years old."
He glanced around the room. From their appearance, most of the crowd consisted of teenagers and people in their twenties. But, sprinkled here and there, he could see a few older ones—and a handful of children.
"Palaces are stodgy places. Very boring, for a spirited young girl. I think she would enjoy an occasional outing here."
He brought his eyes back to Thierbach. The young man seemed paralyzed for a moment. Then, astonished; then . . .
His thin shoulders squared. "She would have to learn how to bake," he said firmly, in a voice which had barely a trace of a quiver. "It's the rule."
Axel looked like he might be on the verge of apoplexy. Gustav burst into laughter.
"Splendid!" he said, slapping the table with a meaty hand. "Her mother—my wife—will have a fit, of course. So would my own mother. But my grandmother, on the other hand—the wife of the great Gustav Vasa—is reputed to have been quite an accomplished baker. I see no reason not to restore that skill to the family."
Oxenstierna began expostulating his protests the moment they left the building. But Gustav waved him down impatiently.
"Later, Axel, later. You know as well as I do that my wife is unfit to bring up my daughter. She's a sweet woman, but . . . weak. How much trouble has she caused us already,