Page 9

Poppa’s hair looks wet from the stuff Momma helped him put in it. It barely moved, even against the wind outside, but he still smooths a hand over it as we enter the large ballroom.

I feel like a tiny little speck in here. The ceilings are huge. You could fit probably five of our houses in this room alone! And everything is so shiny and gold. It’s just like the castles in movies.

Poppa whispers something to Beatrice.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Hush, Briar,” Momma scolds. “Lower your voice.”

I pout and stare at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Head up.” She shakes my hand. “We’re almost there. Remember your manners.”

Momma puts on a big smile as we approach Poppa’s friends. He bows at the waist, Momma following suit. Beatrice immediately dips her heel back in curtsy, and she glances at me out of the corner of her eye. She widens them in reproach, and I remember I’m supposed to be doing that too. I immediately curtsy as well, although mine isn’t nearly as smooth as hers. She practiced a lot more than I did though.

“Frank, it’s been too long!” The King pulls Poppa into a big hug. They hit each other’s backs and it looks like it hurts, but they both smile. “I’m so pleased you could make it tonight.”

“Thank you for the invitation, we’re happy to be here.” He pulls Beatrice closer and Momma brings me in front of her. “You remember our girls, Beatrice and Briar. Girls, say hello.”

The King and Queen’s attention fixes on us, and I freeze. But Beatrice inclines her head. “Thank you again for inviting us.”

I sink back into Momma’s legs and offer a shy smile.

“You girls look lovely,” the Queen says, grinning warmly.

Neither of them are wearing a crown. I stare at their heads, wondering why not. I thought all kings and queens wore crowns. Last time we saw them, I thought they did? But maybe that was a special occasion or something.

But if I was a queen, I’d never take my crown off. They’re so shiny and beautiful.

The Queen looks up at Momma. “Your hair is beautiful, Louise! You must show my ladies how you did that.”

Momma blushes under the Queen’s praise. “You’re too kind, Hilda. It was nothing, but I’d be honored to demonstrate for them.”

It was nothing? Momma spent two whole hours in front of the mirror this morning. I counted because the third time I went into her bedroom to see if she wanted to play with me before we left, she told me not to bother her unless there was a fire or I ripped my tights.

Beatrice made sure I didn’t do the latter.

“Girls, you remember our sons? Lockwood”—she gestures to the brunette boy standing tall on the King’s right—“and Beauford.” She glances at the one fidgeting on her left. The older one nods politely, and Beatrice gives him a shy smile in return. The younger one looks bored, barely bothering to look at either of us. His eyes scan the room, like he’s looking for something more interesting to hold his attention.

I don’t blame him. It must be so boring to stand here all night greeting guests. Especially when they’re all so old.

“It’s a pleasure to see you boys again. Although boy might be the wrong word for you, Lockwood,” Poppa says.

The prince smiles politely before the king says, “Why don’t you and Louise go grab a drink while we finish our greetings, and I’ll come find you in a bit?”

“Of course,” Poppa says. “We’ll talk soon.”

They whisk us away and into the party. Everyone is dressed up really fancy, just like us. I think Momma said the party was for Easter, but this seems way bigger than what we usually do for the holiday.

But I guess if I had a palace, I’d like to throw a big party like this, too.

Momma takes Beatrice and I over a group of ladies. She seems to know them, but I have no clue who they are. Beatrice greets each of them by name though, so maybe I just forgot.

Tables around the space are piled with food. It smells delicious, and each time we pass a different table going to another cluster of people, I’m tempted to reach out and grab a bite. But Momma tells me we’ll eat later and remember my manners.

All the conversations are so boring. No one talks to us much, but unlike me, Beatrice seems to be enjoying just listening in. She nods along to what the ladies are saying like she understands and laughs when they do like she’s in on the joke.

It hurts my feelings that she seems to have left me out of the loop, and I cross my arms, looking around the room for somewhere else to go.