Chapter Five
Astrid
Queen Eleonora’s features appear pinched, and milky tea (with three un-princess-like sugars) have splattered right across her elegant sleeve.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry,” I gush, immediately bending down to collect all the broken pieces of china from the rug. “I don’t know how that happened. One minute I was reaching for the cup, and then I missed and, oh gosh, I’ve made such a mess. I’m so, so sorry.”
As I reach for the saucer, a hand grips my forearm and I look up into Frederic’s taut face.
He shakes his head before he guides me back to my seat, and suddenly we’re surrounded by servants, silently efficient in their work, picking up the shards of china, replacing the tablecloth, and soaking up the spilled tea.
A blur of activity surrounds us while the four of us sit perfectly still, like the marble statues the press accuses Frederic of being.
I risk a glance at him. He’s gone a shade of tomato red, and I’m pretty certain he’s stopped breathing altogether.
“I can be terribly clumsy, you know. It’s a bad habit, and one I had hoped I’d outgrow, but here I am, already twenty-three, and I’m still knocking things over,” I babble on.
I can’t help it. I get nervous so I talk, and then talking as much as I do makes me nervous. It’s a vicious circle.
“I once knocked over an entire bowl of raspberry coloured punch at a state dinner in Oslo,” I continue on. “It stained the Danish ambassador’s white jacket, which apparently was made by some Italian designer. I forget who.”
Mouth. Stop. Talking.
But it’s no use, I’m in a nervous spiral.
“Even during etiquette training when I was a teenager, I’d do things like knock over a stack of books, the ones we were meant to balance on our heads, or reach for the correct fork at the table and spill my water.
Any faux pas you could name, I probably did it.
I don’t mean to. It just sort of… happens. ”
The Queen waves a hand, probably more to stop me rambling than anything. “It’s fine, Astrid. No harm done. Accidents happen.”
I blink. Is she being gracious? After I redecorated the sleeve of her outfit in English Breakfast?
“But your sleeve, ma’am,” I protest.
“It’s only tea. And besides, this sleeve has been causing me problems all morning. You’ve given me a rather good excuse to change into a new dress before my luncheon.”
My eyes widen to the size of my saucer. Before I dropped it, that is.
“Really?” I ask, hardly believing my ears.
“Really,” she confirms, and she almost smiles.
I relax, just a notch. Meanwhile, Frederic still looks as though they could roast him and serve him for breakfast.
The Queen leans in. “You know, I’ve met the Danish ambassador on several occasions, Astrid. He does seem like the type to hold grudges about raspberry stains on white Italian designer jackets.”
I grin at her. “Well, we have that in common.”
“We do,” she replies, and this time her lips curve into the smallest of smiles.
It’s not big, but it’s a smile.
And I’m absolutely going to take it.
“You’re very kind, ma’am, and I promise to do my best not to spill any more tea,” I say.
“Only the gossip variety, I hope,” she adds.
The King makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a suppressed laugh, and when I glance at him, his face has turned pink. Huh. Who knew a small tea disaster could make my future parents-in-law seem human?
I let out a relieved laugh, glancing toward Frederic.
Nope.
Definitely not laughing.
He is going to prove one hard nut to crack.
“I understand you work with several children’s charities in Elkevik, Astrid,” Queen Eleonora says. “That must be very rewarding.”
“Oh, it is. The hospital visits are my absolute favorite. Last month, when Frederic and I visited together, a little girl asked me if princesses really wear tiaras to bed.”
“What did you reply?” the King asks.
“I told her of course we do. So she wanted to wear one too. I had one delivered to her. Not a real one, of course. My parents wouldn’t allow that. Apparently, she wears it to bed every night.”
“How charming,” the King says. “Isn’t that charming, Frederic?”
“It is,” he grinds out, sounding like he regards my faux pas as distinctly un-charming.
“You were at a hospital event when that photo of you and Frederic was taken last week,” the Queen adds. “You were dancing.”
“I wanted to cheer the children up, so I asked if someone could put on the radio, and luckily it was a fun song, and so I danced.”
