Chapter Four
Astrid
My lady’s maid crosses her arms and shakes her head at me as she takes in my disheveled appearance. “How did you get so many paw prints on one dress?” she asks, gesturing at the front of my outfit.
I shrug. “Labradors.”
Anya throws me a knowing smile. She’s well aware that I absolutely adore all animals, and dogs most of all.
Golden retrievers have long been my all-time favorite, followed closely by Labradors.
Papa says it’s because I’m a golden retriever myself: always happy and excited about life.
I don’t mind. Golden retrievers are joyful creatures, and I’d be proud to be counted among their ranks.
“We’ve got that pale yellow dress you could wear.” Anya’s voice is muffled as she rummages through my suitcases. “Or this pink one.” She holds up two dresses for inspection.
“Definitely the yellow one. I feel like a marshmallow in the pink, and not in a good way.” I peel off my dress and discard it on the very large, very grand bed.
She shoots me a quizzical look. “What’s a good way to feel like a marshmallow, exactly?”
“You know, the fun kind. All gooey and soft and sweet”
She gives me an indulgent smile.
I toy with the material of my dress. “So, I saw him.”
“Who?” she asks absentmindedly as she begins unbuttoning the yellow dress.
“Who do you think? The Dalai Lama? Prince Frederic, of course.”
That gets her attention. “And?”
“And he’s exactly the way he was last time, only maybe a little more judgmental.”
She pulls her brows together. “Judgmental how?”
“Well, I’d sort of got lost on purpose, found the palace dogs, set them free, and together we wandered into a glasshouse where we sat on the floor and played.”
“Astrid,” she scolds, sounding just like Mama.
Anya may be the same age as me, but she’s a great deal more mature in pretty much every way that counts, as she loves to point out any chance she gets. I don’t begrudge her because it’s completely true.
“They were just so lovely and I’m so excited to know that I’m going to live in a palace with an entire pack of Labs. You know how much I love animals.”
“Yes, but you’re not here to meet dogs. You’re here to meet your future husband and parents-in-law. Do I need to remind you of that?” She holds out the dress for me and I slip it on before she begins the task of buttoning the long line of cloth buttons up my back.
“I know Frederic was a little surprised to find me cross-legged on the floor. He seemed quite concerned that I wasn’t wearing my shoes.”
“You took your shoes off as well?”
“Of course I did. It’s so hot here! They were pinching.” I turn to look at myself in the mirror. It’s a pretty dress, but it is rather plain.
Anya peers over my shoulder. “Perhaps we could add a necklace. Zhuzh it up a bit?”
“Pearls are probably the way to go. The ones Mama gave me before I left home. Oh, and maybe a tiara?” I add, hopeful.
“Now you’re just being silly. You can wear one tonight at the state dinner to welcome you.”
She pulls out a row of luminous pearls and clips it around my neck. I loosen my hair from what’s left of my up-do and brush it out.
“That’ll have to do, I suppose.” I touch the pearls at my neck. “You know, I’ve never worn a string of pearls in my life.”
“You’ve never been about to get engaged to a prince in your life either.”
My belly does a flip. The Prince made it abundantly clear that he wasn't impressed by me today.
“Did he propose?”
“Of course he didn’t. He was too busy telling me what a mess I looked.”
Anya presses her lips together, her eyes bright. “Shoes.”
I lift a foot in her direction, “What’s wrong with these?”
“You need the yellow matching ones.” Her voice is muffled as she rummages in one of my trunks. Princesses don’t travel light you know, not even in the 90s. “Here.” She holds a pair of heels aloft, and I dutifully kick off my current torture devices and replace them with a new set.
“Can’t I wear sneakers? Or wellies!”
“Not to meet your future parents-in-law.”
I turn back to the mirror and inspect my image. With my blonde hair and yellow dress and matching shoes I look like the very embodiment of sunshine.
Either that or a muppet.
“Can I ask you a candid question, Asti?”
I turn to face her. “When do you ever not?”
“Why Prince Frederic?”
I chew on my lip. “I suppose I saw it as a rather grand adventure. Something new and exciting.”
“But isn’t it rather extreme? You’ve come to another country to marry a man you’ve met a grand total of twice in your life.”
“Three times now.”
“That’s not a lot of time to get to know someone.”
I shrug, my belly filling up with bees. “I have a feeling,” I say tentatively.
