As Aleksander approached, his lazy gait might have fooled many but, now that Kjell was aware, he saw right through Freya’s brother’s assumed ease. Tension thrummed on the air as Kjell stood to meet his King, the informality of the setting making any display of courtesy awkward. Not to mention anger at what Aleksander had put Freya through by sending her to him in Dalarna.
‘You sent her to me in the middle of a storm,’ he growled, uncaring of hierarchy or power. The man in front of him had put the woman he loved in jeopardy.
‘She was never in any danger,’ dismissed the King of Svardia.
‘Threat isn’t always physical,’ he replied, knowing how significant the emotional damage could have been.
‘Which is why I sent her to you.’
Kjell scoffed, and purposely gave the man his back in a display of such disrespect even his usually stoic father frowned.
‘Frankly, Kjell, I couldn’t care less if you spend the rest of your life with your back to me. But is that what you would do to my sister?’
‘I have given her the only thing I can,’ he said bitterly. ‘Her freedom. If I kept her she would never be fulfilled. She would never reach the potential she has within her. She would never do all that she could do for Svardia.’
‘But you would if you could? Keep her? Love her?’ The soft word sounded awkward and unusual in the harsh tone Aleksander had used, but that barely scraped Kjell’s notice.
‘With every single ounce of my being. Unquestionably and unendingly,’ he said, the truth of his words shining bright, and he felt the unfurling of an impossible hope fill his breast.
‘It will require the sacrifice of everything you know. Your freedom, your independence. Your allegiance would be to her and your privacy would never be your own again.’ This time there was an undertone that Kjell couldn’t ignore. It spoke quietly but deeply of secrets and hurt, and all but demanded to be heard, listened to and seriously considered. Kjell did Aleksander the courtesy of doing so. But when he met his King’s gaze and spoke, his voice was level, powerful and sure.
‘She has my heart. Everything else is immaterial.’
Aleksander nodded once. ‘Good. Then let’s get to work.’
Freya’s cheeks hurt, her heart ached, her stomach twisted, but she smiled as the group of people around her all cheered. She accepted the congratulations of her team, Stellan’s teary-eyed thanks and the begrudging acceptance of the minister she’d persuaded to help bring Stellan’s worthy fight to parliament. Freya might have strong-armed him into it, but she knew that the minister wouldn’t have agreed if he hadn’t believed in the cause himself, or thought that there was hope of getting it through.
Thiswas why she had returned. Why she had made the choice she had. And if she was given that same choice again, she’d make the same decision, even knowing how much it hurt to leave Kjell behind. To leave her heart behind.
With him she could achieve small steps, but here she could make giant leaps. And the same could be said of Kjell. With her, he would only take small steps towards the life he deserved. And he deserved so much more.
Henna stood at her shoulder with a smile so beautiful it eased some of Freya’s hurt. ‘I knew you could do it.’
‘Of course I could.’ Freya shrugged. ‘It only took us four years,’ she replied, thinking of how much she had invested in Stellan’s cause, of the sacrifices the people in this room had also made.
‘Do you know what you will turn your attention to next?’ Henna asked, her gaze careful but watching.
Freya started nodding before she answered. ‘Yes,’ she replied, feeling the solemnity of it rise within her to fill spaces that would never be filled by a child. ‘Yes, I do.’
Kjell had been right. Lending an empathetic ear, giving an understanding voice to women who might not have the ability to speak for themselves had become an all-consuming need. Freya felt it; all around the world people were experiencing this incredible moment where, instead of being scared and fearful, they had the opportunity to question, consider, explore what it meant to be who they were. To becuriousabout how they identified, who they wanted to be with. To be flexible rather than rigid in their feelings about it. The question of what it was to be female, feminine, womanly,womanwas so bound up in the body and what it could do, that when it couldn’t orwouldn’tdo what it was supposed to do it rocked the deepest foundations of identity. And without support or understanding that could be a devastatingly terrifying place to be. She never wanted anyone to feel that way and if she could bring even the slightest attention or support to ease people into that place of curiosity rather than fear then...thenshe would find peace.
She would never have her own children. She knew that. Surrogacy was a possibility, but emotionally Freya knew that wasn’t for her. But on the other side of infertility, she thought of all the children who needed homes and families and all the love that she was capable of feeling. She knew that, just as surrogacy wasn’t an option for her, adoption wouldn’t be an option for others. But she marvelled at this wonderful world where those choices were even possible. Understanding might just have to catch up a little. It wouldn’t be for everyone, but that was okay. At least it was there for some.
In the blink of an eye, she imagined herself with two little children and wondered at the audacity of the once perfect Princess daring to be a single mother to two adopted children.
It would be perfect, she heard Kjell whisper in her mind and this time it warmed her rather than hurt.
‘I hate to draw you away, but the Investiture is due to begin in ninety minutes, and you might want to change.’
Freya’s heart thumped at the reminder. She knew that she’d been pushing the event that would have seen Kjell awarded the medal of Valour to the back of her mind, had perhaps even been hoping to miss it. But Henna seemed unusually determined to ensure that she was not only ready but also presentable.
She looked down at her clothes. ‘What is wrong with what I’m wearing?’
Eighty-seven minutes later, a prettily dressed Freya was half laughing as Henna pushed her up to the side entrance on the lower level of the ballroom. The space had been transformed for the Investiture with a red velvet stage fitting the baroque style, and the ballroom was half full of guests. Unlike the other night, there was an excited hum. Freya had always preferred investitures to balls, where the people of Svardia came to be honoured for both everyday heroism and extraordinary acts of valour equally.
She caught her brother’s gaze from the far end of the stage, standing in the frame of the side entrance opposite. For a moment his eyes were warm, smiling—and they shared a moment of real joy at being part of the royal family—before the shutters came down and the boy she remembered from their youth disappeared behind the mask of the man he had become. She felt the loss but had long given up hope of trying to reach deep enough to know what had happened to the smiling, laughing teenager she barely remembered.
The gentle music in the background changed and increased in volume and the commencement music played as brother and sister came onto the stage to meet in the middle.