a hold of Andres’s hand, squeezing it tightly, trying to keep tears from falling. She never cried. She had cried for her parents. For her brother. Anything after that hadn’t seemed worthy of her tears. But she had never before cried for beauty. For something so lovely it seemed it had come from another world.
When the program finished, everyone stood, people milling around the stage and going to speak to the children.
“Can we go tell them how wonderful it was?” she asked Andres.
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
Zara had always liked children. The clan had been distant with her, but not the children. By the time Zara was an adult, that was her main source of connection. She would spend time leading the children on expeditions through the woods, reading them stories.
Of all the things she had left behind, she missed the children the most.
When they approached, the children looked more awed than excited. But she couldn’t blame them. Andres had that effect. “It was a very good performance,” Andres said, addressing a small group.
The kids looked down, smiling shyly and scuffing their toes. “Thank you,” they said, in an uneven chorus.
Zara hunched down, trying to get on their level. “I enjoyed it very much. You sang so beautifully it made me cry.”
A little boy with both front teeth missing looked surprised. “We did? How?”
“Sometimes things can make you cry because they fill you with so much joy you can’t hold it all in. So it leaks out your eyes.” At least, she assumed that was why. She didn’t have a lot of experience with it.
The boy laughed. “You’re funny.”
“I know.”
She spent the next few minutes talking to the children, while Andres hung back. It was easy for her. Children didn’t judge in the same way adults did. Neither did they observe protocol. They didn’t keep that reserve to distance that was given to royalty out of respect, because children did not understand respect in the same way adults did. For that she was grateful.
Andres put his hand on her shoulder and she straightened. “It is time for us to leave soon.”
“Okay.”
As they turned to go, one of the teachers rushed to them. “Prince Andres,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you for coming. And this is Princess Zara?”
Zara was astonished that this woman knew her name. But then, she supposed her name might have been mentioned in the media since the luncheon yesterday.
“Yes,” Andres said, wrapping his arm around her waist, “my fiancée.”
“You are so good with the children, Princess,” the woman said.
“I like children,” Zara returned.
“Well, if you ever find yourself in need of ways to fill your time, we could always use volunteers in the classroom. People to come and read books, or help with choir.”
“I would love to,” Zara said. How long had it been since anyone needed her? Since anyone thought she was good at something and wanted to put those skills to use?
It had always been blood. Always been title. This was different, and it was exhilarating. This was being where she belonged, the pieces of herself, scattered on the wind for so many years, finally coming to rest.
Like coming to the end of a long walk in the wilderness, making it to the summit and finally seeing what she’d been traveling toward all her life. Her destiny, laid out before her.
A princess in a palace, with her prince at her side.
“We will put Zara’s assistant in touch with you,” Andres said.
“I’m Julia Shuler,” the woman offered. “If you need to get hold of me.”
“Thank you, Julia. I’m looking forward to coordinating something.”
“We must go, Princess. We have a reservation.”
Zara looked up at Andres. “For what?”
“For that dinner I owe you.”
* * *
The restaurant was beautiful, situated at the top of a hill overlooking the glittering city below. Zara had never been to such a fine place, the palace in Tirimia excluded. She had been spoiled by lovely food since coming here, but somehow this felt different. Perhaps because they were making a public showing, together. Perhaps because she had been fashioned into a woman who looked as though she belonged on Andres’s arm.
Perhaps just because she was excited. She was out to dinner with Andres. It was, for all intents and purposes, her first date.
She could scarcely think back to the woman she had been yesterday. The one who had tried to sabotage their arrangement by making a spectacle during the luncheon. She felt different now. Being with him had changed something. It had changed her.
She lifted the glass of wine to her lips, trying to orient herself to what was happening. To the fact that she was here. Sitting across from the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life, sipping on the most marvelous drink she’d ever had. She was warm. She was wearing beautiful clothes. There was a teacher who wanted to use her skills.
She was part of the royal family.
“You don’t have to volunteer for the schools if you don’t want to,” Andres said, taking a sip of his own wine.
“But I want to,” she said. “I told you, I want to find out what I’m good at. What I want to do. I was a younger daughter and I imagine that even if I had stayed in Tirimia, this is the sort of thing I would have done. And maybe I can figure out some of the specific needs of the people here if I’m working with them on such a close level. There might be some other things I could arrange. Charities.” She smiled. “I enjoyed the kids back in the encampment I lived in. They didn’t put so much distance between themselves and me. I really do love children.”
“That’s good.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Why is that good?”
“Because we will have children. We may yet have one on the way already, as careless as we’ve been.”
Her heart stalled, then slammed into her chest. “Oh.” Of course. They had taken no precautions against pregnancy. She had not thought of that until now. She waited to feel angry. To feel sad. She didn’t. The thought of a baby—Andres’s baby—only filled her with more of that same warmth from earlier.
They really would be a family. She had been alone for so long, and now she felt she was spoiled with company. A man who would be her husband, who would share her bed. A child. Just for a moment she allowed herself to be nothing more than completely happy. Filled with joy, filled with anticipation.
“I hope you aren’t upset,” he said, breaking her out of her reverie.
“Upset?
