11. 11
Magnus
I’ve never been so frightened in my life.
Not the first time I took the stage, not even that night when I played for Duncan and Benny to let them hear what I could bring to the table.
Not the opening ceremony of the Olympics when I realized that only I and swimmer, Lennie Tak, were representing Laandia.
Not even that night when I sat with my father and watched him take his last breath and knew that I was now king.
I was terrified in those moments, but not as scared as I am lying awake, in my bed, with my wife.
I don’t know what to do.
I mean, I know what to do. I just don’t think I should do it.
Selene lies beside me. I think she’s awake by the sound of her breathing, but I can’t actually tell. It’s been an exhausting day—an exhausting three weeks—and I wouldn’t blame her if she was fast asleep.
Or maybe she’s like me and having difficulty falling asleep with someone else in the bed.
This is the first night we’ve spent together. When Selene moved in, it was to her own suite of rooms.
Which is good because she brought a lot of things—suitcases of clothes, crates of books, an entire office store’s worth of supplies. She moved her life to Laandia.
She brought her cat.
Not her cat, exactly, but her friend Courtney’s.
The pregnant one whom I met at the Coronation Ball, but have no memories of what she looks like because I was too busy looking at Selene.
The cat is a tad ornery, according to Selene, and Courtney and her new husband are worried about how Peanut will react to the baby.
Peanut is an absolute shite, if you ask me. And I don’t care how he reacts to anything as long as he stops grabbing at my legs when I walk down the stairs. I’m going to punt him down if he doesn’t stop.
But I couldn’t tell her not to bring the cat. She’s rearranging her life for me.
I have a feeling I won’t be able to say no to much where Selene is concerned. Not because she’s demanding, or a tad ornery herself—because she’s not—but because I don’t want to.
I’ve had this swell of generosity when it comes to Selene—I have a serious need to give her anything and everything she wants.
I’m still scared, because right now I really want to roll over and give her a kiss, and I don’t think I should.
She still has her suite of rooms, with her own bed, which I hope Peanut is sprawled out on, not waiting to trip an unsuspecting me as I head down the stairs. Selene is with me tonight, our wedding night, because I thought it looked better for the staff.
But the reality is this is not a marriage where I can lean over and kiss my wife goodnight. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
This is a marriage of convenience, where it is very convenient for me to have Selene’s expertise in all things royal, and Selene has interrupted her life to become queen of a country she barely knows.
Getting Selene to share the throne with me feels like the best thing I’ve ever done. Already she’s shared her advice, directed my statements from, “Yeah, sure, go ahead”, to a more dignified, “I agree, that recourse is the best for the country”, and is teaching me how to be king.
It’s all about the mindset—I’m the rightful ruler of Laandia, but I’m here for the people, and to protect the land, and to make it a better place for all.
Selene taught me that.
She’s going to be an amazing queen, and I can’t even kiss her goodnight.
Suddenly, Selene shifts in the bed beside me. “Are you awake?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“Can’t sleep? Are you okay? Too hot? Too cold? Is the bed comfortable enough? I thought about getting a new mattress, but there wasn’t time. I can get you another blanket, or stoke the fire, or—”
“I’m fine, Magnus. I’m just thinking about the day.”
“Oh.” I doubt she has the same thoughts that I do about our wedding day: that Selene was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
When she walked up the aisle in the chapel in that dress that hugged everything and still looked as sophisticated and stunning as anything in the fashion magazines, my heart stopped beating.
The memory of Selene with the flowers, and the eyes fixed straight at me, and me only, and that private smile is seared into my mind.
And when she put the crown on her head?
I roll onto my back. “What did you think of it?” I ask politely.
“I think it went well,” she says, equally politely. She mirrors my position—both of us staring at the dark ceiling with a wall of mattress between us.
Why do I have to have such a big bed?
Because I’m a six-foot-five beast with shoulders like the Torngat Mountains.
And it does give Selene her own space. She’s a tall woman herself, something I never realized until she was standing before me, saying that she will love and honour and all that.
I suspect her shoes had something to do with it.
She’s far from looking eye-to-eye with me, but I’m used to towering over women.
So it’s good that the bed is so big, so we can both have our own space.
What if she doesn’t want so much space?
She wants her own space. She has to.
This is an arranged marriage. A transactional relationship where we both get something that we want. That we need.
I don’t know why Selene needs to be queen. Maybe she doesn’t, but I need her to be my queen.
That’s the easy part. Being my wife will be something different entirely.