“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” he said, suddenly casual. So sudden she might have imagined that vulnerability in his tone just a moment before.

What was with him?

“That’s what my mother used to call me. Now the tabloids use it because they think it’s funny, and people at the palace use it because they think I like it. I’ve grown used to the reminder, but right now is not a good time.”

“Oh.” Nya remembered Ledi and Portia’s cryptic conversation, and—suddenly—what had been playing on the news channel in the lounge of Gate R as she fretted over returning home. A remembrance of Queen Laetitia. It had been ten years since the queen of Liechtienbourg had died of an undetected heart issue—some had said the cruelty of the world she tried so hard to fix had been too much to bear. Others said she’d paid more attention to the health of others than her own.

She hadn’t paid attention to the news, but hours later, Nya had found Johan alone in the darkness clutching a ratty teddy bear. And he’d asked her to hold him.

Oh.

Both in the plane and in this sauna, she’d assumed that he’d blocked her chance to silently brood, when in reality she’d twice interrupted his.

A sudden tenderness filled her, despite how his overconfident presence usually irked her. She knew what it was, to be motherless. She knew the gaping void it created, and she’d never even known her mother, who’d died in childbirth. She’d lived in a shrine to the woman, though, her father’s constant vigil over what they’d lost—what had been taken from him. She couldn’t imagine that bittersweet effort at keeping her mother’s memory alive being broadcast on international news stations. She did know what it felt like to have everyone know and dissect your most private pain, though.

She wouldn’t give him pity, since that’s what she was fleeing herself. Was that what anyone ever wanted? She sat and breathed and sweated beside him in silence for a long moment.

“I can come up with another nickname for you,” she said finally, dabbing her towel at her forehead. “If you want.”

The wood bench creaked and she felt the vibration of him shifting to look at her.

“That depends, Sugar Bubble. Is the nickname going to be an insult? If not, then yes, I want.”

She hadn’t imagined Johan would care about being insulted, because she hadn’t thought much about what it was like to be him. Well, she had, but she’d focused on the part where everyone thought he was attractive and funny and he could do whatever he wanted with no fear of retribution. Even as she’d fought her grudging crush on him, she hadn’t considered that he was a real person with real feelings and real vulnerabilities.

She was no better than the people who assumed they knew who she was. Okay, she was slightly better because now that she knew, she would do something about it.

She looked at him—really looked at him. At the way his shoulders were tensed despite his grin, and how the nail of his middle finger scraped at the wooden bench in a repetitive motion.

“A nickname is important,” she said, pulling her gaze away from him. She stretched her neck to the right and left, loosening the tension. “Let’s see. What do I know about you?”

“If this has anything to do with my hair, I’ll shave it all off, I swear,” he threatened playfully. She was glad that his playfulness had returned.

Nya didn’t think a shaved head would detract from his handsomeness, even if his dome was shaped like a mountain range underneath, as the aunties said.

He was mischievous and cunning and had a pointy nose. Sometimes he jumped around ostentatiously. She wouldn’t leave out that red hair, no matter what he threatened, and she couldn’t forget how lonely he’d looked in the picture she had of him.

Phokojoe, she thought, remembering the traditional tales she’d learned as a child and passed on to her students. The trickster god.

“Phoko,” she said. “I will call you Phoko.”

“Phoko,” he said, trying to fit his Liechtienbourger accent over her Thesoloian one and doing a pretty good job. “I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound like an insult so I like it.”

“Excellent. I’m good at making up names. I will add that to my CV.”

They chuckled, and Nya inhaled the warm air deeply, feeling her body relax a bit.

“What kind of job are you considering now that you’re back in Thesolo?” he asked softly after they’d sat quietly for a couple of minutes. A harmless question, but one she was surprised he bothered to ask.

“Are you asking as my confidant?”

“Yes. I’ll forget as soon as I walk out of this sauna.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I thought I would go back to teaching at the orphanage, but they don’t really need a teacher with my credentials right now. They say I am overqualified, but I think they don’t want the negative association with my father.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

She smiled at how disgruntled he sounded on her behalf. “It’s fine. I . . . I don’t think I want to work there anymore. And if I do, I have some connections in high places. I’m sure they’d be willing to hire the princess’s cousin if not the criminal’s daughter.”