by Mari Mancusi
He rose to his feet. “I should get going. I have a meeting with the council to discuss this lie-detection test they want to use. I will do what I can to shelter you, as I always have. But you must stay on your guard. If you care about Agnarr like I think you do, say nothing. Trust no one. His security lies in your hands.”
He headed out, his steps heavy and slow. I watched him go, feeling tears streaking down my face. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. What was I going to do? I’d all but trapped myself in an impossible situation. A situation that would destroy not only me, but possibly the entire kingdom of Arendelle.
Not to mention Agnarr himself.
I sighed, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I wandered back to the kitchen to drape some tea towels over the cooling bread loaves when I heard yet another knock on the door. Was Peterssen back? Or perhaps the guards with their lie test?
I walked over to the door, drawing in a shaky breath. Whatever it was, I could handle it, I told myself. Somehow. Some way…
I pulled open the door.
Agnarr stood on the other side.
AGNARR STRODE INTO MY HOUSE. “WE NEED to talk,” he declared.
I went and hastily shut the door behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the castle?” I asked, annoyance at his imperial tone mixed with the relief of seeing him again. He was dressed unusually, in a plain black shirt and matching pants. A large hat had been pulled low over his eyes. Not exactly his usual regal attire. “Also, what on earth are you wearing?”
“I’m in disguise, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeated, a hint of sarcasm to my tone. I knew I should tell him to go away. He was putting himself in danger by coming here. Not to mention I was still mad about our fight—his assumptions about the Northuldra, his bravado. But as much as I knew I should shove him back out the door, I found I didn’t have the strength. It was too good to see him. I had missed him so much it hurt. And the ache that had settled in my stomach now felt both terrible and wonderful at the same time.
“What’s wrong?” Agnarr asked, coming over to me, his green eyes glowing with concern. “Are you crying?”
“No!” I retorted just as a sob escaped my throat. He gave me a skeptical look. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.” I was so tired. So very tired.
Agnarr nodded. “This is my fault,” he said. “I’m so sorry I haven’t come sooner. I wanted to. You know that, right?” He searched my face for confirmation.
I nodded. “I do.”
“Also, I’m sorry I was such a pig back at the castle. I should have never ordered you to stay. You are your own person, Iduna. You always have been. It’s one of the million qualities I love about you. It was wrong of me to push that aside for my own self-interest.” He gave me a pleading look. “I was just scared. People have been beaten in my name.”
“By the evil Northuldra,” I couldn’t help muttering.
Agnarr stopped, looking at me carefully. “I don’t think it’s them, actually.”
I looked up, surprised. “You don’t? But you said—”
He waved his hand. “I know. I was panicking. Jumping to conclusions. But now that I’ve had time to think it through, it doesn’t make sense. It’s just like the evil spirits. People need someone to blame. But there’s no evidence to support that it’s them. I did some digging in the library, too. These attackers use swords. And nothing I’ve read ever claimed the Northuldra had swords. And their clothes! I don’t know if you remember, but Northuldra dress similar to the ice harvesters. The attackers wore shirts with buttons on them.” He raked a hand through his short hair. “It doesn’t add up.”
Relief flooded me at his words. I wanted to throw my arms around him. The fact that he hadn’t given in to the fearmongering. That he’d done research and had come to his own conclusions based on actual evidence rather than fear or fantasy.
He was going to make a great king.
“Who do you think it is, then,” I asked carefully, “if not the Northuldra?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “It could be another kingdom wanting to weaken us. It could be someone here on the inside who wants to challenge my claim to the throne. Or even someone who just doesn’t like me for personal reasons.” He grinned crookedly. “Though who in their right mind wouldn’t like me, right?”
“I’ve missed you,” I admitted. “And I appreciate the apology. I’m sorry, too.” I gave him a rueful smile. “Truthfully, it probably would have been safer for me to stay at the castle. I was being stubborn.”
He bit his lower lip. “So, you forgive me?”
