She’s always so genuine with people. So real.
It’s clear Mrs. Castle appreciates her warmth. “I’m excited to show you what we’re doing here, ma’am.”
“Oh, please, call me Astrid,” she replies instantly.
Mrs. Castle positively glows in a way I’ve not seen before. “Astrid.”
We’re introduced to the other officials, and then the tour begins. We walk through a set of double doors into a bright, cheerful space. The walls display painted murals, and about ten or twelve children have gathered in the room. Some arein wheelchairs, some hooked up to drips, all of them watching us with wide, curious eyes.
“Children,” Mrs. Castle begins. “I’d like to introduce you to Princess Astrid of Elkevik. She’s here with her fiancé, Prince Frederic.”
I give an awkward little wave while Astrid rushes forward, already halfway across the room. “It’s marvelous to meet you all! Gosh, you’ve got such a nice hospital here,” she says, her voice all bright sunshine and sincerity.
“What’s a fiancé?” asks a boy with dark hair and dark eyes, seated in a wheelchair. His gaze is bold and unfiltered in the way children do.
“A fiancé is a person one intends to marry,” Astrid explains.
The boy frowns thoughtfully at me, then back at Astrid. “Why are you marryinghim?”
And there it is. The question on everyone’s lips. Why would someone so wonderful, so charming, so full of life and beauty want to marry the beige prince?
Astrid claps her hands lightly. “And look at your mural!” she says smoothly, avoiding the question. “Who wants to tell me about it? I bet there are a bunch of stories on these walls.”
She’s deflecting forme. Protecting me. A sweet warmth fills my chest, my tightly controlled armor slipping a touch.
Several of the children raise their hands and begin to explain the scene painted on the walls, and I watch Astrid. Just as she was in Elkevik, she’s utterly at ease with the children. She holds their hands, touches their shoulders, crouches to their height. When one little girl reaches for her, Astrid scoops her up and cradles her in her arms as though doing so is the most natural thing in the world. To her, it is.
To me? Not so much.
“What’s it like to be a princess?” the girl asks, peering at Astrid with wide eyes.
“It’s like any other job. You have certain rules and certain things you need to do. And then there are the fun parts, too.”
“Is coming here a fun part?” the girl asks.
“Oh, absolutely. This is one of my favorite things to do in the whole world.”
It comes from her heart, not from any briefing papers. She genuinely loves this sort of thing, whereas I’m awkward and out of place, aware of my own hands in a way that’s frankly embarrassing for a man of my age. While Astrid shines as if she was made for this, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Someone else asks her, “Is that your princess uniform?”
“It is, actually,” Astrid replies. “It’s much better than my last uniform.”
“What wasthat?” another child asks.
“Well, I used to work with chickens. Theiruniform was just terrible. Lots of feathers, you see.”
Several children giggle, and Astrid beams at them.
I’m utterly transfixed by her. She’s now talking about chickens with the children as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, which, of course, it isn’t.
There’s a tug at my sleeve and I look down to see a boy of about seven or eight, his pajamas slightly too big for his slight frame. He has no hair, either on his head or where his eyebrows should be, and the look on his face is earnest. “Prince Frederic, I made this for you,” he says, thrusting a piece of paper toward me.
I take it in my hands. It’s a picture of possibly horses, ordogs, or perhaps dragons. It’s unclear. The words in his wobbly handwriting are unmistakable.
For Prince Frederic, From Alexander.
“Are these horses?” I ask, hoping I’ve chosen the correct species.
