Page 107 of Royally Drawn

“So, this is just a worry about losing Ingrid?”

“No, it’s more than that,” I sighed.

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Do you regret marrying Dad and having us? Would your life have been less painful if you’d just married Peder?”

“First of all, Peder was taken, and we weren’t interested in one another until well after your father died,” Mamma said. “There was never anyone but your father. I turned someone down who wasn’t right for me. I would have rather been alone than with the wrong person.”

“So, then you agree marriage isn’t the end-all-be-all.”

“Keir, let me finish. I don’t regret giving over to your father and loving him completely until his last day. It was painful in the end, but the beginning was beautiful. And without you all, I’d be incomplete. I don’t look at it as an ugly thing. I look at it this way. I am lucky to have two great loves in my life. I felt loved by your father the way I only thought existed in movies. I didn’t think I could be adored and loved as he loved me. I want that for you. I don’t want you to fear that.”

She was in tears. Peder and Lars entered the kitchen to see Mamma wiping her eyes on the kitchen roll. I felt terrible.

Peder, confused, asked, “What is wrong?”

He looked at me, not my mother.

“I was explaining to Keir that not loving someone because there is a minute possibility he could lose her is irrational. I told him that if heloves someone, it is better to love and lose them in that small chance because his lifewouldbe incomplete.”

Mamma took my face in her hands. “You deserve to be happy. I deserved to be happy. I wanted you all. I am grateful for that life with your father—if only for far too short a time.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “Go sail. I need a minute. And don’t make the biggest mistake of your life, Keir. Just follow orders.”

Unavoidable

INGRID

Isat with Alexandra as we reviewed a list of royal attendees and their sleeping accommodations. We had a palace and a castle worth of people to house. While Celeste may have been a monster to us, she was well-liked among people who never had to be told that despite their D-cups at twelve, they weren’t permitted a bra because “it gives men ideas” or that “no man will want a girl who eats bread in public.” People wouldn’t speak to the scars on my wrists or the beating I endured the day I started my period at age eleven and dared use the tampon Astrid gave me. They couldn’t know about all the times she slapped Alexandra across the face for daring to speak out of turn or knocked Astrid down for standing up for us. It was as if Celeste was two people—the kind old lady people knew and the abusive tyrant controlling us.

Alexandra quietly declared this would be our chance to celebrate. We’d call our afterparty a “celebration of life,” but it would be a celebration of death. We were finally liberated. It was so sweet for Alexandra, who had been worried for years that something terrible might happen to the girls at Celeste’s hands. Even after she left our house, her existence hung over us. This was a sweet relief.

Royal funerals were fussy and demanding. Alex was trying to plan a royal death celebration, and I was her only lackey. Odette was off in la-la-land about something, and Astrid was pregnant in her “oh, isn’t life beautiful” phase—one I’d never seen coming. Everyone expected me to be happy, too, since our jailer was now in the sod. And while I was, I also resented that I’d given up a surefire placing in the top ten at a world-class event.

“Here’s a list of Heads of Government,” Alexandra said. “I’ve made decisions about where to put them.”

“I will add them to the spreadsheet,” my sister’s personal secretary said, taking the paper with Alexandra’s scribbles. “The UK and Norway are coming here the day before. They will miss the luncheon but make the royal attendees dinner.”

The UK and Norway. That struck fear in my heart. I knew Cici wasn’t coming. She couldn’t.

I glanced down at my list of attendees to assign to rooms at the castle in the countryside where Celeste expired. I flipped to a list of names for the palace, listed by designation. On the back of the page, under “United Kingdom”, was “The Duke of Inverness.”

“Fuck!” I declared, interrupting Alexandra.

“Ingrid!”

“I’m sorry, but why is The Duke of Inverness coming?”

“Queen Natalie chose him. I understand she is abroad, and the Prince of Wales is on a tour of New Zealand. Someone had to come.”

“But Keir?” I winced.

“You will be seeing him off and on for the rest of your life,” Alexandra said. “It will be fine. You must need to learn to live with it.”

I checked the other names. Lars would represent Norway, and Edina would come from Denmark. I pictured a terrible world in which Lars hit on me and got offended when I turned him down. Even worse, I imagined getting drunk and sleeping with him to get back at his brother. Then, I thought about Keir sleeping with Edina—or anyone, really. My life would be over. Tears welled.

“I need a minute.”

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