Chapter 23 Cut Steel
Cut Steel
ELLA
I kiss a folded over tissue and a knock sounds at the door.
My mother’s secretary, dressed in the depressingly plain black cocktail dress we’ve seen dozens of times that allows her to move around royal events and provide her own brand of unobtrusive organization, dips a respectful nod as my sisters pass out of the room. She enters with a tiara-shaped box.
I release a frustrated breath. Didn’t I make it clear that I wasn’t going to wear one of her clunkers, just for a private party? “Is this from the queen?” I ask.
“No, ma’am,” she replies. “It arrived with a note.”
I finger the heavy stationary, sealed with the wax cipher of Neerheid van Heyden, lord of Lindenholm, and open it with hurried fingers. To my slight irritation, the penmanship of the handwritten note is flawless.
My mother wishes to lend this to you tonight. You can’t say no when I know how much you want it. —Marc.
I undo the latch and flip the top open. What I see makes me clutch Caroline’s arm and suck in a measure of air. “Is that what I think it is?”
Caroline’s rare smile peeps out. “I see a tiara, ma’am.”
Not a tiara. The tiara. Gold-plated cut steel in a dandelion motif on a bed of dark velvet. The one I offered to place on Jang Mi’s head when the words out of my mouth felt like a blade sliding over my skin.
“Will you be needing any assistance, ma’am?” Caroline asks, eyes speculative.
I nod and she scoops up the delicate metalwork, placing it on my hair.
I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of featherlight material resting on my curls, and when I open them again, I find my reflection.
The gold picks up the highlights in my hair and the added height makes me look like a character out of Forced Marriage of the Fairy Realms—a divine lawgiver, destined to save my people by forming an alliance with my worryingly irresistible enemy.
“Tell me if it’s straight,” I say, swallowing away the thickness in my throat.
Caroline adjusts the frame, and I decide that this is the most magical tiara that has ever existed. I love it, and it’s just a loaner.
Alma pops her head in. “Oof. That’s gorgeous on you. Is that the van Heyden tiara?”
“The good one. Is it time to head down?”
She holds her hand out and we join Freja and Clara in the hall. “Ready?”
Me and my sisters pause at the top of the staircase in an unbroken chain that seems to hum with feminine power. The menfolk turn at the sound of Clara’s laugh. Max, Oskar, Jacob, and—my heart kicks into an unsteady rhythm—Marc.
My gaze skitters away from the intensity of his stare, and I dimly register a fifth man leaning lazily against the doors, brooding darkly as we descend the stairs with Caroline trailing behind us. Noah. Probably totting up how much this is costing the Crown.
Jacob curses under his breath, grabs Alma’s hand, and peels off the wrong way with a shouted, “Happy birthday!” over his shoulder.
I wonder if they’ll ever make it to the party.
Max, strides after Clara when she laughingly slips past him, his long legs narrowing the distance.
Oskar meets Freja on the bottom step and puts his elbow out, bending his head to whisper into her ear.
Caroline follows in their wake, her posture unbending, and Noah frowns after her.
“The dress isn’t that bad,” I say, reading his expression. “It’s just that we’ve seen it a million times.”
Noah drags a deep breath into his lungs, gives me an absentminded glance, and crooks his arm. “Come along,” he says, “I’ll take you out.”
“Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm,” I answer, slipping my hand through his elbow.
Marc moves to my other side, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing mine as we walk, the slightest twining of our hands, his fingertips grazing my palm. My stomach tightens. He’s playing with fire in a hall full of reflective surfaces, and geometry is going to get us caught.
“Couldn’t find a date?” Noah speaks over my head, taunting his best friend. I slowly shift my arm, my heart in my throat, but Marc resists my effort to make space between us. For a brief moment, his fingers lace through mine, sending a shiver up my arm.
“Still living with your mother?” Marc grins.
“I have my own cottage,” Noah counters.
Marc places two fingers behind his ear, bending it forward. “On the grounds of where now?”
