Chapter 37
Spencer
I
t’s not the best day for a hike.
The afternoon sun hides behind grey clouds that threaten rain. Rue assures us three times that the rain will hold off until this evening, and everything has been set up for us, so the date is still a go. There’s a cool breeze that has Lyra hugging her elbows as she strides along the path before me.
“It reminds me of Scotland.”
They’re the first words I’ve spoken since we started off.
Maybe it’s the cameraman following us, close enough to hear our every labored breath.
And yes, some of my breaths are labored.
For a flat piece of land, Saint Pierre has a surprising number of dips and inclines.
And yes, I’m far from the best shape of my life.
Too many late nights at my desk with fish and chips take out, too many mornings starting with lattes from Coffee for the Sole with full-fat milk and extra syrup.
I can still keep up with anyone, but it takes its toll.
The quiet may also be because it’s the first time we’ve been alone.
Alone, in that there’s no other men around. There’s always the cameraman.
“Do you remember when we went to Balmoral?” Lyra says over her shoulder. “Dad went a few times, but it was only the one time when they let all of us go too.”
“All of us” means I was invited as well. It was soon after Dad and Signe got divorced and he hadn’t wanted to leave me alone. King Magnus and Queen Selene thought nothing of bringing along another teenager.
“And the Queen thought you were another prince.” Lyra laughed.
“Your mom didn’t correct her until the end of the weekend.”
“She always thought of you as hers, so she didn’t care. Plus, you don’t correct the Queen of England.”
“No, you don’t,” I agree but all I can think is she always thought of you as hers. “I loved your mother,” I add. “Not as the queen, but… you know.”
Lyra looks back at me. “She loved you too.”
“I never told her.”
“And I never told her enough. But she knew.”
We’re silent again, the path widening, so we can walk side by side. A plane flies low overhead and Lyra waves.
“Try not to acknowledge the cameras,” Johnny says from behind us.
“It’s Bo,” Lyra tells me. “They wanted overhead shots, so he offered to fly around with the camera guy.”
“Hasan,” I say.
“You know their names? Of course you do. It’s no wonder Mom loved thinking of you as a son—you’ve got more royal qualities than the rest of us put together.”
“Because I learn people’s names?”
“Because you think of learning people’s names.”
“The queen knew everyone’s name,” I point out. “I got it from her.” I pause, not knowing how far I can go with Lyra on the subject of her mother. It’s always difficult for Lyra to put her emotions about her mother into words.
She put most of her thoughts and feelings down on paper in the letters she sent me.
I had been away at university in Toronto when I got the news about the accident. I don’t remember anything about the flight back, just that I managed to get to the Island Airport and somehow there was a plane waiting for me.
The magic of my father—organizing a ride home for me at the same time he was supporting his best friend and grieving for the queen.
All of us gathered at the hospital had been… grim. And then I had been in Lyra’s room when she woke, and I was the one who told her that the queen had died.
That her mother had died.
“I miss her,” I say softly.
“I miss her every day,” Lyra says matter-of-factly. “I talk to her sometimes,” she admits. “I don’t know what that makes me.”
“It makes you a daughter missing her mother. What do you talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Life, the stupid stuff I do. Boys.”
“Do you talk about me?”
There’s a long pause, then, “She loved you.”
“You said that.”
“So, yeah, I talk about you. Especially since you showed up to mess up my season.” But she grins as she says it.
I open my mouth to reply, even though I’m not sure what to say. Do I tell her that I talk about her? Because I don’t. I rarely mention Lyra to anyone.
But I think about her.
A lot.
Lyra stops. We’ve reached the summit of the hill, which feels more like a mini mountain to me. I really wish I’d taken up Kalle’s offer to work out more often. “Newfoundland.” She points to the sliver of land visible in the distance.
“This place is really beautiful.”
“It really is. I had no idea why Odin would agree to give up everything and move here,” she marvels. “Now I get it.”
“Because he loves Camille?”
Lyra shakes her head. “You can love someone and still not drop your life for what they want. At least I don’t think you should. There should be compromise, not just giving up. Odin gave up a lot.”
“Would you ever give up your spot in the line of succession?”
“No way. I love being a princess.”
I laugh. “You’re a good one.”
“Even though I don’t know everyone’s names.”
“There’s always something to strive for.” I take her hand, her fingers soft and cool in mine.
She looks down at our fingers entwined. “I have a lot to work on.”
“Why do you say that?”
“My life.” She gestures impatiently with her free hand. “It’s a mess. You all think so.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s your life. Are you happy?”
“I thought I was. And then I got here, and things slowed down. It showed me what I was missing.”
“What are you missing?”
Lyra takes a deep breath and I think she’s about to confess some secret dream about being an ambassador to the world, or even to take on more responsibilities at the castle.
I’m not prepared for what she says.
“You.”