Page 71 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
The muscles in Nick’s forearms flexed as he gathered the dough and started again—just like generations of her family had done for more Christmases than she could count. This was a man who valued family, valued the past, and was committed to building a future for the people in this winter wonderland that he called home.
And despite every effort not to, Gracie had fallen for him, head over her glass-slippered heels. She’d come to San Glacera to play the part of a snowflake princess and rule over a fantastical, frozen celebration carved from ice.
But what would happen once Christmas was over, the ice melted, and it was time to go home?
Nick walked into the Kriegs’s dining room, balancing the platter of freshly baked cinnamon rolls in his hands as he searched for an empty spot on the buffet table. The poor piece of furniture practically groaned beneath the weight of all the homemade treats Ingrid had baked in preparation for Advent Night at the B&B.
“Can I help you find a spot for those, Prince Nicolas?” Ingrid swept into the room holding two slender silver candlesticks. Where she planned on putting them, Nick had no idea.
“It’s Nick, remember?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Not Prince Nicolas. We talked about this.”
Ingrid’s eyes lit up. “That’s right. Nick.” She said his name like she was trying out a new word and grinned. “It’s so nice having you here with us this evening.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Gracie has really enjoyed her time here, and we both wanted to pitch in a little.” As the words left his mouth, he realized how they sounded. He was talking about Gracie like they were a couple…like they had a future beyond Christmas.
The past week had been a whirlwind. In the span of just seven days, their lives had become so intertwined that Nick was only beginning to realize that after Christmas Eve, she’d be gone.
A weight settled on his heart as Ingrid shuffled a few things around, making space for the cinnamon rolls among all the other baked goods.
“Here you go, a nice spot in the center. We’re all excited to try Gracie’s family recipe. It’s nice to add new traditions to the mix on occasion, isn’t it?” Ingrid met his gaze and didn’t say anything else.
Nick got her message, loud and clear. “It certainly is.”
He’d been so wrong…about everything. Wrong about Princess Snowflake and wrong about his own kingdom. The presence of a party princess hadn’t taken a thing away from the traditions his grandfather had started all those years ago. Rather, Gracie’s participation had added fresh joy—and yes, more than a little sparkle—to San Glacera’s rich history. In a way, she’d been like a bridge between the people and the monarchy, bringing them together. Just like she was doing here, tonight.
“Perhaps you’ll come back and spend Advent Night with us next year, with or without Gracie?” Ingrid said as she took the platter from him and wedged it in place.
“I will.” Nick nodded. “That’s a promise.”
“And now that you know how to make her family recipe, you can bring cinnamon rolls next year too.” Ingrid nodded. “It’s all settled.”
He laughed. “It is, is it?”
“Absolutely. You know, if you don’t mind my saying so, Your Royal Highness…” Ingrid offered him a meaningful smile, and her eyes shone with a sincerity that Nick didn’t often see when he interacted with people outside the palace walls. At least not before this holiday season. “You’re not all that abominable.”
“Thank you, Ingrid.” He was really going to end up making those cinnamon rolls next year, wasn’t he? “Do you happen to know where Gracie is? She said she needed to check on something, but it’s been a while and I haven’t seen her.”
“I don’t know.” Ingrid glanced through the stone archway, toward the reception area and shook her head. “I don’t see her around. You might want to check upstairs in her room? It’s the second door on the left.”
“Thanks.” He bent to kiss Ingrid’s cheek and then headed for the stairs as she made a big show of fanning herself with her apron.
The old wooden steps creaked beneath his feet, and he had to duck to avoid hitting his head on one of the exposed wooden beams that added to the charm of the chalet-style building. When he got to the top of the staircase, he found most of the doors closed. The one that led to the room Ingrid had mentioned was open just a crack.
Nick lifted his hand to tap lightly on the door but grew still when he heard music coming from inside the room. He strained to hear, and soon, Gracie’s lyrical voice washed over him. She sounded like an angel, just as she had the last time he’d stumbled upon her singing, but there was an ache in her tone that he’d never heard before—a longing sense of melancholy that wrenched his heart.
What song is this? He closed his eyes and gingerly leaned his forehead against the door as his throat closed up tight. Blue Christmas.
It was the old Elvis Presley song, but Gracie’s version was far more poignant, more meaningful. Or maybe that was just Nick’s interpretation because suddenly he’d stopped living and breathing in Christmas Present. He’d skipped straight to Christmas Future, imagining what the holidays would be like next year when he’d be facing them without Gracie by his side. It wouldn’t be the same. None of it—the Christmas tree maze, the carriage ride and candy cane toss, the gondola, the party at the soup kitchen, caroling in the square, Advent Night.
Nick had been participating in most of those activities all his life. He thought he knew how Christmas was supposed to look; how it was supposed to feel. But this year, things had changed. They’d invited a party princess to their tiny kingdom—a woman who’d arrived with a flamboyant ballgown, paper snowflakes, and glitter fairy dust in her suitcase. But little had he known that she’d bring genuine magic to San Glacera. Christmas magic, the best sort of magic there was.
He couldn’t imagine what the holidays would look like next year.
Blue Christmas, indeed.
“Prince Nick?” Someone behind him rested a hand on his shoulder.
Nick’s eyes flew open and he turned around to find a very well-dressed, familiar-looking blonde woman watching him, forehead scrunched in concern. “Princess Alana?” he guessed, and she nodded in confirmation.
