He made his way straight to her and reached for her hand. His lips brushed the back of her fingers and he tucked her arm through his and led her to a small staircase that led up to the balcony.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a whisper.
He ignored her as she suddenly found herself overlooking the ballroom with all eyes on her. He raised his hand as if he needed to get everyone’s attention. She wanted to shrink back, but Sven’s hand pressed warm and steady at her back.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Curious eyes darted from Sven to Bryn. For a heartbeat she flashed back to her first disastrous visit at the Bread and Biscuit, where cold stares had made her feel unwelcome. But tonight was different. She lifted her chin and focused on the dessert table in the distance.
Sven leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
She sucked in enough air to fill her lungs. He squeezed her hand before his voice rang out clear and sure.
“Friends, I know many of you wondered about tonight. About what it means for me and for Stagholt. You’ve heard the rumors, and yes, they are true. My intended bride has left the kingdom.”
A ripple of murmurs swept the crowd. Bryn’s stomach dropped.
“But what you haven’t heard,” Sven continued, and his eyes found hers, “is that sometimes, when one plan doesn’t go as predicted, a new plan forms. One that is stronger, even if it's unexpected.”
Her breath caught.Oh no he isn’t.
“Bryn saved me in all senses of the word. When others ran away from the danger, she ran to my side. To help me and comfort me. She reminded me what it means to stand strong and believe in love when I thought I couldn’t anymore. And so tonight, while my intended bride has changed, I can tell you as your king and as a man, I’ve fallen completely in love with her.”
The crowd erupted in cheers, as the whole town blessed the vow he’d just spoken.
Bryn stood frozen.From one night of sex to marriage? What the hell is going on?This was supposed to be a ruse. A neat, temporary solution. Nothing more.
The music resumed, and couples began drifting onto the dance floor. Sven drew her forward into his arms, his hand firm on her waist.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“No kidding,” she whispered back. “You just announced me as your bride.”
“And they accepted you.” He spun her effortlessly before he pulled her back against him. “To some, the royals, our agreement is for a ritual. To the town, I was betrothed. Appearances are everything.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that little detail?” Bryn’s throat tightened as she tried to process her feelings which were somewhere between anger and excitement.
“We need to dance.”
Bryn let Sven guide her from the balcony to the polished dance floor. The waltz carried them in sweeping circles, and for a few blessed moments, the noise of the crowd melted away. It was just him, warm and steady, the faint smile that tugged at his lips when she stumbled and he caught her.
“You’re doing fine,” he murmured.
“Liar,” she whispered back, but the teasing steadied her nerves.
By the end of the dance, she was laughing and completely breathless. He bowed to her with exaggerated formality, and she gave a quick curtsy, earning a round of approving chuckles from the watching crowd.
People began approaching and Bryn found herself greeting women in elegant gowns, men in tailored suits, and even a few wide-eyed children tugging at their parents’ sleeves to meet the next queen.
A woman she vaguely recognized from the Bread and Biscuit pressed a sugared cookie into her hand. “To make up for what happened before,” the woman whispered in apology. Bryn’s throat closed with unexpected gratitude.
Others followed. Compliments on her gown. Warm welcomes to Stagholt. Polite questions about her home. Bryn answered as best she could, careful to keep her voice even and her smile genuine. At first it felt like standing in a spotlight, butslowly, she realized the faces around her weren’t hostile. They were curious.
Sven never strayed far. Each time someone new approached, his hand brushed hers or settled lightly at the small of her back to anchor her. When the crowd pressed too close, one look from him and people shifted back to give them room.
Freya appeared at her side. “You look radiant,” she said with a warm squeeze of her hand. “You belong here.”
The words hit Bryn harder than she expected. Belonging wasn’t something she had felt in a long time. And certainly not something she had expected.
Later, when the musicians struck up another lively tune, children raced to the dance floor. One small boy darted toward her. “Dance with me, Lady Bryn?”
