you won’t be hanging around my mother! Then she felt her shoulders drop. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been.
“I’ve been searching everywhere,” Petterson said again. “He’s not inside, or by the rose garden, or in any of the summerhouses …”
Jenna looked up. “Really?” she blurted, caught off guard.
“No,” said Petterson. “But if you don’t know where he is, either …”
“Sorry, sir,” said Jonas. His voice sounded matter-of-fact again. “We’ve been standing here the whole time.”
“Well, I’ll just have to keep on searching,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sure I’m worrying unnecessarily.”
“Hope you find him!” Jenna chimed in, smiling. I can be just as two-faced as him , she thought. Worrying about your son? Doubtful!
Only when Petterson had hurried away across the lawn did Jonas look at her again.
“Now he’ll get his people to hunt for his own son,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Thus endeth the love scene in the love nest. Poor Perry. He’s totally avoiding his father ’cause he’s in a panic over being shipped off to military school.”
“But didn’t you hear what he said?” she asked. “Maybe Perry’s really gone.”
“Gone?” echoed Jonas. “Oh, right, because he’s not in the summerhouse.”
It’s over now , thought Jenna. That’s how fast a magic spell can end, no matter how gently you treat it. And all because that clumsy oaf interrupted us. Malena’s not the only girl in the world, Jonas had said. And it was Jonas who had blushed. If Petterson hadn’t butted in — if they’d had just one more minute. But now it was over. Now all Jonas could think about was Perry and where he might be.
“It is kind of weird, isn’t it?” said Jonas. He didn’t look at her. “I’d better go see if I can find him before his dad does.”
Jenna nodded. “Oh, definitely,” she said.
As he went to leave, Jonas suddenly reached out his hand toward her, in a gesture of … what? Jenna didn’t know. But then he quickly drew it back, as if he’d just realized what he’d done, and began to run. After a few steps, he turned and waved to her. His face was bright red.
“See you soon!” he called, telling himself he hadn’t totally blown his cover.
A fter the first assault on the buffet and the first round of conversation, von Thunberg had asked them to go with him to the hunting room. The walls were covered with trophies that generations of the family had brought home from the hunt: stuffed heads of boar; a collection of roebuck horns arranged like a kind of mosaic; the spreading antlers of a fourteen-pointer; even a lion’s head with a magnificent mane, from the von Thunbergs’ safaris in Africa.
Four glass-fronted cabinets, one on each wall of the room, contained brightly polished hunting weapons dating back more than three hundred years. Between them hung paintings of traditional hunting scenes.
“Whiskey, anyone?” asked von Thunberg, opening the one cabinet with solid wooden doors. “Gin? I also have sherry for you, Your Royal Highness.”
His three guests all shook their heads in silence. Petterson, who had temporarily given up the hunt for his son, leaned on the heavy oak table in the center of the room; Liron stood by the window overlooking the garden, gazing down at the party guests and the grounds, where his son was just waving to Jenna as he left her; Princess Margareta was still standing near the doorway.
“Did anyone get hold of the king?” Von Thunberg’s eyes went from Petterson to Liron to Margareta.
“What can Magnus do about it?” asked Liron. He raised his eyebrows almost as high as his hairline. “We’ve taken every safety measure a country can possibly take …”
“Except calling in the military!” von Thunberg stated. “I’m not allowed to mobilize my men, even though for decades it’s worked perfectly well.”
“Perfectly well?” repeated Princess Margareta. “Von Thunberg! This
“I’ve been searching everywhere,” Petterson said again. “He’s not inside, or by the rose garden, or in any of the summerhouses …”
Jenna looked up. “Really?” she blurted, caught off guard.
“No,” said Petterson. “But if you don’t know where he is, either …”
“Sorry, sir,” said Jonas. His voice sounded matter-of-fact again. “We’ve been standing here the whole time.”
“Well, I’ll just have to keep on searching,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sure I’m worrying unnecessarily.”
“Hope you find him!” Jenna chimed in, smiling. I can be just as two-faced as him , she thought. Worrying about your son? Doubtful!
Only when Petterson had hurried away across the lawn did Jonas look at her again.
“Now he’ll get his people to hunt for his own son,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Thus endeth the love scene in the love nest. Poor Perry. He’s totally avoiding his father ’cause he’s in a panic over being shipped off to military school.”
“But didn’t you hear what he said?” she asked. “Maybe Perry’s really gone.”
“Gone?” echoed Jonas. “Oh, right, because he’s not in the summerhouse.”
It’s over now , thought Jenna. That’s how fast a magic spell can end, no matter how gently you treat it. And all because that clumsy oaf interrupted us. Malena’s not the only girl in the world, Jonas had said. And it was Jonas who had blushed. If Petterson hadn’t butted in — if they’d had just one more minute. But now it was over. Now all Jonas could think about was Perry and where he might be.
“It is kind of weird, isn’t it?” said Jonas. He didn’t look at her. “I’d better go see if I can find him before his dad does.”
Jenna nodded. “Oh, definitely,” she said.
As he went to leave, Jonas suddenly reached out his hand toward her, in a gesture of … what? Jenna didn’t know. But then he quickly drew it back, as if he’d just realized what he’d done, and began to run. After a few steps, he turned and waved to her. His face was bright red.
“See you soon!” he called, telling himself he hadn’t totally blown his cover.
A fter the first assault on the buffet and the first round of conversation, von Thunberg had asked them to go with him to the hunting room. The walls were covered with trophies that generations of the family had brought home from the hunt: stuffed heads of boar; a collection of roebuck horns arranged like a kind of mosaic; the spreading antlers of a fourteen-pointer; even a lion’s head with a magnificent mane, from the von Thunbergs’ safaris in Africa.
Four glass-fronted cabinets, one on each wall of the room, contained brightly polished hunting weapons dating back more than three hundred years. Between them hung paintings of traditional hunting scenes.
“Whiskey, anyone?” asked von Thunberg, opening the one cabinet with solid wooden doors. “Gin? I also have sherry for you, Your Royal Highness.”
His three guests all shook their heads in silence. Petterson, who had temporarily given up the hunt for his son, leaned on the heavy oak table in the center of the room; Liron stood by the window overlooking the garden, gazing down at the party guests and the grounds, where his son was just waving to Jenna as he left her; Princess Margareta was still standing near the doorway.
“Did anyone get hold of the king?” Von Thunberg’s eyes went from Petterson to Liron to Margareta.
“What can Magnus do about it?” asked Liron. He raised his eyebrows almost as high as his hairline. “We’ve taken every safety measure a country can possibly take …”
“Except calling in the military!” von Thunberg stated. “I’m not allowed to mobilize my men, even though for decades it’s worked perfectly well.”
“Perfectly well?” repeated Princess Margareta. “Von Thunberg! This
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