31. Jakob
CHAPTER 31
JAKOB
T he palace gates loom before us, imposing in a way they’ve never seemed before, guarding the secrets of the royals who reside beyond their iron embrace.
My palms are slick against the steering wheel as I guide the car smoothly through the open archway, my heart thumping a bit too loudly in my chest. I sent a text to my family earlier, a heads-up that I’m bringing “someone special” to dinner. But no amount of forewarning eases the butterflies rioting in my stomach.
Courtney, her hand resting gently on my thigh, gives me an encouraging squeeze. She can sense my nervousness, attuned as she is to my emotions in a way that both comforts and disarms me. Her smile is soft, yet there’s an undeniable strength in her eyes — a resilience that tells me she’s ready for whatever reactions we might face.
We park in the shadow of the palace, and I waste no time. If I so much as pause, then my worry might get the best of me. As we walk towards the grand entrance, I take a deep breath. This is it — no turning back now.
“Are you okay?” Courtney asks gently.
“Perfectly,” I lie, offering her a reassuring smile in return.
The door attendants swing open the doors at our approach, and we are greeted by the butler before being directed to the drawing room where my family awaits. There’s a collective pause as everyone turns toward us, recognition lighting up their faces as they see the woman by my side — the mystery woman from the photos of us on the balcony that had set the media abuzz.
“Everyone.” I nod my head at my parents and three siblings. “Good evening. This is Courtney.”
“Ah, the lovely Courtney,” my mother says, her tone warm, even though I can nearly feel her intense curiosity. “It is wonderful to meet you. Thank you for joining us tonight.”
Christina comes forward to shake Courtney’s hand. “Courtney…?”
“Courtney Fuller,” I finish. “Granddaughter of Anna J?ger.”
Not to my surprise, there’s a hitch in the room’s atmosphere.
A murmur ripples through my family, a mixture of shock and curiosity painting their features. No one wants to mention the tense history between us and the J?gers, but everyone is thinking about it. Feeling it. Questioning why Courtney is here with me, tonight.
But then, my mother — grace personified — steps forward and embraces Courtney like a summer breeze sweeping away the remnants of a storm. “Well, that is quite the revelation,” she says with a genuine smile as she pulls back. “But today, you are our esteemed guest. Please, come sit next to me.”
Courtney looks at me, her eyes alight with gratitude for the kindness being shown, easing some of the tension from my shoulders. This is what I love about her — her ability to inspire the best in those around her, even in potentially uncomfortable situations.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Courtney does a curtsy, and I bite into a smile. She must have done some research on Bergovian customs when I wasn’t looking.
“Please, no ‘Majesty’ or ‘Highness’ here,” my mother insists, leading Courtney into the dining hall.
As they walk ahead, I trail behind, my nerves settling into a tickle of pleasant anticipation. The evening has only just begun, and already Courtney is charming her way into the heart of my family. A small, hopeful part of me starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, this dinner might unfold into something resembling peace.
As Courtney settles into the plush chair beside my mother, laughter and light conversation flutter around the table like butterflies. My siblings exchange courteous smiles with our guest, their etiquette flawless despite the undercurrent of surprise that still lingers in the air.
Across from me, however, my father’s stern face is a dark cloud threatening to burst. His brow is furrowed, eyes narrowed — not at all concealed by his attempt at a smile when catching my gaze.
“Jakob,” he says, his voice low and even. “A word, if you please.”
I excuse myself, following him out of the dining hall and into a small sitting room lined with shelves of leather-bound books. The door clicks shut behind us, and the jovial atmosphere of the dinner feels worlds away.
“Father,” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Is this your idea of keeping an eye on her?” His voice is a dangerous rumble, anger seeping through every syllable. “And what’s this about the necklace?”
From his pocket, he pulls out the note that I left in his study and waves it in the air between us.
“Father,” I say, “I am sorry that I had to take the necklace back, but you have it all wrong. I didn’t just ‘keep an eye’ on Courtney; I fell in love with her.”
He scoffs, pacing before the fireplace where embers glow with dying warmth. “And the necklace?”
“Grandfather Rolph gave it to Anna, Courtney’s grandmother.” I watch his face for any sign of softening, the history between our families heavy in the room. “It belongs to her by right. And no, Courtney’s family are no threat to Bergovia; they haven’t been for years.”
