His father’s heavy hand landed on his left shoulder, the pressure grounding him and calming some of his nerves. King Frederick II was a dark-eyed version of his son, set twenty yearsin the future. “If you’re having second thoughts, say them now, Fred. We can work out an alternative.”
He shook his head fervently. “No. I’ll marry Lizzie.” Saying the words out loud felt strange and almost surreal, but he couldn’t deny the sense of rightness he felt as he spoke them.
“Are you sure?” his mother’s voice spoke from his other side. “This is a good arrangement for Kysta, but it is your future that we’re talking about.”
“I’m sure.” The nerves had died to a distant tingle. “Lizzie and I are already friends, and this keeps her from being carried off by some troll in one of the northern countries.”
His father chuckled. “I didn’t realize that was a particular danger.”
“I wouldn’t put it past Alfred, if the price was right,” Freddy muttered darkly.
“Fred.”
It never ceased to amaze Freddy how one word from his father could contain both unconditional love and the direst of warnings. He shrugged it off, though. His parents didn’t know—they couldn’t know, as they never read Lizzie’s letters—just how close his best friend had come to being married off to the grouchy, middle-aged king of Brisia.
Who had already been married three times.
Whose three previous wives had all died of either mysterious illnesses or in an unfortunate accident.
When Lizzie had told him, he was nearly ready to find a reindeer and carry her off to Norditch himself.
Hadrian met his eyes from his place with the royal translator across the room. As Freddy’s brother in all by title, he had been the sounding board and voice of reason to every one of Freddy’s hare-brained schemes in response to Lizzie’s letters. Hadrian sent him a solemn, reassuring nod.
The herald announced the Nedran royals’ arrival, and Freddy straightened his shoulders, taking in a deep, calming breath.
King Alfred and Queen Donella entered first, as always. Freddy barely even noticed their arrival, drawn as his eyes were to the young woman who followed behind them. He knew what Lizzie looked like, of course. Her face was as familiar as looking at his own in a mirror. He knew the exact shades of her two-tone eyes, knew the place where the light dusting of freckles would appear over her nose and cheeks when she inevitably spent too much time outside in the garden. He knew the curve of her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the way her lips would curl into a half smile first, as if testing the waters before diving in.
He knew the set of her shoulders when she was performing a royal duty, and the way they would immediately relax once she was alone. He knew the way she fidgeted with anything in reach of her fingers when nervous or upset. He knew that she secretly loved birds and could spend hours alone in the trees watching them. Over the years, he had memorized nearly everything about her, and the moment she walked into a room he was like a moth drawn to her flame.
But that day her flame waswrong.
A small crease formed between Freddy’s brows as he watched her glide effortlessly across the floor, trying to put his finger on what was different. She moved with the practiced grace that had been drilled into her by hours of what her letters had referred to as tortuous instruction. Her dress was her favorite shade of blue, her hair was gathered into a low knot at the base of her neck—her preferred style because she could do it herself. Everything about her was just as he would have expected.
Then she smiled.
It was a serene, emotionless imposter where the shy half-smile should have been, and though it filled the bottom of her face, it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead of blue seas of warmth andaffection, Freddy was looking into icy fields of nothingness, as if she had taken every single emotion and locked it away.
“Good afternoon, Freddy.” Her voice was devoid of feeling, and the hand that she offered in greeting sat like a limp, dead fish in his own.
He squeezed her fingers, searching her face for any clue that might explain the stranger in front of him. “Lizzie, what’s—”
Princess Eliza pulled her hand away, interrupting him mid-sentence and turning away.
Freddy could summon no other response than to watch, slack-jawed as she greeted his mother and then moved away.
For the first time in nine years, she had given him the cold shoulder.
Chapter Seven
Freddy
Present…
“Freddy! Did you ever consider that playing hide-and-seek with a half-blind man might not be the best idea?”
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of Shea’s complaints. The scenes from his past slowly faded as Chrys’s garden came back into focus. A lazy bee buzzed by his ear on its way to the nearby lavender bush, and a warm breeze brushed his skin. Judging by the heavy, languid feeling of his limbs and the height of the sun in the sky, Freddy judged that he must have been sleeping for a few hours, at least.
The realization spurred him into action, and he was jumping to his feet just as Shea rounded a rose bush and came into view.
