Page 53 of The Christmas Mittens
Anders cuddled his infant nephew, cooing at the babe, until the child grew fussy and was handed over to a nanny for a nap. The older princes were also herded off to the nursery to give the adults—and the cleaning staff—a break as four cups of punch and a cookie had already been spilled or dropped onto the gorgeous maple hardwood flooring in the grand ballroom at Dragons Perch. Gilda had hovered close to me, unsure of herself in such an elite crush, much like her father.
We left the castle around dusk, much to the dislike of the queen. She informed us she would visit at least twice while we were at the cottage, as she called it. With hugs to his brothers and their wives, we set off with our bags, a min pin, and two bodyguards. And our driver, a dark-skinned man named Emil who seemed very shy. Only we didn’t head directly south. With perhaps an hour left of daylight, Anders insisted we see the brass dragon.
Gilda was more than down with that, and so we were driven up as far as a car could go. Then the six of us—Emil stayed with the car and Della rode along in a quilted carry bag with just her head sticking out—crammed ourselves into a tramcar. I was somehow wedged between Alfred and Arne. It felt like being a slice of bologna pressed between two slices of bread. As we went up, several trams came down. People pointed and waved. Anders always smiled and returned their waves.
Riding upward as the sun slowly moved down, the winds blew harder the higher we rode. Even with the rocking of the tramcar, the ride was exhilarating. The views. Oh my gods, the views. Scraggy pines and brush gave way to rocks and slate, sheerdrops, and snow. The North Sea was just ahead Anders told us as the tram slowed and jerked to a stop. I did note that the trams did not go back down. Probably so that the prince and his guests would not be interrupted or put into a dangerous situation with unknown tourists.
We piled out into gales that nearly blew me into Arne. It was so cold and so strong, it stole your breath from your lungs. Wrapped up like mummies in handmade mittens, balaclavas, and scarves, we climbed up an icy path. Eyes watering, nose running, I was just about to ask if I could go sit in the tram when we reached our destination. Sitting on a plinth of stone sat a huge brass dragon, wings tucked, scaled skin reflecting the last rays of sun. Cryos looked downward, his snout pointed at the North Sea. The vista was incredible, nothing like I thought it would be. There was no ice on the sea, but lordy, was it choppy. Gilda and I took hundreds of images. Some of us with the sea as our backgrounds, some solo, many with Anders between us, and several of each of us rubbing the brass dragon’s chest as we made wishes. I didn’t ask what anyone wished for, even though I knew what Anders’ wish was. They were private things. I did mention the man at my side telling Gilda all about the ice dragons of yore in my wish. If wishes did come true, my future might not be so lonely…
Night settled over us as we dithered about, toes about frozen solid, but the cold toes were worth it when the sun set and the first green band of the Aurora Borealis appeared.
“It will be best viewing later in the night,” Anders explained as the flickering and writhing bands of emerald, red, and purple danced in the winter sky. Gilda and I were spellbound. “But I think we’ll all be popsicles by midnight.”
“I’d not object to a hot cocoa at the little tourist café at the bottom of the tramline,” I offered and got a round of hearty agreement. Even Della from within her toasty warm tote yippeda yes. Using flashlights that our security men had tucked into their coat pockets, we made our way down the crag carefully and packed ourselves back into our tramcar.
At the end of the line, Arne and Alfred steered us to our car, got us settled in the back, and then one of them went to get hot chocolate while the other lingered menacingly outside the SUV.
“I hope they get some for themselves,” I said as Della crawled out of her tote to sit on Gilda’s lap.
“I told them to do so,” Anders replied, his sight on the little shack sitting under a rocky ledge.
He seemed to drift some then, and I left him to his thoughts, turning to Gilda to discuss the sea, the brass dragon, and the Northern Lights. When Alfred returned with cups of hot cocoa and little fried cakes compliments of the café manager, we buckled in for the ride south, leaving our wishes behind.
