22. Chapter 22
Michaela
I shuddered again as I thought about dinner. Fish head soup. I gagged the second they put it in front of me. Dahlia held my bedroom door open for me. “I can see if there’s more bread, milady. I hate the idea of you going to bed without food.”
She’d told me at least eight times how crazy she thought I was not to eat the soup. Apparently, it was the chef’s specialty. I didn’t care if it was the queen’s favorite and guzzling it down would win her approval. It smelled like a fish tank that needed cleaning. Or maybe a sewer.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I’m not sure I’ll ever eat again.”
She eyed me, unsure if I was being serious or not. Sarcasm and hyperbole were lost on her.
“Would you like me to set out your nightclothes?”
“No,” I pressed my lips together and walked to the window, “I can manage it.” The moon rested high in the night’s sky, casting an ethereal glow over the snowy blanket that covered the grounds. They always ate late in the palace, or at least the rest of us did. It had to be near nine. The producers had asked us to stay late, recording confessionals and soundbites. The rest of them acted like it was an adventure, but maybe I’d seen enough reality TV to know they could twist our words to fit whatever narrative they wanted. I didn’t think it would matter for me, after all, I’d never land the final cut. To my surprise, Tom insisted on a few thoughts from my side.
I chewed on the inside of my lip, worried I might not have gotten it right. Hurting Fitz wasn’t on my agenda, and I chose my words carefully, keeping them generic. But it might not matter in the end.
“You can call it a night, Dahlia.” I couldn’t pull my stare away from the window, mesmerized by the flakes that still fell. Triggered by the chill, my mind swept back to that morning. I hadn’t seen Fitz all day, not since we’d come back. I even tried the passageway earlier, but his room was empty. I kicked myself for being impulsive.
“Yes, milady.” Dahlia curtsied and walked toward the door. “His Highness is going to spend time with Minny, I think that’s what you call her, so you don’t have to wake up early. I know how you despise mornings.”
I almost smiled at the thought but knowing what I had planned with Bishop weighed on my mind. We’d overheard some sinister plot, and I had to be there to know what the queen was planning. But as midnight loomed closer, my bravery faded.
A knock thudded against the door, finally breaking my focus away from the snowscape outside. Dahlia covered the distance quickly and pulled back the door. A deep voice rumbled, but I couldn’t understand his words, too hushed and careful to betray the content. Dahlia said a few words, gave a short curtsy and closed the door.
“Milady,” she held up a small envelope, “you have a message from Prince Leonidas. Reginald said he tried earlier, but you were at dinner and then with the recording team when he tried again. He said he was moments away from abandoning the mission entirely.” Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. “Maybe the prince changed his mind about the date in the morning. Maybe he’s selecting you after all.”
Considering my secret mission in Nolcovia, I doubted that deeply, but my mind still raced ahead like a schoolgirl with a crush. My finger hooked into the seal and popped it open. Inside, my fingers gripped a small card and pulled it free.
At your earliest convenience.
The words were written below the embossed shape of a frog. To the left of the frog, he’d drawn three quick lines stacked on each other. Of course, he had to be vague. For whatever reason, our friendship was forbidden within the walls of the palace. Keeping it hidden had become a hobby of his.
Dahlia stared at the card from over my shoulder. “What does that mean?”
I pushed the card back into the envelope, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know. I was hoping it was some cultural thing you could explain.”
She pulled a face. “No. I’m sorry, milady. I can ask the other maids if you’d like.”
“That’s okay.” I set my hand to her back to urge her to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I waited near the door after her exit, worried she might come back in with a new thought. It wasn’t unlike Dahlia to remember something and burst back inside. After two minutes had passed without interruption, I flipped the lock on the door and quickly changed into a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie. I hadn’t decided if I was going to meet Bishop or not, but if I did, I needed to be ready. I pulled out the card again and studied the message. The words made total sense if you knew that sliding the bronze frog on the bookshelf would open the secret passageway.
He couldn’t say it outright, but Fitz needed to see me. How long had Fitz been waiting while I dealt with bobbing fish heads and confessionals that meant nothing? I set my grip over the frog and shifted it hard to the right. The familiar click snapped into place and the hinges gave way. I snagged my small flashlight and slipped inside. To protect his family’s secret, I pulled the bookcase closed and latched the lock into place. Drawing in a deep breath to steady my nerves, I turned around.
“Took you long enough.”
I nearly hit the ceiling. If I hadn’t been so terrified that I couldn’t breathe, I would have screamed loud enough to wake the dead. My hand smashed against my chest as I tried to right my breathing.
“Dang it, Fitz! You could have killed me.” I smacked his arm repeatedly as he shied away. “You don’t sneak up on girls in secret hallways, don’t you know that?”
