I sleep extra soundly and don’t wake up until the next morning. Handling the big gun tired me out, and I don’t mean the assault rifle.

I imagine servants bringing me―no, not servants, but Rikard himself―serving me breakfast in bed. Instead, I rise up on my elbows to see Rikard rushing back and forth across our bedroom with his dress shirt hanging open and a tie around his neck.

“Siegfried has called a meeting,” he says. “I need to be there to watch.”

“I thought your father said you shouldn’t go,” I say, worried about him disobeying his father’s order and potentially sabotaging the peace talks.

“We’ll watch it from a screen in the palace,” Rikard says.

We. He wants me to go, too.

“I’ll get ready,” I say, and quickly rise up out of bed.

I never thought I’d complain about being a princess and getting to wear fancy clothes. But Nordia is a lot more conservative than somewhere like the UK. I’m not to be seen in public wearing anything but the finest clothes, and pants are not considered fine clothes.

That means even simply going out for a walk, or doing anything in public, requires wearing a fancy dress, doing my hair, and applying makeup.

Yet even with all those stipulations, I’m expected to be ready in fifteen minutes to go watch the negotiation talks on some screen in the palace.

I rush to pick out a dress, while at the same time running a comb through my tangled hair too quickly. I hear and feel strands of hair breaking and snagging. “Ouch!”

“You need to accept the help of the servants,” Rikard says, tightening his tie.

“But it’s so…”

“You’re a princess,” he says. “Princesses have servants. You’re probably thinking it seems unfair that you’re expected to get ready at the drop of a hat, and expected to look flawless even when given no time to prepare.”

It’s like he’s reading my mind. I nod in agreement.

“Which is why you need to consider accepting the servants,” he says. “When impossible expectations are demanded from you, you need to accept help to meet them.”

“I’ll consider it,” I say, sighing.

I just barely manage to get ready in the allotted time, and Rikard all but tugs me out our bedroom door and down the hallway.

We wind through the palace, and I realize that I’m finally starting to recognize where we are actually going. “The war room, right?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

It takes almost a full ten minutes to walk there due to the palace’s massive size, and when we arrive, a large contingency of generals and advisors are already gathered around the screen.

Magnus turns toward us and nods. For some reason, I assume I’m going to just stand next to Magnus and Rikard, but two soldiers immediately grab a fancy chair that is inlaid with jewels and plated with gold. They set it down directly in front of me, and then they bow to me.

I’m thankful that I can sit down, but unfortunately, it means that I’m not near Rikard, and no one stays with me to explain what’s going on.

The image on the screen is of the king sitting on a throne, flanked by two members of parliament. They are whispering intensely amongst each other, and glaring at three empty seats across from them. Seats I assume will be filled by Siegfried and other high-ranking separatists.

The meeting appears to be taking place outside, where the seats are placed in a makeshift pavilion with little more than an awning to protect against any possible rain or snowstorm. They certainly need no protection against the sun, which is hiding behind a near infinite greyness consuming the entire sky.

I wait patiently. I’m tempted to just get up and ask Rikard what is going on, but he’s surrounded by soldiers and generals, and it doesn’t look like he has time to personally keep me in the loop. I’m thankful to be given the opportunity to watch, and I realize that to be a good ruler, I need to be able to figure things out on my own. I can’t always rely on Rikard to spoon-feed me every little detail.

I see the king and the members of parliament stiffen and look forward, and moments later I see Siegfried and two other hard men appear on screen.

Rather than bow, they simply give stiff nods, and then seat themselves before the king grants them permission. I don’t need Rikard to tell me that this is an insult. It’s a declaration that he is no longer their king, and that they don’t need to show him the proper respect.

I see Rikard’s fist clenching, and I realize the war room has shifted from its earlier bustling with chatter to deathly silent. We’re all watching the screen, waiting for someone to speak.

The king wastes no time with formalities. “We’re prepared to allow you a chance to secede.”

“What does that mean?” Siegfried snaps.

