Chapter Fifteen
Bryn
Bryn stepped into her room and froze. “Oh. My. God.”
A huge rack had been wheeled into her room.
On it hung gowns of every color and hue under the rainbow.
She ran her hand along the dresses. Some of the fabrics were so luxurious that her fingers almost couldn’t feel the softness.
She flicked on the overhead light and some of the materials shimmered and sparkled.
Satin and velvet, lace and embroidery. Tiny buttons and dainty pearls. The choices were all there.
She focused on the gowns with longer sleeves.
She didn’t want to have to wear a jacket and cover the beauty of the garment.
Her fingers brushed a sleeve of deep sapphire silk with a high neckline and silver embroidery that reminded her of frost on a winter window.
Another dress was emerald green made from some soft material that she was unfamiliar with.
The skirt flowed like water when she held it out to get a closer look.
A red gown caught her eye, the shimmer reminiscent of flames and glowing embers.
“You’re going to look like a princess.” Even her own voice while talking to herself held a reverent awe. She giggled at herself. “Although queen would be more accurate.” She could just imagine the look on her family’s faces if she told them that she was an actual queen. “I think I like that idea.”
Bryn sat on the bed and stared at the rack. She had never owned anything more glamorous than a cocktail dress from an outlet store, and now she was being asked to choose what to wear to a royal party as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Get a grip on yourself,” she muttered. “It’s just a party.” But was it?
She was going to be in front of the people of Stagholt, at the side of their king, quite possibly as his intended mate.
The words made her stomach twist. She liked Sven when she could get past the controlling her life thing. More than liked him, if she was honest. But this party. She wasn’t quite sure what the procedure would be, but she knew in her gut that it was going to be a life-altering event for her.
A knock came at the door. Bryn smoothed her hair and tried to compose herself before she opened it to reveal two women who obviously worked in the castle. Both curtseyed. Bryn half-assed curtseyed back.
“We’ve been sent to help you dress, my lady,” one said.
Bryn almost laughed at the title. “Please. There’s no reason to be so formal. And I can dress myself.”
“Queen Freya has insisted. We are Eva’s sisters. I am Stella and this is Beatrice.”
“How is your sister doing?” Bryn asked.
“She is strong. She will heal.” They didn’t offer much in the way of chitchat.
Bryn stepped aside as she knew she was not going to win any arguments about preparing herself for the party.
Both women moved with practiced efficiency, unfastening zippers, holding gowns against her figure, clucking approval or shaking their heads.
Bryn managed to get them to lighten up and pretend that it was just a game of dress-up.
In the end, the emerald dress won. The green set off her dark hair and enhanced her eyes, the fabric skimmed her curves without being too revealing, and when they fastened a silver belt at her waist, she almost believed she belonged in it.
After a quick shower while they waited, Bryn’s hair and makeup were next. She watched as they expertly dried and curled her hair before Stella arranged it into an elegant updo.
“I need you to come to my room every morning,” she teased. “My hair has never looked so good.”
“I could see if I could be assigned as your personal assistant,” Stella replied without a hint of humor.
“I was teasing,” Bryn explained. “I don’t expect an assistant while I’m here at the castle.”
The two girls exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. Beatrice was the makeup artist of the two, and she applied just enough to be noticeable without being overbearing.
“There. You are beautiful enough without anything heavy.” Beatrice stood back and examined her work. “I think it’s perfect.”
When they were finished and she was fully dressed, Bryn hardly recognized herself in the mirror. She looked like someone who could stand beside a king.
When Freya arrived a short time later to collect her for the party, Bryn let out a low whistle. “You are absolutely beautiful.” Wearing a lavender gown with tiny flowers embroidered across the bodice, Freya looked every bit as regal as a queen should.
“And you, my dear, are absolutely stunning. My son is a lucky man.”
Bryn wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Where is Sven?”
“He’s meeting us in the ballroom. It’s customary that he arrives separately.”
