Frida kneels to her level. Kindness dances behind her warm brown eyes, like a touchless hug.
“When you hurt someone you care about, the best action is apologizing. Look into the eyes of the person you have wronged and sincerely ownyour actions.” Frida lays a hand on Avina’s shoulder, but the little girl shakes her head.
“I messed up this time. I said something horrible because Bertie broke my favorite doll. I didn’t mean it, but it was terrible, Frida. How can words ever make up for what I said?”
Frida pulls Avina into a tight hug. The two sit in the embrace while Avina curses her tongue for lashing out at Bertie. She degraded him for something about himself, something out of his control, all because he broke her toy. What a horrible person she is.
“I am bad.” Avina sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
Frida adjusts the clasp of Avina’s necklace so it rests on the back of her neck, and the tiny seashell pendant Frida and Thord brought her two months ago rests on her clavicle.
“We all say things we don’t mean, Avie. The only thing you can do is make amends. Now, what is Bertie’s favorite treat?”
“Favorite treat?” Avina muses. “He does enjoy raspberry rolls.”
Frida smiles. “I also happen to enjoy those. Come, show me to the kitchens. We have some raspberry rolls to bake and a letter to write.”
Avina stares into the empty, clean palace kitchen, remembering how she spent that time baking treats for Bertie with Queen Frida. The treats were packaged in a white box along with a handwritten letter from Avina, owning her words. She delivers everything to a furious Bertie, who takes one look at the letter before hugging her tight.
With a deep breath, Avina removes the large cookery book from the shelf and flips through the pages until her fingers rest on a recipe for spice cookies.
After a baking excursion, she stands coated with flour. Her cookies have cooled, and she balances them on a round tray. Carefully, she gathers the plate and wobbles out to the deserted hallway.
Servants quarters! I’ll check there.
She cannot see over the cookie mountain and gingerly steps down the stairs to hear fiddle music and laughter roaring from the servants on break for the evening. She confidently enters their gathering spaceto see most of them lounging and talking. Setting the tray on a table, she spins around with a nervous smile.
No one so much as looks her way.
Avina takes a handful of cookies and moves about to distribute them, but no one accepts them. No one gives the young princess a side glance at her appearance in the Servants’ Quarters. She zeroes in on Nik in a corner, playing chess with an older servant boy. She ambles over and sets two cookies on the edge of the board.
“I accept responsibility for my words.” Her apology reverberates with the utmost sincerity that a child of thirteen winters can muster.
Still, Nik and the other boy focus intently on the game rather than the cookie and the princess.
The pain of feeling shoved into the dark becomes unbearable. Her hands shake at her sides.
Why are they avoiding me?
“Look at me!” She screams, unable to contain the frustration riveting her petite form. And still, not a soul acknowledges her presence.
Avina abandons her tray of cookies, running back to the Academia Wing, hoping to lose herself in a book or anything else.
I am not going crazy. My friends are playing a prank, that is all.
She slows when she reaches the quiet hallway stretching to the library. Several doors seal the entrance to studies for Avina, her father, and his top advisors.
A sliver of light draws her attention to her father’s door, which stands ajar.
She freezes.
Father does not like to be disturbed and detests eavesdropping just as much.
She swallows, wondering if she can sneak past without him noticing. Everyone else seems to pretend she doesn’t exist, and his ignoring her would be no different.
As Avina steps on her tiptoes to slip past his door, she falters, hearing someone say her name.
“...Avina?”
