Chapter Twenty
Magnus sat in the breakfast room and ate his eggs and drank his coffee, as he had every day since he’d left the nursery.
Even when he was in Copenhagen or at sea, he’d always eaten the same breakfast. Restriction of meals had been one of his father’s many punishments, so if Magnus didn’t start his day with his preferred meal, it always ruined his mood.
But as he stared down at his perfectly cooked boiled eggs and toast, he wondered at the peculiar quirks of his nature, the rigid rules he followed almost without thinking, the strange comfort he took in his habits.
Since their wedding at the stave church a week ago, he’d tried to go back to his old familiar routines.
Waking up early for his usual breakfast, reading his correspondence while he digested his meal, then exercising for most of the morning—his father had insisted a sovereign had to always be in peak physical fitness.
So, depending on the weather or his duties, he either went riding or swimming, or practised fencing, boxing, or wielding the traditional Thrudheim weapons of broadsword and axe.
After luncheon, he spoke with dignitaries and politicians and went about his wider duties within the city.
Following his evening meal, he responded to his correspondence, read, and then went to bed.
Sometimes he would have indulged in a discreet encounter with a lover, but he’d broken those ties months ago, when he’d first decided on choosing a wife.
Now instead of reading, he went to Selina’s bedchamber, and it wasn’t an occasional visit, but every single night.
Glancing at the clock he wondered if she’d overslept. Most mornings he saw her before beginning his day, and he wondered if he should ask a footman to enquire. But would that seem odd? After all, she wasn’t required to join him at breakfast, and he couldn’t waste much more time waiting for her.
He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she’d somehow managed to interrupt nearly every aspect of his daily schedule, either through disrupting his process or stealing into his thoughts.
Obviously, he’d known that taking a wife would lead to some adjustments, especially with the eventual arrival of an heir.
But he’d never imagined himself to be so affected by her arrival.
If he did not keep his growing obsession with Selina in check, he feared his carefully planned life would fall into disarray.
As a child he’d been desperate for affection so much so that it had almost broken him.
His father had been disgusted and his mother dismayed by his behaviour.
A prince had to remain dignified and rational at all times, or he risked failing his country like some of their past ancestors had done.
Worse, emotional outbursts could ruin everything in the blink of an eye, as he knew from experience with his sister.
Magnus had hoped that he would have become accustomed to Selina by now, that he would no longer crave her company or be distracted by constant thoughts of her, wasting precious time on remembering the sound she made as she came undone beneath his touch, or wondering how she was finding her latest task, of which he had set many.
Each of her days were filled to the brim with tours of the palace and instruction. Now that he knew her reading struggles, he ensured her tutoring was more engaging, with a variety of historians giving her guided tours to provide her with a more interesting introduction to Thrudheim’s history.
Each night he waited eagerly for their evening meal, when he would see her in some new tempting concoction of a gown and she would tell him about what she had learned that day.
Then he would read from the book, as she called it, while she would knit her blankets or whatever it was that she was making.
The chapters gave him something to focus on and a target to reach before he indulged in his baser instincts, always reading at least three chapters, before he allowed himself to close the book.
Finally, he would suggest they retire for the evening, and without fail would find himself asking, ‘May I join you tonight?’
She always said yes, and they would retire, going to their separate rooms to undress.
While he waited for her to get ready for bed, he wrote his correspondence or signed contracts in his bedchamber, always while drinking one small brandy to take the edge off his desire.
Eventually, Olav would inform him that Margarite had left Selina for the night.
Sometimes he would nod and pretend that he had no interest in visiting his wife, waving a dismissive hand and telling Olav to go to bed, while pretending to be deeply enthralled in the latest report from Thrudheim’s mines or some such.
But it was all an act. Silently he would be counting in his head to sixty, each number following the beat of the ticking clock in his room, the number at which he allowed himself to go to her.
Was it strange that he lived by such regimented rules?
He hadn’t considered it until now. There had been a time when those rules had comforted and supported him, but recently they had begun to chafe like a badly fitted bit.
When he went to her, he would follow the same process, hoping that it would dull the desire through monotony.
But his body betrayed him, and he found himself kissing her longer and with deeper feeling each time.
He would sink into the wild and intoxicating softness of her and allow himself to fall into mindless sensation.
Thankfully, she couldn’t understand him when he spoke in the Thrudheim dialect, and there was some comfort in that as the filthy, depraved words he uttered were not what any gentleman should say to a young lady on her wedding night, or any night for that matter.
But somehow the fact she could not knowingly judge him for it gave him greater freedom—a special licence to be wicked.
Perhaps he just needed to become accustomed to this new routine. However, he couldn’t deny that nothing seemed to slake his thirst for her, and his favourite moments of the day were always spent with her. Surely, he wasn’t becoming a lovesick fool? He had work to do!
There was a note marked Urgent in his correspondence this morning, from the Duke of Solberg. He was almost tempted to toss it into the fire—he’d received three letters so far, each requesting an audience with him, and showing increasing concern regarding Selina’s speech.
He glanced through the letter, his own irritation building with each damning phrase.
There were rumours the princess was illiterate, that she had requested help from a mere servant to help her in courtly duties.
Magnus presumed Solberg meant Margarite, though her family had served the palace far longer than the damn House of Solberg ever had—for all their lofty pretensions.
He moved the note to the bottom of the pile and reached for the next piece of correspondence.
Mr Bergen, Sonja’s father, had written to him begging for his intervention with his eldest daughter.
Sonja had rejected all marriage proposals and had even refused to meet any more potential suitors.
Magnus wasn’t entirely sure what he expected his prince to do about his obstinate child.
He could hardly force a young woman to marry!
Although, it would certainly make life easier with Hans if Sonja were no longer a problem…
Selina breezed in, and Mr Bergen’s pleas were quickly forgotten, because she was wearing an exceedingly fetching coral dress today.
