The Crown

He backed up, fidgeted with his hands a second, and then bowed abruptly. It was such a rushed, sloppy gesture that I couldn’t help but laugh.

He smiled a little himself, shaking his head at the silliness of the moment. He, too, was in his pajamas—striped-blue pants and a plain cotton shirt—and wandering the palace in bare feet.

“What in the world are you doing up at this hour?” I asked.

“Henri has been working especially hard on his English since you announced the Elite. And with a date tomorrow, he wanted to be extra prepared. We only quit for the day a few minutes ago, and I was heading to the kitchen for some tea and honey. Honey is supposed to make you sleep well.” He said all this in a low, hurried voice, as if he was worried he might bore me.

“Is it? I might have to try that tomorrow. I was actually just going to the kitchen for coffee.”

“Your Highness, I feel you’re a very bright woman, so it pains me to tell you that coffee will not help you sleep. Not at all.”

I giggled. “No, I know. I was going to get some work done. I haven’t been sleeping, so I thought I might as well be useful.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re always useful. Even when you sleep.”

I ducked my head, moving around the banister, and he followed me down the steps. All I could think of was how drab he had seemed that first day, a grayed-out shadow of a person. I knew now his plainness was his shield, hiding how smart, thoughtful, and funny he was. Though I still didn’t understand the choice, I knew there was more to him than he let most people see.