The snow has gotten heavier over the last few days. It’s truly starting to look like Christmas now.

I just wish I knew what to do with myself.

The capital city has adorned itself with decorations—garlands and fir wreaths, silk ribbons and twinkling white lights. Stalls line the main square nearly every evening now, selling ornaments and gifts and bits of food. The smell of hot cider reaches my nose, overcoming the scent of cinnamon-dusted roasted nuts I left on the last block. My feet crunch on the thin layer of snow covering the cobblestoned sidewalks. My hands are in my pockets, out of the cold, and my right hand holds the little lump of metal, turning it round and round in my fingers.

There’s an energy here in the city—a pulsing, festive joy that seems to affect everyone around me. I pass a group of children pressed up against the bakery window, admiring the display of holiday treats there. Holiday carols pour out of shops whenever someone opens one of the doors. Bells jingle somewhere in the distance. People are laughing and talking boisterously as they walk down the street—as well they should be. After years of struggle with our neighbor, Rosvalia, our countries finally know peace. Myself and two of my siblings are recently married. And the new heir to the throne is due on Christmas Day.

I want to feel joyful, too. And deep down, I suppose I do—I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. But I also feel as if I’m dragging a heavy weight behind me through the snow.

How can I celebrate when so many of the people I love are in pain? Victoria is restless, worrying herself sick. Leopold is angry that Matthew will no longer be heir, and his wife is caught in the middle of it all. Our entire family is suffering from that tension, and I feel responsible for all of it.

How am I supposed to raise a child when I can’t even make it through the pregnancy without upsetting everyone? All of my efforts to comfort Victoria only seem to make her more anxious. And in my attempts to confront the tension with Leopold, I’ve only managed to drag her into the middle of it. When she told me Elle had stopped by to ask her to ask me to back off, I felt so ashamed that I didn’t even know what to say.

I stop in front of a toy shop, staring through the thick glass at the colorful display beyond. The bright lights make my headache worse, but I can’t pull myself away. This child is our own little miracle. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted this pregnancy to be a joyful celebration from beginning to end. Now the toys in the window seem to be taunting me, sitting there like images of some happy, storybook childhood that will never be. The truth is, no matter what I do, my child will be born into a very complicated family. He or she will grow up with a cousin who might have been the heir under different circumstances. Each with an uncle and aunt who will never look at either child the same way again because of it.

But Leopold and Elle can find their own way to peace. My truest, deepest concern is for Victoria.

Tonight is the first night we’re allowed to make love again, and I don’t intend to let the occasion go to waste. We need to reestablish the deep connection between us. We need to be united again before our child is born. I might not be able to take her fears away, but I can do that much.

I press my fingers against the glass of the window. It’s surprisingly warm.

I came out here this evening because I wanted to get her an early Christmas present. Something to bring a little cheer into her life. I haven’t yet decided whether I want to get her something for herself or for the child.

For her, I think, my eyes following a toy train as it makes its way along a winding track. There will be plenty of time to buy things for the baby when he or she arrives.

I turn away from the window, continuing down the row of shops. I know this city like the back of my hand, know all of these shops—and most of the shopkeepers—quite well, but I don’t know where I’m going.

“Merry Christmas, Your Highness,” says a woman as she passes.

“Merry Christmas,” I return with a forced smile.

The next cross-street smells like roasting meat—duck, maybe. I stick my hand back into my pocket, looking for the comfort of my little lump of metal.

And then, suddenly, it hits me.

I spin on my heel, heading back toward a shop I passed a few blocks ago. I know exactly what to get her, and God help me, I’m going to make everything right again.

* * *

Victoria is up and about when I enter our suite an hour later. She looks me up and down.

“You look completely frozen,” she says.

I grin. It started snowing heavily again on my way back to the palace, and though most the snow that landed on me melted the moment I stepped inside, a couple of resilient flakes still cling to my scarf and coat.

Without saying a word, I cross the room, catching her up in my arms. Her belly presses against my stomach.

“Hey, you’re cold,” she says, laughing. “Your nose is like ice.”

I nuzzle my frozen nose against her neck, pleased to hear her laughing again. This is her first day out of bed in months, and already she’s looking and acting better.

“I’ve asked the kitchen to send up a special dinner,” I tell her. “I hope that’s all right. I want tonight to be special.”

“That’s fine with me,” she says, pulling back so she can look me in the eyes. “I’m just happy I’m no longer being treated like an invalid.”

“You’re being treated like a princess,” I say, brushing my lips against her cheek. “Nothing less.” I keep one arm around her, but with the other I reach into the pocket of my coat, pulling out a small wrapped box. “I got you an early present. I’d like you to open it tonight.”

Her eyes light up, even as she shakes her head. “You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to.” I press the box into her hand. “It’s nothing extravagant, I promise.”

Her eyebrows rise as she looks down at the gift. “It looks like jewelry.”

“Open it.”

She obliges me, releasing me so that she can undo the gold gift wrap and ribbon. Beneath the wrapping lies a small, square wooden box.

“Open it,” I urge her.

She lifts the lid. Inside, on a bed of black silk, lies a necklace—a thin silver chain with an irregularly shaped pendant—a little lump of metal about the size of a large coin.

She looks up at me, obviously confused. I lift the necklace from its silk bed.

“Do you know what this is?” I ask her, holding the pendant up to her.

She shakes her head. “What?”

“This is a piece of Atalanta, my old plane.”

Her eyes widen, her face paling slightly. I don’t blame her for the reaction—shortly after we first met, I hired her to do some publicity for me and decided to fly her back to Montovia myself on my private plane. I once considered myself quite the pilot—and if I’m being honest, I loved Atalanta as an extension of myself—but something went wrong. The plane crashed, and Victoria and I survived in the wilderness together for several days before we were rescued. We were strangers at the beginning of that ordeal, but by the end, I knew Victoria was unlike any woman I’d ever met.

“They finally dredged it up from the lake this summer,” I say. “I didn’t tell you because—well, I didn’t think it mattered. And I didn’t wish to upset you, to remind you of what happened.” Neither of us has particularly enjoyed flying since. “Most of it was taken for scrap, but I managed to save a piece. I’ve been carrying this in my pocket ever since.” I curl her fingers around the pendant. “I don’t know why, but it makes me feel…calmer, somehow. The day our plane went down was one of the worst of my life. But we survived. By some miracle. And everything good in our lives happened because Atalanta went down. We grew to love each other. We’ve started a life together. We’re going to have a child together. All of that because we crashed. Miracles have happened for us before, Victoria, and they will happen for us again. Even when we’re terrified, even when everything seems to be crashing down around us, there is always hope. And I want you to have that hope now.” I squeeze her fingers around the pendant. “No matter what.”