Didi rehearsed her greeting for three nights, polishing every syllable until it came out cold enough to frost a window. She stood among the frozen roses of the palace garden, chin raised, hands folded, ready to be magnificent about it.
"Good evening, Baron, I trust your journey was tolerable," she told the nearest ice statue, lifting her chin another degree.
The statue declined to critique her posture, which she decided to count as approval.
Footfalls pounded along the frosted path, much too fast and much too loud to belong to anyone else.
"Good evening, Baron Hajin, I trust your—"
Hajin hit her at full speed, wrapping both arms around her shoulders and lifting her clean off the flagstones. Every cold, careful word she planned shattered like dropped glass, the whole garden spinning a full half-circle around them.
"There she is," he laughed into her hair, "there's my Highness."