“You dismantle your army and unite fully with Nordia,” the king says. “You’ll pay higher taxes for one year to help rebuild the capital, and after a full year of peace, we’ll allow your people to vote to adopt a new referendum. If a majority of Sydians choose to leave Nordia, we’ll allow you to peacefully secede.”

I watch as Siegfried’s lip twitches. The two men on either side of him stare straight ahead.

Siegfried finally snorts, and then he says, “You’re clever, Uncle.”

The king just scoffs.

“Raising taxes seems like a penalty,” Siegfried says, “but the higher the taxes, the more likely we are to win the referendum.”

The king nods, and he gives them all an exhausted look. It looks like he just wants to be done with them, like he’s given up on keeping Sydia as part of the kingdom if they will be kicking and screaming the whole time.

The king then looks to each of the men seated on either side of Siegfried. “There’s one other condition. You’ll need to hand this traitor,” the king points to Siegfried, “over to us to stand trial.”

Siegfried jumps to his feet in anger, and half a dozen soldiers appear out of nowhere, guns drawn.

“Sit!” the king roars.

Siegfried trembles, but sits back down. I’m not sure if he sits because guns are pointed in his face, or because of the thunder in the king’s demanding voice.

The man on Siegfried’s left side clears his throat. “We will consider your offer, provided that we are allowed to set the rate of taxation.”

“It can’t be too high,” the king says, “but we can negotiate it further, provided you accept the other terms.”

Siegfried is shaking, clutching the arms of his chairs so tightly that the veins on his neck are bulging. He hisses something inaudible to the man sitting on his left, but the man dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

The two men stand in unison, but Siegfried remains firmly planted in his seat. They eye him, and finally he jumps to his feet and turns his back to the king. They disappear off camera, and the tension filling the war room finally starts to dissipate.

I notice I’ve been holding my breath, and so I take in a deep breath to return it to normal now that the negotiation is over.

I stand up and head over to Rikard. I know I’m probably supposed to just sit there and look pretty, like a nice piece of furniture or something, but I don’t care.

I grab Rikard by the wrist and look at him. “What do you think?”

He locks eyes with me and shrugs. “I’m worried they’ll accept the deal.”

I feel a flash of anger, but I don’t know what else I expected from him. Of course he doesn’t want them to take it.

“What if they vote in favor of staying?” I say. “Your father is making them wait a year to vote, and that’s a lot of time to heal.”

“With an insane tax rate,” Rikard scoffs.

“I can think of a number of ways to make that work in your favor,” I say. “Spend a small portion to rebuild the capital, but dump most of the taxes into Sydia. Show them that you want them to stay, and that they are a valued part of the kingdom.”

He looks at me seriously. “It could work,” he says. “I don’t know if that’s what parliament and my father are actually planning, but it’s worth suggesting.”

I nod. “Why do you think they asked for Siegfried? Doesn’t that endanger the deal, a lot?”

“We can’t set a precedent,” Rikard says. “Traitors cannot be tolerated. Besides, I figure what they really wanted from Siegfried, they already got. Now that he’s showed his hand, he’s of limited use to them. They’ll probably gladly hand him over to us at this point.”

* * *

I’m exhausted just from sitting and watching the meeting. I can’t even imagine how drained I would be if I actually had to participate in the negotiation itself.

Rikard has to attend a bunch of debriefings, and I’m left on my own for the day.

I decide to check out the palace spa, which I discover has its own special room just for the princess. As soon as I appear, the staff immediately whisks me into my own private salon.

A cheery woman in white scrubs and a tight bun on top of her head smiles and bows to me. “Princess Jane,” she says. “Welcome to your spa. I am Anna, and I’ll get you whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Anna,” I say. “But I didn’t realize it was my spa.”

“Of course it is!” Anna says. “The princess couldn’t possibly be mixed in with other patrons.”

I decide not to argue with her, but the spa is inside the palace already. It’s not like any of the “other patrons” could be dangerous. Then again, Siegfried used to freely roam the palace and its grounds.

Anna points toward a room with a large stained glass window and colored light shimmering all over the walls. “That there is the natural spring, or would you prefer the sauna?”

