24. Narrow Divide
24
Narrow Divide
ALMA
A seam of frigid air leaks around the window, stirring the valance. It should be a relief after the overheated flat, but it sharpens my senses, making it impossible to escape from an awareness of Jacob, standing over me in the dark.
Vede. The pretense of my engagement was a thick wall, reminding me of my position and dignity, keeping me from crossing boundaries and throwing myself at this man. Some days it was the only thing. Now that it’s gone, we stare at one other across a narrow divide.
A song in Freja’s flat ends, and another one begins—passionate and slow and Pavian. I need bracing Sondish clarity at this time of night. A rowdy polka to make us laugh.
My eyes meet Jacob’s, and I brace myself for what’s coming. Every trace of the crown prince I’ve taught him to be has vanished, replaced by something wild and untamed that has been there all along.
“You knew,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You knew I wanted you.”
I sway on my feet. I was ready to be called a liar. I wasn’t ready for this.
Deep grooves bracket his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me about Pietor?”
I could never be afraid of him, but I’m terrified of this talk. Terrified that he’ll see what I feel. Terrified of how many people I would disappoint and how many problems it would cause. Terrified of how far this might go.
Maybe Jacob doesn’t see how far, but I do. It’s not too late to go back to what we were before. I shake my head, “You didn’t need to know.”
“Alma,” he growls, like the roar of Ulek the bear. “Don’t pretend with me.”
I dig through a collection of set expressions and practiced phrases, praying for one which will send him back to the party feeling like he had it wrong but that I haven’t wronged him.
The longer I search, the more frantic I become. Wearing my royal persona used to be as easy as a knight in his armor, but I feel the clang and pinch of each piece as it’s unbuckled and cast aside. When Jacob is around, the heaviness of chain mail is lifted from my shoulders, and I am vulnerable.
The thought sends a shaft of panic through me. “That’s a personal question.”
Jacob’s face is stern and unbending. He narrows the distance between us. “Are you engaged?”
I swallow a knot in my throat, and press my palms flat against the door at my back. “What does the news say?”
The air shifts. I train my eyes on the tiny dots in his tie, and his voice drops as he braces his hands on either side of my head, looking at me straight on. “What’s the truth?”
There isn’t enough room between us for evasion.
I run my tongue over dry, unsteady lips, and music from the flat weaves through my veins. He’s so close and he smells so good and I’m so tired of running. I lift my eyes, dismantling the last of my defenses. “I broke it off at Christmas. When—”
In a heartbeat, the distance between us vanishes. His mouth is on mine, hot, hungry, and demanding a response. I kiss him back, crushing rich wool suiting in my fists, and working my way closer as a not insignificant number of my brain cells go up in flames.
Finally. Finally .
Cradled between a door and a future king, I can’t slow my pace. Jacob brushes his fingers along my neck, thumb resting in the hollow behind my ear, fitting me to him piece by piece. With every kiss, we mend the damage I caused by a lifetime of living like a miser, doling out affection one thin penny at a time.
His arm circles my waist, pulling me up to my toes, and his chest rises and falls under my hands. I feel every broken breath and some distant voice—some distant Alma—tells me it’s too soon. That’s what they’ll say if anyone ever finds out about this. They’ll say Jacob is a rebound.
I sigh against his lips.
There isn’t room for a crowd of judgmental strangers—not my mother, her prime minister, or members of esteemed financial institutions—on this tiny landing. Just us.
He lifts his head, and I wait for second thoughts to run up on me like a tide. But I dance away, out of their reach, pulling his head down, kissing him, breathing in his scent again.
“Alma.” His voice is husky. He sags against the door, and when he straightens his hands band my wrists. He pulls away, settling against the far wall, a tuck in his cheek.
I walk into his arms because creating distance is stupid when we don’t have to. I can’t think—I don’t want to think—but I know I belong there. He folds me close and strokes my back with a shaking hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.
I look up. “No one was supposed to know. Just family.”
His cold fingers trace a path down the back of my arm, and I shiver. He rests his cheek on my hair. “Couldn’t you see—”
“I didn’t think it would matter,” I say.
He gives my shoulders a light shake. It matters.
“You were going back to Vorburg. You weren’t supposed to be”—I search for a word—“ you .”
“You weren’t supposed to be you, either,” he laughs. Jacob lowers his head, mouth sinking against mine for a quick kiss. This is why he had to know. Because we’ve wanted to do this for weeks. Because every time he looks at me, I see it, and every time I look at him, I am undone.
He lifts his head a fraction and rubs the back of his hand against my cheek. “I deserved to know you weren’t engaged.”
My brain cells are fighting for their lives. “Pietor and I are still engaged as far as The Holy Pelican and PAPZ and Sondmark Sports Fishing Monthly knows. We have to be.”
