“I haven’t danced in so long,” I try to warn, but he waves it off.
“Don’t worry about that, I’m an excellent leader.”
I huff and roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Whoa! Calm the excitement a little,” he laughs.
I do too. “No, it’s just, I haven’t gone shopping yet, and I wouldn’t even know where to start or what would even be appropriate.”
He holds up a finger and digs his phone from his back pocket. He types out a message quickly, and a response pings within seconds.
“Perfect. Trixie will take you tomorrow.”
“I have to work tomorrow.” The Maiers were good enough to give me extended time off around the holiday, but Lord Maier will be back to the office tomorrow, and Lady Maier is part of the planning committee for this New Year’s Eve ball.
“After work, then.”
I roll that over for a moment. On the one hand, any time I get to spend with Friedrich is good time, even as he’s being pushed to marry one of those women. But I also feel so out of place at these functions. At Queen Jacqueline’s tea two weeks ago, I got a few glances when I refused the tea. The conversations tended toflow around me, and I couldn’t follow most of it anyway. I suspect this ball will be much of the same. I haven’t danced since Cotillion when I was twelve. Unless you counted the times that Margaret dragged me to the club, but I doubt that’s the type of dancing going on at this ball. Friedrich is still watching me from across the table. His expression is almost pained, worried.
“After the ball, things are going to heat up for me,” he says, his gaze shifting to his hands fidgeting together on the tabletop. “Father wants me to narrow the group even more and start spending more time with the remaining women individually. Dating and such.”
Something gnaws at my heart when he mentions dating. Will he take one of them to his box at the Navy Yard? Who is he going to fly in his helicopter out here for a riding date? Will he take them to his bedroom and make them see stars with the magic of his mouth?
I cut off my intrusive thoughts before I fall in too deep. I have no right to wonder about those things in the first place. We’re just messing around. This is pure physicality and fun.Right?
“Aurelia.” His voice is quiet; a touch of a tremble breaks through. “I need you there.”
The grip on my heart loosens as Friedrich’s eyes meet mine again. The vulnerability in his face knocks the breath from me, and I have the sudden urge to rush to his side and hold him to my chest. To stroke his dark hair as I coo over him and tell him that everything will be alright.
Somewhere upstairs, an old clock begins to ring out the hour. Seven chimes.
“We should get going.” The prince mask is back as he stands and collects our dishes, leaving them in the sink for Nina.
I catch his hand before he can start up the stairs. Pulling him back to me, I wrap my arms around his middle as tightly as I can. His entire body breathes into my embrace, and I hold him until I hear his heartbeat slow in my ear.
We pull apart hesitantly, like we’re both fighting between mind and body to move away. He lets out a huge cleansing breath, then takes my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“Let’s get you home, mi’ lady.”
Not only did Princess Beatrix, who has insisted I call her Trixie, help me pick out the most amazing gown (with pockets!) but she insisted on us getting ready together at her place. Apparently, whatever reservations she had about me a few weeks ago at the Portyard match have been assuaged, and she has taken it upon herself to teach me the ways of the aristocracy. Joke’s on her; Aunt Sarah has been trying to do that for years.
Regardless of my lack of high society understanding, I’m a bit giddy when the black town car pulls up to the front of my dormitory at four o’clock. The ball doesn’t begin until eight, and I’ve been trying to keepbusy all day, going for a long run, working on a project for next term, and planning outings and activities for Darcy and Liam. I’m not sure why Princess Beatrix thinks we need four hours to prepare, but I’ll take any distraction I can get at this point.
The princess lives at Kipton Palace, on the same grounds as Friedrich’s cottage. I still don’t think cottage is quite the word for his house, but that’s the name given to the two-story, six-bedroom, lovingly updated residence. Kipton Palace was separated into multiple apartments in the midcentury, and Princess Beatrix lives in the largest one. The other apartments would typically have been occupied by other members of the royal family, but after her father’s abdication, the only other members who might stay at KP are Friedrich and his siblings, but the latter still reside at Vertmure. Some more distant cousins visit occasionally from around Europe, but most of the apartments are now occupied by senior members of government.
A maid leads me to a heavily decorated sitting room, taking up most of the bottom floor. It looks like Andy Warhol and a plant witch had a baby, and it threw up on mismatched midcentury modern furniture and geometric print rugs. And somehow, it’s exactly what I pictured the princess’s home to look like.
Beatrix sits in a low-back chair in front of a wall of windows with the curtains pulled back, allowing in the dampened winter sun. One woman is behind her, applying dyes and foils, while another sits at her feet, which are soaking in a glass basin.
“Ah, hello, darling!” The princess calls, seeing me in the mirror on the vanity table in front of her. “I’m so glad you didn’t back out. Fritz seemed to think there was a chance you might.”
I purse my lips. “Really? He thought I would chicken out?”
“I think he found a nicer way to put it, but that’s the gist, yeah.” She motions behind her to another chair with a foot bath prepared on the floor in front of it. “Grab a glass of wine over there and come sit.” She says to the girl working on her hair, “Here, turn me around so I can talk with our Miss Aurelia.”
I suck with wines; Lady Maier is trying to teach me, but I don’t know much more than I’m not a red wine girl. I pour a glass of the white with a vaguely familiar label sitting in an ice bucket. On the first sip, I know it’s an expensive one and, dang, it’s good.
I sit in the chair I was directed to, and the woman massaging the princess’s feet leaves her side to help me out of my shoes and sets me to soak.
