Page 61 of Must Love Scones and Secrets
It was, frankly, a bit over-the-top for my northern sensibilities. Still, as I continued reading, something else caught my attention… The similarities between Lord Thornwick’s and Miss Beth’s situation and mine were uncanny. He, too, hadhidden his identity, fearing he would never be loved for himself rather than his title, but Miss Bethhadfallen in love with him.
“Do you understand now?” Winifred asked impatiently.
I looked up from the book, my mind racing. “I do,” I said tepidly, and then a broad smile crossed my face. “I do! By the Nine Gods, I’m an idiot. Where am I going?” I said, gesturing to the boat. “But I can’t just march up to her bakery and propose like Lord Thornwick, can I? Rosalyn’s probably furious with me.”
“She is,” Winifred confirmed cheerfully. “She spent the whole night baking Forget Me scones.Butshe’s also in love with you.”
“She… What?”
“Love, you thick-headed northern fool. She’s in love. With you.”
“Winifred has a unique way of expressing herself,” Emmalyn interjected diplomatically, “but she’s right about Rosalyn’s feelings. And if you feel the same way, you need to show her. Rosalyn is a romantic. Thiswillwork.”
Of course I loved Rosalyn. I loved her warmth, her kindness, and her talent for making everyone around her feel special. I loved that she saw me as Bjorn, not as Prince Bjorn. I loved how she’d opened her world to me without hesitation, even when she’d thought I was just a visiting horse master.
“I do love her,” I said simply. “I do.”
“Well, then,” Winifred said, planting her hands on her hips, “what are you waiting for? Special royal permission?”
Smoke barked his agreement, his tail wagging excitedly.
“But I need to—” I gestured vaguely at myself, suddenly conscious of my travel-worn appearance. “Wait, I have my ceremonial clothes in my bag.”
Emmalyn’s eyes lit up. “I know what to do. Come with me. Winnie, don’t let Rosalyn leave. I’ll be back with Bjorn in a heartbeat.”
“Where are we going?”
“Thistle and Thyme, so you can get ready.”
“Leave Rosalyn to me,” Winifred said.
“Come on, Your Highness. We’ve got a royal proposal to arrange,” Emmalynn said, taking me by the arm and pulling me away.
An hour later,I stood outside The Sconery and Teashop, dressed in my formal Rune elf attire: a gray-blue tunic embroidered with silver runes, formal dress trousers, a cloak with fur trim, and the silver torc that marked my royal status. My hair was neatly combed and braided, and my beard was trimmed, courtesy of Tansy’s quick work with scissors. I even smelled good, thanks to whatever Juniper had sprayed me with. In my hands, I clutched an enormous bouquet of moonblush roses and silverstar lilies that Winifred had given me.
I felt ridiculous.
I also felt like I might throw up.
“Stop fidgeting,” Winifred hissed from her hiding spot behind a nearby cart. “You look like you’re about to face execution, not propose to the woman you love.”
“The two feel remarkably similar at the moment,” I muttered.
“Remember,” Emmalyn whispered from her position near The Sconery’s side door, “sing the song to get her attention, then speak from the heart.”
“Right. Sing.” I cleared my throat, trying to summon the Song of Runeheart, the traditional anthem of our royal house. The problem was that I’d always been hopeless at music. Asa used to joke that my singing voice could curdle milk. But mymother had insisted I learned. So, even though I sounded like a croaking frog, I knew the tune.
It would be a disaster, but for Rosalyn, I would try.
Taking a deep breath, I began to sing, my voice cracking embarrassingly:
“From ice and stone, our halls were hewn,
“Where northern stars o’er mountains gleam.
“The Runeheart line, steadfast and true,
“Doth guard the realm and shape the dream.”
