Chapter 12
Lark
“You’re going to take a nice, long nap, aren’t you, Happy girl?”
Eevi’s tiny fingers curl around mine as I tuck a blanket over her. On the big bed behind us, Hugo scurries in small, determined circles, his tiny paws rustling against the worn quilt. He stops to squeak, then spins the other way.
“See, Hugo says it’s nap time. While you sleep, I have a certain princess coming over, whom I need to impress.”
Hugo squeaks. Mocking this time.
“Not like that. I just need to make this worth her while.”
A snuffling snort. I point a finger at him.
“Not like that either! Hugo, you’re a menace whose opinion is not required.”
Eevi giggles, her chubby cheeks round and soft. I lean over the crib to kiss her curls, letting her sweet smell calm my nerves.
I still can’t believe Talvie—Val, drown it!—actually agreed to my ridiculous proposal. Desperation is a funny thing.
“That soap fiasco was a blessing in disguise, wasn’t it? I can’t believe she used a bit of soap on Every. Single. Dish. With that pixie stuff, we’re lucky we’re not all still cleaning suds from our ears.”
But it worked out for me. After Daria left, the poor princess looked mortified while she presented me with her offer: secret lessons in basic life skills in exchange for one fake fiancée.
It’s cute how concerned she is about Daria discovering her incompetence at everyday tasks. Of course, she didn’t offer any details on why she lacks such common knowledge, but I’m nice enough that I didn’t ask just to see her squirm.
After I clarified the soap instructions, she managed two uneventful nights of dish duty. I might deserve a medal. Then again, if I mess this up, I shudder to think of all the ways a Point Fae princess might ruin my life.
“This has to work,” I tell Eevi and Hugo. “But I don’t know what a low-bred outcast like me is doing anywhere near a princess.”
Hugo stares back, nose twitching.
“I know. She’s from a different world than ours. She’s beautiful, powerful, poised.”
He grunts.
I shake my head. “Okay, I assume she’s poised sometimes, when she’s not dropping things or flooding kitchens.”
No matter what disguise she wears for the rest of the world to see, Talvie being next to me is like wearing a hand-cobbled wooden clog on one foot and a designer silk slipper on the other. We don’t belong together.
Yet, she agreed.
Hugo lets out another squeak, and I sigh. “I can’t really blame her. She’s way out of her element here. But as long as we’re both desperate enough to try this, I have to make it work.”
Shadows from the swaying trees outside play across the wooden beams as wind whistles past the window. Hugo nests down in a tight ball, falling silent after one last grunt.
He still thinks I’m an idiot for not taking the reward. It’s hard to even imagine a thousand purses. A hundred would keep this roof over our heads for the rest of the year, long past Niemi’s deadline. But the princess covered for me when she didn’t have to, and riches don’t change who I am.
Money won’t be enough if CPS decides I’m unworthy to keep the kids. Just a low-born orphan, uneducated and uncivilized. No amount of coin changes that. The longer this endless winter drags on, the harder it’ll be to convince them I can support a family on odd-jobs and unreliable theatre crowds.
Niemi was clear that I need a partner, even if it’s all for show.
A knock at the front of the cottage gets me to my feet. “Watch over her, Hugo. And no flipping that water dish.”
I ease the bedroom door closed and pad on bare feet to the front door, where there’s a princess standing on my porch. This is going to take some getting used to.
Dark blue hair catches the dim afternoon light, rimmed with sparkling frost from her breath on the walk across the courtyard.
She looks as hesitant as I feel.
“You still want to do this?”
She nods, and I stand aside to let her in.
“I really appreciate this, but a betrothal, even fake—”
“Lark.”
“I would do anything to keep these kids together; you don't know what this means to me.”
“I’m agreeing, Lark. You can erase your hangdog frown because I’m saying yes.
Oh! Not—” Her eyes go wide. “Not yes like it was an actual proposal. Just… yes, I’ll pretend to help you with the sentry.
I mean, I won’t pretend to help. I—ah!” She exhales sharply, then groans.
“I will help you. Not pretend. That is…I’ll help by pretending. ”
I bite back a grin.