Bryn wondered how much royal protocol she was going to screw up over the next few hours but she remained quiet. They collected Hilda along the way, who looked excited and alert in her wheelchair. Her gown was a royal blue with a matching jacket.
The castle’s ballroom glowed from candles in crystal sconces, and garlands of greenery twined everywhere in the room and across a small balcony on one end.
Music floated from a small ensemble in the corner, and the air smelled of all sorts of elegant concoctions from the food tables.
Bryn waved at the bakery owners who stood behind a table heaped with baked goods.
A hush fell and Bryn turned to see everyone staring at the door.
“Your Royal Majesty King Sven Aftervadee,” rang out across the room.
Sven entered the room wearing a fitted black tuxedo.
She could see the royal crest of Stagholt proudly displayed on his shoulder.
His commanding energy filled the room and while everyone bowed, Bryn stood frozen as he sought her out.
Their eyes met and she felt a jolt run through her that she swore people next to her could feel.
He made his way straight to her and reached for her hand. His lips brushed the back of her fingers and he tucked her arm through his and led her to a small staircase that led up to the balcony.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a whisper.
He ignored her as she suddenly found herself overlooking the ballroom with all eyes on her. He raised his hand as if he needed to get everyone’s attention. She wanted to shrink back, but Sven’s hand pressed warm and steady at her back.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Curious eyes darted from Sven to Bryn.
For a heartbeat she flashed back to her first disastrous visit at the Bread and Biscuit, where cold stares had made her feel unwelcome.
But tonight was different. She lifted her chin and focused on the dessert table in the distance.
Sven leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
She sucked in enough air to fill her lungs. He squeezed her hand before his voice rang out clear and sure.
“Friends, I know many of you wondered about tonight. About what it means for me and for Stagholt. You’ve heard the rumors, and yes, they are true. My intended bride has left the kingdom.”
A ripple of murmurs swept the crowd. Bryn’s stomach dropped.
“But what you haven’t heard,” Sven continued, and his eyes found hers, “is that sometimes, when one plan doesn’t go as predicted, a new plan forms. One that is stronger, even if it's unexpected.”
Her breath caught. Oh no he isn’t.
“Bryn saved me in all senses of the word. When others ran away from the danger, she ran to my side. To help me and comfort me. She reminded me what it means to stand strong and believe in love when I thought I couldn’t anymore.
And so tonight, while my intended bride has changed, I can tell you as your king and as a man, I’ve fallen completely in love with her. ”
The crowd erupted in cheers, as the whole town blessed the vow he’d just spoken.
Bryn stood frozen. From one night of sex to marriage? What the hell is going on? This was supposed to be a ruse. A neat, temporary solution. Nothing more.
The music resumed, and couples began drifting onto the dance floor. Sven drew her forward into his arms, his hand firm on her waist.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“No kidding,” she whispered back. “You just announced me as your bride.”
“And they accepted you.” He spun her effortlessly before he pulled her back against him. “To some, the royals, our agreement is for a ritual. To the town, I was betrothed. Appearances are everything.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that little detail?” Bryn’s throat tightened as she tried to process her feelings which were somewhere between anger and excitement.
“We need to dance.”
Bryn let Sven guide her from the balcony to the polished dance floor. The waltz carried them in sweeping circles, and for a few blessed moments, the noise of the crowd melted away. It was just him, warm and steady, the faint smile that tugged at his lips when she stumbled and he caught her.
“You’re doing fine,” he murmured.
“Liar,” she whispered back, but the teasing steadied her nerves.
By the end of the dance, she was laughing and completely breathless. He bowed to her with exaggerated formality, and she gave a quick curtsy, earning a round of approving chuckles from the watching crowd.
People began approaching and Bryn found herself greeting women in elegant gowns, men in tailored suits, and even a few wide-eyed children tugging at their parents’ sleeves to meet the next queen.