“My father did what ?” He stops in his tracks, the weight of generations of discord pressing upon him.
“Isn’t it time we put the past to rest?” I ask. The room is quiet enough to hear the distant clink of silverware and the muted laughter from the dining hall. “Courtney has brought nothing but good into my life, Father.”
“Is that so?” he probes, skepticism laced through his tone.
“There’s one more thing…” I swallow hard, confident in the path that I have chosen but nervous to share it with him. “Courtney and I are having a baby.”
For a moment, he simply stares at me, as if the words need time to take root. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders drop.
We stand in silence, the echo of my announcement hanging between us like mist. I search for any trace of the storm I expect to roll from my father’s eyes, but instead, I find a rare flicker of vulnerability.
“Father?” My voice is hesitant in the heavy quiet.
“Come,” he says at last, his voice gruff with unspoken emotion as he strides toward the door. “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”
I trail behind him, returning to the warm glow of the dining hall, where Courtney sits amid a circle of curious, polite faces. She looks up as we enter, her smile unsure but brave. The air shifts subtly, as if everyone senses the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface.
“Everyone,” my father begins, his voice commanding the room’s attention. Inwardly, I brace myself. “Courtney,” he continues, and there’s something unexpected in his tone now, a graciousness that wasn’t there before. “It is a pleasure to have you as our guest.”
My breath hitches slightly. This isn’t the reaction I anticipated. He steps forward, extending a hand toward her in a gesture of formal welcome. “Bergovia is, after all, your family’s homeland too.”
A collective pause grips the room, my siblings exchanging glances that mirror my own surprise.
“Furthermore,” my father adds, turning his gaze to both of us, “I approve of this union.”
For a moment, I can only stare at him, trying to reconcile the man before me with the one who raged just minutes ago. Disappointment still lingers — the conversation was cut short, unfinished — but it is quickly overshadowed by the profound relief washing over me.
“Thank you, Father,” I manage, my voice steady despite the emotion clawing at my throat.
Courtney’s eyes meet mine, and I see the reflection of my own wonder in them. It’s a new beginning, fragile and bright, and I silently vow to protect it, come what may.
It’s almost too much to handle. Courtney. The baby. Now this. Emotions crest within me like the rolling waves hitting the coast. My father’s approval, unexpected and warming, ignites something deep inside my chest.
“Father.” I clear my throat, trying to stop my voice from cracking. “This means more to me than you know.”
The room — usually so loud when all of the family gathers for a meal — is still as I turn toward Courtney. Her eyes, wide with a blend of surprise and hope, lock onto mine. The air is thick with anticipation, each breath shared between us like a whispered promise.
In this moment, everything that has happened between us, all the expectations, all the fears and worries, it all fades away; it’s just Courtney and me, surrounded by the silent witnesses of those closest to me. It’s now or never.
And now happens to be the closest thing to perfection that I have ever felt.
“Actually,” I start, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to do since you arrived today.”
I step toward her, aware of every pair of eyes upon us. Dropping to one knee, I take her hand gently in mine, the polished marble floor cool against my leg.
“Courtney Fuller,” I say, taking my time, savoring my every word, her every breath. “Will you marry me?”
A gasp sweeps through the gathered family, but all I see is the joy blooming across Courtney’s face. “Yes,” she says, her voice barely above a breath but clear as a bell in the silence. “Yes, Jakob, I will.”
I rise to my feet, my heart soaring — but falter slightly. I have no ring to offer, no tangible symbol of the promise we’ve just made.
“Wait,” my mother says, stepping forward with a grace that is both practiced over a lifetime and natural. She slips off a ring — a delicate band crowned with a stone that holds a century of love stories.
“Here,” she offers, her voice soft but certain. “This was my grandmother’s. I want Courtney to have it.”
I take the ring from her outstretched palm, feeling the strength of tradition and the warmth of acceptance. Sliding it onto Courtney’s finger, I marvel at how something so small can signify something so vast.
“Thank you, Mother,” I say, my gratitude echoing through the room.
I pull Courtney into my arms and kiss her, sealing our commitment amid the silent applause of ancestors who’ve graced these halls before us. We step back, hands entwined, her new ring catching the light. In her eyes, I see our future unfolding. All the worries I had, all the fears, they dissipate into the air.
Almost as if they had never existed in the first place.