Marc catches my look in one of the mirrors, eyes blazing with how much he has kissed me this spring and how much kissing he still intends to do. He bumps his chin. “Later,” he mouths, moving forward to the party.
Eventually, the path narrows and Noah and I follow the row of torches to the lower gardens.
We’ve been lucky with the weather. The day is cloudless and warm enough for a garden party around a long stone swimming pool dating from the 18th century.
Spring-fed and wild, the pool contains frogs, newts, and all manner of slimy things.
Clusters of wildflowers, reeds, and marsh thistle provide a soft border against the cropped, velvety lawn, where ruthlessly-manicured trees dot the perimeter.
Lights crisscross high above the water, and the sun dances into the horizon, kisses it, and eventually sinks.
A more lavish event wouldn’t strike the right tone in the midst of Freja’s succession crisis, so there won’t be fireworks or dancing, but the party has a string quartet playing a succession of songs sampled on Pixy videos.
Wondering glances linger on the Dandelion Tiara, but I say it’s a loan from Amma.
Nothing to do with my mother’s dynastic matchmaking.
Princess Ella hasn’t swept Marc van Heyden off the market. I can almost hear the sighs of relief.
When the early stars begin to peep out, Oskar finds me talking with distant cousins. “Can we cut the Kindercakes?” he asks. “Freja is tired.”
“Have you tried giving her a canape?”
“Of course.” His lips twitch into almost a smile and I follow him back to a low dias where Freja stands before the monstrous cakes.
The old Sondish dessert is baked in the shape of a person and decorated with no regard to the night terrors it might give me. Mine has peppermint curls and a gown of black licorice, while Freja’s is filled with Pankedruss custard.
We call for silence, and the crowd gathers. Clara lights candles on each cake, and the crowd begins to sing—nothing bright and simple. The people of Sondmark salt every celebration with a heavy dose of Calvinism.
Welcome tomorrow, goodbye today
Last of the sunset flying away
The dark will unmake us, Then usher the dawn
Goodnight, my old self. A new self is born.
We blow our candles out and pose for a quick photograph. The softness of Freja’s cheek lingers on mine; our hands are tightly woven. There is no seeing into the future, but I taste the bittersweetness of unity, just for tonight.
When Freja and Oskar slip away, I mingle for two. The crowd thins, and I spot Marc standing on the other side of the pool. My eyes fasten on his suit, really lingering now that the light has fallen and my own expression isn’t so easily read. Is he wearing—
He tips his head. Come here.
Slowly enough that it doesn’t look too obvious, stopping to greet and laugh and kiss cheeks, I dance around to the other side.
“You look stupid hot,” I tell him. My eyes are trained on the pool, and Marc’s smile is slow and easy. “I didn’t realize—”
I have a thing for Intelligence Force, a kind of Seongan James Bond knock off, insanely better than the original IP.
The drama poster hangs in my closet and Marc must have seen it, given how often I’ve stuffed him in there lately.
In addition to the dead black suit, he’s wearing a sparkly brooch and a pair of aviators, achieving the perfect cosplay.
I doubt anyone else has noticed. Happy birthday to me.
“If you’re not careful,” he says, gaze arcing over my head like he’s checking the perimeter or preparing to neutralize a hostile target, “it’ll be obvious.”
“What obvious?” I ask, plucking two flutes of champagne and putting one into his hand. Now he’s got a weapon in the event someone needs to be stabbed in the shoulder.
“That you want to have your way with me.” I choke but he takes a smooth swallow.
I frown into my glass. “Can I call you Je Ha? Just for today?”
“You may not.”
I give a brisk nod. “Right. Best to keep the identity secret.”
“How’s the tiara?” He scuffs his shoe against the rough stones.
It’s only a loaner. It’s only a loaner.
“Any chance Amma wants to sell?” I ask, touching the delicate metal. “She hasn’t done me any favors, lending me this. Everything else is going to be second best.”
“You can visit the tiara whenever you want.”
