He looks out across the landscape, his jaw tightening. His profile against the open sky is striking. It’s sharp and regal. He looks every inch the prince he was born to be. He looks the part effortlessly.
He may not always feel it on the inside. But from where I sit, watching him in the sunlight with the wind tugging at his hair and the kingdom stretching out below us, he cuts a very fine figure indeed.
“I wish I had your ease,” he says at last.
The admission catches me off guard. “Really? Why?”
“Because it comes so naturally to you. Speaking to people. Putting them at ease. For me, it’s an effort. I watch you and you do it so easily. You make people feel as though they matter. As though you’re already their friend.” He hesitates for the briefest second before looking me directly in the eyes. “I admire that in you.”
Warmth floods my chest so swiftly it almost startles me.
Frederic admires me.
How unexpectedly, wonderfully lovely.
“I can’t really take credit for it. As you say, it’s natural. But you do well, Fred. You just need to loosen up a little, that’s all.”
“I’m not known for being loose,” he replies.
I laugh. “No, I suppose not. You like your rules and your binders and your color-coded schedules.”
“They are extremely helpful in my busy life.”
“I’m sure they are. But people aren’t like that.” I gesture vaguely between us. “People aren’t binders.”
He gives me a look that suggests I may have drifted into ridiculousness.
“What I mean is that people want you to be curiousabout them. They want to tell their story. If you make space for them, they’ll fill it. You don’t have to perform. You just have to listen.”
He considers that, his gaze drifting to the river below. “Yes,” he says at last. “That makes sense. Shall we go?”
“Lead the way.”
We ride on in companionable silence for a few moments, the wind tugging gently at our jackets. For someone who claims not to be good with people, he’s doing rather well with me right now. He’s not the performing Prince Frederic I see in public, nor even the quiet, rigid, rule follower with his binders and protocol in private.
This is a new Frederic. And I find I like this version of him.
Chapter Fourteen
Frederic
This festival is far tooloud and bright.
That’s my first thought as I step onto the cobblestoned square of Monteluce’s annual Summer Lantern Festival on a balmy evening.
We traveled to this small town in the mountains on the royal train after a luncheon with the mayor in Ravelle. Astrid has been chatting animatedly with anyone she’s crossed paths with. She’s all ease and friendliness, with nopretence whatsoever.
I look around the crowded festival. Strings of bunting criss-cross overhead in a riot of Ledonian blues and Elkevikian golds, fluttering in the warm breeze. Stalls line the edges of the square selling everything from pastries to tiny hand-painted wooden boats. Someone’s roasting chestnuts, filling the air with a sweet, smoky scent. Children dart between the adults waving paper flags, their cheeks dotted with glitter from the face-painting tent. Half the population appears to be dancing to the bright, brassy music that spills from the bandstand. It’s accompanied by bursts of laughter and cheers and the occasional whoop of someone who’s had one glass of wine too many.
Astrid is at my side, utterly radiant in a pale-blue dress with straps at her shoulders. The fabric catches the evening light as though she’s wearing pieces of the sky, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks both beautiful and regal, yet somehow like she belongs here in this hive of activity, surrounded by townsfolk.
I, on the other hand, am simply sweating through my shirt.
“Are you doing okay, Fred?” she whispers as a group of festivalgoers cheer our arrival.
Automatically, I lift my hand to wave. “Of course.”
She gives me a look that suggests she doesn’t believe me for one second. She slips her hand into mine, and the unexpected sensation of skin against skin is nothing short of an electric shock, knocking me entirely off balance.
