I ignore her, shutting my door before plowing through my chest of drawers for all the proper pieces of a wardrobe—stays, undergarments, stockings, boots, dress. I shove in the latest book of magic I stole from Hansa’s library—Myths of Maritime—too. There might be something in there about mermaids that would be worth a look.
Within a minute, Hansa opens the door. Immediately, her arms cross and her brows pull together. “You aren’t going to smuggle your entire closet out in that trunk, my dear.”
“Who said I was smuggling it?”
Tante Hansa takes a step forward, lips drawn into a perturbed line.
“The bloomers poking out the front.”
Sure enough, the ruched ankle of an undergarment is sticking out of my trunk like a dead man’s tongue.
Hansa tilts her head a bit, one brow now impossibly raised. “Are you going to tell me why you are rushing in and out of here with enough clothes for an entire week at sea? It wouldn’t have to do with your new friend, would it?”
The thought skips to the front of my mind to tell her. If anyone would believe that Annemette is a mermaid, it would be Tante Hansa. But I can’t tell.
“Well, child? Have you formed the perfect bluff in your pretty little head? You’ve had more than enough time.”
“It’s not a bluff. Nik’s asked me to stay at the castle—Annemette, too.”
That earns me an ancient Hansa chuckle. “His festival duties have the boy in such a tizzy that he needs to sleep with moral support down the hall, does he?”
“Something like that,” I say, though I know Tante Hansa isn’t buying it.
The brow arches higher. “Are you certain that cad from Rigeby Bay hasn’t arrived with promises on his lips and a night’s lodging at the castle?”
Heat creeps up my cheeks.
In my dreams.
“Iker still hasn’t arrived.” I’m not sure he will at all, I add in my thoughts, but I manage to keep my features plain despite the pang I feel in my chest. “And Nik has requested my—our—presence tonight in his stead.”
“Oh, he’s requested, now, has he?” Tante Hansa peers down her long nose like a blue heron. “So princely after one canned speech that he’s now requesting the presence of his little fish-rat friend?”
“You know Nik’s not like that. Besides, you come when you’re called—‘Healer of Kings,’ is it?”
“Don’t make this about me, child. I know what I’m doing.” She laughs again as I lug the chest toward the door. Annemette will be nearly finished with the grand tour by now. If Nik’s been ratted out by a member of the staff, the queen won’t go to bed without addressing him.
“Are you finished with me?” I take a step toward the door she’s blocking.
“No, I’m not finished with you.” She crosses her arms for a moment, looking stern, but then backs away from the door, leaving a sliver for escape. “But you are just as stubborn as your mother, and if you fight me as long as she would have, I’ll be in this doorway until dawn.”
I take another step toward her and lean in as much as my belongings will allow, planting a kiss on her papery cheek.
“Good night, Tante Hansa.”
I stride past her, past her smelly inks, and out the door. I’m not one step beyond the threshold when I hear her call, “Don’t grant all the prince’s requests, darling girl. Men are always asking for more than they should.”
Though I’m not with Father on one of his fish deliveries, it seems too strange to walk through the main entrance of ?ldenburg Castle. There are some things that are just not for me as a commoner. Malvina Christensen and her ilk might think I don’t know my place, but I do. It’s evident every day.
I’m angling through the tulip garden, the trunk dragging along at my feet, when I hear my name.
It’s nearly midnight, but Queen Charlotte looks just as regal as ever, still in the full evening gown she wore at the festival, crown nestled in her perfectly styled hair. I catch Nik approaching behind her.
“Evelyn,” says the queen, the distaste in her voice not hard to miss. “Niklas told me you’d be joining us.” She eyes her son, and I know he had to fight for me to stay. “It was gracious of Friherrinde Annemette to suggest you stay in the same room.”
“She’s very gracious indeed, as are you for having us, Your Highness,” I say. The queen nods as if I’ve passed a test—I know how she prefers to be praised.
“My pleasure,” she says, and steps away. But then she pauses and turns. “Please stay within this wing.”
I nod. Yes, I know my place.
Once the queen is gone, Nik rushes to my side.
“Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it.” But just as I say it, he’s snuck a hand on either handle and hoisted the thing to his chest, as effortless as can be.
“You shouldn’t. You’re still recovering!”
“I’m fine. It’s practice for the rock carry—I have to defend my title.”
“Since when do you care about winning so much?” I goad him so we don’t have to talk about his mother.
“Turns out a taste of victory is all I needed to care.”
“Or the need to impress a girl. Speaking of . . . where is she?”
Nik takes a step toward the door, and I rush ahead of him to open it. “Mette was so enamored with her room; it was so sweet, I didn’t want to disturb her. Besides, Mother . . .”
His voice trails off as a guard comes to help, taking the trunk from Nik’s hands. Nik grabs the edge of the door above my head, relieving me of my duty. For a moment, I stand there trying to read his face, because it’s not as clear and open as I’m used to seeing. His emotions are all muddled, like Hansa’s magical ink swirling across the surface of water.
Nik looks over at the guard. “Take her trunk to the Baroque Room, please, Oleg.”
Oleg nods, and Nik pulls me back outside and onto the steps. He sits down on the top step, and I follow. His shoulder nestles next to mine and his voice is low.
“Apparently coming of age means more than giving speeches,” he says without preamble, his eyes on his hands.
My heart starts pounding and my hand finds his shoulder. “Nik . . .”
“Mother is pleased because Annemette is the first of her ‘girls’ to arrive.”
My mouth goes dry. I should’ve seen this coming—among so many other things these past few days. Annemette must have passed the queen’s scrutiny, my aid unneeded.
“She had her ladies send letters to every high house in Denmark, inviting every princess, komtesse, and friherrinde to the Lithasblot Ball and God knows what else. Now that I’m sixteen, I should be courting, but Mother thought it wise to bring the girls to me.”
“Oh, Nik—” I start, but then he stares up at me, and the look in his eyes makes my throat catch.
“Lured them in with Iker’s presence, too . . .”
Of course: the playboy prince, two years older, with brave tales of the sea. I bet every last girl with a title is on a steamer right now.
“Two princes for the price of one—we’re the market special,” he says. “No wonder Iker’s still at sea.”
He’s careful to smile at his joke—he’s trying to save my feelings. But I can’t grin back, not even a little bit. I want so badly to turn to stone like the statues in his mother’s garden. There must be a spell for that, no? At least then I wouldn’t have this rot of disappointment creeping up inside me. It turns out knowing better doesn’t always help. It makes it worse.