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Now, he wasn’t so certain. Uncle Milas had caught him whispering to Charlotte after supper the night before—they’d been debating the wisdom and safety of stealing away up to Petrus’s room to spend the night the way they had several days before—but instead of frowning in disapproval, he’d grinned at Charlotte.
Could it be that Uncle Milas approved of Charlotte after all, and that he might welcome a marriage between them? Charlotte had begun to tell him a story about catching his uncle at the Christmas tree with the boot, but she’d been called away by her friends and by the queen—who wanted to teach them all the dance of the Christmas Princess that would be performed at the ball—and Charlotte had been unable to finish her story.
Everything was a swirl in Petrus’s head as he entered the breakfast room on Christmas Eve, anxious for the day to be over so that the many axes that felt as though they were hanging over his head could be banished and everything could be resolved.
One way or another.
“Petrus, there you are.” Charlotte half rose from her seat at the breakfast table as Petrus entered the room. She waved him over enthusiastically.
Petrus couldn’t help but smile and do as Charlotte commanded, even though her high spirits were completely at odds with his own trepidation.
The table was only sparsely populated at that hour of morning, with most of his family and the guests choosing to take their breakfasts in their rooms. Fredrik and Brigitta were up and seated at the far end of the table, and they eyed Petrus with interest as he took the seat beside Charlotte. Francis and Joseph were seated directly across the table from Charlotte, debating some item in the newspaper that rested between them, which caused Petrus to frown. His conversation with Charlotte would, of necessity, be shallow with such an audience around them instead of allowing the two of them to discuss what they needed to.
Still, Charlotte looked as cheery as a summer daisy as she picked up her teacup and said, “Perhaps now I can tell you about the conversation I had with your uncle the day before yesterday.”
Petrus was in the process of reaching for the teapot on the table in front of them and nearly knocked a glass over at the statement. His pulse raced to know what had happened and if it would be of any help with their tangled problems. But he also saw that Francis and Joseph had taken note of the conversation as well. Perhaps a bit too much note.
“Go on, then,” he said, grasping the teapot and pretending the subject was casual.
Charlotte smiled at Francis and Joseph as well as at Petrus, letting them know she was aware they were listening. “It was a result of the boot,” she said. “The forfeit that I demanded was that he tell me the story of how he met and fell in love with Queen Sylvia.”
Petrus’s brow shot up in surprise. “And how did he react to that?” He poured himself tea, pretending to be only mildly interested when he was certain that Charlotte had the key to their happily ever after.
Charlotte smiled and continued eating as she told the tale. “They met at a ball in Copenhagen,” she said. “He was a student, and she was—well, I suppose she was an attendee. He didn’t say why she was there.”
She paused to consider, then shook her head. “The point of the matter is that she was a commoner, and that their marriage was not arranged. It was a love match, which he made quite clear.”
Hope perked its ears in Petrus’s heart. At the same time, Francis and Joseph had been drawn into the story as much as he had.
“So the royal family of Aegiria has a history of love matches?” Francis asked, a little too much sparkle in his eyes as he glanced to Petrus. The two of them had spent a great deal of time together in the last few days, amidst decorating, and Francis knew everything.
“They do,” Petrus said carefully, “but I am not sure how far that tradition extends.”
Meaning he wasn’t certain if he could get away with backing out of a proposed arranged marriage and keep his position with the family intact, considering his birth.
He wasn’t certain Charlotte fully grasped the implication, as she continued to smile and eat her eggs on toast. “I think the tradition will extend quite a way,” she said. “King Milas seemed to indicate as much to me himself.”
She turned to him and smiled as though she had accomplished a coup.
Petrus was at a complete loss. She knew something. Charlotte knew something, and it had bolstered her spirits instead of defeating them. More than anything, Petrus wanted to know what she knew.
But at that very moment, Lady Jenny entered the breakfast room, thus ending all conversation that might resolve things.
“Good morning, Lady Jenny,” Petrus greeted her as a woman of her status deserved, standing and bowing to her as he did.
Francis, Joseph, and even Fredrik, who hadn’t been involved in the conversation at all, rose to show her a similar sort of respect.
“Good morning, Lady Jenny,” Charlotte greeted her in a far cheerier and less formal manner. “Won’t you come and sit beside me?”
Petrus’s eyes went wide as he took his seat again. He admired Charlotte’s ability to befriend anyone, but if things fell apart and he was backed into marrying Lady Jenny for the sake of family duty, she might not wish to be such good friends with the woman.
Perhaps worse still, Lady Jenny was pale and drawn, with dark patches under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept well. Petrus understood. Tomorrow was the day by which her father demanded she be engaged, or else he would take her home.
“Lady Jenny,” he began a conversation, not entirely certain what topic would be best at such a fraught breakfast table. “Are you looking forward to the Christmas Eve ball tonight?”
Instead of launching into some sort of effusive excitement about the ball, Lady Jenny’s entire countenance seemed to drop. Petrus panicked, wondering how such a simple question could have deflated the woman.
“Petrus!”
