“Apparently, he does. Don’t look now, but—”
Sophie craned her neck and saw that the boy was indeed making his way toward her. He wore a grimace on his face. It was as close as he ever got to a smile.
“Oh no,” she whispered, horrified. “I said don’t look.”
“What am I going to do?” “We can still run for it.”
“How?” Sophie asked. They were surrounded by a throng of people. The Great Hall had two doors. Barse, fording his way through the crowd, blocked the path to one. And the enormous banqueting table, arranged in the shape of a horseshoe, stood between them and the other.
Haakon dipped his head close to hers. “I’ll save you, if you let me,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m a prince. That’s what we do.”
Sophie risked a glance back again. “It’s too late. The dragon’s closing in.” “Trust me, Sophie. Do you?” Haakon asked, taking hold of her hand. Sophie’s eyes found his. “Not at all,” she said.
Haakon tightened his grip. And grinned.
And ran.
SEVEN
Sophie expected Haakon to pull her into a gavotte with his friends. Or lead her back to the huge silver punch bowl, where she could sip a cold drink and plead exhaustion when Barse approached her.
She never expected to find herself crawling under the banquet table. “Follow me!” Haakon had commanded, moving a chair aside. Then he’d ducked under the damask tablecloth. When Sophie hesitated, he pulled her in after him.
“Are you mad? What are you doing?” she’d spluttered. “Spiriting the princess out of the dragon’s lair. Hurry up!”
Then he’d commenced crawling across the floor. Sophie followed him. It was harder for her, as she was wearing a gown and petticoats, but she managed, bunching them up behind her.
Luckily, few guests were still sitting at the table. Most were up dancing. When Haakon reached the other side, he lifted the tablecloth. “There it is,” he said, pointing at an arched stone doorway. “Our escape route.”
He bolted from under the table, pulling Sophie with him. They startled a serving girl carrying a tray of cakes. Haakon swiped two, and then he and Sophie disappeared through the doorway and found themselves in a long hallway. Haakon pulled her close to the wall and held up one of the sweets he’d stolen. “Magic cake,” he whispered. “Makes you invisible to dragons.”
“You are mad,” Sophie said, smiling.
Haakon popped the cake into his mouth. “So good!” He held up the second cake, and Sophie saw he meant to feed it to her. He teased her, holding the cake near her lips, then drawing it back and pretending he was going to eat it himself.
“Ah. I see how it goes, my brave rescuer,” said Sophie tartly. “You eat the cake, and the dragon eats me.”
“It’s a tough choice,” Haakon said. “You’re very nice and all, Sophie, but this cake …”
“Haakon.”
Finally, he fed her a bite. And then another. And Sophie found herself feeling a little warm, a little breathless. And then he clumsily dripped a bit of sweet, sticky icing onto her chin.
“Sorry,” he said, thumbing it off. He licked his thumb, his beautiful sky-blue eyes on hers, and Sophie felt a warmth kindle in her chest. Its heat spread through her body. Her eyes darted to the cake, the wall, the floor, anywhere but to Haakon.
He grabbed her hand once more. “Come on,” he said. “The dragon could still be lurking.” They ran down one hall and then another and finally found themselves at a balcony. It overlooked the queen’s gardens. Rose canes, laden with blowsy ivory blooms, climbed up one side of it.
Haakon leaned over, placed his hands on the railing, and said, “There. We’ve escaped. Barse won’t follow us here. It’s too far from the punch bowl.”
Sophie joined him at the railing. “You are very brave, kind sir. Thank you for saving me.”
Haakon smiled, but it wasn’t his usual broad, cheeky grin. It was small and wistful. For a long moment, he didn’t speak; he just gazed out over the garden. Then, all in a rush, he said, “I could, you know. I would. I want to.”
“Want to what?” Sophie asked, puzzled.
“Save you. From Barse. From the queen. From what happened today.” He paused. His eyes sought hers. “From yourself.”
Sophie tilted her head. “What do you mean from yourself?”
Haakon looked away again. He straightened, then plucked a fragrant rose from a vine and twisted its stem into a loop. Its bloom was spent. The petals fell like confetti. Sighing, he tossed it over the railing and watched it fall.
Why is he suddenly being so strange? Sophie wondered.
And then she realized he wasn’t being strange; he was nervous. Strutting, confident Haakon, who was always laughing and teasing, who turned every head in the room, was nervous.
“Haakon …” Sophie pressed. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, he reached for her hands, then turned them over. The thin red crescents she’d carved into her palms had stopped bleeding hours ago, but they were still there.
Haakon shook his head at the sight of them. “You could be onstage,” he said. “You’ve been acting all night. All day, too.” His eyes found hers again. “You try to hide your soft heart, but you can’t. You’re not a ruler, Sophie. It’s not in your nature.”
Sophie yanked her hands back. Anger flashed in her eyes. “What are you saying? The Greenlands are my home. I want to rule my realm. Of course I do!”
“Do you really? Can you do what’s needed? Can you do what Adelaide does? Command armies? Catch spies? Condemn traitors?”
“Kill dogs? Whip children?” Sophie added bitterly. The champagne was still fizzing in her skull, making her bold.
Haakon hesitated. His eyes, always sparkling with amusement, were dark and still now, like the waters of a winter lake. “The little boy …” he started to say.
“Tom.”
“I went to his family’s cottage this evening. Before the ball. I brought medicines. A tincture for his pain. Salve for his wounds. Fresh linen to make bandages.”
“You did?” Sophie asked, surprised. She would not have expected this from him.
“He’s suffering tonight. Just taking a breath is agony for him. He’s delirious. Doesn’t even know his own mother.”
Haakon’s words hurt Sophie deeply. She couldn’t bear to think of small, gentle Tom in so much pain. “Stop. Please, Haakon. No more,” she begged.
“He will never do the wrong thing again. He will never shout at the queen or counter her wishes. He will simply follow her orders, quickly and without protest. As he must. And so will Adelaide’s nobles, her generals, and her lord commander. As they must.”
Sophie gave a sad laugh. “Tom will never do the right thing again.
He’ll never try to save an innocent life.”
Haakon plucked another rose. He twisted its stem. “You would rule differently. With kindness, with mercy …”
“Yes, I would.”
“Such a reign is a dream, Sophie. A pretty tale told to children. You might as well wish for a fairy queen to appear or seven little men to walk out of the woods.”