“I forgive you. And I will come to stay with you at the castle. If you’ll still have me.”
Agnarr’s face brightened and I suddenly felt a little guilty for my ulterior motive.
If I was in the castle, the belly of the proverbial beast, I would more likely be spared from these lie-detecting interviews and all the fallout that would come from them. I could hide in plain sight.
“Really? Are you sure?” he asked, hope spreading over his face. “You don’t have to….”
“I know.” I swallowed hard. He looked so happy, which made what I had to say next that much harder. But it needed to be said, painful as it was. Peterssen’s earlier words had driven that point home.
“I will come,” I repeated. “But I have one condition.”
Agnarr grinned widely. His voice took on a jovial tone. “What is it, fair maiden? Be it half my kingdom, it shall be yours!” he declared in a grand voice, grabbing my hand and kissing it reverently. “In fact, all my kingdom, if you wish! Simply say the word.”
With effort, I managed to pull my hand away. I cleared my throat. “We need to stop this, Agnarr. Whatever this is.”
The smile fell from his lips. “What? What are you talking about?”
“This thing—between you and me. It can’t go on. We must end it. Today.”
Or you stand to lose more than you can imagine….
He looked horrified. “You can’t be serious. Iduna—”
“I am. We’ve gone too far with this whole thing. It was fun, but it needs to end.”
Fun. The word tasted like sawdust on my tongue. It had been so much more than fun. It had been everything. It had been life itself. And the last thing I wanted was to dismiss it so casually.
“You’re the prince, Agnarr,” I said, pushing on. “You have to marry a princess. We should have never started this to begin with. And the deeper we go, the harder it will be to crawl out. The more painful.”
“Don’t you love me?”
I hung my head. Part of me wanted to lie, say I never loved him, this was all a game. Push him away, hurt him so badly he’d stay away.
But I couldn’t do that. Because I did love him. I loved him more than anything in the world.
“Of course I do, Agnarr,” I said in a soft voice. “I love you with everything I have. But I also have to be realistic. We can never be together. The kingdom wouldn’t accept it.”
“Blast the kingdom.”
“You don’t mean that. I know you love your people. And they need you. Especially now. We can’t be selfish.”
He closed his eyes, clearly trying to wrest control of his emotions. I could hear the refrain ringing through his head clear as if he were shouting it at the top of his lungs. Conceal, don’t feel. I hated that mantra of his. But right now, it was the only way.
He opened his eyes. His face took on a look of determination. “Fine. I will agree to your terms for now. But I do not agree that our love is hopeless. Our love is powerful. It can move glaciers. I will not let it simply wither and die. I will find a way for the council to accept this. For this to work between us.”
He grabbed me then, pressing his lips against mine, cupping my face with his strong hands. A hard, desperate kiss. For a moment, I considered trying to pull away—but in the end, I found I couldn’t.
Because this might be our last kiss for a long time.
Maybe forever.
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“YOU LOOK LOVELY, MY DEAR! LIKE A TRUE lady of the castle!”
Gerda clapped her hands in excitement as I slipped out from behind the dressing screen. I felt my cheeks heat up as I stepped in front of the full-length mirror and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. The dress the castle steward had selected for me was a deep blue hue that matched my eyes. It clung to my waist and then fell loose to my feet in sweeping swaths of soft, rich silk. It was the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn, and I couldn’t help wondering what Agnarr would think when he saw it.
Not that it mattered anymore.
I’d been at the castle for two weeks now, though it felt like an eternity. Though it was an immense structure, somehow it seemed that no matter where I chose to go, I was always running into Agnarr. And while we tried to be pleasant to one another, there was an unbearable awkwardness growing between us. The way he looked at me with those hurt eyes. The way I forced myself to turn away, even though all I wanted to do was throw myself into his arms and never let him go.
But that wouldn’t happen. That couldn’t happen, especially not after tonight. The kingdom was throwing a huge ball to celebrate the arrival of Princess Runa and her father, King Nicholas of the kingdom of Vassar. I’d been dreading the visit since Agnarr first told me about Runa, and I’d thought up all sorts of excuses to get out of going to the ball. It was one thing to know they were meeting at last, yet quite another to watch it happen with my very own eyes.
