“Yes, but the stylist is going to dress you anyway. Probably for the best that you are starting out undressed. Saves time.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Okay.”
“I will meet you downstairs.”
Without another word he turned and walked toward the door, opening it for the stylist and leaving her alone with the woman holding a garment bag.
An hour, some makeup and some hair products later, Zara was in the back of a limousine with Andres, driving away from the palace. The roads were clear, but there was snow on either side of them, covering the ground and the pine trees beyond. Little bits of green velvet showing through the pristine blanket of white.
It wasn’t so different from the landscape in Tirimia, and yet, as they wound away from the private drive that led to the palace, it started to appear more and more foreign to her. They had driven over the Tirimian border at night when she was brought here to Petras, so she hadn’t had a chance to get a sense for the city. Added to that, she had been terrified.
But she was seeing it now. Old churches stood alongside modern high-rises, Georgian-era homes placed near trendy boutiques and bakeries. She was transfixed by the movement. The cars on the road, the people on the sidewalks. It was anything but lonely. Every piece of stone was part of something, touching something else.
She turned to face Andres, suddenly conscious of just how quiet he had been the entire drive. His eyes were on her, assessing. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“That isn’t true. You’re looking at the scenery. Quite prettily, I might add.”
A rush of adrenaline and satisfaction filled her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of doing anything prettily before.”
“You’re very pretty. Everything you do is done prettily as a result.”
“Even when I hiss and spit and gnaw on chicken bones?”
“You didn’t gnaw the bones.”
“I would have. If you hadn’t dumped my dinner in a potted plant.”
He surprised her then by laughing. Not a carefully controlled laugh. Not one designed to mock. But one filled with humor. “I did dump your dinner in a potted plant, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You owe me chicken.”
“I will keep that under advisement.”
As stunning as the scenery was, she found that she suddenly wanted to keep her eyes on him. He was beautiful when he smiled. His dark eyes glittered in a way they didn’t usually, his teeth white against his golden skin. He had a slight dimple on one side of his mouth. One she hadn’t noticed before. She had seen him naked, and still, she noticed something new about him. She wondered how long it would take for her to discover every mystery he contained.
Suddenly, she felt panicked, because she was afraid a lifetime might not be sufficient. She was so behind in her learnings on this sort of thing. When it came to the mysteries that passed between men and women, she had to learn to be a princess and a wife, and she had no idea how she would ever accomplish both.
She didn’t have time to worry, as just then the limousine pulled up to a large, ornately carved building. “The oldest church in Petras,” Andres said, anticipating her question before she spoke it.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, getting out of the car when the driver opened the door for her.
Andres got out and looped his arm through hers, leading her up the steps. She looked at the expansive doorway, at the saints and angels fashioned into the stone.
The building was even more spectacular inside. There was a large basin filled with water, holy water, she assumed. Beyond that, chairs were set up facing the stage and a large stained-glass window was positioned above, light filtering through and casting colors onto the floor below. There were Christmas trees, large and perfectly dressed, stationed throughout the sanctuary, lit by white lights, wrapped in dark red garlands.
As had happened at the palace, the crowd parted to allow Andres passage.
There was a seat reserved for them in the front, and once they sat, she sensed all the eyes in the room on them. At least, until the play began. Children of all ages stood holding candles, singing songs. The young children didn’t sing beautifully, but they sang loudly. The older children managed harmonies, their voices echoing beautifully in the space, filling it, filling her.
When they began the last song, her eyes began to well up and she grabbed 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