Chapter 11
I followed Adelaide through the doors of the glassblowing studio back out into the center of the artisans’ square.
The large courtyard was bordered by buildings housing workshops for many of Wexstone’s artists and makers.
Each shop sported a picture window that held an array of finished art pieces, giving passersby a glimpse into the artists’ minds and spaces.
Twinkle lights were strung between the copper signs above each door, and lampposts decorated with holly and pine cones led to a fountain in the center of the square.
The afternoon had been spent with Prince Oliver and the rest of the suitors, visiting a potter specializing in delicate porcelains followed by the country’s first all-female-run glassblowing studio.
At each workshop, Prince Oliver had introduced the artists, giving them an opportunity to share their work with us.
I was in heaven, although I tried to behave myself and not ask too many questions; I didn’t think that hogging the artists’ attention would make a great impression on anyone.
I had been in a daze as we filed out of the press conference and proceeded to a line of sleek black sedans. That last question from the gangly man from Pine Times—what was his name, Davies?—had likely been intended to throw me off my game and had struck its mark.
They know about Mom. And they tried reaching out to Dad? Fuck. I wasn’t even sure where my dad was living—definitely the last thing I needed anyone to know.
I was lost in thought, mulling over Prince Oliver’s defense of me back at the press conference, when Adelaide grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the backseat of one of the cars.
“Best to be in this together,” she whispered as we settled into the spacious bench seat.
The morning’s press conference and the afternoon outing had been an interesting chance to observe and feel out my fellow contestants. As we walked to our final stop, the woodcarving workshop, I lagged behind, watching the rest of the women.
Adelaide, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, chatted with Mellie, a short, lithe woman who wore her black hair in a pixie cut that accentuated her exquisite cheekbones and pale skin. She had approached me at the potter’s studio to thank me for speaking up for her at the press conference.
“Truthfully, I would have assumed that the rest of you would be glad to let me flounder there,” she admitted. “You know, with this being a competition and all.”
“We may be courting the same guy,” I answered, giving her a conspiratorial smile, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let some dickhole reporter get away with asking wildly inappropriate shit.”
Adelaide piped up from my other side. “Mellie, I’ve known this girl for less than twenty-four hours, but I can already tell she’s someone you want on your side.” She elbowed me playfully in the ribs.
“I can see that, and I’m glad to have some allies here. And please, call me Mel.”
“Allies indeed, Mel,” I had said, putting my arm around her shoulder. “Maybe we can all survive this circus unscathed together.”
Now, as my two new friends walked the pebbled pathway to the woodcarving shop, a blonde woman wearing a high-necked blouse and an ill-fitting skirt that fell past her knees bobbed along behind them.
She had introduced herself as Cora and was one of the bakers at the café and patisserie in town.
In the few minutes I had chatted with her, she seemed kind, if perhaps a bit starry-eyed.
I was afraid this competition would chew her up and spit her out.
In front of them strode Sabine, who Adelaide had told me was one of the country’s greatest environmental activists.
Apparently, she was also one of the country’s most talented floral designers and consulted on sustainable floristry around Europe.
The way she carried herself in her pencil dress, blazer, and mustard-yellow wedges, head of tight black curls held high, told me that she was used to navigating uncomfortable spaces.
I wasn’t sure if she was someone I would find an ally in, but I certainly knew I preferred to stay on her good side.
Renata strutted at the front of the group, flanked by her cronies Gemma and Ginny. According to Adelaide, they were cousins but acted more like twins.
“Renata fancies herself a businesswoman. She founded a makeup company, although it’s really one of those multi-level-marketing schemes.
She did it all with her daddy’s money, of course,” Adelaide had explained in the car, rolling her eyes.
I snorted. “Gemma and Ginny are a part of it. They’re at the top of the pyramid, just under Renata, and do pretty much anything she tells them to.
I’ve always wondered who they’d have become if they hadn’t been caught in her thrall when we were children. ”
I caught back up with Adelaide and Mel as we approached the woodcarving shop.