“Let me look at the spring,” I say.

She takes me inside, and I see that it really is a natural spring and not just a jacuzzi. The shape is irregular, and the sides are formed by rocks rather than porcelain or marble. Steam is rising off the water, and the colored light streaming in from the stained glass diffuses through the steam, making the whole thing look supernatural and magical.

“This will do,” I say, almost laughing at myself for the understatement.

Anna nods. “I will fetch you a robe.”

I don’t understand why I need a robe, but I don’t argue with her.

She returns with a fold-up wooden stand, which she sets up on the marble floor just in front of the rocks. She places the robe on the stand, then says to me, “You can put your dress and other items on here, and when you’re done, feel free to wear the robe.”

“Thank you, Anna,” I say.

“Your Highness,” she says, bowing and stepping out of the room.

I realize that by “other items,” she meant my underwear. People who work in palaces are very good at finding creative ways to say things they’d rather not talk about. I’ll have to get better at doing that, too, so that I don’t come off as some crass and oafish commoner.

Once I’m totally naked, I dip my toes into the spring, and I’m shocked at just how warm it is. It’s hot, really, and by the time I lower my whole body into it, I feel the heat melting all the stress and tension right out of my body. Being out in the Nordian winter all day has made the cold seep deeply into my bones, and soaking in the hot spring is like the earth itself pumping life back into my veins.

I sigh in relief, and then lean back against the stone, stretching out my arms. It’s just deep enough that I can stand comfortably, and I have to lower myself down ever so slightly to make the water cover me up to the neck.

I lean back and close my eyes. Every little splash and sound echoes off the rocks. It’s incredibly soothing, and soon I lose track of time.

The only thing that gets me out of the spa is that I eventually getl too hot. The heat felt so good at first since it’s been so cold since arriving in Nordia, but after an hour, my forehead has become coated in sweat, and I’m ready to feel some cooler air again.

I climb carefully out of the spring and let myself drip-dry for a few moments. I kept my hair tied up and out of the water, but the humidity and heat has made it frizzy and damp.

I grab a towel from the wooden rack and towel myself off, and then I put on the robe.

I walk out of the chamber, where I see Anna sitting there. She’s not reading a book or doing anything. Just waiting.

“Anna,” I say. “You can...you must be bored just sitting.”

“Not at all,” she says cheerfully.

“In the future,” I say, “you are free to read, or do whatever you want to keep yourself occupied. I know the phrase is ‘waiting on,’ but we don’t have to take it literally.”

“As you wish,” she says, bowing. “Would you like a massage?”

A massage! I didn’t even think of that, but God, that sounds good. I’m probably not going to get much chance to rest in the coming days, so I might as well go all out while I can.

“Yes,” I say, smiling. “I would love a massage.”

“This way, please,” she says.

I’m taken to another private room, where a big man wearing the same type of white scrubs as Anna is standing and waiting by a massage table.

I feel my heart race. I thought Anna was going to give me the massage, not this strange man.

“Umm,” I say. “I, uh…”

“He’s gay,” Anna whispers to me. “And he’s the best, trust me.”

I bite my lip.

The man stands perfectly still. He nods to me, but I’m still not sure if I should allow him to perform my massage, but I don’t want to insult anyone.

“What should I do?” I ask.

“Remove your robe,” he says, turning his back to me. “And lay on the table. Place the towel over your backside.”

I make sure he’s not looking when I remove the robe. Anna has already left the room, which makes me feel even more self-conscious.

I quickly lie down on the table, wanting to cover myself as soon as possible. I grab the towel out from under me and cover my butt with it. There is a little hole in the table for me to press my face into, which I do.

I’m now looking straight down at the floor, and it actually feels quite comfortable despite how odd the whole setup seems.

Then I feel his hands pressing into my muscles. They are strong, and eerily familiar. He was almost as big as Rikard, and his hands feel just as rough, calloused and strong. I don’t quite understand how massaging skin can give a man callouses, but then I realize he likely has to massage big hairy men, as well.