Anya looks at me as though I’ve gone quite mad. And who knows? Perhaps I have. Who changes their entire life because they want adventure, because they have an inkling everything will work out the way they hope?
“A feeling?”
“Look, I know everyone says I’m ridiculously optimistic, and they’re right. I am. I always try to see the best in everybody. Sure, Prince Frederic isn’t exactly the easiest of people, but I feel like there’s something else to him. Something more. And I have a feeling I’m going to like what I find.”
She studies me for a long beat. “All right.”
“All right?”
“I wish you luck.”
I press my lips together. “I think I might need luck. The look on his face told me he thinks I’m not all that wonderful.”
“How could he not? You are wonderful, and he’ll know it before too long. I guarantee it.”
There’s a soft knock at the door, and Anya and I lock eyes. My heart leaps.
“This is it,” she whispers. “Good luck, Asti.”
“Thanks.”
I make my way into the living room. I take a deep breath and pad over to the door. I pause for a beat, bracing myself. My future husband is on the other side of it, here to take me to meet his parents, and I need to make a good impression on them all.
I pull open the door and come face to face with Frederic. His shirt still looks as though it’s been freshly ironed, despite the fact that he’s probably been in it for hours, his tie is perfectly placed, and not a single hair is out of place.
How does he do that? I’m a mess within five seconds of getting dressed.
“Princess Astrid, you look—” he begins and then, just as he did in the glasshouse, his eyes sweep over me and I feel a tingle in my belly. His lips pull into a thin, unreadable line, and my stomach drops.
Oh no. My outfit must be all kinds of wrong.
“I can change,” I say hurriedly.
“There’s no time for that,” he replies. “My parents have already had to reorganise a few things this afternoon after the mishap earlier. We should go.”
I close the door behind me, wishing with every fiber of my being that I were wearing anything but this yellow dress. Suddenly the pearls feel like they’re choking me, and the dress feels too bright, too plain. Too wrong.
We move down the long hallway in silence. His posture is stiff, every stride is measured and princely. Mine? I’m practically trotting beside him, my heels clicking frantically to keep up with his long-legged stride. He must be at least six foot, and I’m only five foot three.
“So,” I begin. Someone needs to break this silence that’s making me completely jittery. “Do your parents know about the glasshouse and the dogs?”
“They know.”
I swear there’s a hint of something in his voice. Is it amusement? Resignation? A combination of both?
“Right. Well. That’s good, I suppose. Transparency and all that.”
His jaw tightens, and I notice once more that it’s a very good jaw.
Defined, strong, chiseled. The kind of jaw that would benefit from the lightest smattering of stubble.
He could look like a brunette Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing if he put his mind to it.
Not that I can imagine Prince Frederic would want to resemble anything as trite as a movie star. Far too serious for that.
We fall into silence once more, and I force myself to focus on the portraits lining the gallery as we make our way to the Blue Drawing Room.
“Do you think they’re judging us?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Your ancestors.” I gesture at an entire line of stern, oil-painted monarchs. “Their eyes seem to follow us. Do you think they’re looking at us and saying, ‘They’re entering an arranged marriage and they barely know each other’?”
He looks at me as though I’ve told him the sky is green. “They’re portraits, Princess Astrid. They’re not real people. Not anymore, anyway. Any judgment they ever took is well and truly over.”
Of course he had to take me literally. He missed my point entirely. I was wondering if he thought his ancestors would approve of us. I’ll just have to be more direct next time.
“To me, it looks like they have opinions,” I persist, trying to make light.
Frederic doesn’t respond.
“So, what are your parents like?” I ask, shifting gears. Maybe I’ll have better luck talking about his living family than his ancestors’ opinions from beyond the grave. “I barely remember them from when I visited here as a child.”
“My parents are firm but fair,” he replies.
Firm but fair. They sound like a barrel of laughs.
We come to a stop outside a set of tall double doors.
“We’re here,” he pronounces.
The tiny flutter of nerves I’d been feeling detonates into full-on panic. He places his hand on the door knob, ready to push the door open, when I grip his sleeve. His eyes dart to mine, his hand frozen in place.
“The dress. It’s no good, is it? It’s too…yellow,” I say urgently.
“As I said, it’s perfectly fine.”
My heart drops. “Perfectly fine?”
“I mean you look nice.” He clears his throat before adding, “You look pretty.”
I blink at him in utter shock. Did the marble statue really just call me pretty?