He grabbed another letter after greeting her, more to prove to himself that he wasn’t completely incapable of attending to business after seeing her.
After a quick greeting, she busied herself with her morning meal.
Oddly they both preferred a savoury start to their day, choosing eggs instead of the sweet breads and cakes most people favoured.
A small part of him was pleased that this one aspect of their very different natures seemed to fall into alignment.
‘Today I have tea with Lady Nora,’ she said playfully. ‘In case you were thinking of sending me on a tour of the dungeon or the palace sewers.’
Magnus inclined his head in agreement, a small smile of amusement escaping at her grumble. ‘I am aware. The dungeon tour has been moved to next week, as has the sewer inspection.’
‘I hope you are joking. But I fear I have just given you more ideas.’
‘It is only three weeks until the coronation, I want you to be prepared. Be careful of the ladies there. Miss Sonja is a particularly vicious viper, who according to her father has been a stubborn fool of late, refusing all potential matches.’
‘Well, she might have good reason to refuse them.’
He huffed in response and absently looked down at the next letter in his hand. His stomach dropped when he realised who it was from, and he hurried to open it, quickly scanning the contents.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Selina softly, a worried crease on her brow.
‘The letter is from my sister’s husband. She will not be attending your coronation—which I expected—as she is carrying their first child. But he writes to tell me that she has been ordered into confinement early. There have been…concerns over her well-being.’
Selina leaned a little closer towards him and rested an arm on his sleeve. ‘That sounds worrying. Perhaps we should delay—’
‘She is in confinement,’ he snapped. ‘There is nothing to be done but hope for a healthy birth and a quick recovery. If she had wanted me to do anything, she would have written to me herself.’ He knew Helga never would, that she still hated him for what he had done, and he could not blame her.
But when he thought of her being ill, possibly dying…
his heart raced and his palms became slick with sweat.
‘Well, I shall become better acquainted with Helga by letter, then.’
‘You are going to write to my sister?’ he asked incredulously.
Selina stiffened a little at his question but nodded brightly.
‘I shall dictate something to Margarite, and she can write it in Norwegian for me.’ She glanced at the servants, a flush on her cheeks, and he realised what a horrible bastard he’d been by embarrassing her in front of them.
It was obvious she didn’t like people to know of her difficulties with reading and writing, and he’d blundered offensively.
Yes, it was about time he put further controls on his own tempestuous behaviour!
‘If she is under confinement,’ said Selina moving on swiftly, ‘there is nothing worse than being imprisoned in your own home.’ A cloud of sadness passed over her face, and he wondered again about the loneliness of her childhood.
‘What do you mean imprisoned?’
She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, you know… Sometimes you are forced inside when the weather is bad.’
‘Selina, explain yourself,’ he said quietly but firmly.
Her soft brown eyes met his, and she answered in almost a whisper.
‘My father was at sea when my mother became unwell. I couldn’t speak English…
and the servants couldn’t explain to me what was happening.
I wanted to go to her constantly. When she became very ill, they had to lock me in an empty room until my aunt could be fetched. ’
‘How long?’ Cold dread gripped him by the throat.
‘Three days.’
And I will hate empty rooms. Suddenly, her words on the ship made sense. How terrifying it must have been for her as a young child to be locked away during such a traumatic time. Her mother sick and confined, no visitors or family, not even any kind words of comfort.
‘Oh, look!’ she cried, reaching over and clasping his hand tightly.
‘What a mess I have made of telling you! Now you will be even more worried about your sister than before! I am so sorry, Magnus! Many women go into early confinement. Usually, it means that their dates were wrong or they simply need more rest before delivery. I am sure your sister is strong, and being well cared for.’
‘That is true. Helga is strong and will survive this challenge. I have never known her to fail at anything.’ She had survived their father, after all.
He took Selina’s hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently.
‘And you have nothing to apologise for. I am sorry that happened to you. Write to Helga if you wish, but do not be offended if she does not reply… I hurt Helga once. I didn’t intend to, but I did it all the same.
’ Selina opened her mouth to ask a question, and he kissed her fingers for a second time, silencing her.
‘Do not ask me to speak of it. Only know that if she does not respond, it is no reflection on you.’
He lowered her hand to the table, but continued to hold and stare at it for a long moment, unwilling to let go, even though he knew he should. The day was moving on, and so should he.
However, his heart ached for the little girl who’d constantly struggled to be understood and who hated to be left behind.
With one shattering revelation, he understood Selina so much better.
She wasn’t vapid—although he’d begun to realise that long ago—she was kind and sweet.
And the people-pleasing behaviour she’d previously shown wasn’t because she wished to be a social climber but because she was afraid of being abandoned.
She’d been treated abominably, at the worst time in her young life, when she’d been too young to control her behaviour.
No wonder she hated empty rooms and silence.
She sought entertainment and noise to drown out the memories of loneliness and isolation.
Another, sharper thought occurred to him. Shouldn’t he also look back more favourably on his younger self? He’d also been a child too young to control his emotions, or live up to his father’s ridiculously high expectations.
Magnus sought structure and routine to make sense of the chaos, but did he need to strive for perfection as an adult? Would the world and Thrudheim truly end if he didn’t keep every emotion and desire so closely guarded and in check?
He wasn’t sure how to balance discipline and freedom. But he was beginning to wonder if he should at least try for Selina’s sake—she deserved to be happy—to no longer fear being left alone.
He raised his head and stared into her blushingly pretty face. ‘I cannot promise to be the perfect husband. But I will never abandon you. You are my princess and always will be.’
Her eyes shone, and she nodded. ‘Thank you.’
The clock struck to signal the hour, and he decided he would have one more cup of coffee before beginning his day.