“I won’t make that mistake again, I promise, sir. Fred told me that precious plants in the glasshouse mean dogs are not permitted. But your dogs are divine, although they made my dress a little dirty, so I had to change into this.”
Both sets of eyes travel over my dress, and I try not to shift my weight.
Another silence.
“Would you care to sit?” the Queen asks.
“Of course.” I glance at Frederic. He has a pained expression on his face. I offer him a weak smile as I sink into one of the chairs, feeling about as comfortable as though I’m sitting on a forest of cacti. If there’s such a thing.
“I apologize once again for keeping you waiting, Your Majesties. It wasn’t my intention. I got a bit carried away with myself,” I say.
“Does that happen often?” the King asks.
“Sometimes,” I reply truthfully.
“It’s perfectly fine,” Queen Eleonora says, though she doesn’t crack even the faintest smile. “Would you care for some tea, Astrid?”
“Tea would be lovely, ma’am,” I say, raising my chin in the princess-y way Frederic seemed to prefer earlier. I glance at him. He looks as though he wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole.
Oh, dear.
The Queen lifts the teapot herself, which is something I absolutely did not expect a queen to do, and begins to pour. “Milk or lemon?”
“Milk, please, and three sugars, if you can.”
The queen pauses in her pouring to look at me. “Threesugars?”
You’d think I’d just saidexecute the prisoners at dawnby the way all three of them gawk at me. Three sugars in tea is clearly not the done thing in Ledonia.
Back home, it’s practically a food group.
“Or just two, if that’s… err, better?” I say, my eyes darting between all three of them.
Whatisthe correct amount of sugar in tea for a future Ledonian princess? I need a handbook.
Queen Eleonora adds the milk to my cup and then sugar, one cube at a time, before passing it to me. “Your tea with three sugars, Astrid,” she announces.
The moment the cup and saucer touch my hands, they begin to rattle loudly from nerves, so I set them down on the table promptly before an accident happens.
So much safer that way.
The last thing I want is to spill even a drop in this incredibly glamorous and sparkly room.
King Leonardo leans forward, hands clasped. “Astrid, we’ve been following Elkevik’s situation with great interest. The recent energy deal complications must be very challenging for your country.”
“It’s been a difficult time,” I reply.
“We’re only glad we can help,” he says.
“And we’re very grateful.” As I reach for my cup and saucer again, I catch the edge of it with the sleeve of my dress, and then everything happens in slow motion.
The cup slips. Tea lifts into the air in a graceful amber arc, as if it’s making a bid for freedom. I lunge for it, which only succeeds in knocking the saucer off the table as well.
For one suspended, excruciating moment, I’m aware of too many things at once: the soft gasp from somewhere to my left, the way my heart drops straight into my shoes, and the unmistakable certainty that I am about to be remembered asthat woman, the one who spilled the tea.
Literally.
Tea goeseverywhere. It splashes across the immaculate tablecloth, freckles the floor, and then lands on my yellow shoes.
