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I sit up and shrug. “Maybe a little.”
He cups my face. “I never had feelings for Stasi even once, not even a little bit. Is that what you need to hear?”
“I need to hear more about why you don’t want anyone to know you saved the princess. It’s so strange to me.”
He looks genuinely remorseful. “I just don’t want that kind of attention. I guess it’s left over from childhood—I prefer to fly under the radar.”
I’m so tired. Too tired to talk about all of this now.
I crawl under the blankets with Jakob’s help, and he grasps my hand.
“Let’s just enjoy this wedding, then go back to Mirror Lake,” I say.
“And all will be well,” he says, kissing my temple.
I hum sleepily in agreement.
Jakob laughs and kisses my forehead, then wraps me up in one of his signature bear hugs.
We fall asleep as we usually do, with limbs sweetly entangled.
All will be well. Soon enough.
30
Jakob
The light-filled breakfast room is a masterpiece of architecture.
We are led here and seated ahead of the arrival of the king and queen.
One side is all glass opening into an aviary overlooking the back gardens. Birds of all colors flit and flicker from branch to branch amid an array of small trees in full spring bloom.
“It looks like something out of a fairy tale,” Jo says. “Even the food.”
The domed trays of food are interspersed with displays of breakfast pastries baked into fanciful shapes. It’s something straight out of Victorian times.
“I wonder how many people they’re expecting for breakfast,” I say.
“Just the four of us, I’m afraid.”
Whipping around in surprise, Jo and I find ourselves in the unexpected company of the king and queen, who are wandering in as casually as can be. I would have thought they’d be announced.
“Stasi and Sigurd are busy preparing for the wedding. Flora as well,” the queen announces.
What is not said is where their other children might be. Of course everyone in the kingdom knows the king and queen aren’t speaking to either Torben or Etienne. And they’re not too thrilled with Sigurd, either. In their minds, he’s forced them to carry out a wedding with a very obviously pregnant bride.
Queen Hilde’s eyes are kind as she regards us.
“Welcome,” she says. “Please have a seat. This is a casual breakfast, as you can see.”
The silent, sullen king has already seated himself and is piling eggs and bacon onto his plate, not waiting for the servers to assist him. He doesn’t look up at us, seeming way more interested in breakfast.
Jo and I share a look, then wait for the queen to sit as a server pulls out her chair. I help Jo in a similar fashion. I know what she’s thinking: there’s nothing casual about this. The delicate porcelain teacups and plates are vastly more formal and expensive than anything either of us have ever dined on.
“Thank you for having us, Your Majesty,” Josie says with a respectful nod as she waits for her tea to be poured.
The queen smiles, her gaze shifting between me and Jo. “And where is Suzanna? The other wedding attendant I’ve heard so much about?”