But in the end, I decided to go. To prove to myself that I could. That I was strong enough to get through this.
“Are you all right, love?” Gerda asked, peering at me with concern. I realized, belatedly, I’d let a few tears slip down my cheeks. I’d cried a lot lately, hidden away in my small guestchamber at the far end of the castle. For I’d lost not only my true love, but also my best friend.
I didn’t want it to hurt as much as it did.
“I’m fine,” I said, resolvedly wiping at my tears. “I’m just overcome…the dress…thank you.” I started to push off the shoulders to take it off. But Gerda stopped me, a stern look in her eye. I watched as she walked over to the door and turned the key in the lock, gesturing for me to sit. I groaned inwardly; I should have realized Gerda knew me too well to believe I would be moved to tears by a dress, no matter how beautiful.
“My sweet girl,” she said, walking back over to me and leading me to the bed, “I’ve been the castle steward for years now. There’s not much I don’t see.” She gave me a knowing look. “You and Agnarr. Did you have a fight?”
I shook my head, staring down at my lap. “Not exactly.”
“But you’re avoiding one another.” I could feel Gerda’s eyes on me. “Does this have something to do with our arriving guests?”
My head jerked in her direction before I could stop it. She gave me a kindly smile. “I’m not blind, sweetheart,” she said, reaching over to clasp my hands in hers. “I know what’s been going on between you two.”
My heart pounded with fear. “Please don’t say anything!” I begged. “It’s over, anyway. We’re not together anymore.”
Gerda gave me a pitying look. “I’m so sorry to hear that, dear. We were all really rooting for you. You made such a great pair. And you were so good for our Agnarr.”
The tears welled in my eyes again. This time I didn’t bother to stop them. “He was good for me, too,” I admitted. “But it was never going to work out. He has to marry a princess. And I am definitely not a princess,” I added with emphasis.
Gerda’s face slipped into a scowl. “Ah, yes. That rot again. I can’t believe the council still abides by that nonsense. After it worked out so well for Runeard and Rita.”
I cocked my head. “Rita?”
“Agnarr’s mother,” Gerda said with a wistful smile. “She was such a sweet soul. So smart, creative. When she laughed, you couldn’t help but laugh with her.” Her eyes grew distant as she remembered. “But as the years passed, her laughter began to fade. She was so sad. She missed her home so much. But Runeard never understood,” she added. “He tried to give her everything, but she wanted nothing. Nothing except the one thing she could never have. Freedom.”
My heart ached at her words. So what the trolls had said was true.
“Why does no one ever talk about her?” I asked.
Gerda’s face darkened. “Runeard forbade it. When she ran away, he locked away all her things. Barred her bedroom door. No one was to speak her name again, under penalty of banishment.”
“That’s terrible,” I said. “Poor Agnarr. It’s bad enough he lost his mother. But to be denied all memories of her as well…”
Gerda rose to her feet and walked over to a small wardrobe. She reached into it, then pulled out a wooden chest. I watched, curious, as she brought it back over to me. Her voice lowered.
“I did manage to save one thing,” she confided. “I don’t think Runeard knew about it.”
I watched, breathless, as she lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a small stuffed puffin with one big button eye, wearing a light blue cape.
“Rita made him for Agnarr,” Gerda explained. “When he was a baby. She called him Sir JörgenBjörgen. He always made Agnarr smile.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners.
Warmth coursed through me as I pictured Agnarr as a small child, playing on the floor with this little puffin, his mother smiling down at him. I wondered if Agnarr would remember it.
“You should give this to him,” I said. “And tell him about his mother. He deserves that at least.”
“He does,” Gerda agreed, looking suddenly far off again. “It’s time he knows everything. And perhaps…” She trailed off.
“Perhaps what?”
