Chapter 49 Freija
Freija
The day of my coronation had arrived. I stroked the fine purple fabric of my dress.
It looked like I’d been draped in jewels and diamonds—even the cape that pooled behind me shone.
Every part of me glittered on the outside, yet internally, my mind was as gray as the ocean I’d sailed on just a week ago.
A knock sounded against the door of my chambers.
“Come in,” I said.
Mother popped her head through the gap and her face fell when her eyes landed on me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Batting aside a tear, she said, “Nothing, my dear.”
“You might want to inform your face,” I said, and inwardly snickered at the memory of Vigdis saying that.
Mother waved aside my comment and crossed the room, black dress swishing as she extended her arms. I took her hands in mine.
Some color had returned to her cheeks. Which was far better than how she’d looked at Father’s funeral yesterday.
The occasion had been solemn yet happy. Mother had delivered a short eulogy followed by speeches from friends, then the immediate family and the Council had attended the burial in the Royal Tombs.
King Erik had been laid to rest beside his own father and mother, in a beautifully carved stone sarcophagus with his likeness laying on the lid.
I’d avoided weeping until I returned to my chambers and cried to myself before falling asleep.
It looked like Mother had done the same.
Her eyes were slightly redder than usual, but she looked far less pale than she had yesterday.
Hopefully, I looked better too, but that sadness over his loss still lingered and tainted a bit of the happiness I felt around having found the culprit behind the threats and the feelings I’d finally shared with Halvar.
“My darling?” she said, drawing me back to the present. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly fine.”
“This is to do with the funeral?”
“No,” I said. “And what do you mean, this?”
“I sense a grain of melancholy.” She tapped my shoulder. “Weighing you down.”
“I’m quite well, Mother. Don’t worry. It’s just sorrow lingering from yesterday.”
She sighed like it was her duty to do so—and she was right. But I couldn’t have her worrying about me now. If anything I would need her guidance and reassurance as I took the throne.
Taking a step back and peering around the room, she asked, “Where did the tiara go?”
“Oh… that.” Best she didn’t learn with what and whom I’d had to bargain to get home. “Alva is having it cleaned.”
“Ah, very good.” She turned her attention back to me. “Are you ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always do.”
I shook my head. That wasn’t true. Never had been.
Mother tightened her grip on my fingers. “Freija, you’ve always had the freedom to make your own choices. Yes, I will admit, we put a significant load on your shoulders, and I do regret that, but we always only wanted what was best for you. And to prepare you for this role.”
The way she said we reminded me of the missing half of that word. The man who’d never see me on the throne. After all the years of educating and training and preparing, he wasn’t here to see this.
“He’d be so proud of you.”
If I’d had more tears to shed, they would have fallen.
A knock sounded as the door opened and Ragnhild appeared.
She scanned the room, a shining diadem fastened in her golden locks glinting with the movement.
Her eyes widened as she spotted us and walked across the room.
The hem of her long coat-dress brushed across the floor, the emerald material a stark contrast to the gray rock.
“I thought I might find you here.” She beamed then bowed her head to my mother. “Hope you don’t mind me interrupting.”
Mother chuckled. “Ragnhild, my dear, there isn’t much that will stop you.”
Ragnhild’s smile bordered on villainously elated as she pressed her hand to her chest. “That means a lot, Queen Astrid.”
“Well, I shall leave you ladies to chat, and will see you in the throne room shortly.”
“Thank you for being there for me, Mother.”
“Always,” she beamed and disappeared into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.
Ragnhild spun to face me, her skirts swishing around her feet. Her eyes landed on me by the dresser and her brows furrowed. “What has you worried? No, I take that back. Something happened. What’s wrong?”
I guffawed. “Why do people keep insinuating that something is wrong? First Mother thinks I have melancholy upon my shoulders, and now you think I’m worried.”
“You have a very telling face. We need to work on that. Improve your stoicism.”
She was probably right. Nonetheless. “I am fine, just a lingering sadness from the funeral.”
“I don’t believe you. That’s not all.” She pulled on my hands and guided us to the bed. We both hitched our skirts and sat on the edge. “Does this have anything to do with the general?”
“Why would you say that?”
She raised a finger. “First of all, you’ve never been very good at keeping that sort of thing from me. Fjell secrets? Definitely. Men secrets? Never.” She raised another finger. “And second, my wolves told me you reeked of him.”
Oh no. My chest tightened, my eyes widening before I could consciously stop them.
“And… you weren’t wearing his clothes,” she added. “So…”
I cleared my throat and fiddled with an errant thread on my sleeve. “He consoled me on our return voyage.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Fine. I slept with him.”
She grinned and set her hands on her hips. “And…”
“What do you mean and?”
“And you love each other very much and want to spend the rest of your days together.”
I stared at the fireplace, my chest tightening to a degree that had nothing to do with the corset I’d been strapped into. “That exchange may have happened.”
She screeched and leaped from the bed like a frog into the air. “Freija! Fuck yes! I knew it. You both love each other.”
My head whipped back to her. “You couldn’t have known.”
She scoffed and sat down beside me again, still buzzing with energy. “The way you two move is like a stag playing with a doe. You’re both always watching out for each other, peering over your shoulders to check if the other is there.”
My heart clenched. That was exactly how it felt. This inherent awareness of him at all times.
“Have you made things official? Informed the Council?” she asked.
“They have been informed, but they don’t know who yet. I want to tell my family, though, but keep it to just them for now. There is no need to shout it from the mountaintop.”
“Well, if you ever need anyone to do that shouting”—she set her hand over her heart—“I can happily assist.”
I patted her thigh. “I will let you know.” There is no chance I’m letting that happen. “In the meantime, I’m drafting up new regulations about forced and arranged marriages for royals.”
“I love it. Breaking traditions and creating new ones. I look forward to doing the same with mine. Don’t worry.” She winked. “You’re not the only one who’ll be ruffling feathers when they take the throne.”
“As long as you do more ruffling than I do.”
Her eyebrows shimmied. “Everyone will need to brace themselves.”
We descended into fits of laughter as a knock sounded at the door. Alva peered around the corner. “Your Majesty, they’re ready for you.”
Ragnhild nudged her knee against mine. “It’s been an emotional couple of days, but it’s time for you to don that confidence of yours and get your crown. Are you ready, Queen Freija?”
I nodded, rolled my shoulders back, and held my head high.