He is good, and his palms dig down into my muscles, melting even more tension away. I figured that soaking in the spring would have done the job, but apparently I was still tense and knotted all over.

The masseuse doesn’t speak at all as he massages me, which is just as well. Even if he’s gay, I like to pretend he’s just a floating pair of hands. This is a massage, nothing more.

I lose myself in the feeling, letting him knead out the stress from all the muscles in my back and shoulders.

His hands work his way down my back, until they are right above the towel. That brings me out of my relaxation, and I am almost tempted to say something―to tell him to go back up to work my shoulders.

But he keeps working my lower back, and I feel the towel sliding lower and lower. This isn’t right, even if he’s gay.

I cough, hoping he’ll stop, but he keeps going farther, and I feel his fingers touching the top of my butt cheeks.

“Hey!” I snap, and I pull my face out of the stupid table, and tilt my head back at him over my shoulder, ready to slap his face.

But it’s not the masseuse. It’s Rikard. He’s got the world’s most insufferable smirk on his face, and he laughs when he sees how mad I am.

“You asshole!” I shout. “You...dick!”

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says. “I’ve heard I’m good at giving massages.”

I glare at him. I’m not about to compliment him after pulling a stunt like that. “It was you the whole time?”

He nods. “I had Fabian step out as soon as you laid on the table.”

“You’re such a dick,” I say.

Was he really just trying to surprise me, or was he testing me somehow?

“If you don’t trust me,” I say, “then―”

He waves me off. “Of course I trust you. I just wanted to get a rise out of you.”

I roll my eyes at him and put my robe back on. “I came here to relax,” I say, “not for you to get me worked up.”

He holds up his palms. “I apologize then. Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” I ask.

“I’ll surprise you―”

“No surprises,” I say. “I didn’t like the last one.”

“Fine,” he says. “It started snowing right after the negotiations ended. There’s freshly fallen snow, and I thought I’d take you on a carriage ride to dinner.”

He holds out his hand, and I accept it. Somewhat reluctantly.

* * *

We step outside, and I realize the streets haven’t even been plowed yet. Big flakes of snow are still falling, and a winter wonderland of fluffy, white snow coats the streets and buildings. The air is crisp but not too cold. There are very few cars on the streets, as civilians have been banned from using cars until the worst of the damage from the fighting has been cleaned up. The snow helps to make everything even more quiet. The city feels like a magic winter wonderland, and then I see our carriage waiting, led by two horses.

Rikard escorts me by the arm to the carriage, and helps me climb inside. I try to ignore the squad of soldiers marching in front of and behind our carriage, and just enjoy the magical feeling of being transported by horse-drawn carriage through a fairytale snowscape.

The sun sets early during Nordian winters, and the only light comes from streetlights, but those soon die down.

“Why is it getting so dark?” I ask.

Rikard reaches up and pulls at the awning. It retracts back like a convertible top, exposing us to the elements, but also revealing the stars above us in the sky.

“This part of the city is off the grid right now; look,” he says.

I see hanging lanterns bolted onto the street lights, filled with dull flames. Within all the buildings and houses, I notice dozens of candles and a number of gas lanterns. The light is so dim, but it makes the snowy cityscape feel even more surreal, as if we’ve traveled back through time.

“I’ve never seen the stars like this in the city,” Rikard says. “I thought you’d like it.”

I grab hold of his arm and lean my head against my husband’s strong shoulder. “I do.”

We travel through the streets, the horses’ hooves muffled by the ever-deepening snowfall.

Finally, we reach what looks like a cathedral, but it’s not one I recognize.

“This used to be a church,” Rikard says, “but the congregation merged with another to build the North Byzantium Cathedral.”

“They just abandoned it?” I ask.

“Sold it,” he says. “It’s a restaurant now, one of the best in the city.”

“Are you sure it’s safe for us to go in?” I ask.

He smiles smugly. “I had the whole place reserved for us.”

“Isn’t that unfair to the other customers?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “There were none. Their power is out, too, but I paid them a lot to open up just for us. They can manage a nice meal for two even without power.”

