The cup hits the floor with a sharp clatter,far louder than necessary, and I freeze with my hands suspended in the air.
Oh no. Ohno!
I freeze, my heart thrashing in my ears.
I didnotjust do that.
Did I?
“Well,” I say at last, into the stunned silence, my voice far too cheerful for the circumstances. “I suppose it could have been worse.” I glance down at the spreading stain, the scattered porcelain, and my damp shoes. “Notmuchworse. But worse.”
Beside me, Frederic goes very still. He doesn’t speak. He simply looks down at the wreckage with the expression of a man who can’t quite believe he’s about to become engaged to the perpetrator of such a crime.
“I believe we should call for assistance,” he says finally, his voice eerily calm.
Chapter Five
Astrid
Queen Eleonora’sfeatures appear pinched, and milky tea (with three un-princess-like sugars) have splattered right across her elegant sleeve.
“Oh, my gosh! I’msosorry,” I gush, immediately bending down to collect all the broken pieces of china from the rug. “I don’t know how that happened. One minute I was reaching for the cup, and then I missed and, oh gosh, I’ve made such a mess. I’m so, so sorry.”
As I reach for the saucer, a hand grips my forearmand I look up into Frederic’s taut face. He shakes his head before he guides me back to my seat, and suddenly we’re surrounded by servants, silently efficient in their work, picking up the shards of china, replacing the tablecloth, and soaking up the spilled tea. A blur of activity surrounds us while the four of us sit perfectly still, like the marble statues the press accuses Frederic of being.
I risk a glance at him. He’s gone a shade of tomato red, and I’m pretty certain he’s stopped breathing altogether.
“I can be terribly clumsy, you know. It’s a bad habit, and one I had hoped I’d outgrow, but here I am, already twenty-three, and I’m still knocking things over,” I babble on.
I can’t help it. I get nervous so I talk, and then talking as much as I do makes me nervous. It’s a vicious circle.
“I once knocked over an entire bowl of raspberry coloured punch at a state dinner in Oslo,” I continue on. “It stained the Danish ambassador’s white jacket, which apparently was made by some Italian designer. I forget who.”
Mouth. Stop. Talking.
But it’s no use, I’m in a nervous spiral.
“Even during etiquette training when I was a teenager, I’d do things like knock over a stack of books, the ones we were meant to balance on our heads, or reach for the correct fork at the table and spill my water. Any faux pas you could name, I probably did it. I don’t mean to. It just sort of… happens.”
The Queen waves a hand, probably more to stop me rambling than anything. “It’s fine, Astrid. No harm done. Accidents happen.”
I blink. Is she being gracious? After I redecorated the sleeve of her outfit in English Breakfast?
“But your sleeve, ma’am,” I protest.
“It’s only tea. And besides, this sleeve has beencausing me problems all morning. You’ve given me a rather good excuse to change into a new dress before my luncheon.”
My eyes widen to the size of my saucer. Before I dropped it, that is.
“Really?” I ask, hardly believing my ears.
“Really,” she confirms, and she almost smiles.
I relax, just a notch. Meanwhile, Frederic still looks as though they could roast him and serve him for breakfast.
The Queen leans in. “You know, I’ve met the Danish ambassador on several occasions, Astrid. He does seem like the type to hold grudges about raspberry stains on white Italian designer jackets.”
I grin at her. “Well, we have that in common.”
