Page 93 of Royally Drawn

“Well, then, it’s fine. Let’s?—”

“Keir, what did you see back there? What set you off?”

“Nothing,” I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie and hide things from me, Keir. Tell me.”

I took her hands, pulled them down to her side, and then shook my head.

“Keir, I need you to be honest, or this won’t work.”

“I… it was the look on your face—the vacant, detached look—that reminded me of something.”

“Something what?”

“Something from when I was little. Dad went out with Peder—Uncle Peder, as we called him then—and they returned. Peder took Lars to Paris for his weekend there. His mother lives in Paris. And… well, Dad was down. He was exhausted from even just sitting on the boat. He was napping on the couch. I went upstairs to help Mamma bring things down from the linen closet. I tried to distract myself. Because if I looked at Dad and wondered if he were breathing, I’d drive myself mad.”

Her face was sympathetic. I continued.

“So, we came back down. Mamma went to check on Dad. I was coming downstairs when this bit of loo roll rolled across the floor. I looked down from where it came—like a trail of breadcrumbs—and watched Mamma sitting beside Dad on the couch. She had that same vacant look—the one you had where you stared off into space, disbelieving. And it… it set me on this journey. I don’t know why.”

“Was he… okay?”

“No,” I answered. “He was dead. I picked up the loo roll, put it in the bathroom, and listened to my mother call my aunt before she told me Daddy died and then sobbed until the authorities arrived to deal with Dad’s body.”

“Oh, Keir, darling, I’m so sorry. That is… awful.”

I wiped my tears away. “The most disturbing part? It was hearing Win and Ollie crying and watching Mamma not hear them. They’d been napping. I went upstairs and, with Nate’s help, got them some snacks. I realised I knew everything had changed, but no one else had. I was worried somehow that I knew something there you didn’t. And… I dunno… I am so glad I didn’t.”

She squeezed my hands. “I’m scared, too. Alex is still really sick. The baby is okay. We will make it out, though. She was luckily in a safe place where they could care for her. I’m… I am grateful, Keir.”

I took her face in my hands now, slowly leaning in. I kissed her forehead and said, “Me, too. I am grateful everyone is okay.”

And though I was relieved to hear better news, the feeling of concern, fear, and loss didn’t fade. As I flew home that evening alone, I couldn’t help but worry about Ingrid. What if something happened to her? What if they wanted to take her away from me in a moment like that? I wouldn’t desert her for the baby I didn’t know, right? Why was it that this detail stuck with me? I didn’t understand.

Manon

INGRID

Princess Manon was born into a family panic. A great princess needed a great name. Alexandra’s choice of names was always based on the family. Christophe was named after our father. Linny and Kari were named after Mamma and Rick’s mother. And now, another prominent, brave woman entered the scene. While Alexandra was still sick and unable to do much, we doted on Manon.

It killed me to fly back to the UK to compete in the Burghley Horse Trials—and do poorly. I wanted to be home with my sisters and care for Alexandra and Manon. After a lacklustre finish at Burghley, I returned focused solely on wedding preparation with Astrid. Eventually, so did Keir. Being without him pained me.

He arrived in the morning while Alexandra and I watched the news over coffee. Astrid and Odette had gone to see how the floral arch was coming along at the Lutheran church across the square. Astrid didn’t want a religious ceremony at all. However, their only choices for the ceremony were a church or at the tiny registry office. Ultimately, she conceded they could marry at the lone, impressive protestant church. It was a massive scandalous thing, but Parker’s family would have shat abrick if invited to a Catholic wedding, and neither of them cared to fight with the old people over something like that.

Manon rested gently in my arms when Keir poked his head in.

“Hello, Your Majesty, I?—”

“Keir, come in. She’s here,” Alexandra said.

He looked over and saw me there with Manon.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you,” Keir said.

He came over and gazed at the baby, who was milk-drunk and unapologetically oblivious.

“So, this is the youngest Deschamps girl?” He asked, turning back to Alexandra. “She looks very much like Linnea.”

---