He opens the carriage door for me. The soldiers form a near wall around us as we stroll toward the entrance.

The tall, thick wooden doors swing open, and the light from thousands of candles spills out onto the snow. Two men in tuxedos and white gloves stand in front of each door, bowing to us.

“Let’s go, my princess,” he says, holding out an arm.

He escorts me through the entranceway. There are hundreds of candles on the floor, forming a pathway. There are larger candles on stands, as well, for eye-level lighting. Even with all the candles, it still is incredibly dim inside. Everything has an almost unreal quality to it. Rikard’s sharp, chiseled features appear softer than normal in the faint light. Even his razor-sharp cheekbones are partially softened by the candlelight. There’s a sparkle in his eye, though, and he grins at me as he escorts me into the main space.

The pews are gone and replaced with tables, but only one―right in the center―is set in a white cloth with three white flickering candles.

“It’s amazing,” I say.

Lanterns are lit along the wall, and more candles are placed elsewhere, illuminating the entire cathedral even though the two of us are only occupying one table. It must have taken them hours to set out and light all these candles.

Near our table is a large stone pillar on wheels, and when I get closer, I realize it’s a portable fireplace. It radiates warmth, and when Rikard and I sit down, it’s perfectly cozy despite the chill of winter having seeped into this huge space.

“It’s all so perfect,” I say.

“Let’s hope the food is good,” Rikard says.

The waiter standing near us stiffens nervously.

“I’m just kidding,” Rikard says, turning toward the waiter. “I’m sure it will be great. We greatly appreciate all you’ve done on such short notice.”

“Of course,” the waiter says, bowing. “Your Highness, would you like to start with some spiced wine?”

“Yes,” Rikard says, “and a cheese plate, please.”

The waiter bows and disappears toward the kitchen area.

“I don’t expect they’ll have a full menu tonight,” Rikard says.

“Are you kidding me?” I ask. “Rikard, before I came here, I considered Applebee’s a luxurious meal. This is like one hundred levels higher than anything I’m used to.”

“What is Applebee’s?” he asks. “Is that some kind of baked apple dish?”

I giggle, but his furrowed brows confirm he’s not joking. “It’s...it’s a restaurant in America, one that commoners go to when they want to splurge a bit.”

“So it’s expensive?” he asks.

“Not exactly. A hamburger or sandwich probably costs about $10.”

“Ten dollars?” he says, looking at me skeptically. Then his face shifts, and I see he’s trying not to judge me for how poor I was.

“A drink would cost another $3,” I say, as if defending myself. “And of course, you have to tip twenty percent to the server. You’re usually lucky if it costs under $20 when all is said and done.”

“I still don’t understand why it’s called Applebee’s,” he says.

“I don’t think anyone does,” I say, patting his hand.

The waiter returns with two mugs. He places them on the table in front of us, and then fills them with a hot liquid from a clay jug.

The scent of spices and cinnamon hits my nose, and a waitress appears with a wooden board covered in an attractive display of cheese and bread. I’ve had the wine before, on my first date with Rikard. It wasn’t long ago, but it’s already become a special memory, and the smell of the wine is tied closely to it.

“A traditional Nordian meal,” Rikard says. “Nobility used to eat cheese and bread like this until they were full, then they’d drink until they were hungry again, and only then would they have the main course.”

“How long did that process take?” I ask.

“Four, five hours,” Rikard says. “Especially in winter, they needed something to keep them occupied. Otherwise they’d fall asleep at three o’clock when the sun set for the day.”

“I guess a lot of northern countries drink to stay occupied,” I say.

He smiles. “I’m not a big drinker, don’t worry. But even a Nordian monk will drink this in winter.”

He raises his mug, and we clink them together in a toast. I take a sip, and the warm alcoholic liquid coats my throat and stomach as the spicy scent fills my nose.

“Damn, even better than last time,” I say, leaning back and letting the alcohol warm me up.

He smiles. “Wait till you try the food.”

I realize as I look at the perfect shapes of his face outlined in the candlelight, that despite all that has happened and is still happening around us, I’m right where I want to be.