Page 35 of Royal Resistance

Other than last night in our bedroom, it’s the first time we’ve been alone together.

The long table, with room for twenty, is set for two – one place setting at each end of the table.

“No,” I decide as soon as we enter the room. I pile the cutlery and napkin on the plate, balancing the three different glasses as I carry it to the head of the table. There’s no need for the formality, even though I know my father preferred it. I should have told them I wanted a casual meal with my new queen.

I’d also love a burger. I wonder if Selene likes hamburgers, thick and juicy with cheese and bacon.

I’m not sure she’s the burger type.

After I set the spot to my right, Selene sits down with a bemused smile. “We don’t need all that space between us,” I explain. “I want to talk to you, not yell down the table.”

“I would appreciate not getting yelled at.”

“Do people often yell at you?” I ask after I push in her chair.

“That’s an interesting question.” I’ve noticed her accent is stronger when she’s uncomfortable, her words more clipped and almost curt.

“Just trying to find out what your childhood was like, I guess. Were you happy?” I reach for the bottle of wine and pour Selene a glass.

It takes Selene a moment to respond. “I think I was happy, but I suspect it was a different childhood from many. There were a lot of lessons.”

“They were teaching you to be queen.”

She nods and lifts her glass to tap mine. “Always. A good thing, because now I can help you.”

“Which I need. They tried to teach me things, but my mother wanted us to have as normal a life as possible. We went to school in Battle Harbour, did all the things normal kids do. With security following, of course.”

“My bodyguard was my best friend until Courtney came to work for the family,” Selene says. There isn’t a note of sadness in her tone, it’s just matter-of-fact.

“I don’t want to raise kids that way,” I tell her.

Her eyes widen slightly. We’ve never talked much about the family aspect of being married, just the country stuff. “How many children would you like?” she asks, like she’s asking if I want fries with that.

“I’ve never really thought about it, but a lot. It was only me and my brother and I’d like my kids—our kids—to have an option for who they want to be friends with. Hopefully, they’ll all get along.”

“Being friends with your siblings,” she muses. “I don’t know anything about that. It was just me. I think I would have liked a brother or a sister.”

“A big family,” I decide.

“How old were you when your mother died?” Selene asks.

It’s been years, but the wave of sadness passes over my heart at the mention of her name. “I had just turned twenty-three.”

I take a sip of the wine, fighting the urge to toy with my silverware. I’d prefer not to talk about my mother’s death, but it’s better to get it out of the way. This is my wife. She should know all of this.

“How old are you now?” Selene’s cheeks turn pink. “I can’t believe I don’t know that.”

“One of those things we missed talking about.” I pause as the first course is brought in, bowls of carrot ginger soup. One of my father’s favourites.

I’ll have to tell the staff I’m not a soup guy. I’ll have to tell Selene.

“I’m turning thirty in four days,” I say as Selene dips in her spoon.

“Why don’t we have anything planned for your birthday?” she demands. “We need to have a celebration. Birthdays should be celebrated.”

I like how she says we.

“I don’t really do birthdays anymore,” I admit, the ginger of the soup adding a nice flavour to the carrot. Maybe I can be a soup guy.