“Well, you see who he has as a role model,” Linus said jovially, gesturing toward Johan with his teacup. “It’s a wonder this behavior didn’t start earlier.”

Johan froze again, waiting for Nya to agree with Linus, for them to both laugh knowingly. He’d played the role of clownish playboy for so long that his muscles shouldn’t have been tensed in awful anticipation—after all, that was the reaction Prince Jo-Jo was designed to elicit. A bright, ridiculous distraction.

“If he follows in Johan’s footsteps, then you have nothing to worry about. My fiancé is a nice man.” That edge had returned to her voice, her singsong accent more pronounced as she lifted her chin in challenge. Suddenly, Johan didn’t mind being called nice. Suddenly, it seemed like the highest compliment because to Nya, it was.

Linus didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze shifting back and forth between Nya and Johan. “Une fra avec des couteaux für die pieds,” he said slowly, nodding. “You chose well, Jo-Jo.”

“What does that mean?” Nya asked, face scrunched with puzzlement. Johan prepared to translate but then she continued. “A woman with knives for feet?”

“You speak Liechtienbourgish?” Johan hadn’t even thought to ask, given the country’s tiny population.

“I speak a little of several languages. Practicing gave me something to do when I was stuck at home.” She shrugged. “It’s just a mix of French and German, right?”

Johan raised a hand to his mouth in horror. “Please never say that in public, unless you want to be pelted with waffles by angry Liechtienbourgers.”

“I like waffles.” She winked.

“Not when they’re flying at you like cars on the Autobahn.”

“And if I say it in private?” she asked with a cheerful brazenness. Johan felt the blood rush to his cheeks. She’d managed to scandalize him in front of his stepfather, who hadn’t seemed to notice the innuendo in her words.

“It means a woman who will do anything for her man,” Linus interrupted helpfully, bringing the conversation back to his country’s strange colloquialisms.

“Like ‘The Little Mermaid,’” Johan added, taking a sip of cool water. “The fairy tale, not the film.”

“I see,” Nya said. “Is there a term for a man who would do anything for his partner?”

“I’d never thought of that,” Linus said. “No.”

Nya twisted her lips. “I was imagining something much cooler than regular old patriarchy. Lady Knife Feet sounds much more interesting.”

Johan laughed, unable to resist her serious contemplation of the phrase.

“I haven’t heard you laugh like this in years,” Linus said, looking just a bit awestruck.

Johan sobered and straightened in his seat, pretending not to see Nya glancing curiously at him.

“About the referendum,” Johan said, steering the topic away from himself. “Any news?”

“The opposition has ramped up their attacks, with Arshlocher saying our remembrance of your mother was an attempt at manipulation and not a painful coincidence. They’ve tried to insinuate we live off the public teat, even though that’s what they want for themselves, but our side has been doing a good job at showing the revenue from my businesses. It’s been a good way to share my elegant silverware design.”

He glanced meaningfully at the lumpy spoon Nya was stirring her tea with.

“Ohhh, I wondered where this lovely item had come from,” she said. “It’s unique and eye-catching.”

Linus nodded approvingly, and Johan wondered if perhaps Nya was better at lying than he was.

“I’ve seen the attacks about refugee resettlement programs as well, and some rumblings about my trip to Njaza,” Johan added. “I’ve been emailing with the PR company. I was thinking about a campaign featuring stories from the last Great War, reminding our citizens that many of them are descended from refugees who came here from across Europe. The royal family has always protected those in need.”

“Oh, that’s good! We need to be seen out and about in the lead up to the vote, showing why we deserve to maintain our position,” Linus added.

“Why do you deserve that?” Nya asked, stirring demurely.

Linus didn’t hesitate. “Tradition. Stability. Monarchy is the only form of government this country has known.”

She placed the spoon down on the edge of her saucer, ignoring it as the misshapen thing tilted over onto the table with a clunk. “Did you know my father is in prison?”

Linus didn’t flinch, years of diplomacy keeping his expression bland and light. He nodded once. “I saw something mentioned about that, but thought it better not to bring up such unpleasantness.”

“Well, that unpleasantness happened because he wanted to uphold tradition. He wanted power, to create stability, but stability as he knew it—stability that benefited him. He thought he knew best.” Nya’s voice was even, serious, with none of her usual cheer. “Have you asked yourself whether what’s best for you, the status quo, is not what’s best for your people? I have to ask because I’m part of this, too, now, and your actions reflect on me just as mine will on you.”

Johan expected Linus to get flustered, but the king drew his shoulders back—not an act of defense or offense, but a sign that he was taking Nya’s questions seriously.