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29
Stasi
I now understand more about why Sigurd is the way he is.
All his siblings, the palace attendants, and security sprang into action the second I went into labor.
I’ve never been so thoroughly cared for.
Never mind that this baby’s arrival outside of matrimony means—according to the silly laws of the land—that Sigurd cannot be king now.
“How did Flora know it would be a girl?”
I look down at the squishy pink face of Florence, our daughter, as she latches on like a champ.
The palace has given us a suite of rooms for my recovery and our little family to bond with the new baby.
Sigurd chuckles softly and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. I keep my hair up in a bun a lot these days; Florence is only a few days old, but she flails and grabs onto anything in her vicinity, including my hair.
“Who knows. That girl is cracked.”
“She’s lovely,” I insist, touching the super soft blanket my future sister-in-law had sent to our suite with a dozen other gifts.
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” Sigurd says.
“Nah, your auntie has excellent instincts,” I say to the baby. A flood of happy hormones buzzes in my head, and the ache in my swollen breasts calms down.
“Let’s hope so,” Sigurd says. “Being queen is not for a flighty 20-year-old girl.”
“Exactly,” says a feminine voice at the door. Flora has entered the room with a fresh bouquet of flowers.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” Sigurd throws over his shoulder.
“Oh! Sorry. I’ll come back,” Flora says, seeing me breastfeeding.
“No! Stay,” I insist, shooting Sigurd a look. “I told her to come visit me this morning. I need the tea. I love you, baby, but I feel like I’m in a bubble of zero gossip.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Sigurd asks.
Quietly, Flora pulls up a chair and whispers, “Yes, especially when you all hear the latest.”
All three sets of eyes turn in Flora’s direction. Mine, Sigurd’s, and even the baby’s. “What?” I ask. “Tell me, I’m dying to know. When’s your coronation?”
Flora sips her coffee and heaves a huge, dramatic sigh of relief. “Never!”
Sigurd sits up straight. “What? Why not? Who do I have to hogtie?”
Flora cocks her head to the side and says, “No one, you weirdo. But you might not be too happy with Father after you hear what’s happening.”
“My gods,” I say. “Tell us!”
Florence has drifted off to sleep, so I gingerly unlatch her and cover my breast.
With a flourish, Flora exits the room and returns with Jakob and Callum in tow.
My housemate looks at me sheepishly. “Jakob! I’m so happy to see you,” I say.
Flora clears her throat. “Sigurd. Meet your younger brother and next in line to the throne.”