A woman she vaguely recognized from the Bread and Biscuit pressed a sugared cookie into her hand. “To make up for what happened before,” the woman whispered in apology. Bryn’s throat closed with unexpected gratitude.
Others followed. Compliments on her gown.
Warm welcomes to Stagholt. Polite questions about her home.
Bryn answered as best she could, careful to keep her voice even and her smile genuine.
At first it felt like standing in a spotlight, but slowly, she realized the faces around her weren’t hostile. They were curious.
Sven never strayed far. Each time someone new approached, his hand brushed hers or settled lightly at the small of her back to anchor her. When the crowd pressed too close, one look from him and people shifted back to give them room.
Freya appeared at her side. “You look radiant,” she said with a warm squeeze of her hand. “You belong here.”
The words hit Bryn harder than she expected. Belonging wasn’t something she had felt in a long time. And certainly not something she had expected.
Later, when the musicians struck up another lively tune, children raced to the dance floor. One small boy darted toward her. “Dance with me, Lady Bryn?”
The crowd chuckled, and Bryn crouched to his level “I’d be honored.” She let him lead her in a clumsy jig, both of them laughing until she nearly tripped over her skirts.
Sven’s gaze followed her and she read the unmistakable pride on his face.
When she went back to his side, Sven bent close, his lips brushing her temple. “See? They already love you.”
Bryn swallowed hard and clutched her glass to hide the tremble in her fingers. She didn’t know if she deserved it, but for the first time since she’d arrived in Stagholt, she dared to believe that things might just work out.
The great hall was still alive with music when Bryn slipped out into the hallway.
Sven had gone to talk to Lars, and her cheeks ached from smiling, her feet throbbed inside her heels, and her head buzzed from too much wine and too many voices calling her name.
She leaned against the cool stone of the corridor and let the silence settle over her like a balm.
“Running away?”
She jumped. Sven stepped from a doorway, no longer the perfectly composed king but a man who had shed his crown for the night. His jacket hung open with his collar loose and a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead.
“Not running,” she smiled. “Just catching my breath.”
He moved closer. “You were magnificent tonight.”
Bryn huffed a laugh. “I tripped over a six-year-old during a jig.”
“And they adored you for it.” He brushed his knuckles over her arm. “My people saw you. The real you. And they welcomed you.”
Her throat tightened. “This is all so fast.”
“But so right.”
She met his eyes and what she saw made her pulse trip and stumble.
His hand slid down and curled around hers. “Walk with me?”
They moved through the castle’s quieter corridors to a small balcony that overlooked the courtyard. The night air was crisp and stars scattered like sparkles across the black sky.
Bryn leaned on the stone railing and drew in the chill to cool her overheated skin. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” he said, but his gaze wasn’t on the stars.
She turned her head and found him watching her as if she were the only thing worth seeing. Heat curled low in her stomach. The memory of their kiss on the train flashed through her, vivid and dangerous.
“Sven…” Her voice caught, and she wasn’t even sure what she meant to say.
He stepped closer and caged her in with his arms braced on either side of the railing. “I meant what I said. You are my future. Tonight made it official for the kingdom. But for me…” His lips brushed her ear. “It already was.”
Her heart pounded as she rose on her toes and her mouth found his. The kiss was slower this time, not the desperate clash on the train, but it burned all the same. His hands skimmed her waist, her back, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them.
Bryn’s fingers curled in his shirt. She wanted more, but then he groaned against her mouth and pulled back. He rested his forehead on hers.
“We can’t,” he whispered, voice rough.
“The ritual.”
He nodded. “If I kiss you like that again, I won’t stop.”
Bryn closed her eyes and willed the heat in her body to disperse. “We need to go back to the party.”
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “That we do.” He mumbled as he led her back toward the ballroom. “It’s going to be a hell of a ritual though.”
Bryn followed, her heart both lighter and heavier at once. Tonight, the kingdom had claimed her. But more dangerously, so had Sven.