He caught one wrist and then the other in case I planned to switch. “There’s a law against beating royalty, don’t you know that ?” Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss his wicked grin. “And it’s up to the royal victim to decide the punishment, so play nice before I give my ruling.”
“You,” I narrowed my eyes to look serious, “are entirely too entitled in this country.”
“That may be true, but it has its benefits, trust me.” Without adjusting his grip, he pulled me a couple steps closer, reminding me that we were alone in a very dark tunnel, far away from prying eyes and cameras that watched every move. He was a guy, and I was a girl, and only a matter of hours ago we’d nearly…
“Are you hungry?” His question brought me out of my thoughts. “Have you eaten?”
Thinking of that soup was better than any cold shower. Talk about a great way to kill the mood.
“No, it was fish head soup, which, by the way, I didn’t know existed until now.” I made a gagging sound and a grin curved over his cheeks until it danced in his eyes as well.
“It was that bad, huh?”
“It had eyes, Fitz.” I scrunched my nose. “It was watching me.”
“Nothing like judgmental food.” His teeth caught the edge of his lip. “I hate it too.”
“Well, every single one of your prospects gobbled it right down.” I shuddered, remembering how Dagny had named hers first.
“You didn’t.”
“Yeah, but I’m not…” my voice trailed off as his eyebrows came up, daring me to finish that sentence.
His thumb rubbed the interior of my wrist, reminding me that he still held both of my arms. “Do you know what I want, Coco?”
That’s the thing about foreign countries, because one second, I thought I knew what a word meant, like mad . But here in Nolcovia, it didn’t mean ticked off, it meant crazy. And staring into his eyes, I knew what that look meant in America. I had experience with that heated stare that led to racing pulses and gasps of breaths between fervid kisses, but for all I knew, in Nolcovia, it meant something else entirely.
“What?” The mousy whisper barely carried between us. “What do you want, Fitz?”
His eyes roamed over my face, memorizing every angle and curve like it was the last time he would ever see me. Slowly, his smile deepened as if he had a secret he couldn’t wait to share. I watched his lips, waiting for him to say the words.
“I want,” his gaze dipped to my lips before he gave his answer, “your mother’s pancakes.”
Huh? Of all the random…
“Don’t you have pancakes here?” What kind of backward countries didn’t have pancakes? The kind who made soup from garbage like fish heads, that’s who. Blech!
“The cooks make a version, but it doesn’t compare to your mother’s recipe.” He shifted another step closer, melting my reservations. “Do you know it?”
“Um...” Why was it so hard to think straight? “Yes, I have it memorized, but how will we…” I didn’t finish because Fitz had already started walking, one of my wrists still in his grasp.
“The kitchen, of course.” He nodded to the walls of the tunnel as we moved. “I can get anywhere in the palace using these passages. I was a regular menace as a lad. Turning up here, disappearing there, always at the stables when I wasn’t supposed to be. It drove my governess positively bonkers, but she never figured it out.”
He took a turn I hadn’t noticed when I traveled to his bedroom. The tunnel angled downward and veered right. My small flashlight didn’t cast much of a glow, but with Fitz’s lantern, the collection of tunnels became impossible to miss. Small signs had been carved into wooden tablets at the start of each new offshoot. We passed the one marked ‘stables’ and then another marked ‘ballroom.’ As we took another turn, Fitz turned back and put his finger to his lips, asking for silence without a word. His grip lessened on my wrist, but instead of letting go, he laced our fingers together and slowed his step, careful not to make a sound. We continued that way for at least three minutes, carefully picking out the path without creating noise. He slowed once more as we approached a door. His grip tightened on my hand, like a message that this was the lynchpin, the one place where everything could go wrong. As we approached the sign on the door, it made sense.
King’s Chamber
I had to agree. Waking his parents sounded like the worst idea of all. I held my breath as we put space between us and the ticking parental bomb we were trying to avoid. Once we were in the clear, his pace increased until we finally ended in front of a wooden door.
“A moment, if you please.” He broke his grip in order to press both hands against the door. Exerting force, the hinges gave way, allowing a splinter of light to enter the passageway. Fitz pushed enough that he could fit his head through, much like a gopher looking for any predators before he popped out of a hole. Satisfied, Fitz motioned for me to follow him. We stepped out of the passageway onto the black and white tiles of the kitchen.
I don’t know what I expected, but considering it was supposed to be the palace kitchen, I expected something… better? Exposed brick framed in the walls, while white cabinetry lined the perimeter of the cozy space. One oven, one stove, one sink… and no fish smell.
As if reading my mind, Fitz grinned. “It’s the staff kitchen, not the royal kitchen.”
I nodded slowly, running my finger over the wooden countertop. “And you chose here because?”
