I much prefer that to my last name. Too many memories from my days as Sergeant Reid.
“Elliot.” She sighs. “It is not easy to change my way of speaking when I have been doing it my entire life.”
Laughing, I start rolling my sleeves up because it’s still too warm. “It’s just another language, Princess.” I switch to speaking in French. “It takes practice.” Then in Russian: “Your brothers don’t have any problems with sounding normal.”
Freya narrows her eyes and responds in Candoran. “My brothers excel in everything they do and could not care less what others think of them.” At least, I think that’s what she says. My Candoran isn’t as fluent as I would like yet, but I have plans to practice with the twins while we’re out here so I don’t miss anything. Most people in this country speak English, but I’m going to guess the farther we get from the capital, the more people will gravitate toward their native tongue.
Shaking my head, I go back to speaking English. “From what I hear, you’re as smart as they are. More so.” Is that a blush on the ever-confident princess? I hold back a smirk. For all her outward confidence, she’s too easily affected by a simple compliment. “Derek told me you’ve been his friend for more than half a decade. That’s plenty of time to have picked up on some things. He also says you fit right in with his group of friends, so I know you have it in you.”
She clenches her jaw, turning to look out the window for a moment. “Derek has told me almost nothing aboutyou,” she says coolly.
I can’t decide if she means it as an insult, but it won’t work regardless. “That’s because Derek and I barely know each other. We didn’t even meet until last October.”
That pulls her gaze back to me. “Truly?”
I shrug. “We don’t need to get into my family.”
“What if I want to?”
Biting the inside of my lips, I debate if that would be a good idea. Getting familiar with my charge is necessary if I’m going to properly protect her, but I don’t need her to knowme. For a lot of reasons. “Not the best idea,” I decide out loud.
But Freya leans forward, instantly putting me on edge with her sudden nearness. “If I am to practice sounding less royal, I will need to do so in a conversation. I will give you a choice. We can either discuss your family, or you can tell me about your tattoos.”
Thrown by the two options she presented me with, I recognize too late that she’s trying to turn the conversation away from herself. “My tattoos?” I look down as her gaze starts tracing one of the Celtic knots that loop around my left arm. I can understand her curiosity about my family, with the way I deflected, but what about my ink is so interesting that she considers it a worthy alternative?
“Well?” She looks up, meeting my eyes with her own. They are quite striking, a bold blue color that seems even brighter with the skies outside hanging heavy with gray clouds. “Which would you prefer, Elliot?”
Neither. My left shoulder throbs, directly beneath the owl wings tattooed there, and I instantly know which topic I would choose. If this campaign is going to go smoothly, I need Freya to trust me, and she won’t be able to do that if I don’t give her at least something.
“It was always just me and my dad,” I say, squirming in my seat when we hit another rut in the road. “Never knew my mom. She took off when I was born.”
With a satisfied glint in her eyes, Freya settles back in her seat and says, “Any siblings?”
“Nope.”
