A fire crackled in the fireplace, the room filled with the familiar smoky scent of winter in the castle, and outside the large old windows, snow fluttered from the gray sky to melt on the cobblestones.

King Linus listened intently as Nya regaled him with tales of Ledi and Thabiso’s wedding, including a dramatic recounting of Johan passing out in the sauna.

Had he really thought she was shy before the wedding? Had she changed, or had his perception of her shifted? Maybe both, though he’d always known there was danger in the flutter of her lashes and bells chiming in her sweet laughter.

Scheisse, he was a mess. It was bad enough that he couldn’t stop thinking of her, but now his thoughts were florid enough to impress Likotsi.

Linus ate the last bit of his pastry and then clapped his hands to his knees. “I’d wondered why Jo-Jo never brought anyone home with him before,” he said in English, his accent smoother than Johan’s because he’d been taught the language alongside his mother tongue as a child, like most of the aristocracy. “Now I see he was just waiting for this marvelous woman seated across from me. You’re lucky I’m not a few years younger, Jo-Jo.”

Nya giggled and bowed her head, which was a normal reaction to the weird cool dad compliment. Johan’s reaction wasn’t normal at all.

He reached out and took Nya’s hand in his. “She’s mine.”

Linus’s eyes went wide, his chuckle fading away to discomfort.

Johan let out a laugh that was a bit too loud and loosened his grip on her hand—though he didn’t let it go. “Ha-ha. Yes. That’s what a possessive weirdo would say, non? I’m joking. I’m glad you think Nya is as wonderful as I do.”

He glanced at her, grinned, hoped she was believing this terrible lie. He was so hung up on her that he couldn’t even prevaricate correctly anymore.

Scheisse de merde.

She winked at him, more of a clumsy blink really, and he called back her ideas for how he could pretend to show affection. She thought that he was faking this reaction, even after she’d brought his defenses down like a house of straw. Johan sighed with relief, then dragged his thumb slowly over the back of her hand because if she gave him a centimeter he’d take two kilometers.

He turned back to Linus, who looked pleased as punch, likely thinking about how this would help the referendum. “Where is Lukas, Forshett?” he asked. His brother usually came running to meet him when he returned home, but was mysteriously absent.

“Ach, who knows? I thought your brother was a good boy, but it seems he’s hit his rebellious streak. Fighting, missing appointments, talking back to his tutors. He slammed a door in my face!” Linus shook his head. “Laetitia would know what to do about this. She would have known what to do with you, too.”

Johan hated when Linus spoke of his mother like this, as if her death had been an unavoidable accident like a trip down a flight of stairs. The doctors had told her to slow down until they figured out what was causing her fainting spells. Johan had begged her. Linus had let her do as she wished, working herself to her limits for strangers, and here they all were now—except for her, and her heart condition that had been discovered too late.

“Well, she’s dead.” Johan didn’t realize how hard his tone was until Nya’s hand went stiff in his. He waited for her to pull her hand away, but slowly, one finger at a time, her grip tightened around his. Not to stay him—to give to him. Strength. Support. He took a deep breath. “So that means he needs us, his father and his brother, to make sure he’s okay. Has he been going to the therapist?”

“Ouay,” Linus said, without animation. He was hurt by Johan’s words. Because Johan had let his emotions rise to the surface.

A surge of guilt made Johan’s tie feel too tight. He tugged at the knot. He knew the king hadn’t really caused his mother’s death. He knew Linus still grieved, too. He should apologize.

He didn’t.

“Teenage boys are often a handful,” Nya said, breaking their awful silence. “At the orphanage, where I taught, they could sometimes seem to change overnight, even older boys who had always behaved. We called it ‘pants short, head strong syndrome.’”

Linus managed a smile. “Is there a cure for this?”

“Time and patience.” As she talked, she flipped her hand that was in Johan’s, so that his was on the bottom, and rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. She didn’t look at him—he wasn’t even sure if she knew she was doing it, which hit him that much harder. What they’d done in their bed in Njaza was one thing, but this kind of absentminded comfort was a different intimacy than he was used to.

“It will help if you stop treating him like a child,” Nya said. “Or rather, treating him in what he feels is a controlling way. Right now he’s searching for his place in the world, and the reminder of his mother’s passing has surely brought some unresolved issues to the surface.”

Hearing Nya speak calmly and professionally in an effort to help his brother was too much. He couldn’t look at her without risking saying or doing something he would regret. She was kind and competent, and he was utterly done for.

Nya continued. “You don’t have to let him run wild, but give him gentle reminders that his behavior is something only he can control. Let him know that if he needs to talk, you’ll be there.”