Are you planning on needing immunity, Bax?
Schulz:
Will anyone be surprised if he does?
North:
Seriously, Reid, you have to tell me your secret! King of a whole country!
Doyle:
I’m still trying to figure out how he convinced a princess to even give him the time of day.
Roche:
Just because you can’t get a girl to talk to you doesn’t mean the rest of us ever had a problem.
Voss:
Are you forgetting that Reid never went out with us? Who knew he even had game?
Berg:
Yeah, I thought he was nothing but business and hogging the coffee.
Bax:
Still bitter that you didn’t come back to the team, Reid.
Wade:
But it makes sense.
North:
In what world does Elliot Reid running a country make sense? This is the guy who tried to befriend a wild goat and got headbutted into next week.
I silence my watch before any more messages come in, suddenly feeling better. I’m still going to panic every time I remember the shiny crown sitting on my head—this thing is ostentatious to the max—but I have to remember that I’m human. Like any king or queen that has come before me, I’m never going to be perfect.
Sounds like my old brothers-in-arms won’t be afraid to remind me of that.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and I groan. “Rothesby, there’s no way that was fifteen minutes.”
But when the door opens, the face on the other side makes all of my frustration and nerves disappear in the space of a breath. “Are you hiding?” Freya asks, slipping inside the bathroom and looking around as she approaches.
Her dress swishes around her, sparkling in the overbright lights. The gown is monstrous and frankly ridiculous, but the shimmery gold of the fabric complements my navy-blue doublet and gold-adorned cape. We look like we stepped out of a painting from the eighteenth century, and I vowed early this morning that I will never wear knee-high boots again after today. But I also get to wear a sword at my hip with no one questioning me, so the outfit’s not a total wash.
The instant this coronation party is over, I’m dumping all of this nonsense—it’s overkill of the worst kind—but I’ll never forget the way Freya looked at me this morning when she first saw me in my royal clothes. Itwas the kind of look that made me suggest skipping the coronation and staying in bed together instead.
Granted, I’ve suggested that alternative every morning since our wedding last week, so she’s come to expect it. We won’t get a proper honeymoon for another two weeks, but at least we were able to spend the last week on our own in Stonemere.
“Hiding?” I repeat, moving forward until my legs push into the vast expanse of her dress. I press a hand to her waist and pull her in close. “A royal never cowers.”
“Did Hex tell you that? Because I caught him hiding behind a statue this morning when he thought Astrid was with me, so he has no room to talk.”
Laughing, I press a kiss to her forehead and linger there, trying to soak up some of her strength. I’m grateful for a topic of conversation that doesn’t involve my newly crowned status. “He’s still avoiding her?”
She snickers. “Like a sailor dodging sirens.”
