“They were—it was—they wereChristmassy!”
“Yes. Thanks to the spinach.”
“You havechildren! Do you treat them with as much subterfuge as you treat me and Kris?”
“Unapologetically.”
Her sous chef is failing to hide a smirk as she reads a production sheet.
“Lacie! You knew about this?” I demand.
Lacie’s eyebrows go up and she shakes her head. “I’m not getting involved.”
“Oh, silence is incriminating.” My attention zips over the rest of them, half a dozen people laughing into their meal preps. “How, from the bottom of my heart, dare you. All of you. You’ve shattered my trust. I should go on a hunger strike to spite you.”
“Mhmm.” Renee cuts me a smile as I leave.
“Tell your children I said hello and I’m sorry on their behalf, you traitor.”
“I will. Enjoy your breakfast, Prince Nicholas.”
The kitchen staff’s laughter follows me as I balance the tray and head back up the stairs, the safe bubble of humor deflating when I snake around to avoid any of the main areas—just in case. I know where Hex is being put up, in a wing on the opposite side of the palace. But still.
You weren’t the one who initiated it.
Goddamn it.
A rolling mantra of curses barrels through my mind as I stumbleto a halt outside Iris’s door. I kick it and rest my forehead against the doorframe.
Within, I hear shuffling, the pad of footsteps, then she unlocks and opens the door.
I moan pathetically. “I’m sorry we didn’t rescue you sooner last night.”
“I don’t need saving, I told you.” A pause. “But next time, do it before midnight.”
I cut her a smile and hold up the tray. “I promise, Cinderella.”
She surveys my offering and deems it acceptable with a satisfied hum. “Oooh, cinnamon. But I’m not getting Kris to unlock the group chat name.”
My gasp is more than a touch overdramatic. “I am hurt,hurt,that you think breakfast comes with asterisks.”
“Oh, so this isn’t also your way of trying towoome as one of my adoring suitors?”
She’s joking, I know she is; she’s batting her fucking eyelashes at me.
But it shuts me up, because that didn’t even occur to me. I do stuff like this all the time. But it’sdifferentnow, isn’t it? If someone sees—
Iris rolls her eyes with a grin. “Get in here, you idiot.”
I hesitate. Then hate myself for hesitating because this is allfake,Dad’s lies cocooning around me, so I shake it off and head inside as she closes the door behind me.
She’s dressed already, courtesy of the earlier start time for reindeer racing, in a warm wool gown, still purple, her braids tucked into a long side knot.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” I set the tray on the table in her suite’s front room. It’s a guest room in the Christmas palace, but there are touches of Easter everywhere—magically budding tulips, baskets of pastel eggs. Her father’s room, two halls over, is decked out the same.
“A few hours.” She goes right for the coffee as we sit. “Did you?”
I crack a laugh. It breaks apart into another pathetic moan.