“Did it do the trick?” the King asks.
“It most certainly did,” I reply with satisfaction. “Not all the children could dance with me, but many did. Your son seemed to enjoy it, too, although he didn’t dance,” I lead, sliding my gaze back to Frederic.
He clears his throat as though he’s about to speak, but doesn’t say a word. I imagine that if Frederic ever genuinely beamed the Ledonian National Anthem would spontaneously play across the country, and every subject would rise to their feet in applause.
“Tell me, Astrid, what did you think of the gardens when you visited earlier today?” the King asks.
“Oh, I thought they were marvelous,” I gush. “The trees and the flowers and the sculptures, and the plants in the glasshouse are just gorgeous. Your great-grandmother had excellent taste.”
“She did,” Queen Eleonora agrees. “We’re actually planning some work in the gardens,” she continues. “They’ve become rather overgrown.”
The garden looked nothing short of immaculate to me. But then, I’m not a member of this family, and I don’t see things the way they do. That’s becoming very clear.
“Have you considered adding more native plants?” I ask.
“Native?” the King questions.
“I know that sounds odd, but we did something like that in Elkevik a few years ago, and I was lucky enough to get involved in not only the planning but the planting as well.”
The King pulls his brows together. “You… planted the plants?”
“Yes,” I say brightly, because I did plant the plants, and I enjoyed it.
“The thing is, we restored one of the palace gardens to completely indigenous species, and now it supports local wildlife and requires much less maintenance. Plus, it’s educational when children come to visit the palace.
I often take them there so they can see what our country looked like before everything became farmland, when I’m not taking them to name chickens, that is. ”
“You name… chickens?” the King questions.
“You know, darling, that’s quite a good idea,” Queen Eleonora says to her husband.
The King blinks at his wife. “You want us to name our fowl?”
“No,” she says with a light laugh. “Planting only indigenous species in one of the gardens.”
“It’s a little unorthodox, but you might be on to something there, Astrid,” the King says.
Frederic has been as mute as a decorative throw pillow this entire meeting until now. “I like the idea, too,” he says. His eyes flick to mine, and I offer him a smile.
Frederic likes one of my ideas? Well. That has to be progress in the right direction.
“Astrid, I’ll be direct with you. You understand what we’re proposing here between you and Frederic?” the King asks.
“A marriage for mutually beneficial political and economic reasons,” I reply, quoting the Prime Minister’s exact words.
“That’s right. What do you think you can offer Ledonia?” King Leonardo asks.
It’s a question I wasn’t expecting. For a moment, I stare at both of them, then decide honesty is the best option. “I suppose I can offer myself.”
The King and Queen exchange a look, but to my surprise, they seem satisfied with my answer.
“I know I’m not dignified in the way Ledonian royalty seems to be, and it’s clear I can spill tea without even trying.
” I throw them a sardonic smile. “But I’m a good person, and I care about people.
At the risk of making it sound like I’m trying to sell myself to you, I think I might be good for this family. ”
The Queen pauses a beat before she replies, “I suspect you’re right.”
“Frederic we are pretty much opposites, I would say,” I add.
Frederic swallows.
“You’re absolutely right, Astrid,” the King says. “You’re very different from our son, and we see that as a positive thing. We’re excited to welcome you to our family.”
He doesn’t look the least bit excited, but I’m beginning to understand this family expresses emotion in a reserved way. They’re quiet, self-contained, controlled, most certainly not demonstrative.
I lift my lips into a smile. “Thank you.”
“In that case,” the Queen leads, shooting her son a meaningful look.
Frederic produces a small black velvet box from his pocket.
Instantly, my pulse quickens. Is that what I think it is? Is this…. the moment?
Under the watchful eye of his parents, Frederic clears his throat, drops to one knee in front of me so that he’s wedged against the coffee table, and snaps the ring box open.
Inside is an oval shaped diamond that glows like it’s light itself, framed by a halo of sparkling stones. My eyes are so wide, they’re in fear of falling from my face as I take in the ring. There’s only one word for it: huge. Huge and stunning and sparkly and expensive.
