The genuine joy at the attendees’ pride and awe in the day soothed some of the hurt that had taken up residence in Freya’s heart. And she was watching a little girl reach up for her daddy to take her in his arms when she heard a name that cut through her thoughts immediately.
She forced her attention onto the crowd of smiling faces until a figure approached the stage so familiar, so handsome, so heartbreaking that she had to blink several times just to refocus. She fisted her hands to hide the fine tremors tumbling through her body and clasped them together, hoping that no one had seen.
Her heart thudded and she wasn’t sure she dared risk a glance at him, but couldn’t hold out against the desperate need to see him. To take him in. Her eyes flickered between him and the audience and she realised that Kjell’s incredible focus was on her brother and only him. It hurt just a little until she realised it gave her the opportunity to stare as long and openly as she wanted to.
Unlike the last time she had seen him in the ballroom, Kjell was dressed in the mess dress uniform, the deep blue-black wool of the rolled collar jacket and waistcoat contrasted with the ivory white shirt, reminding her of the view of the snow-covered forest from the windows of the cabin. Somehow the more civilian style of suit made him look less civilised. She could feel the raw power of him vibrating beneath his skin. It called to something deep within her, something that raged at being ignored or denied as Kjell continued to focus solely on her brother.
He was taking the medal.
A part of her wanted to stop the ceremony, feared that he was only doing this for her, not because he’d finally made peace with the traumatic events that had caused the death of his closest friend. But when Kjell finally stood before her brother, rather than bowing his head to receive the award, he did something else entirely.
Her brother swept his arm in invitation and Kjell lowered to his knees. Confusion twisted through Freya like a tornado. Medals were awarded at a bow, not a kneel. Only...only titles were bestowed at a kneel.
Goosebumps rose over her skin, her arms, her neck, her breasts. She stared at her brother, his back now to her as he reached for the ceremonial sword, and Freya felt tears press against her eyes before her mind caught up fully with what was happening in front of her. The consort for the first two legitimate heirs to the throne had to have a title; it was a lesson she’d learned over and over and over again.
Could this be really happening?
On the opposite side of the stage, hidden in the shadows just beyond her brother’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Henna, her eyes bright, shining and a smile so beautiful, so encouraging. Her oldest friend, her lady-in-waiting, nodded as if divining her thoughts from across the room.
Freya’s heart beat so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear the words said by her brother, but she knew them in her heart as her brother took the sword that had been in their family for five generations and, in reward for his honour, loyalty and valour, touched the sword to one shoulder then the next.
In that moment Freya realised what he’d done. What he’d sacrificed. Kjell would never be a soldier, he would never return to duty. After all she’d tried to do, all she’d tried to protect him from...
‘Rise, Viscount Fjalir,’ her brother said.
Freya was torn, agony roaring through her at his sacrifice, but that selfish need burning in her chest wanted to run to him. And then, as Kjell stood, his eyes turned to her and, as if reading her fear, her fury, he stalked towards her—absolutely nothing civilised in his gaze.
Uncaring of her surroundings and utterly in thrall to this man, she took a step backwards and another as he kept advancing—the sheer force of his determination pushing her and crowding her into the shadows of the curtained section of the stage. Distantly she was aware of the music resuming and the low hum of the crowd as her brother led the participants off to the reception further into the interior of the palace. But her mind was only on the terrible sacrifice Kjell had just made.
‘What have you done?’ she asked him in a trembling voice as she stared up at the man she wanted to pull to her as much as push away. Arctic eyes flared at the sound of her voice, his legs only finally coming to a halt as her back pressed up against the wall. The breadth of his shoulders surrounded her, protected her, warmed her. She leaned towards him against her will, desperate to feel the heat of him. ‘You stopped being a soldier?’ she asked, the quiver in her voice betraying the emotion she felt for him.
‘Yes.’ His response was swift and sure.
‘Kjell—’ She tried to take control of the situation, but he wouldn’t let her.
‘Congratulations on getting Stellan to parliament,’ he whispered as he raised a hand to cup her cheek with the gentlest of touches, as if he wasn’t completely sure that she was real.
She’d been about to turn away from his touch in shame, but surprise stole through her instead. ‘How did you...?’ Ignoring her question, Kjell’s eyes searched the depths of hers, as if hoping to divine a truth she’d desperately tried to keep a secret.
‘I think you’ve been trying to protect me,’ he said, his tone solemn, stalling any attempt to hide from the man she loved with all of her being. She bit her lip, not in the least surprised that he knew her well enough to realise exactly what she’d been doing. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that you pushed me away because you think I deserve something you believe you’re not capable of giving me.’
Freya tried to hold his gaze as he stared down at her, a stare that displayed the magnitude of hurt she had left him with.
‘I think you’ve done this because you felt you didn’t have a choice. But now you do.’
‘Kjell...’ Her heart broke for him, but he shook his head, his eyes not leaving hers.
‘I couldn’t have stayed a soldier. I didn’t believe in it any more. It wasn’t who I wanted to be any more.’ He leaned back a little, giving her enough space to take his next words seriously. ‘My duty, my allegiance? All yours. My heart? You’ve had it since I was twenty. My hand you can have now and for ever.’
He could see the emotions warring in her eyes, the guilt traversing across them. ‘I know that you thought my exile prevented me from coming home. But all it did was make me realise that my home isn’t a place, it’s not Svardia or even my parents. It is—and has been ever since the moment I first laid eyes on you—with you.’
‘But, Kjell...’ she said, her heart breaking for the children she would never be able to give him. He cupped her jaw, his thumb sweeping away a tear she hadn’t realised had fallen. She trembled in his arms, the force of emotion hitting her like a train. ‘I love you so much,’ she said. ‘I love you so much that I want to say yes, I want to keep you with me for ever. You make me all the things that are truly me and more. I have laughed with you, cried with you, learned with you... You complete me,’ she said simply and truthfully. But you deserve more, and I would hate to tie you to what we will never have.’
Kjell felt the agony in her heart, knew how much it cost her to even say it. ‘My only thought is to all wecanhave,’ he said, pressing kisses across her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. ‘We will adopt a hundred children if you want, or instead we will be happy pouring all our love into each other and the people of Svardia. The future is nothing to fear, Freya, it is to be shared and relished. It was my job to protect you. And, facing the future ahead of us, I will continue to do that with my heart, my body and my life.’
She looked up at him with those hypnotic whisky-coloured eyes—wide and, yes, full of trust—and nodded, shifting the foundations beneath the wall of anxiety around his heart. Fear by fear, block by block, those walls began to tumble, until nothing was left but a love so sure, so strong and pure that it would never dim—no matter the years that came and went. It would never tarnish, no matter the struggles that were overcome, and would never be less for anything that was taken from them. Their love was abundant, in that moment and all the moments to come.
‘Princess Freya of Svardia,’ he said, pressing his forehead to hers, covering her body with his, ‘will you marry me?’