Growing wistful while nibbling on a smultringer, a ring-shaped donut of sorts seasoned with cardamom and dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar, and sipping my rich hot cocoa, I let my mind wander back to the crag. If I closed my eyes, I could envision our whispered wishes taking wing up to the dancing lights where perhaps a frost sprite might gather them up for fulfilling. Smiling to myself at my fanciful imaginings, I wondered if the spirit of the north was starting to take root in my soul. After all, wewerein the lands of Odin and Ukko. If magic couldn’t happen here, it wouldn’t happen anywhere.
***
It seemed we always arrived at our destinations at night.
Given it was winter, the days were short and our social schedules were busy, it wasn’t a surprise that we rolled in late. Late for me anymore being seven p.m. Middle age. Do not recommend. Still, as we rolled through a set of ornate gatesattached to stone walls that ran off into the dark, I had a suspicion the summer cottage was perhaps not exactly what I pictured a cottage to be. Pulling up in front of the large stone hunting lodge slash estate a few moments later, I saw that my assumption was correct. Obviously, the queen’s notion of a cottage and mine were vastly different.
This Baroque-style three-story manse was dimly lit with scattered spotlights that reflected off the scores of windows set into the sandstone.
“There are windows on all sides of the lodge so that King Nikoli, he who was shot in the backside by his irate queen, could see if any game wandered onto the manicured grounds,” Anders explained as we rolled up to the front door. Two sets of sandstone steps led up to the door, which now stood open to silhouette three shapes. “We’ll walk the grounds tomorrow. And who is that third?”
A bray filled the cold air as we parked and began to exit the SUV. “What the hell is he doing here?” Anders muttered as Rolph, Rani, and Prince Harold walked halfway down the freshly swept and salted steps to meet us. “What are you doing here?” Anders asked his brother.
Harold grinned down at us, tiny snowflakes gathering atop his dark curls. “Surely you didn’t think I was staying at the Perch after that display of bigotry? We all left the dining hall after you did, Mother leading the way after railing at dear Papa for driving her baby away yet again. I suspect Father will be sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Hello, Lady Gilda.” Harold executed a deep bow in front of my daughter, the liquid in his snifter sloshing forward but not spilling.
“It is Miss Gilda, not Lady Gilda, Your Highness. Using the term lady would indicate that Miss Gilda is of the peerage, and while she is quite regal in bearing, her lineage is not that of anyroyal house,” Rani informed the bowing prince as Rolph and the driver began toting our bags inside.
“Yes, yes, Rani, my sweet but irrationally clenched equerry, I know that the lady is not truly a lady, but honestly, all these titles are a bit outdated, don’t you think? Perhaps we should all be called lady? What do you think, Lady Gilda?”
Gilda giggled softly as Harold did a tiny little pirouette on the steps. Rani rolled his eyes, turned from Harold, and began addressing Anders.
“Rani, please let us get settled. I’m sure whatever needs my attention can wait until tomorrow, yes?” Anders said, taking my hand to climb the steps while Gilda and Harold, a prince of Östermon, skipped blithely up the stairs and into the summer getaway of the royal family.
“Yes, of course, Your Highness.” Rani made his way inside, pausing in the foyer as a young woman in dark slacks and a crisp blue shirt bowed deeply before taking our coats and boots away. “The staff was notified of your arrival several hours ago. All should be ready for you to retire for the night.”
“Thank you, Rani,” I said as I drank in the splendor of the dark cherry paneling glowing from the soft light of a chandelier crafted from antlers. The vibe of this estate was very different from that of Dragons Perch. The aroma of pine permeated the air as we moved up a stairwell leading to the second floor.
Harold and Gilda raced by us, Della yipping madly as she darted ahead of all of us to bark at us from the riser. Oils of hunts long past hung on the walls as we climbed upward.
“You’d think you would be much more spry being the youngest, yet there you are laboring up the stairwell like a wobbly bedstefar,” Harold crowed.
“I’m not a wobbly grandfather,” Anders snarked back as we came abreast of Harold and Gilda. “I’m also not a speed fiend.”
“It’s me,” I spoke up. “I’m the old man here and was slowing Anders down as I crept my way up the stairs.”
