Chapter Eight #2
The light, natural beauty was unexpected in the heavy, medieval surroundings.
And even more wonderfully, the room was filled with people. Some she recognized from events at the palace in Cape Blanco, and abroad. Others she suspected were citizens from this country.
And all heads turned to look at them as they walked out to the top step.
She curtsied, and Ragnar gave a deep bow as they were introduced.
“His Royal Highness, King Ragnar. And his queen, Fernanda.”
She could forgive the use of her full name. Here it seemed right.
She was firm with Ragnar, and that was good enough.
The sense of warmth that radiated inside of her when she thought of that surprised her.
It surprised her that it mattered.
That there was something between the two of them that she didn’t share with anyone else.
His hand felt warm on her arm as the two of them began to descend the stairs.
She looked at him; his face was stern. Unapproachable, even though she had a feeling he didn’t mean to be. She smiled. Doing her best to look easy for the two of them.
Yes, she was doing her best.
Because she actually cared. This wasn’t just about blending in. It wasn’t just about being the perfect accessory. She was actually trying to help him. She believed in this.
She believed in him.
This country was beautiful. Though she hadn’t seen as much of it as she would like to yet. She had fully been realizing how much she had in common with Ragnar, but she also had something in common with the people of this country.
They’d had their choices taken away from them. Their lives had been stolen from them. Their freedom had been stolen from them.
She felt a burning desire to change that. To bring back their sense of identity. To restore their dreams.
If she could do it by smiling now, then she would.
Ragnar bypassed several members of the ruling class and nobility from other countries, and she felt like she needed to offer an apologetic smile as they made their way past. But then she realized. He was moving toward his citizens. His people.
The woman that he approached looked startled, and then she began to bow.
He shook his head. “We will not stand on royal protocol,” he said.
“We are family. United in our desire to change things for this country. For the better.” He stuck his hand out, and the woman took it.
He shook it. His expression was grave, but it was real.
Authentic. And she felt a surge of pride inside of her.
“I’m Fern,” she said. Because she decided that she would give their people that name as well. They went around and introduced themselves to every single citizen of Asland, just like that. There were tears. At one point a woman hugged Fern.
They were so hungry for joy. For a sense that someone cared about them. About how they were doing, and about their futures. The futures of their children.
An older woman clasped Fern’s hands in hers and looked up at her with shining eyes. “Queen Fernanda. When you have children it will be such a blessing.”
A pang of guilt shot through her. Because she was planning to leave. She was forging these alliances, these relationships, and then she intended to leave. She had this idea of getting on with her life, and she was overwhelmed with the deep realization that this was their life.
They weren’t just passing through. And she had to give this all the care that she would if she planned to stay forever.
Children.
If Ragnar had heard any of the exchange, nothing about his expression indicated it. She could see that his people appreciated his strength. That they responded to his demeanor. He seemed sincere because he wasn’t putting on a show. Because he was sincere.
It made her chest feel sore.
She had this idea of the way things had to be, and it was based on the actions of someone she didn’t even respect.
Ragnar had to be free to be the king that he was.
Still, she had been right to have this.
She did most of the talking when they interacted with diplomats and royals, while Ragnar ate an entire plate of small cakes.
It was perhaps the most delightful thing she had ever seen. Tiny, pastel cakes in his large hands.
He was enjoying them; she could see that, even if his expression remained stubbornly neutral throughout.
The band began to play, and the large dance floor was cleared. “We have to dance first,” she said.
He nodded slowly, and then he held his hand out to her.
She curtsied, and then placed her hand in his. He wrapped his fingers around hers, completely engulfing them.
And then he pulled her out to the center of the floor, his arm tight around her waist, his other hand holding hers like she was anchoring him.
“You remember,” she whispered.
Of course, when they had practiced dancing, things had not been so easy between them. And what she remembered wasn’t just the dancing. His resistance. His angry kiss.
Her heart began to beat as he took the first step in time with the music. As she moved with him.
As he swept her over the dance floor and she kept imagining his mouth on hers, her back pressed against the bookcase. His hard, hot body right on hers.
His hands. Those large hands on her hips.
And she could see the memory reflected in his own gaze. In the blue depths, fire and ice and all that he was.
He was such a complicated man.
A puzzle to be solved. And maybe she would make that the mission of the next two years as well.
To untangle all of the aspects of him. To find the man beneath the warrior. The man beneath all of his pain.
She wondered about his missing memories. Would he ever get them back? Was it more of a blessing if he didn’t?
She wondered about all of that while memories of the kiss echoed persistently in her brain.
While he held her close, in time to the music, beneath the keen gaze of their audience.
And finally, halfway through the song, they were joined by the rest of the attendees at the ball. Still, even surrounded by all those people, it felt like they might be the only two in the world.
A dangerous feeling. When they were here to serve. When they were here to be of use to the people of this country. To forge alliances. They weren’t the only two people.
She had to remember that.
But tonight would be for the two of them. On that she had decided.
They danced through several songs, and then exhausted themselves making another circuit of the room.
Until they had spoken to everyone. She could feel Ragnar losing strength.
And it made her think again about his life.
About all the things that he had done. And about how few of those things included these kinds of arduous social situations.
Of course it was exhausting. The man would probably rather be on a battlefield.
As soon as the clock struck midnight, it was their cue to leave. And they were officially excused as they had come in.
Once they were out in the antechamber, in the silence, away from everyone, she turned to him. “I don’t wish to go back to my room tonight.”
“You do not?”
“No. I intend to go back to yours.”