“Because the royal kitchen is stuffy and snobbish,” he walked toward me from the opposite direction, deliberate in every step, “and I prefer this. It’s,” Fitz stopped in front of me, but his finger trailed over the top of my hand, tender in every touch, “cozy and warm.”
My skin tingled at his touch, not just the hand where his finger traced the space between freckles like an astronomer mapping the stars, but all of me, as if he knew how to flip the switch just being close to me.
“How about those pancakes?” Did I sound desperate? Like any longer and I wouldn’t know what to do. The line between us had always been clearly identified, a boundary that kept our friendship from going any further. And yet, from the first minute I saw him again, that line had blurred a little more each day until I couldn’t find it anymore.
Stranger still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“I’ll get the flour and eggs.” His fingers trailed from my skin, no part of him saying that this was over. If anything, he found my reaction amusing.
“Milk too, and butter if you can find it.” I glanced around the small kitchen and chewed on the inside of my lip. Fitz pulled open the refrigerator door and started retrieving the supplies I’d listed. “Are we going to get in trouble being in here?”
“You keep forgetting,” he leaned back far enough to see around the door, “I am the Crown Prince.” Fitz’s grin turned into a nervous frown, but it was all for show. “I don’t really get in trouble.”
“See?” I pulled a wooden spoon from the silver jar on the counter. “Entitled. If I was the chef and this was my kitchen, I’d wallop you with a wooden spoon for making a mess.”
The fridge fell shut again, leaving just Fitz with his arms full of supplies. “Is that a promise?”
I groaned. “Fitz…”
“Kidding… kidding.” He set the supplies on the counter. “Bowls are just there, in the cabinet where you’re standing. Flour and sugar, yes?”
“And baking powder, baking soda, and vinegar.”
He nodded, as if taking it all seriously for the first time. After retrieving a bowl, right where he said it would be, I organized what I needed. I went to work first, souring the milk with vinegar to make buttermilk. As it rested, I worked on the rest of the ingredients. Fitz stood by, watching, but ready to help whenever I needed him.
With the dry ingredients measured, I made a well in the center of the bowl and cracked the eggs. One by one they dropped. The buttermilk flooded the well next, joined by oil and melted butter. I glanced up, feeling his stare. Unashamed, he matched my gaze, unwavering.
“What?” I asked, heart pounding in my chest.
Fitz shook it off as if it was nothing. “I like watching you cook. You’ve improved a great deal.”
“I’ve lived on my own for years.” Gripping the bowl, I started mixing the batter. “I couldn’t rely on Mom anymore.”
He broke off his stare, looking away. “I’ve never really lived without my parents as my safety net. I suppose I’m about to learn firsthand what you’ve felt in your father’s absence all these years.”
Words wouldn’t come right away. I knew from personal experience that nothing could improve the pain that came from losing someone you loved that much. “He’s not gone yet, Fitz. There’s still hope.”
“And I keep clinging.” He laughed but not because it was funny. “I feel so ungrateful. At least I’ve had time to say goodbye. That’s more than you ever had. One day he was there, and the next…”
That car accident had stolen him from us, but I didn’t envy Fitz’s position either.
“There’s no easy way to lose someone, Fitz.” I left the batter on the counter to turn and check the griddle he’d set up on the stove. “It’s going to hurt no matter what, but that means that the person you lost was important. And they were loved.”
Silence grew and expanded between us as I prepped the griddle and started pouring the pancakes into grids of small circles. After a minute, Fitz made his way around the counter to lean against the wall near me.
“It’s surprising, you know that?”
He made transitions from one topic to the next like a stunt driver jumping bridges. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” He motioned between us. “Us.”
My mouth went dry as I tried to formulate words. Was he… What… When he said us… did he mean…
“Us,” he said again with more emphasis. “We’ve talked through letters for years, but I have to admit, a part of me thought I was out of my mind to ask you to come. After more than a decade, I doubted our ability to conduct a conversation in real life. After all, the last time we spoke, we were teenagers, and yet here we are, no transition, no awkwardness, just Fitz and Coco, at it again.”
Bubbles appeared in the pancakes, and I took my cue to flip them. “I mean, it hasn’t been totally perfect. I’ve upset you more than once in the last week.”
Fitz scoffed. “That’s not new, Coco. You’ve done that for years, even in writing, I assure you.” He eased closer. “I guess, I’m trying to explain something, but as usual I’m mucking it up.”
His hand followed the curve of my waist, dragging slowly as he cut the space between us in half. Heat radiated from his frame, challenging even the warm glow of the griddle.
“I don’t think you are.” I rarely thought about our height difference, but with him nearly against me, it became hard to ignore. If I tipped my head up, and he tilted his head down, we would be almost perfectly distanced to…
“If I am…” his eyes searched my face for objections, “you should say something, because I’m likely to keep going.”