“Drowning Deep. Make the words stop.” She glares at the floor, the prettiest pink blush colouring her neck and cheeks.
I can’t help but laugh. “I understand you. At least, I’ll pretend to.”
“Hey, I’m trying to help here.” She swats at my shoulder, but at least she’s smiling now.
“And I’m grateful. Can I ask why, though? And don’t say it’s to apologize, because we’re all even there, especially after you broke that pipe clean off just so I’d get paid to fix it.”
She lifts her chin. “Yes. That is why I did that.”
Putting that smile on her face makes me warm inside, which I refuse to think too much about.
“No more apologies,” she says. “I’ve had enough of those.
Which is why I need to know what I’m doing from now on.
I really need this job, but I don’t have much experience.
I just—I don’t have anywhere else to go right now.
I’m, uh…figuring some things out. So I need to stop messing up before Daria sends me away. ”
“Well, let’s see… Experience serving hungry mouths?”
Val tilts her head.
“Check. Cleaning up after messy customers? Check. Kitchen know-how? Laundry? Using tools?” I continue ticking off fingers. “Check, check, and check. Looks like I’m your guy.”
She finally relaxes. “I figured you might know this practical stuff.” Instead of trying to explain a lifetime of luxury and palace life leading to this gap in knowledge, she simply shrugs. “I want to learn.”
And, huh? What do you know? I think I believe her.
For a princess, she’s awfully humble.
“I can definitely help. Plus, it’s good for me to put those skills to use around here. The last thing I need is a sentry turning up to find me lacking. There’s a lot I can’t offer these kids, but I have to keep us together. I can’t bear the idea of separating them.”
“Of course not,” she says immediately. “You’re great with them—from what I saw at breakfast the other day.”
I scoff. “If you call constantly messing up and having at least one of them upset with me ‘great,’ then sure, it’s great.”
Val’s smile is too understanding, and words come tumbling out of my mouth.
“I sometimes wonder if it would be better to let the youngest ones go with the sentries. Maybe their best chance isn't with me.”
The moment I say it, agony flares in my chest. I’ve never voiced the thought out loud before, have no idea why I did now. The idea of saying goodbye to Aili. To Eevi. Maybe even Helkki—
It’s just that no matter how much I do, it never feels like enough.
It’s their fault they got stuck with me. I never expected Frederik to die and leave me in charge. No one planned for the orphanage to be shut down. I was just the last option when it all fell apart, that’s all.
Val’s hand grips mine, steady and firm. “No way,” she says with an intensity that startles me.
“Why would you think that? It’s obvious how much you love them.
And what guarantee is there that they’d find that again?
” She shakes her head. “Besides, it’s clear to anyone with eyes that you’re a family.
Already, I’ve seen how much you do for them, Lark.
That’s what a family is supposed to be like. ”
I swallow hard. When was the last time someone stood up for me?
“Now,”—she puts a hand on my chest—“we’re doing this, right? Together?”
I nod, unable to find words with how she’s looking at me—with fire, with certainty, with something fierce and blazing.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice rough. “I think I really needed to hear that.”
“Good. Then reminding you will be my job while you teach me how to do my actual job.” Her hands slide out to my arms where she gives a gentle squeeze. It sends a strange, thrilling warmth through my middle. “After all, what’s a fiancée for?”
I smirk, feeling bold in our new closeness. “Oh, I’ve heard fiancées are good for quite a lot.”
Her gaze narrows. “Like teasing? Is flirting just your natural state, or are you avoiding work?”
“I’m deeply offended by that accusation.”
“I can tell. Should I go break some more things for you to fix?”
I feign contemplation. “That would be helpful. But are you sure you don’t just want to watch me work so you can stare at my ass some more? It is stage-worthy, after all.”
“Why do I get the sense you’re the incorrigible type?” She plants her hands on her hips. “Do we need a no-teasing rule? A no-flirting rule?”
“Hmm.” I tap my lips, then lean close so I can whisper in her ear. “You know, I never really learned to play by the rules.” At the hitch in her breath, I step away and head for the kitchen without looking back.
Not at the muddled expression on her face.
