Tommy bit her lip. “You didn’t say you wanted a female, full-skirted version, so I tried to make the same uniform your family has worn since the beginning. Is it all right?”
The truth was, asking for a feminine version of the uniform had not occurred to Kuni. In her mind, thiswasthe uniform.
She hugged it to her chest. “It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t cry on it,” Tommy said. “Or get it dirty. We can’t wash it without risk of the color fading, and that coat used every drop of dye resembling Balcovian amaranth we could get our hands on.”
“Guards don’t cry,” Kuni assured her. “I shall do my best to return the uniform to you in this exact condition.”
“Keep it.” Tommy smiled impishly. “I made one for myself, too. I’m just waiting on more dye to color it.”
Kuni opened her mouth to reprimand Tommy for her presumption, then realized she had no right to chastise her. For Tommy, it was a costume. No different from Balcovian children wearing their mother’s slippers and shawls, and pretending to be princesses.
Even for Kuni, this was not therealuniform. It was a few hours of make-believe for a good cause, and nothing more.
In no time, Kuni was standing on a wooden stool, splendidly outfitted in an impressively convincing uniform. The sleeves and the ankles were unhemmed. Tommy bent over, pinning everything in place.
Pins poked out from Tommy’s mouth. “Let’s see where we need to make adjustments.”
Kuni had never seen a woman in regimentals. Not until she caught sight of herself in Tommy’s many tall mirrors.
And here she was.Wearingthe uniform she’d dreamed about.
It took her breath away.
She couldn’t look away from the mirror. Soon, her countrymen and -women would see her just like this. Her brothers, Floris and Reinald. Princess Mechtilda. The King of Balcovia. Little girls like Kuni had once been.
On that day, no one would be able to deny Kuni’s value and worth. She wouldn’t have toproveherself capable and important. It would be obvious, just by looking at her. Right hand to Princess Mechtilda herself.
“I have Grenadier Guard regimentals, too,” Tommy said, pins poking from her mouth as she adjusted the trousers. “Which means I have a hat. Our guards stole the bearskin idea from the French in order to look fierce. I thought it was silly until I saw Marjorie’s painting and realized Balcovia uses bear hats, too. Won’t it be hot and heavy? The bloody thing weighs a ton.”
“I won’t mind,” Kuni said. “It is a privilege to wear the uniform and an honor to serve the king. My comfort is secondary.”
“If you say so.” Tommy stood and rummaged in the wardrobe, emerging with a tall, black bearskin hat. “This still has one of the white Grenadier plumes, but it will do.”
It took some maneuvering on both their parts to tuck Kuni’s braids safely inside the tall hat. Tommy was right. It was awkward and heavy. Outside in the snow, its warmth would be welcome, but indoors at summertime, it wouldn’t take long for a river of sweat to run down Kuni’s neck and soak her linen undershirt.
She thought about taking the hat off—but if all went well, this would become part of her daily uniform. If she expected to wear it for twelve straight hours then, surely she could manage half an hour here with Tommy.
Besides, the uniform would feel right when it was real.
Her heart knocked against her ribs. Kuni had struggled not to cry when her older brothers joined the Royal Guard. Not out of jealousy—she’d never doubted she would one day march at their side. But because the fight was coming toward Brussels. Toward Balcovia. Her father had decades of experience, but her brothers did not. If they had been sent to the front lines along with him…She could have lost all three at once.
Her fingers reached for the talisman next to her heart.
Tommy swatted at Kuni’s hand before she could touch the epaulet. “Don’t move. I’m measuring.”
Kuni lifted her chin and stood stiffly. A Royal Guard did not fidget or require a talisman to feel brave. If the king asked her to ride into battle with a bear on her head, she would do so with honor.
But the war was over. There was no more danger. From the sound of it, there wouldn’t even be bullets for her rifle. Instead of being a pretty bauble on some prince’s arm, Kuni would become a toy soldier for the king.
The thought made her chest feel hollow.
She was grateful she would not be the king’s to command, but Princess Mechtilda’s. The role would still be primarily ceremonial—Kuni did not anticipate any dramatic threats to the princess’s charmed life. But she would be aiding a friend and inspiring an entire nation of young girls to demand change. Averyde Heusch legacy.
And she was aiding friends now. The mission with the Wynchesters would be nothing like being a Royal Guard, her uniform notwithstanding. Instead of standing in place doing nothing, they were going togoand save lives.
How could Kuni say no to that?
