“No. I met him once. When I was sixteen. He was in his forties. It was at the palace in Cape Blanco. He made my skin crawl. I thank God that I never came here to visit him. Who knows what might’ve happened.”
“Whythank God? If He truly wanted to help you He could have removed the problem altogether.”
“He did,” she said. “Eventually.”
Her eyes met his and held, and her lips curved just slightly.
“Out of the frying pan, I’m afraid,” he responded.
“But if I move quickly enough to the flames perhaps they won’t scorch me.”
He let out a hard breath, and when the car came to a stop, opened his door and rounded to her side. He did not allow anyone to open doors for him. He had not acclimated to any sort of royal protocol. It was clear, however, that the princess was accustomed to having the door opened for her. She had not made a move toward the car door one time since they had first approached the vehicle.
These were the sorts of things that betrayed her as royalty. He thought about what she had said. About the paradox of her existence. He could see it. Because there was wealth and high status in every line of her body. The way that she held her chin up high, the straight set of her shoulders. The imperious way that she spoke to him, even when she was at a clear disadvantage.
And yet she had no power.
She stepped out of the car, and he became suddenly very aware that she was not dressed in clothing fit for a princess. Thankfully there was no press awaiting his arrival today. They had no reason to. Another fledgling enterprise in this country—free press. For the last twenty-five years they had been nothing but a mouthpiece for the regime. He encouraged them to print the truth, and along with it their opinion. They were allowed to criticize him, and often did. They also watched many of his movements with great fascination.
When he did announce his engagement to Fern, and their swiftly impending marriage, it would create a firestorm. But thankfully, the fire hadn’t started yet.
And when it did, perhaps it would be as Fern said. They would move through it quickly enough to not get scorched.
But in the meantime, she would need to be clothed in a way that befits the future queen.
He took her arm again, and led her to the grand front doors of the palace. It was made entirely of volcanic stone, the interior as dark as the exterior. There were sconces that illuminated the walls, but there was only so much light that could be introduced into such a dark antechamber.
Other parts of the palace had been made brighter with Sheetrock and texture, paint or wallpaper rather than this oppressive stone. But the entry and the throne room were much the same as they had been at the end of the Viking age.
“Medieval,” she whispered.
“Yes. Fitting, given that it has been standing since the Middle Ages. Thoren the Bloody was the first ruler to take control of the nation, such as it was at the time.”
“You’re Vikings.”
“Yes. Thoren and his company came here shortly after Iceland was taken away from the Irish monks. This land was barren, and was seen as a safe place for the Vikings to send their women, and to use as a base when they went on raids. The women of course came from all over, as you know the Vikings famously claimed brides wherever they went.”
“You mean kidnapped and subjugated women.”
“Most marriage was based on kidnapping and subjugation at the time.”
She gave him a long, dry look. “Some still is.”
He chuckled. He did find it amusing the way that she insisted on fighting him. “True. But you know, we famously have quite easy divorces.”
“Do you?” she said, tilting her head. “Are you being serious?”
“Yes. And Viking women could divorce their husbands, as far back as the Middle Ages. They only had to declare it. This is still true. My country honors the old ways. At least we do again.”
“And yet you seem to take a dim view on God.”
“I would definitely be more inclined to say a prayer to Odin if I had the occasion to say one. But no.”
“I imagine losing your family the way that you did…affected that.”
“I thought you weren’t a nun.”
“I’m not.”
