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“Yes, I am,” her breathy whisper barely punctured the air. She opened the door behind her and stepped inside. “But that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The door closed before I got the chance to ask her what she meant. Why was she here if not to try to win the prince’s heart? What other purpose did this competition serve?
I walked the rest of the way to my door, pausing once at the sculpted goat head that hung from the wall. Rubbing my palm over his curved horn, I tried to understand the appeal, but maybe you had to be Nolcovian to get it.
As soon as I opened my door, I smelled the food and my stomach clenched with hunger. Dahlia wasn’t waiting for me. A surprise, but my long locks appreciated that she wasn’t around with her scissors. Besides, I could feed and dress myself.
On the bed, a pair of red silk pajamas waited for me, likely a gift. But I’d been low-key freezing since I’d arrived, my jetlag was nearly unbearable, and I just wanted my flannel PJs. Taking a moment, I dug around in my luggage until I found the teal ones with the white snowflakes. I’d rolled up a pair of fuzzy socks inside of them and was almost gleeful as I changed.
In a world of absolute culture shock, it felt good to have something that connected me to home. I took the pins out of my hair and left them on the vanity top in the bathroom. Digging my fingers into my hair, I shook my hair until it came loose and hung a bit wild. What did it matter? No one was going to see me at this point.
Starving, I bit off a hunk of bread from the plate that waited on a side table and melted at the flavor. Carline’s dad sure knew how to bake. Hopefully, he wouldn’t poison the food now that his daughter wasn’t selected.
I frowned. Seriously, I hoped he wouldn’t poison the food…
My bag still laid across the bed, insides spilling out in every direction. I hung my dresses earlier, but everything else still needed to be organized. Strange that I would be in Nolcovia through the holiday. I still hadn’t told Mom yet. Some part of me had assumed Fitz was going to call prank about the time I landed in New York for my layover, but here I was in the country that, for all appearances, was on the brink of a possible civil war.
Merry Christmas?
I took a bite of the creamy soup and groaned. Fitz should have led with the offer of this food. No wonder he didn’t know how to cook.
Two knocks at the door brought my head around.
Did Sadie change her mind? Did she want to talk?
I set the roll on the rim of the bowl and hurried to the door. I pulled it back and frowned, completely surprised.
“What are you doing here?”
Fitz
She wasn’t wearing the pajamas the royal stylist had picked. Instead, she’d opted for flannel pajamas like she wore when we were in high school.
Her fuzzy socks were a nice touch. The palace floors weren’t heated in this wing.
At the ceremony, she wore her hair pinned back, but I preferred it this way. Natural curls that created a haphazard pattern around her head, like an angel’s halo gone rogue. It felt like walking into my past and, after a night like I had, that was a welcome thought.
Coco’s eyes widened as though the implications of my presence in the east wing had just occurred to her. She grabbed hold of my arm and pulled. “What are you doing here?”
I planted my feet and shook off her grip, not in the mood to be told what to do. It was my palace. I would move where I wanted to and see who I wanted to see. While her concern for impropriety was appreciated to a point, I didn’t need it.
“Sorry, Coco, I can’t stay. But I wanted to be sure you were safe. I saw you fall and was powerless to help.” It was good to see her unscathed. As my bodyguards forcibly dragged me from the hall, I had to watch her curl into a ball, defenseless on the ground. In that moment, I didn’t care that I was Crown Prince. My feral need to protect her had nearly taken over. I couldn’t rest until I knew she was safe.
“Sadie and Blair came back for me.”
“Seems my bluff about her character was correct.” It felt like a valid statement, but Michaela’s gaze shifted away, causing me to suspect otherwise. “Or am I mistaken?”
“No,” she quickly brushed it off, “it’s nothing. Jetlag, I’m sure.”
It didn’t appear to be nothing, but I hardly had the energy to stand, let alone press her for answers. Considering the time difference for Michaela, she had to be worse. I jammed my hand into my pocket and removed the charm.
“Also,” I held out the small charm toward her in the palm of my hand, “this was knocked to the floor, but it’s yours.”
Her delicate touch tickled over my open hand, dancing fingertips that woke my senses that sought slumber only moments ago. At the sensation of her touch, my entire psyche sprang to life.
She pinched the silver charm in her fingers to bring it closer to her face. “Of course, it’s a goat.”
“It’s a ram,” I corrected her. Had she forgotten the lore of my country? Had she forgotten the late night I explained the role they’d played in our independence? Granted, back then, she thought I was spinning tales of a world that didn’t exist.
