And if I have to choke down a bunch of their favorite fermented cod cakes, then . . . then I’ll stuff some in a napkin and make it look like I ate them.
“Well, then, if we’re performing a traditional Torskethorpian wedding, we’ll be looking at a Friday winter wedding.”
“Friday?” I ask. “Aren’t weddings usually on the weekend? Especially a big wedding?”
“In our culture, we believe Fridays are the best day to get married because that’s Frigga’s day,” Adela responds.
“Who is Frigga?” I ask, feeling confused. Where the hell was Frigga in the hour-long “training” sessions I had with Keller? Missed that one, did ya?
Calmly, Keller says, “Frigga is the goddess of marriage. Friday is the day of fertility and love.” Of course he chimes in.
“Oh. Fertility and love.” I nod. “Well, that’s kind of cool. So a Friday wedding, how fun.”
“It’ll be an all-day event,” Adela continues. “The schedule of events will go as follows. Maidenhood rituals will begin on Thursday.” What the hell is that? “The wedding ceremony will take place at ten on Friday morning.” Errr, what? “Followed by a parade where you’ll be driven through the streets on the golden cod carriage.” Golden cod carriage? That can’t be real. “Where you will end at Strombly. Here you will take pictures with your groom and family. And from there, after official wedding pictures for history, you will get changed for your first reception.” First? There’s more than one? “There will be two following. Afternoon reception with just friends. And then of course our dignitary reception where you will be received by every guest.” Adela glances up at me with a smile. “Did I get that right?”
Uh, I would say no—
“It’s perfect,” Katla says. “Just like what Theo and I had when we got married.”
That’s a long-ass day.
“It sounds exciting,” I say even though a day with that much planned seems a touch overwhelming, but I’m not going to complain. “What uh, what are these maidenhood rituals you speak of?”
“Oh that’s a surprise,” Katla says with a smirk. “But don’t worry, it’ll be a lot of fun.”
Note to self, google maidenhood rituals when alone.
“And of course, I’ll have all the pre-marital requirements written down and handed to your personal secretaries so those can be taken care of before the wedding,” Adela says.
“Oh, what would that entail?” I feel like such a fish out of water with all of these questions.
Theo sets down his water glass and says, “I don’t believe you have anything like it in America.” He rubs his chin. “If I had to compare it to another culture or class, I would say something like in the Catholic religion where they hold Pre-Cana classes for soon-to-be newlyweds. It would be like that, but it includes physical examinations and couples sessions to make sure you’re both on the same page. I’ll also be working closely with both of you on your future responsibilities. Since you’re the heir to the throne, we need to make sure both you and Keller are ready to take on the responsibilities that coincide with such a title change.”
“Oh, makes sense.” I pause for a second and ask, “What if we fail?”
“We won’t fail,” Keller says with confidence.
“Well, I’m not saying that we will, but are there consequences? Like is there someone who will say we can’t get married?”
Theo and Katla glance at each other, and before they can answer, Keller squeezes my hand tighter. “That’s not something you need to worry about because it’s not going to happen.” He lifts my hand to his lips and places a light kiss to my knuckle. “We’ll be getting married this winter.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, trusting him implicitly. If I know one thing for sure, it’s that Keller is my rock, my everything. I can rely on him to tell me what’s right and what’s wrong, and if he says we can pass whatever this pre-wedding course is, then I fully believe him.
We spend the next hour going over the schedule, picking out flowers—which I was surprised about since I assumed that would be in person, but Theo wouldn’t have anything but lilies—invitations—with gold foiling and embossing—and some other essentials like the cake that’s a traditional kransakaka cake. It’s the cake served at every wedding, tiered rings of almond-flavored pastry, served with a dripping of icing over every ring.
The entire time, Henrik, our secretary, and Cornolia furiously wrote every detail in their notes.
“Now, let’s go over a date,” Adela says. “We don’t want anything too late into the winter season out of fear of frostbite for our constituents, so I’m thinking we will need to have the wedding in four weeks’ time.”
“Four weeks?” I nearly shout and then realize that reaction was way too loud. I smooth my hand over my dress and laugh nervously. “Wow, four weeks, that’s quick. Are you sure we’ll be able to get everything done in time?”
“Of course,” Adela answers with unbridled confidence. “The country will stop everything to make your wedding arrangements happen.”
“And I would have to agree with the timing,” Katla says. “The weather won’t get better, and if we want to make sure our people are comfortable while waiting to see you two parade the commons, then we need to make this a very quick engagement.”
Quietly, Keller says, “Is that going to be a problem?” From the insecurity in his voice, I quickly turn toward him.
“No, not at all. I want to get married. I was just surprised is all.” I turn to everyone. “Four weeks it is.”
