Chapter 2

2

Britta

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

That’s what they say—and it’s true.

Because this crown weighs around seventy pounds.

Honestly, I’m going to have the neck of a gladiator in a week’s time. Something has to be done. Perhaps I can wear a crown of daisies? Or no crown at all? Now that would be preferable. I could just give the garish, bejeweled thing to someone else and let them make all the hard decisions. Spend my days wading in the river and writing sonnets.

I’m sitting on the throne my mother used to occupy.

An hour ago, I was hastily ordained queen in a private ceremony.

Now the palace advisor, Richard, is standing before me with many questions. I have the answers to none of them.

I am a smart girl. I think. My tutors have said as much. I’ve sat in this great hall my whole life and listened my parents make decrees, judgments, give opinions. My inability to focus probably has a lot to do with the giant guard stationed by the wall. He stares straight ahead, as always, not a hint of the gentle understanding he showed me last night. No character, whatsoever. But I know it lurks under his armor. I’ve witnessed his humor and compassion and the greatest hugs in the known universe.

No matter that I’ve only experienced one hug.

I don’t need to test other embraces to know he has the best one. All warm and cushioned and safe and cherishing. Right before I dropped into the deepest slumber of my life last night, I swore his mouth ghosted over my hair and that simple gesture gave me…dreams. Dreams that stain my cheeks red in the light of day.

I dreamt of Rexington Monroe naked.

I should be ashamed.

This dear man showed me such kindness and here I am, objectifying his…excitingly large body. Saints alive, if the castle were falling, he could probably prop it up with one hand and not even break a sweat. There is weight around his middle, his thighs and backside are thick, impenetrable slabs of muscle and fat. His arms are big, meaty weapons. He makes the other guards look like schoolboys. And yet, he was so gentle with me.

There is definitely hair on his body. The question is, how much? And where?

Is it coarse? Would he like me playing with it?

Stop at once, Britta. You are shameful.

“Now then, Queen Britta,” drones Richard. “I know this is a most difficult time for you, but we are in a vulnerable state, you see. Without a king on the throne, Downsriver might appear…vulnerable to our enemies. It is in the kingdom’s best interest for you to take a husband as soon as possible.”

My spine snaps straight. “A husband?”

For some reason, my gaze shoots to Rex. He is still staring straight ahead, but a muscle is now bunched up in his cheek.

“Yes, Queen. A husband fit to wear your father’s crown.”

“I don’t understand,” I manage, massaging the sudden pounding in my temple. “We aren’t absent of a leader. I am capable of guiding the kingdom.”

Mostly.

Okay, barely.

But I can fake it until I am.

Can’t I?

This small continent we share with three other kingdoms suddenly seems quite vast. Full of people who depend on their leaders for resources. For their chance at livelihood and families. There is one river running through the center of our continent, which is nestled in the sea between Ireland and the Great Britain. Two empires reside on either side of the mighty river, and we are the farthest south. We each have particular goods to offer and I assumed our relationships with the other nations were peaceful, but I am beginning to think I know very little of the politics between kingdoms.

“Yes, of course you are capable of guiding us, Queen. But others might be…shall we say, skeptical? That a girl of eighteen could defend against attacks or make strategic decisions.” Richard hesitates, combing fingers through his thinning gray hair. “I don’t want to make this time harder for you, but it appears the attack on your parents wasn’t merely a robbery. They were hired assassins from the neighboring kingdom of Northstream.”

My blood turns icy. “Assassins?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What would Northstream hope to gain from killing my parents?”

“We can only speculate, Your Majesty, but…”

“Please.” I lean forward. “Speak plainly.”

Richard nods. “The king of Northstream is ambitious. It is possible he wanted to provoke a war with Downsriver. And without the king and queen on the throne, he might assume a victory is inevitable.”

“I see. And if I marry, we might avoid a war. Or win one, if need be.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I have two choices in mind. Both of them princes. Marrying one of them would not only secure Downsriver but build an alliance with another kingdom as well.”

I hum in response, feeling as though I’m having an out-of-body experience. If only I could go back to yesterday morning when these huge decisions weren’t mine to make.

Once again, my attention finds its way to Rex and he’s watching me openly now from the corner of his eye, those big hands balled into fists.

A spear seems to have lodged in my middle.

If I take a husband, I’ll never be able to hug him again.

I’m suddenly so anxious for one of those hugs, I could choke.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Richard,” I say, ready to fling this heavy crown across the hall. “I’ll give you my decision before the day is over.”

Richard laughs nervously. “Your Majesty, my apologies, but I must insist we move quickly on this. I’ve already sent word to the princes. They will be here tomorrow.”

I swallow my reaction with difficulty. An advisor isn’t supposed to make decisions of this magnitude without express consent of their superior. In this case…me. But he’s known me since I was a child. He’s my godfather. So while I know the proper thing to do is admonish him, I can’t seem to find it in me. Not with all the members of the palace court present. Furthermore, maybe he’s right. Maybe this isn’t something that can wait and I should be grateful for his proactive attitude. “Thank you,” I murmur.

Which isn’t necessarily an agreement.

The last thing I want to do is send soldiers—soldiers like Rex—into a battle to die. And what of the people who I now rule? What if they are killed or lose their houses? Loved ones? I cannot allow that to happen.

But is my only option marrying a prince for protection?

Surely there must be another way.

Needing some air, I push to my feet.

I start to come down from the elevated throne platform, when a thought occurs to me. There is a chance I won’t be able to avoid marriage, but I am still the queen.

I do have power, don’t I?

“Richard,” I say, lifting my chin, frowning when the crown slides down and I have to push it up. “Starting today, I shall only require one guard, instead of fourteen.”

He whitens. “But, Your Majesty, if anything, you should have more protection now that you are queen—”

“I will retain Rexington Monroe as my personal guard,” I blurt, before I can lose my nerve—and oh my. Saying his name out loud makes me shiver. “The other thirteen brave men will be placed among the streets of Downsriver. I seem to recall my father discussing an uptick in crime near the market. They can better serve the kingdom there. Thank you.”

I don’t wait for another argument, hurrying down the center aisle of the great hall.

I’m shocked at my aplomb, but I do my best not to show it.

When I’m even with Rex, he pushes off the wall and follows me, his big shadow swallowing me up from behind. “I think I’ll go for a swim,” I say, smiling at him over my shoulder.

Do I hear a groan or is that my imagination?