His hand checks and his eyes blaze. “The hell you do.”
As much as I want to stay here, he has to understand. As I step out of his arms, the cold night air beyond the glass envelops me, and I shiver.
“We have to be officially engaged for a few more months while Sondmark and Himmelstein wrap up trade negotiations with Vorburg. Everything is in a delicate position, and there are a million ways to cause offense or be caught up in a news cycle.” I reach for his hand, willing him to understand. “Even the smallest things can put the negotiations in jeopardy.”
“Smallest things?” The line of his mouth is grim, and he gives our handclasp a light swing.
Does he imagine that I think this is small? Admitting to myself that I want this man is a rebellion. Admitting it to him is a revolution. There isn’t anything small about it, but he steps away, bracing himself against the stair railing.
“Where does that leave us?”
I shiver again, feeling all the frustration of running on a treadmill, flying over ground but never going anywhere. I look around the landing—at the ‘No exit’ sign over our heads, glowing green. “I’m right where I want to be.”
He looks up. “In a dimly lit hall where we have to worry about someone coming through the door or up the stairs?”
This spot of ground has been heaven. “For now.”
Jacob takes a deep breath. He touches my face with a gentle hand, and I sway toward his arms.
“No.” The word is firm, unequivocal.
I drop to my heels with a thud. “Pardon?”
“You can let everyone think you’re engaged. That’s your choice. You have your reasons, maybe, but I’m not fifteen.” His eyes are sad but he speaks too clearly to be misunderstood. “I don’t sneak.”
I flinch at the word. What does he expect of me? “This isn’t sneaking. This is discretion.”
I hear a scrape, and he turns his head quickly. I pull myself together, and run a thumb across my lips, hoping the kisses don’t show, reaching for an excuse. I needed air. It’s cooler here. We’re discussing the state visit. Anything to ward off suspicion.
Jacob exhales—abrupt, jagged—and looks down. He swings his shoe, and I hear the source of the sound. When he looks at me, his smile is apologetic, but there is heartbreak in his eyes. He reaches for me, touches a spot on my neck, and my pulse jumps raggedly under his thumb. His hand slips down my arm, catching mine. “This is sneaking.”
“My sister,” I say, tipping my chin toward the flat, “ran off to get married. I’m happy for her, but her right to the succession is being debated within government circles already.” If he can’t understand, it’s because he’s new at being royal. He’s never had every action devoured by the public and picked clean. I have to make him see.
“My other sister has embarked on the unprecedented action of taking a member of the press to court because her private life was treated like clickbait. My family has sacrificed and bled for Sondmark for eight hundred years, Jacob. I can’t just—”
“I know.” He grips my hand like he’ll never let it go. “I know. I don’t have an eight-hundred-year-old reason.”
“Then why?” I’m afraid of the answer, and I feel like I did when I was a child, crushing a rocking horse under my careless step. Like I should have known better. My voice is raw, vulnerable in a way I don’t let anyone see. “Did I misread this? Is it nothing to you?”
He gathers my hands together, holding them between his, the answer as soft as midnight. “I spent my life being someone my father had to hide.” He’s not fighting. I almost wish he was. “I want this—all of it—but I can’t be your secret.”
I register the words and my eyes sting. I don’t tell myself fairy tales. The responsibilities I feel for my family and my country are in direct conflict with his needs. No number of suspicious beans, magical godmothers, or anthropomorphic mice are going to make them disappear.
The chill off the window makes my teeth clench.
“We have to get back to the party,” he says, voice gentle.
I blink. I’m supposed to have the right answers for every problem, but I don’t know what to do now except follow his lead.
We return to the flat and meet Freja pacing the hall. Jacob gives her a brisk nod as he passes, but she catches my arm.
Her brows are drawn in worry. “I’m so sorry. You have to forgive me. You’re together all the time, and I saw how friendly you were with each other. I thought he was someone you trusted.”
I look into my sweet sister’s face and hate her just a little bit. I hate her for not seeing that he’s more to me than that. I hate that I’m hiding it so well. I hate that she managed to carry off a whole flamen wedding without telling the people who love her best. I know she knows how to keep her mouth shut. “You should get back to your guests,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
But I stand on the edge of the party, watching Noah in a game of “Spicy Pepper” with some of Oskar’s cousins, Ella in deep conversation with a man introduced as Uncle Timo, Max and Clara leaning against the bookshelves whispering, Freja and Oskar ignoring everyone as they sway to the music, and my parents presenting a polite face to the world. These are my people, but for the first time in my life, I want to scooch my chair over and add one more seat to this tight circle.
What I feel for Jacob is not nothing.