Page 29 of Songs and Spun Gold
His father’s fork clanked loudly as it hit the table with more force than usual. “Have I not told you, boy, that alcoholis not—”
“Oh, hush, Steffan,” Mother interrupted, waving a dismissive hand at him. Turning back to her son, she prodded, “Why grief, Axel?”
Judging her eyes had the necessary level of compassion, he let the spoon clatter to the table, clanging against his plate on the way, and set his elbows on the table, letting his forehead droop onto his open palms. Inserting a little brokenness into his voice, he answered, “She was perfect. I was sure it was true love. And then—” His voice hitched. Out of the corner of his slitted eye, he saw his mother’s hand drift to her throat as she leaned forward, her mouth slightly open and her forehead crinkled. Perfect; now for the reveal. “And then she let it slip that she was only interested in me for my title.”
“What does that matter?” his father complained, gesturing with his fork. “If you wait until you find a woman who isn’t angling to be your queen, you will never be married. And though you seem determined to ignore it, one of your primary duties is—”
“Steffan!” the queen gasped, recovered from her momentary speechlessness at the king’s words. “Are you trying to claim thatIonly married you because you were a prince?”
The scowl on the king’s face melted off as he smiled at his wife. Few things drew him out of the disgruntled, angry mood into which he had sunk during the last six years, but the queen was one of them. “Of course not, my dear. Our fathers may have been interested in the political value of the union, but I know you would not have agreed unless you loved me.”
Axel took a slow, deep breath and paused to simply enjoy the peace for a few moments. He wished he understood why his father had allowed himself to be driven half-mad with grief over the loss of Helena. It was as if Axel had lost his father that day as well as his sister.
Couldn’t Father be thankful that he still had a son?
“Our son, on the other hand,” the king continued, waving a hand in Axel’s direction, “is hopeless. With his insistence on shirking his duties and spending his free time singing or haunting the theater, the chances of him finding a suitable wife who isnotseeking to climb the social ladder are almost nonexistent.” He moved his focus to his son. “What was her name? If she is acceptable, there is no reason to refuse the match. Assuming you have not already ruined your chances with her.”
Carefully lifting his head, Axel said hesitantly, “She is not of the nobility.”
His father sighed and began eating again. “I should have known,” he muttered. “You couldn’t fall in love with a proper choice.” Louder, he asked, “Is she at least the daughter of one of our influential merchant families?”
“I—” Axel stopped to consider his answer. “She was at the theater. She had tickets for opening night.”
“But her father?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered cautiously, determined to maintain the ruse. “Heidi—”
“Heidi?” the queen interrupted, her eyes glowing again.
“The girl I met.”
The king rolled his hand in the familiar “get on with it” gesture. “And her father…?”
“She was with friends.” Axel’s eyes darted between his two parents. “I didn’t meet any of her family.”
“You’re telling me you spent hours with this girl, and you never asked her about her family? Nor did she ever mention them,” the king said disbelievingly. He set his fork down again to look at his son with a strange expression. “What in the heavens did you talk about then?”
Axel let a small smile play across his face and stared wistfully into the open air past his father. “What, indeed?”
He could see his mother pressing her lips together, attempting to hide the smile curving them, while his father’s brow furrowed. After a few moments, the king cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The next time you see her, ask her about her family. Even if she is not noble, I would be willing to consider her if the connection is a suitable one.” He wore a soft expression that had been rarely seen in the last six years. “If possible, Iwouldlike to see you happy, my son.”
“Thank you, Father,” Axel replied quietly.
The king simply nodded and resumed his lunch. Now that the inquisition was finished, Axel began dishing up his own food, his movements slow but a small, hopeful smile on his face for his parents’ benefit.
CHAPTER 8
Axel
Axel!”
Axel cringed as his father’s voice rang out behind him. Everyone in the castle knew to avoid that tone.
His performance at lunch must not have been sufficient.
“Yes, Father?” he replied pleasantly, fixing his best “obedient son” expression on his face as he stopped walking and turned to face his father.
The king’s face was red, and his nostrils were flared wider than Axel had ever seen them. His fists were clenched at his sides as he stormed down the hall. When he drew even with him, he placed a firm hand on Axel’s upper back without stopping, dragging him along.