The building appeared humble at first glance, but closer inspection revealed intricate carvings of vines decorating the porch posts and railings.
The sign, which read “Lewellen Woodworkers,” was adorned with hand-carved berries and pine cones, while the front door featured windows edged in reliefs of pine trees and woodland creatures.
We filed through the front door into a room filled with spacious tables.
The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with paints of every color, every size of paintbrush imaginable, aprons, palettes, palette knives, and drying racks with art of every kind.
Opposite where we stood, a large door led to the back of the building.
We gathered in a semicircle around Prince Oliver, who now stood next to a gray-haired man in his sixties.
Knox, Vince, Cordell—the palace’s press secretary—–and a single black-clad security guard lingered near the door.
The rest of the security team was stationed outside, remaining somehow both present and inconspicuous.
“Ladies, allow me to introduce you to Darren Lewellen, owner of Lewellen Woodcarvers.” We applauded as Mr. Lewellen nodded to Prince Oliver and stepped forward.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He turned to us.
“My family has been involved in Wexstone’s lumber production for close to a hundred years.
My brother, Lord Collins Lewellen, continues that legacy while supporting conservation efforts.
” He inclined his head toward Sabine, who smiled and nodded back to him.
As he spoke, I remembered meeting Lord Lewellen and his wife, Lady Laurel, the night before. I would never have guessed that this man before me, so casually dressed in a worn flannel shirt and brown work boots, was the brother of the tuxedoed Lord Collins.
Mr. Lewellen continued, “As a boy, I learned the art of woodworking from my grandfather. My wife and I opened this space soon after we married, with the goal of training other woodworkers and nurturing artists of all types. From this building,” he gestured to the room around us and toward the back of the building, “we were eventually able to build out the rest of the artisans’ square.
This room still serves as an open space for aspiring artists to work while also providing our own woodcarvers a place to finish their pieces.
The back of the building houses our woodworking shop, where we produce everything from furniture to serving ware to decorative pieces. ”
Prince Oliver picked up where Mr. Lewellen left off.
“Each year, the palace hires one of Wexstone’s artisans to create a set of ornaments for our main Christmas tree.
This year, we have asked Mr. Lewellen and his carvers to do the honors.
At the end of the holiday season, the queen chooses her favorite ornament to add to our family’s personal collection, while the rest are sold to benefit a charity of the artist’s choosing. ”
Mr. Lewellen moved to a table near the edge of the room, picking up a large box and carrying it over.
“Our team has been working on our ornament collection for months, designing pieces that portray the natural beauty of our country.” He lifted out several ornaments, passing them around our group.
One was a relief carving of the night sky.
Another was shaped into a miniature pine tree, lacquered until it gleamed in the sunlight.
A third featured delicately painted holly berries.
While each one was wildly different, they were all stunning and would make for a beautiful Christmas tree.
Mr. Lewellen continued as we admired the ornaments, “We thought it would be fun to have all of you take part in this tradition.” His eyes glittered as he pulled a stack of small pine rounds out of the box.
“We fashioned some of our scraps into blank slates for each of you to paint and decorate as you like; the finished pieces will join our collection on the palace tree. As you can see, we have a large stock of supplies here for you to work with. I invite you to take an ornament, get creative, and have some fun. Remember, there are no rules and you’re limited only by your imagination. ”
I glanced at the women around me. Cora had an eager look on her face. Sabine’s expression remained unchanged, although I spotted a gleam of pleasure in her eyes. Renata and the cousins looked like they would rather be anywhere else but here.
We each took an ornament from Mr. Lewellen and made our way to the tables.
I took my time perusing the paints, trying to decide what I would paint on my ornament.
I was an artist at heart, and this felt familiar, like home.
By the time I gathered my supplies, there was only one spot left at the end of one of the worktables.
I set to work, sketching out an outline and mixing colors together.
“May I join you?”
I started. Prince Oliver was standing in front of me, looking slightly sheepish, an ornament in one hand, a few paintbrushes in the other. I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head.