Prince Rasmus sat on a cushioned chair that was something between a throne and a settee. He was not reclining in comfort as he had been last time, and the effort of remaining upright and hiding his fatigue was costing him. He looked pale, and Nina could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. This was what Brum had meant. The royal family knew the prince had to appear in public—particularly after the disaster at Maidenswalk—but they had tried to place him away from the bustle so that he wouldn’t be overtaxed.

Nina and Hanne curtsied.

“Go on,” the prince said with a disinterested wave of his hand. He was far more out of sorts than he’d seemed the other day.

They entered and sat themselves on low tuffets.

“You both need to work on your curtsies,” he observed with displeasure.

But Hanne only smiled. “I fear mine will get no better with practice. I’ve never been known for my grace.”

That wasn’t true at all. Hanne was graceful running or on horseback. The artifice of court didn’t suit her. And as for Nina, she could manage an exquisite curtsy, but Mila Jandersdat, widow of a man who traded frozen fish, certainly could not.

Rasmus’ eyes roved over Nina now. “Your mistress wears silk but dresses her maid in wool. That speaks of a petty and jealous disposition.”

He really was in a foul temper. Nina saw Hanne’s fingers flex slightly and gave her a warning glance—not too much, not too soon.

“Wool suits me very well,” said Nina. “I wouldn’t know what to do in silks or satin.” A profound lie. She could think of nothing better than sliding about naked on satin sheets. Matthias would have been scandalized. And what would Hanne think? The thought popped into her head unbidden, followed by a wave of guilt.

“I find most women learn to love luxury quickly enough,” the prince said. “I see no jewels at Mila’s neck nor on her ears. Your father should remedy that, Hanne. He doesn’t want to look like a miser.”

Hanne inclined her head, then looked up at the prince from beneath her lashes. “I should tell you that I’ll pass along your advice, but I have no intention of doing so.”

Rasmus huffed a breath. “You are brash to admit you would deny a prince.” Hanne’s fingers shifted again, and the prince gave a deep sigh of what might have been relief. “All the same, I can’t blame you. Your father can be quite terrifying.” He glanced at Joran, who stood at attention beside him. “Of course, Joran isn’t afraid, is he? Answer, Joran.”

“I have only respect for Commander Brum.”

It was hard to believe the guard was just sixteen, especially beside the prince.