Not at the temptation curling between us.
Not at the sudden desire to lean in and kiss her.
That’s a whim that could lead me into trouble.
“Where is everyone?” she asks, following me in.
I must be imagining the breathy tremble in her voice, because when I turn to meet her gaze, she stands proud and innocent.
Regal. “Aili is playing with the kids staying at Hollyhock Cottage. The rest are in town so Mikael and Katja can scope out locations. The other three are probably distracting them.”
“Locations for what?”
“Our play. We’re an acting troupe. It’s how we make money when I don’t have helpful fake fiancées around to break things I can fix.”
“Funny.”
With my next breath, I let sincerity slip past my bravado. “Whatever your reasons for agreeing to help me, Val—thank you. For me, and for them.”
Ah, there’s that pretty blush again.
I pull the pot off the stove and hand the spoon to my apprentice. “Give that a stir so you can feel how thick it should be.”
A big stove dominates this corner of the room, its black surface seasoned with years of use.
The cottage kitchen is small but warm, the air thick with the scent of simmering milk and grain.
Bundles of dried herbs hang above the window, swaying slightly in the draft that seeps through the rough-hewn walls.
While she stirs, I pull a few items out of the cupboard, setting them on the wood countertops that wait to be dusted with flour for the next step of our cooking lesson.
I was right to start simple, a fact confirmed when my student didn’t know how to start the stovetop heating, or the right proportions of rice to water. It’s a skill so simple, I don’t even remember learning it myself, but it gave me a thrill to see her joy watching the water begin to boil.
“Congratulations,” I say. “You’ve made your first rice porridge.”
“That wasn’t too hard,” she says, “now that I can turn the stove on without burning the place down.”
“Yep, pretty simple. You can use any short-grain rice, but I like puurorissi. After it cooks, you simmer it with the milk until it reaches this consistency. From here, we can do a lot with it. You can serve it as a breakfast porridge with some berries, or cool it and add sugar and cinnamon to make rice pudding for dessert. But today, we’re going to use it as filling for Karelian pies. ”
Her eyes widen. Every Wilder Fae should know how to make Karelian pies, but I’m guessing she never learned.
“Tell me you’ve at least had Karelian pies.”
“Yes!” she says quickly. “We had them in the morning after every full moon. I just never made them myself.”
There’s no lie in the sentence, but I can hear all the unspoken bits underneath. I’m picturing a luxurious room with servants passing around overly fancy Karelian pies and other baked goods to well-dressed revellers who danced the night away. It’s a far cry from full moon nights for me.
I clear my throat and mind. “We’ll let this cool while we make the dough.” I nod toward the ingredients. “Start by measuring the rye flour.”
Her sleeves fall back as she reaches into the sack of flour.
She wears simple clothing, dyed in muted shades of brown and pale blue, more suited to a village girl than the silk-draped royal I was just picturing.
The tunic is slightly too large, likely borrowed or given to her by someone like Daria.
Even so, there’s an air of elegance in the way she moves, a careful precision and a foreign kind of grace.
She freezes as my thumb swipes across the red apple of her cheek. I moved without thinking.
“You had a little flour,” I tell her, my voice coming out raspy.
For a moment, I’m lost in the double image of her eyes—the sapphire blue of her illusion overlaying the deeper aubergine—with my hand still cupped on her cheek. Both versions of her are stunning.
Even in these simple clothes, doing something as mundane as cooking, she’s graceful and regal.
More than that, though, she’s been sincere with me, eager to learn.
She’s funny when she lets herself relax, especially when she surprises herself and her cheeks turn pink.
A quaint cottage kitchen is as dazzling as any palace with her laugh and effortless beauty to brighten it.
This is why I need to keep myself in check, remember that this is all pretend. Someone like her would never associate with someone like me in the real world, and daydreaming won’t change that.
Fortunately, Hugo’s warning snuffles sound down the hall before my body can get any other wrong ideas. “I, uh, should go get Eevi. You can mix the two flours and salt together while I’m gone.”
I flee from her unreadable expression, grateful to escape to the warm sleep-smell of the bedroom to compose myself.