She gave me a hard look. “Perhaps knowing what happened to his parents will prevent him from making the same mistakes.”
“PRESENTING NICHOLAS, KING OF VASSAR, and his daughter Princess Runa.”
The room erupted in applause as a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a highly decorated military uniform, stepped into the Great Hall, which was masquerading as a ballroom for the evening. He was hand in hand with a petite-boned girl around my age, who was wearing a dramatic deep purple off-the-shoulder gown, trimmed with lace and finished with a matching bow at her chest. She had sparkling green eyes and a large mess of light blond hair, artfully piled on top of her head. She was pretty, graceful, walking into the ballroom as comfortably as someone would come to their kitchen table: like she’d been born to do it.
Unlike…some guests.
I fought back a laugh as I caught sight of Iduna across the room. She was attempting to sneak a piece of chocolate off of the treat table. She shoved it in her mouth, trying to chew it without anyone noticing, but she must have swallowed too quickly, because she began to cough in a loud, sputtering fashion, causing several guests to turn and give her bemused looks.
She looked so beautiful that night, wearing a gown of the most searing blue that perfectly matched her eyes and fell to the floor like a ripple of water from a crystal clear stream. No jewelry, no fancy lace or embroidery for my Iduna. She was a simple bluebird in a field of prancing peacocks. And yet the most stunning creature I’d ever laid eyes on.
The past few weeks had been torturous. Iduna had done as she’d promised, moved into a spare bedroom in a vacant wing in the castle—about as far away from me as was possible without climbing out a window. And she had been resolute, determined to keep our relationship platonic. We could be friends, but not lovers. Now, though, our friendship felt strained, our former ease around one another replaced by a too-careful awkwardness, as though we feared either of us might shatter and break if we said the wrong thing.
But still we kept on the charade, because that was what she wanted. At least, that was what she said she wanted. But on rare days, when she didn’t realize I was watching her, I could sometimes catch another look, deep in her blue eyes. A secret weight, a sadness she couldn’t quite hide. And I knew in those moments that
she still loved me as much as I loved her. That being apart tore at her soul as much as it tore into mine.
“Your Majesty?”
I startled as I realized the princess—Runa—had made her way over to me and was holding out her hand. I took it awkwardly, bringing it to my lips as was custom, kissing the back of it. She curtsied before me. I gave her a stiff bow in return.
“Aw! I see the two of you have already become inseparable!” cried her father, joining us. He placed a hand on the small of her back and pushed her a little closer to me. “Why, Prince Agnarr, it appears you can barely restrain yourself from asking my daughter to dance!” he added, giving me a wink.
Oh. Right. I cleared my throat, wanting to glance back at Iduna, but knowing I couldn’t. I had promised Peterssen I’d be on my best behavior that night. “Would you…like to dance?” I asked Runa.
“My prince, there is nothing in the world I would like to do more,” she replied politely, her cheeks coloring a little, her voice as sweet and clear as a bell.
The king slapped me hard on the back so that I nearly stumbled forward. “Well then! There’s no time like the present! Get thee to a dance floor!”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I took Runa’s small, cool hand in my own and led her out to where the others were dancing. I could feel half the room’s eyes on me as she tucked herself into my arms and began to sway. The band took note and launched into a beautiful waltz. But my legs felt like wood as I mechanically performed the steps. I flashed back to when I’d learned this particular waltz—with Iduna, back when we were kids, as part of our weekly lessons. And it was her I thought of now. Particularly the moment she’d accidentally stomped on my foot so hard I’d gotten a bruise.
We’d laughed heartily and our dance teacher had given up in a fit of annoyance, telling us he’d come back when we were ready to take this seriously. Once alone, we’d started making up new dances—better dances. Each one sillier than the last. There was a chicken dance, a prancing peacock dance, and my personal favorite, “the reindeer who had to pee really badly but was stuck inside a fancy ballroom” dance. Iduna had come up with that one, of course, and I’d laughed so hard my stomach ended up hurting more than my bruised toe.