Chapter One #2
He would show the English that Thrudheim was a brave and strong nation.
Granted, usually he was happier in simpler clothing, but he understood that he would need to dress appropriately tonight to impress an aristocratic bride.
His dark blond hair was cropped short and had enough curl to keep it out of his blue eyes.
But he frowned as the collar caught his chin when he turned his head.
‘It’s been a while since I wore this.’
Hans smirked, appearing far more comfortable in his own clothing which was more fully in the English style, with the exception of the elaborate silk-tasselled belt he wore.
His tail-coat lacked the stately finery of the sovereign prince’s clothes but was in matching colours and fabric, purely to distinguish between the ruling prince and his younger sibling, although any fool could see the age difference between them.
Not to mention the grim experience of war that had painted Magnus’s and most men’s faces with a naturally darker affect.
The Thrudheim royal family all had the same blue eyes, but their hair colour differed.
Helga had white-blond hair, a characteristic that regularly popped up in the royal bloodline, while Hans’s hair was like polished bronze.
His siblings looked elegant and otherworldly, whereas Magnus, with his dirty-blond hair and broad physique had always appeared more ordinary.
His father had often lamented that his eldest son looked more like a brutish worker of the silver mines than the heir to Thrudheim.
The first of many flaws his father had criticised him for over the years.
It had always been clear to Magnus that he was a disappointment, no matter what he did.
Olav clucked like a proud nanny. ‘You are a fine figure of a man, Your Serene Highness. I will ensure your clothing is adjusted or remade accordingly.’
‘Thank you, Olav.’ Magnus checked his reflection in the mirror and decided he looked regal enough to tempt an English lady into matrimony.
‘Any other requirements?’ Hans asked as he stood up from his seat and Olav hurried to brush out the wrinkles from his clothing.
‘She must be…’ Magnus paused, trying to think of the characteristics he most wanted in a partner.
‘Lusty?’ prodded Hans, with a vulgarity that made Magnus glare at him.
‘She does not have to be beautiful, but neither can she be ugly. She must represent Thrudheim, after all.’ Beauty and lust were a distraction.
One he’d indulged in far too often in his youth—much to his father’s disgust. The last widow he’d had an affair with had been sent a letter by his father threatening to remove her title, and so Magnus had sworn never to become distracted by a pretty face again—for their protection, rather than his own.
Even now, with his father gone, Magnus could not forget himself when choosing his bride: he had to focus on a sensible choice for Thrudheim first and not allow any room for selfish distractions.
‘Oh, of course! God forbid you actually want to bed the woman you marry!’ said Hans soberly with a twinkle in his eye that made Magnus realise his brother was mocking him.
Magnus’s chest became uncomfortably tight, and not just because of the cut of his clothing. The weight of responsibility and the pride of his ancestors pressed down upon his shoulders as if he were Atlas carrying the weight of the world.
When he closed his eyes to calm the dizziness, all he could see was his father’s snarling face and the riding crop in his hand, followed quickly by the look of betrayal in Helga’s eyes as she realised what Magnus had done.
How could Hans not comprehend the importance of this decision?
When he forced his eyes open, there was a concerned look upon both Hans’s and Olav’s faces.
‘Honour Above All!’ Magnus barked the family motto at his younger sibling. ‘Helga married to continue our alliances with Norway and Sweden. I will marry an English lady, and you will eventually do what is right for Thrudheim and our people. Our desires mean nothing. We can never forget our duty!’
Hans gave a grim nod, although Magnus could tell he wasn’t happy to do so.
But they both knew the risks of allowing your heart to rule over your head.
For the principality of Thrudheim to remain free and independent, Magnus had to ensure a political alliance that would safeguard the state for generations to come.
Magnus rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and straightened his spine.
His family might hate him, but he refused to fail in his duty.
His responsibility to ensure Thrudheim’s future was his guiding star, and his success would make all those years of suffering under his father’s hand worthwhile.
He’d forced Helga into making a sacrifice for their country; it was only right that Magnus should do the same.
‘The Duke of Beckton has kindly arranged a Society party that will ensure I meet the best quality, well-bred ladies. I will make a shortlist tonight, as I aim to be married within a month—two at the most. Then I will begin instructing her on her duties as my consort.’
As they walked towards the doorway, he thought he heard his brother mutter, ‘God help her.’