Page 50 of The Christmas Mittens
***
The chime of a clock somewhere in the vicinity of my room announced it to be eight p.m. already.
I gave myself a final look in the mirror. With the help of Rolph and an accommodating tailor in the city, I was now fit for a dinner with the royal family. Dressy casual. That was me. A dark blue sweater under my refurbished suit jacket—Rolph was a magician for he had somehow made the frayed cuffs look brand new—and black wool slacks with cheeks so clean shaven they still stung.
The knock on my door made my stomach twitch. I knew it was called a family meal, but I wagered this family meal and the family meals that Gilda and I had every night were two vastly different things. Jogging to my door, I opened it to find a princess waiting for me. Gilda’s hair was brushed and curled. She wore tiny earrings—clip on since we’d still not settled the ongoing pierced ears debate—and a pretty dress with a black top and a black and white floral skirt.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered as she spun a time or two, her skirt whirling out around her.
“The queen bought mesomany clothes,” she gushed and then showed me her little black flats and a black clutch with a silver shoulder strap. “And makeup! Don’t freak out, just some foundation to cover any pimples, a pink blush, and some clear lip gloss. I have it on now, and you didn’t even notice, did you?”
I had to confess that I did not. “Nope, I couldn’t tell. You look very lovely.”
“Thank you. I’m so tired.” She giggled. “The queen took me to see the paper doll collection. It was really pretty cool.”
“Shopping until you drop after flying through a billion time zones will do that,” I replied, feeling the tug of lingering jet lag myself. Walking and being treated like a prince was exhausting. A door at the end of the hall opened, and Anders appeared with Arne on his heel. He looked amazing in an outfit similar to mine but in shades of burgundy and gray. “Evening,” I called.
“You two look great,” he said as he bent down to kiss Gilda’s offered hand and then pecked me on the cheek. “We should go. Father does not like to wait.”
“Oh, then we’d better hustle,” I replied. Anders and I both offered Gilda an elbow. Down the hall we went, making turns here and there with Anders leading the way, past vast rooms with tapestries and oils that we could just manage to peek into. Several had desks and computers, which I assumed belonged to staffers and assistants to the royal family. Once we rounded a sharp left, we arrived at an unassuming door with two very large and assuming guards.
They both bowed to Anders then one swung the door open. The sound of a rather hearty discussion floated out to us.
“Gird your loins,” Anders whispered and then strolled into the family dining room. Silence fell as we entered the small room in comparison to what the formal dining hall probably was. The walls were soft oak, light and buttery, with ample windows with tasteful gold curtains closed now to ward off the cold. A tall, plump tree stood in the corner, soft blue lights with blue bows adorning it as a ripping fire roared in a gigantic hearth. Above the mantle was an oil painting of the royal family when the boys were younger. Anders was just a toddler sitting on the queen’s lap, Frode stood in front of the king, the king’s hands on his slim shoulders, and the other two boys were spaced about the seated queen and their father. “Good evening, Father. Mother.”
We all bowed to the king and queen seated at the head of the table, which seated twelve. The queen smiled at us warmly, her eyes lighting up when her sight touched on Gilda. The king inclined his head, just once, his jaw stern.
“Mitchell, Gilda, these are my brothers. Frode and his wife, Karina. Their sons Oliver, Beck, and Thoman are in bed, and the baby is where?”
“Your Highnesses,” Gilda and I said in tandem, she curtsying and me bowing.
“Madsen is in the nursery sleeping after a hearty dinner,” Princess Karina, a lovely woman with soft brown hair and dark eyes, replied. “Tomorrow, Anders, you must come meet your new nephew.”
“Text first. If the baby is sleeping, then Karina is sleeping as well, and she gets somewhat cranky when woken,” Frode teased. It was quite amazing how much the sons resembled the king in coloring but had their mother’s bone structures and nose.
“We’ll text, I promise. I bought gifts for the hooligans as well,” Anders said, motioning to a young man, perhaps thirty-five, with the same curls and smile as Anders. “This is Ivar and his wife, Lady Alva,” he made the introductions. Ivar was younger, just a few years older than Anders, with a pretty wife with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes that went well with her pale blonde hair. “And Harold, who is only a year older than I am and has a fondness for pretty horses and prettier women.” Prince Harold was quite the looker, with dark eyes and ringlets and a dimpled smile.
“Don’t forget I like pretty cars as well,” Harold quipped as he swirled what looked to be brandy in a snifter. “And of course, Mother and Father.”
Gilda and I went into a deeper bow and curtsy for the king and queen.
“Come, my sweet, come sit with me,” Queen Linnea called, patting the empty seat to her left. “Mr. Baxter, you may sit on the other side of your daughter. Anders, on your friend’s left, please. Perfect! The soup will be coming shortly. I hope everyone is hungry. I’ve had Hofkok Margit prepare all of Anders’ favorites for his return home.”
The king gave us a look that made me feel a twinge of unease as we took our assigned seats.
“The prodigal prince,” Harold tossed out and got a few titters. “We’ve missed you, Anders. This place has become quite dour since you left.”
“I’m sure the boys have kept everyone on their toes,” Anders said, placing his napkin on his lap.
“Oh, we’ve not been living here since last summer,” Frode explained as a side door opened to allow servers to come filing in with bowls of soup on silver trays. “We’ve moved to the lodge on the western moors. Much more wild space for the boys to destroy. The gardeners here were apoplectic about the boys running through the gardens with the dogs.”
“Frode has several greyhounds that he and Karina adopted after we banned dog racing in Östermon,” Anders clarified. Gilda and I nodded. She seemed a bit overwhelmed with the staff buzzing around with soup, ice water, crackers in small urns, and finger bowls. “They love to chase the rabbits through the gardens.”
“Does Della join in?” I asked and got a snort of amusement from Anders.
“She does, but she cannot seem to keep up, so she gives up and pouts,” Anders said with a chuckle from the others.
“I’m glad to hear you don’t allow dog racing anymore,” Gilda said softly.
