Page 3 of Royal Reluctance

“I didn’t want to wait. Her brother is in trouble again—she was going to leave me and I couldn’t let that happen. And I didn’t want a big wedding. A royal wedding. I can’t handle that.”

“Oh, my sweet Bo.” Mom—not Queen Selene—shakes her head. “You can handle more than you think you can. Being part of this family isn’t the prison sentence you make it out to be.”

“I don’t like it,” I mutter.

“Neither does anyone else,” she admits with a rueful smile. “Except maybe Gunnar likes the attention. You learn to deal with it, rather than go into hiding. You were born into this family, and while you had no choice in that, your father and I have given you many choices in how to deal with the attention and theresponsibilities. We’ve never forced anything on you.” She taps the magazine again. “You dealt with this, so don’t tell me you can’t do anything.”

“That’s not the same. How could I say no?”

“Thank you, but no,” Mom says quickly. “You didn’t even tell anyone until it was published, so there was no way we could prepare you for it. You must be going crazy with the attention. Duncan can help.”

She does have a point. I’ve turned my phone off because of the constant calls from friends and strangers alike, all wanting a comment. And it would have been nice to have been prepared for the media storm, but that’s on me because I never mentioned the magazine had even contacted me until a few days before the issue was published.

The same way I never told anyone of my plans to marry Hettie, not until it was too late and there was nothing anyone could do.

Mom sighs. “You really married her?”

I nod, shoulders hunched. “I love her,” I say helplessly.

“Well, that’s good because you’ve made this very difficult for yourselves. The press…” She shakes her head and stands. “I’m sorry, but I need to get Lyra. We’ll talk about this when I get back. And we’re going to have to tell your father.”

“I know.”

“I have no idea what he’ll say.” Mom stares out the window at the icy rain that falls in sheets. The weather had been a beautiful early October day when we left Wabush this morning, but the storm had blown in arrived soon after, along with a cold front blowing down from the Arctic. Snow and ice are expected tonight, which means I won’t be heading back with Hettie.

I stand as she moves toward the door and Mom touches my arm with a tired smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Make sure you’re still here, please. No flying tonight.”

I nod.

Only my mother never came back.

1

Hettie

“Are you sure you’reready for this?” Mabel asks.

The air is cold on the very edge of Laandia, but the water is colder. I forget how long it would take to get hypothermia in the water, and I also forget how long it has been since I put a toe in the Atlantic.

My sister and I walk along the beach on the edge of town. When people think of Laandia, no one gives the beach much thought. It’s a fishing village—town, these days—and the pier is the heartbeat of Battle Harbour. But it’s on the eastern edge of North America, and where there is ocean, there is beach.

My toes, already chilled from my inadequate boots, itch to walk along the sandy strip. It’s the only beachy beach in all of Laandia; the rest of the coastline is either sharp rocks jutting up from the water, making it disastrous for boats and swimming, or strips of pebbles, worn smooth from the constant waves that will easily knock you down if you go in the water the wrong way. But it’s a beach and I love it. Even though I’ve lived in British Columbia for years, with beaches full of sand and calm water, I still love Battle Harbour’s beach best of all.

I sometimes wonder how the Vikings ever thought this country would be habitable but then I think of the prettiness of the harbour. They must have come ashore in their longboats at just the right spot.

This morning, the first morning in eight years that I’ve been back in my home country, I woke to find all the carefully constructed walls in my mind had crashed and burned. One night in Battle Harbour, and I can’t get away from Bo.

He’s in my mind. He’s all over my mind. Everything reminds me of him—the trees surrounding the town, standing tall and unyielding, the roads we travelled looking for the perfect spot to confess our love, the castle on the hill where he grew up.

The spot behind the high school where he told me we should have never gotten married.

When I woke up this morning, the school was visible from the window, and that was the only thing I could think about. Replaying the moment Prince Bo of Laandia—the man that only a short time earlier had professed his undying love and commitment to me—broke my heart.

I hadn’t even wanted to get married but Bo convinced me. I loved him but my life was far from a fairy tale, and the only place a girl like me got the prince was in a fairy tale.

But I went along with his wild plan because I loved Bo Erickson more than anything.

And still, he broke my heart. Crushed it really. Saying marrying me was a mistake, that he never should have thought it would work out, that we couldn’t be together.

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