So more than one word, really.
As Frederic shifts, the ring catches the light, virtually blinding me.
He clears his throat, and this time, he speaks. “Princess Astrid of Elkevik, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
I don't know quite how I saw this moment going, but in front of his parents immediately after I’ve spilled tea everywhere probably wasn’t it.
But whatever I’d expected or hoped for, this is it: Frederic is proposing to me.
He looks deeply uncomfortable on one knee, with his thigh pressed up against the coffee table, holding the ring box up for me.
“Thank you,” I say in reply.
“Is that a yes, dear?” the Queen asks.
“Yes, of course. Yes, I will marry you.” Then, to match his formality, because it feels appropriate for this odd moment, I add, “Prince Frederic of Ledonia.”
Frederic looks like he might pass out.
“Marvelous!” the Queen exclaims as she claps her hands together.
The King says, “Well done.”
Frederic, on the other hand, seems like a deer caught in headlights. He’s staring at me with a somewhat terrified look on his face.
“Are you all right?” I whisper.
“I’m… yes,” he replies. It’s unconvincing.
“Darling, give her the ring,” his mother instructs.
“The ring. Yes. Of course.” Frederic fumbles with the box, accidentally clicking it shut on one of his fingers. “Ouch!” he winces before he tries and fails to reopen it once more.
I reach out to steady his hand, wrapping my fingers around his. It feels like the right thing to do to calm him. His eyes dart to mine, and the worry lines etched on his forehead softens a touch.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper and offer him a smile. The poor man is only trying to do the right thing here, even if it’s quite possibly the least romantic proposal in history. The least I can do is help him out.
“I’m not, but thank you,” he replies with a lift of his impressive chin.
I pull my hand away and this time, he successfully opens the box, pulls out the ring, and then takes my hand in his.
“Other hand, son,” the King instructs, and both the King and Queen smirk.
“Your father’s correct. It’s my left hand,” I say, proffering it. “It’s the finger next to the pinkie,” I add under my breath, just in case he was going to try to ram it onto my thumb.
With shaking hands, he successfully slides the ring onto the correct finger, and before he has the chance to pull away, I clasp his hand with both of mine and look up into his beautiful chocolate eyes. “Thank you, Fred. It’s just lovely.”
“You’re very welcome,” he mutters, looking somewhere behind my head.
Both his parents applaud as they rise to their feet.
“Well done, you two,” the King says, shaking hands with his son, who’s still on one knee, before planting a kiss on my cheek.
The Queen kisses my other cheek. “Welcome to the family, Astrid.”.
I clasp my left hand, feeling the unfamiliar diamonds as they dig into my palm. “Thank you so much.”
Eventually, the meeting ends, I say goodbye to the King and Queen, and Frederic escorts me back to my room.
“On a scale of one to ten, how badly did I do?” I ask. “And please factor in the tea assault on your mother. I need full honesty here, Fred.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I brace myself for the worst.
Finally he says, “You were yourself, Astrid.”
And that, people, is how to answer a question without really answering it at all. Frederic seems to be very good at that particular skill.
“Is that good or bad?” I press.
Another pause. “I don’t know yet,” he replies, his dark eyes settling on mine.
Infuriating? Oh, absolutely. But there’s something so compelling about him, something that makes me want to figure him out. To crack him open. To make him smile—really smile— and bring out the human locked inside that marble exterior.
We reach my door and Frederic gives a small, formal bow. “Dinner is at seven. Someone will collect you. Please try to dress appropriately.”
“I will wear a nice dress and try not to spill anything on anyone. Oh, and the ring, of course,” I add, lifting my left hand. “I won’t forget that. Sound good?”
“I would greatly appreciate that. Good afternoon, Astrid.”
“Good afternoon,” I echo.
As he walks away, I lean back against my door and watch him go. A future with a man made of stone. A man who looks at me like I’m some sort of puzzle he doesn’t understand.
I wanted adventure. Well, here it is. The question is: am I brave enough to see where it leads?