We weren’t talking about how well we’d come back together anymore. This was about chemistry, about our connection that had grown in new ways since we’d reunited. His featherlight touch slipped over my jaw, cradling it as he brushed flour from my cheek with his thumb.
“Why can’t I feel this with any of them?” Fitz shook his head as if answering his own question with confusion he couldn’t escape. “Why don’t they light me up and leave me aching like you do? Why must fate be so cruel?”
“I—” I didn’t have an answer. What was I going to say? There weren’t words because words wouldn’t say what either of us were feeling.
“They’re burning,” Fitz whispered, jarring me from the spell that kept me hostage.
“Um, yes, sorry.” I swallowed hard and started stacking pancakes on each other. “Will you get me a plate?”
While he went to find one, I poured more batter onto the griddle, working quickly as if I could somehow outrun whatever had transpired only moments ago. He set the plate on the counter next to me but didn’t return to the same place. Instead, he leaned against the wall, content to watch me work again.
“So, wingman,” his tone returned to what I recognized, “who really found the flag today?”
“Sadie.” I flipped the pancakes. “She found it, but she was scared to climb, so I retrieved it, then the snoods attacked, which by the way is a crazy element to add to Capture the Flag. I was trying to get it to her, but then she hid and…” I started stacking the pancakes, “…well you know the rest.”
“I get the feeling she doesn’t want to be here.” Fitz crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I should put her out of her misery and send her home tomorrow night.”
“No, you can’t.” I poured the last of the batter and then faced him. “She wants to be here, trust me, it’s just she—” Could I really tell him about her fiancé’s death? “She lost someone, and she’s trying to do all this with a broken heart.”
The muscles in Fitz’s face twitched, surprised by even my vague news. “I had no idea. She’s never said anything.”
“She feels out of place and she’s from the poorest province while everyone else is wealthy, or at least has known wealth of some kind.” I started flipping the last of the pancakes. “She’s here for you, or else she wouldn’t be here at all. She’d be home grieving.”
“That is enlightening.” He nodded slowly. “Thank you for that.”
“You can’t tell her you know, Fitz.” I pointed the spatula at him to drive the point home. “She told me in confidence.”
He put his hands up to show innocence. “Don’t get all miffed. I won’t.” He pushed off the wall, moving closer again. “But if you try to throw the competition again and weasel out of things like you did today,” my lips burned as his stare shifted to them, “I can’t be helped for what will come next, Lady Coco.”
“What are you saying, Fitz?”
That same crackling tension took hold of the air again. Nothing waited on the griddle. There was nothing to stop us from crossing over.
“I’m saying, Michaela,” his head tilted toward me, “you owe me.” With a wink, he took a step back, leaving me breathless in the wake of it. “Now, you grab that plate, I’ll find syrup and some—”
“I heard voices, Sturgess. I think that Camille is in the kitchen again.” The woman’s voice sounded from the doorway on the far side of the kitchen. Fitz’s eyes widened to saucers. So much for his big talk about never getting in trouble.
“Go,” he whispered tersely, pushing me toward the door.
“But the kitchen,” I started to turn back, but he pushed again, forcing me inside the passageway.
“I’ll take care of it. Stay inside and stay quiet.”
Fitz
It was one thing for Paulina to find me in the kitchen. But if she found Michaela, I would never have a chance explaining myself to Mother, not after promising I would keep my distance.
Lot of good that did. All I could think about was kissing her. It occupied every thought, every breath, every touch or accidental brush of our hands. Impulse screamed to take her in my arms and know for once and for all if she felt the way I did. Did a chorus of angels sing at the touch of my hand? Did her heart take flight when I brushed the flour from her face? Was this one-sided, or did we have what I thought we did? The sort of connection that people searched a lifetime to find.
I grabbed syrup from the cabinet, scribbled ‘sorry’ in the mess of flour on the counter, and dropped six gold coins I’d brought for this exact situation. I’d learned years ago that it was the price to buy Paulina’s silence. I pulled the cabinet that served as a door for the passageway shut just as Paulina stepped into the kitchen.
“What kind of snood magic is this now?”
I set my finger against Michaela’s lips, warning her to be silent. Her breath cascaded over my knuckles, leading my mind to imagine it was her kiss, tracing over my skin, hungry for my affection, just as desperate to be in my arms as I was to take her.
“I think she’s gone.” Her mouth moved against my finger, eroding my strength to resist her like a sandcastle in a thunderstorm. I nodded. Paulina likely pocketed the coins so no one else saw them and left to fetch the broom. Either way, we had a small window to escape.
I led the way, careful not to head back to Coco’s room.
This night was far from over.