“And you are not like me,” Mum says, turning from Dad to look at me. She has said that before, and it always felt like an insult, no matter how many times I claimed the same thing. But today, with her words soft and her gaze warmer than I have ever seen it, it almost feels like…praise. “Freya,” she says, “You and I have had our differences, and I have likely been harder on you than I should have.”
A laugh escapes me in a quick exhale. “Likely?”
To my surprise, she actually smiles in return. “Without question,” she amends. “You have always been so eager for the throne, and I wanted to help you be the best version of yourself. But what I thought was the right path is different from the path you have forged for yourself. I have pushed you. Too often. You know my opinion, but I will not push you in this decision. I will support whatever you choose.” She sits forward, her eyes turning sad. “But you must know that time is running out. With the election in two days, you need—”
“I will make the announcement tonight.” Strange, how my own voice sounds foreign to me. “All of you are right, and an alliance with Grimstad is best for everyone.” Standing, I ignore the surprised looks on my parents’ faces and turn to Elliot, though I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze. I keep my eyes on the place where the bullet tore through him, as if that is easier to face than whatever look might be in his eyes. “Mr. Reid, if you could escort me to where Markham is staying, he and I can have a conversation before the ball.”
“Actually, I need a word with Mr. Reid in private,” Mum says.
Elliot slips his hand into his pocket and withdraws my phone. “You’ll probably find him in the gardens,” he says, holding the device out to me. He sounds wrong too, like he is speaking through a mask.
When I take my phone, his fingers brush mine and leave my hand tingling with the same electricity from before, and I wonder how long it will take before I feel that connection with Markham instead. “Thank you,” I say weakly.
“There will be plenty of guards to keep an eye on you wherever you go.”
“Thank you,” I say again. I don’t know what else Icansay. I look up enough to see him dip his chin in response, and then I slip from the room before my emotions catch up to me.
I am making the right decision. I know I am. But that does not mean it is not going to hurt.
Chapter Thirty
Elliot
Evenaftershe’sgone,I can’t stop staring at the door that shut behind her, blocking her from view.
That conversation couldn’t have gone any worse if I’d tried.
“Elliot.”
I reluctantly tear my eyes from the door to face Queen Ingrid, who smiles sadly at me, like she can see right through my armor to my raw heart underneath.
“How are you? Really?”
“Healing,” I reply. While that’s true physically, it’s going to be a long time before I can feel good about convincing Freya to choose Grimstad. That was never my plan, but the words kept spilling from my mouth. It’s not like I really expected her to make a different decision. I just…hoped.
“We have not had a chance to properly thank you for keeping our little girl safe.,” Stellan says, and tears form in his eyes.
“You protected her with your life,” Ingrid adds. “As you promised. For that we owe you so much.”
I drop my chin. “You don’t owe me anything. I wasdoing my job.”
“We all know she is more than a job to you, Elliot.”
Though afraid of what I’ll find, I lift my gaze to Ingrid and feel something in me settle when I look at her. For the first time, she seems to have let her guard down and is fully letting me see the emotions she always keeps hidden, and her expression is one I’ve never seen directed at me. It’s…motherly.
I was prepared to defend myself and refute any accusations that I crossed a line with Freya, one I shouldn’t have even come close to. But this? I don’t know what to do with this.
Ingrid tilts her head. “I wondered, after all the pictures, but I knew for sure when you spoke well of the union with Grimstad. You love her.” It’s not a question.
I shake my head anyway. “I can’t love her.”
“Why not?” Stellan asks.
Staring at him, I pull my eyebrows low. “I’m an American.”
“Unfortunately,” Ingrid says with a small smile. “But Americans have feelings, yes?”
“Feelings don’t overwrite laws.”
