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I must be hallucinating because I think I just heard Flora introduce my former housemate as the next king of Gravenland.
But then, in the stunned silence that follows, I finally see it. The eyes. The chin.
“Brother?” Sigurd rasps. “What the hell is going on?”
“It seems that palace security has known all along who it was who caught me when I fell from the balcony box. But the king hushed it all up,” Callum says.
“Why?” I ask.
The shy Jakob stammers, “Because…because my mother was the king’s…mistress.”
The shocked silence continues, and all that can be heard are the tiny sounds of a sleeping baby.
I look up at my former housemate in awe, shock, and disbelief. “Jakob,” I say. “I can’t believe you never told me.”
Sigurd stands, and as he faces Jakob and slowly offers his hand, I see it. It’s like they’re looking in a mirror.
Of course, they’re brothers. It’s so clear now.
“Does the queen know?” I ask.
Flora shakes her head.
I pipe up. “You don’t have to do this, Jakob. You don’t have to face the queen. You don’t have to be king if you don’t want to.”
All eyes turn to Jakob. “After what he put my mother through, I’ll do it just to see the look on the old bastard’s face.”
No doubt in my mind, we’re all imagining that look.
“My father could just as easily find a way to declare you unfit,” Sigurd says.
Flora tosses back, “He’d be hard-pressed. There’s no law against entitlements to any offspring of a sitting king, no matter the status.”
And yet Sigurd can’t be king because our child was born to a prince before he was married. The patriarchy in action, everyone. I roll my eyes.
“I’ll do my duty,” Jakob says. “And I’ll do exactly what needs to be done with the monarchy.”
And we all are left to wonder what on earth that could mean.
EPILOGUE
Sigurd
Five Years later
We’ve been going round and round on the most critical matter in our lives: where to host Florence’s fifth birthday.
I can hardly believe my little flower is about to turn five.
But I can believe that Stasi and I still haven’t decided where to host the party for her and all her friends and cousins.
A week before the main event, my wife and I are still arguing.
“But she loves fishing,” I remind Stasi as we sip our tea on the newly-built veranda of our hideaway cabin.
“Yes,” Stasi says, slapping a mosquito. “But this is a huge milestone for a little girl, and your daughter loves tea parties. I say live large while we can! Give the princess a massively awesome tea party.”
Stasi blinks at me, and my heart softens on the issue. Smiling, she sets her tea down and inches toward me. I pull her on top of me, her legs straddling my hips, because I know that’s what she was aiming for anyway. I feel perfect with her legs hugging me like this and her big blue eyes smiling down at me while her thick, wavy locks brush against my face. I still find solace in nature, but I find even greater comfort in my wife.