I smile, but it hurts, right up under my ribs in a way that makes me want to dive into the pool and swim down, down, down until I emerge in some other timeline in some other land. In a Sondmark that never heard of Seong, as an Ella who never loved Marc.
“With my nose pressed up against the glass, fogging it up?” I laugh. “It’s not the same as being mine.”
Marc slides his hands into his pockets and I watch the play of muscles. “You don’t want a future that involves tiaras.”
“Right.” I blink in rapid succession. I’m leaving. I’m still leaving. Sooner or later.
The string quartet breaks into the national anthem, and Marc removes his sunglasses while the party stands at attention and sings. The assembly bows or curtsies as Mama and Père retire, making a show of unity as they walk hand in hand towards the old family apartment.
“Are things better there?” Marc asks, looking after them.
“That’s just a pretty picture,” I say. Warm lights dot the garden, and floating flowers are reflected in the dark waters of the pool. I smile and nod as guests begin to trickle away. “Are you going, too?”
“Should I?” he asks, his tone a lazy invitation. But I’m not about to drag him off to the shrubbery for a little light necking. There have been too many close calls.
I swallow. “You look tired.”
“You said I looked stupid hot.”
I grin. “With you it’s not mutually exclusive. Why are you tired?”
“Alix is making one of her passions my problem.”
I can hear the exhaustion in his voice as he holds the ragged ends of his responsibilities in too-few hands.
Everyday I expect him to say he’s too tired for me, but he brushes his fingertips over my cheek and I flinch against the temptation to lean into his touch. Who is watching? I don’t even know.
His hand drops and I wave to Lady Greta, getting caught in another round of farewells. When I find my way back to him, it’s just me and Marc and a moonlight garden.
“You need to get some rest,” I say, holding his hand in mine, wondering if we could melt into a dark shadow and I could steal a proper kiss before he goes.
He slips his arms around my waist. “I can’t leave yet,” he says.
“Oh.” My hand goes to my head. “You’re going to want your tiara back.”
Midnight comes for every princess. There’s no magic strong enough to stop pumpkins and field mice from assuming their natural form. I’ll go back to what I was, too. A restless girl looking for a way out of this mess.
“That’s not what I meant.” He bends down to where the edge of the pool turns into cattails and native grasses, plucks a large, near-perfect dandelion, and holds it between us.
“What’s this?” Our deal doesn’t include gifts and dates, but this is the first flower he has ever brought me. I take it between my fingers, careful not to disturb the trembling seeds. Dandelions don’t last. This isn’t something I can press into a book of remembrance, even.
“It’s a wish,” he says. “I want you to close your eyes and wish for the one thing you’ve wanted more than anything else your whole life.”
It’s a wonder he can’t feel my pulse through my skin.
In the darkness, I let my heart break wide open.
Dominanstid. He asked me what I want, and the answer waits like an unstable snowpack before the crack and collapse—the wrecking slide and the billow of ice.
I grip the delicate stem, and the wish forms before I grant it permission to exist. Give me Marc van Heyden and I’ll never ask for anything else.
I open my eyes, take a breath, and blow. The seeds fly in the cool air, glinting in the light like tiny flecks of silver.
Maybe this can turn into something real. Maybe I’ll kiss him really well. No matter how many commitments he’s made to his best friend and the Crown, he turns into pudding when I do that.
I take a breath.
“Ella—” He gets there first, his voice amused. “From the first time you ran away to Lindenholm, you wanted one thing.”
I nod. Yes. One thing.
“It’s probably a terrible idea—” he continues.
Gravity holds me with the lightest touch. No. It isn’t. It’s a very, very good idea.
“—but after everything you did for Seong, I wanted to find a way to make you happy.”
This is not the most romantic confession. Still, he’s a man, and allowances must be made. Making me happy is a good place to start.
He holds my face with his hands, pushing his thumbs over my skin. “So tonight…”
My heart beats loud in my ears.
He grins. “...we’re breaking you out of the palace.”