No. He hadn’t, and Nya hadn’t come to be overwhelmed either. She’d come to shock everyone, and Johan would help her do that.

“I’m fine,” she said, then placed her palms on his chest, pushed up gently on her toes, and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, an innocent press of lips, but . . . Johan was a performer. His hand cupping her cheek held her face in place while his other hand slipped behind her back, pulling her close. Then he was kissing her deeply and passionately and, goddess, she hoped this wasn’t a performance, too.

The desire in his eyes before they fluttered closed, the urgency of his tongue pressing into her mouth, the devilish groan that vibrated against her lips . . . all of that was real. It had to be.

He pulled away, eyes unfocused and expression dazed as he looked into her eyes.

“All better, then?”

“Hrim!” she replied, not quite able to speak yet, and his features creased as laughter burst from him.

Laughter and whistles from the crowd of journalists and onlookers reminded her that they weren’t alone.

“Can we go?” Lukas asked sullenly.

“Sorry,” Johan said.

“Not sorry,” Nya added, feeling frisky. “But we will keep the PDA to a minimum. Sorry, Lukas.”

The journalists kept a respectful distance as they followed their stroll to the nearby market. The stalls all looked similar from afar—wooden posts and red fabric awnings beneath strings of light. As they approached, she could see each vendor sold something different.

Homemade soaps, scary marionettes with yarn for hair, cheeses of all kinds, meats and stationery and cell phone accessories. Their fellow shoppers looked at them, though most pretended not to see them or the group of photographers following them. The vendors made sure to hold their wares up at an angle that would have made Portia proud.

Johan held her hand on one side, and Lukas strolled quietly on the other. She noticed how Johan’s gaze flicked to his brother—and those around his brother—even as he made jokes to break the tension. How he guided both of them around raised cobblestones and away from anyone who looked poised to approach them, despite the fact that guards from the castle tailed them, all while maintaining a carefree demeanor. She knew what it was, to pretend that everything was fine when it was not, but Johan had mastered the art of careless vigilance.

Lukas began to thaw as they walked, though he didn’t seem to notice how Johan was attuned to his every move. Nya had seen similar behavior in siblings who came to live at the orphanage—the obsession with making sure no one else they loved came to harm. The social workers had a protocol in place to mitigate the overwhelming fear and guilt the protective siblings felt. It was clear that no one had ever stepped in to do the same for Johan.

She wanted to gather him to her, to tell him he could stop pretending and stop protecting. She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him instead, hoping her eyes radiated the message she’d never received.

I know things are not fine. You aren’t in this alone.

Lukas stopped at the marionette stall to explain the history of the creepy dolls to her, which she supposed was his way of bonding, and the vendor let him operate one with flaxen hair.

He worked the strings with ease, smiling as the doll shimmied and kicked across a clear space on the table.

“Johan used to put on shows for me,” Lukas said as he settled the doll back in with the others. “He’d make a little stage out in the garden and use marionettes our mother had brought for me.”

There was something wistful in the boy’s voice.

“Jah,” Johan said. His relief that his brother had finally addressed him was almost palpable. “When he got older, we would dress up and act out plays. He makes a very fine Miranda.”

“It was fun.” Lukas gathered his ponytail in his palm, smoothing the hair as he slid his hand down it. “I used to think he just liked spending time with me. But like everything else, it was just preparation for all of this.”

Lukas gestured to the paparazzi surrounding them, and maybe more. Nya thought he might mean all of Liechtienbourg.

“That’s what everything comes down to with Johan. Putting on an act. Do you like acting, Nya?”

Johan went stiff at her side.

“I’m not very good at it,” Nya said. “Though I think it’s necessary sometimes.”

“Let’s go get a mulled wine,” Johan said, pretending the conversation wasn’t happening.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” she asked.

“Never.” He took her hand again. “The reason we’re a fortress city is that all of the surrounding fiefdoms and countries were always trying to steal our secret recipe.”

She glanced up at him, his face the very picture of carefree prince as he scanned the stalls in the opposite direction of his brother, and she squeezed his hand. His mouth twitched, but he squeezed back, and then there was an uproar to the left of them.

Johan pushed Nya and Lukas behind him with one swing of his long arm.

“Jo-Jo!” a female voice called out crisp and clear.

A woman stepping from between the awnings with a bundle in her arms. The security detail that had quietly shadowed them rushed toward her, but she flipped back some of the cloth in her arms, revealing . . . a baby. A redheaded baby.

Nya’s stomach lurched.

“Oh, come on,” Johan muttered. “Vraiment?”