She waved to the crowd, her public smile firmly in place, but when our eyes met, a hint of playfulness crept in.
I excused myself from my conversation with the Prime Minister of Sweden and made my way through the crowd. For once, I didn’t need to use my height or build—everyone parted when they saw me approaching.
The perks of being the future Prince Consort, I supposed.
By the time I reached Bridget, she had half a dozen people fighting for her attention.
“Your Majesty.” I held out my hand, cutting off a woman who’d been gushing over her dress. The crowd fell silent. “May I have this dance?”
A grin played at the corners of Bridget’s mouth. “Of course. Ladies, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”
She took my hand, and we walked away with six pairs of eyes burning into us.
Bridget waited until we were out of earshot before saying, “Thank the Lord. If I had to listen to Lady Featherton compliment my outfit one more time, I would’ve stabbed myself with the spikes from my tiara.”
“We can’t have that, can we? I very much like you alive.” I rested my hand on the small of her back as I guided her across the dance floor. “So, you’re officially queen. How does it feel?”
“Surreal, but also…right.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I understand.”
I did. I felt much the same way. I wasn’t the one who’d been crowned, of course, but we’d waited and planned for so long it was strange to have the ceremony behind us. We’d also had time to get used to the idea of Bridget being queen, and now that she was, it felt right.
We always end up where we’re meant to be.
“I know you do.” Bridget’s eyes glowed with emotion before she made a face. “I can’t want to get out of this dress, though. It’s not as bad as my coronation dress, but I swear it still weighs ten pounds.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll rip it off you later.” I lowered my head and whispered, “I’ve never fucked a queen before.”
A chuckle rose in my throat at the deep blush spreading over Bridget’s face and neck.
“Do I have to stop calling you princess now?” I asked. “Queen doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as nice.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare. By royal decree, you’re never allowed to stop calling me princess.”
“I thought you hated the nickname.”
I spun her around, and she waited until she was in my arms again before saying, “As much as you hate when I call you Mr. Larsen.”
I used to. Not anymore.
“I was joking.” My lips grazed her forehead. “You’ll always be my princess.”
Bridget’s eyes shone brighter. “Mr. Larsen, if you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.”
My smile widened, and I kissed her, not caring if PDA was against protocol. “Then it’s a good thing I have the rest of our lives to make it up to you.”
BRIDGET
Three months after my coronation, Rhys and I returned to the Athenberg Cathedral for our wedding.
It was as grand and luxurious as one would expect of a royal wedding, but I worked with Freja, the new communications secretary, to keep the reception as small as possible. As queen, I couldn’t have a friends-and-family-only party for diplomatic reasons, but we cut the guest list from two thousand to two hundred. I considered that a major victory.
“I’m jealous,” Nikolai said. “You only have two hundred people to greet. My hands nearly fell off at my reception.”
I laughed. “You survived.”
We stood near the dessert table while the rest of the guests ate, drank, and danced. The actual wedding ceremony had gone off without a hitch, and as much as I enjoyed seeing my friends and family let loose, I was counting down the minutes until I could be alone with Rhys, who was currently talking to Christian and a few of his friends from the Navy.
He hadn’t expected his military buddies to come, since he hadn’t spoken to them in so long, but they’d all showed up. Whatever worries he might’ve had about seeing them again, they seemed to have disappeared. Rhys was smiling and laughing and looked perfectly at peace.
“Barely,” Nikolai joked before his smile faded. “I’m glad things worked out for you and Rhys,” he added softly. “You deserve it. When I abdicated, I didn’t think…I never wanted to put that kind of pressure on you. And when I realized what it meant…what you had to give up…”
“It’s okay.” I squeezed his hand. “You did what you had to do. I was upset when you first told me, but it all worked out, and I enjoy being queen…for the most part. Especially now that Erhall is no longer Speaker.”
Erhall had lost his seat by half a point. I’d be lying if I said the news hadn’t given me immense pleasure.
I had, however, worried Nikolai would be upset or jealous about the repeal. Would he be bitter I got to stay with Rhys and keep the crown? But he’d been nothing but supportive, and he’d admitted he enjoyed his new life more than he’d expected. I think part of him was actually relieved.
Nikolai had grown up thinking he wanted the throne because he didn’t have a choice to not want it, and now that he was freed from those expectations, he was thriving. Meanwhile, I’d taken up the mantle and grown into the role.
Ironic, the way things turned out.
“Yes, he was a bit of a toad, wasn’t he?” Nikolai grinned and glanced over my shoulder. “Ah, it seems my time is up. I’ll talk to you later. I need to save Sabrina before Grandfather forces her to name our baby Sigmund after our great-great-uncle.” He hesitated. “Are you happy, Bridget?”
I squeezed his hand again, a messy clog of emotion tangling in my throat. “I am.”
Did I feel like the weight of the world was on my shoulders sometimes? Yes. Did I get angry, frustrated, and stressed? Yes. But so did a lot of people. The important thing was, I no longer felt trapped. I’d learned to master my circumstances instead of letting them master me, and I had Rhys by my side. No matter how terrible of a day I had, I could go home to someone I loved who loved me back, and that made all the difference.
Nikolai must’ve heard the sincerity in my voice, because his face relaxed. “Good. That’s all I need to know.” He kissed my cheek before he beelined to where a five-months-pregnant Sabrina sat with our grandfather, who’d spent his post-ruling days fussing over his future great-grandchild and trying to find a suitable hobby to fill his time.
Edvard had forced Rhys to teach him how to draw for a few weeks before it became clear his talents did not lie in the artistic realm. He’d since moved on to archery, and I’d had to add a hazard pay bonus for the staff accompanying him to practice.
I turned to see what had made Nikolai leave, and my face broke into a smile when I saw Rhys approaching.
“Long time no see,” I teased. We’d only had one dance together before we were pulled away by various friends and family.
“Don’t remind me. My own wedding, and I barely see my wife,” he grumbled, but his frown eased when he drew me into his arms. “We should’ve eloped.”