Chapter 27
Stasi
Nothing prepared me to run straight into the queen this quickly after getting ass-fucked in a string bikini.
But there she is, Queen Hilda, in all her glory, in my kitchen.
Well, her kitchen, I suppose. Technically, as I've learned, the palace owns this cabin.
"Hello."
That icy politeness has me curtseying instantly and staring at the floor. "Your Majesty. Wh-what an unexpected surprise."
"Sit down."
Do I tell her I need to get clean and dry, or do I just do as she says? Right. Better simply follow her orders. I see where her son gets his bossiness from.
I sit across from her on the kitchen chair with a wet squish, still averting my eyes.
Her son just had his tongue in my butt…why me, why me, why me?
"My dear. May I ask why you're dripping water all over my floor?"
I swallow hard. "Well, we were just…out for a boat ride, and the blanket…got splashed…I fell in the water…it was a whole thing…"
"Look at me, child."
Oh gods, she knows I'm lying. Those icy eyes see everything. I'm blushing so hard.
She doesn't let go of my gaze but arches a brow. "Clean yourself up, then we'll have an audience."
Finally, a scrap of mercy.
I waddle to the bathroom to rinse off and change into the most modest and formal clothes I possess: the one cropped hoodie that still fits me, and leggings.
When I return to the kitchen, to my surprise, the queen has set the table for tea.
The chair has been dried with a kitchen towel that now hangs over the oven handle.
"Guess you didn't travel with your servants," I say, glancing at the boiling kettle.
Her eyes flick down to my stomach, just for a moment.
Neither of us says anything more until my shaking hands deliver the queen her tea. One cream, two sugars. Because everyone in Gravenland knows how the queen takes her tea.
I take my seat across from her, unable to meet her gaze.
"How far along are you, dear?"
Wow. Okay, guess we're doing this. "Nearly eight months, Ma'am."
"Is this my grandchild you're carrying?"
I meet her ice-blue eyes with steadiness I didn't know I possessed. "Yes, Your Majesty. Sigurd is the father."
"He is to be king, you know."
"Etienne should be king," I dare to say.
The queen draws her shoulders up high. "Torben should be king. The firstborn. Not the second, not the third. But no one in this family seems to appreciate a strong and steadfast traditional monarchy anymore."
I don't know if that's a jab at my pregnancy or at her sons, and I do not dare to ask. Still, she must smell my fear.
"Relax, dear. I'm not going to order you beheaded. This isn't Tudor England."
I can't repress the smirk.
"Come here and let me look at you," she says. "Lift up your chin."
When any man tells me to do something, they risk getting kicked the balls. When the queen says jump, I ask how high.
I go to her, and we both stand. She clutches my chin and inspects me like a prized racehorse.
"Common features, but that can be fixed with some contouring. Sable can work with you on your…wardrobe. You're large-boned like Flora. Now, what to do about that hair?"
I swallow again, finding it difficult to keep my throat from drying up.
"If I may say something…"
"Speak."
"Your son doesn't want to be king." I really just said that to the queen, didn't I?
"Sit."
The queen lets go of my chin, and I sit again. Why do I feel like a schoolgirl, and not in a good way?
I watch the monarch sip her tea before she leans forward. Each word, she drops like icicles. "It doesn't matter what he wants. He is third in line to the throne."
"Yes, but…"
"Don't you think he could be king?"
The question takes me aback. "Well, sure, but…"
"No buts about it. Sigurd comes from a long line of Haarts, and if I'm being honest, he embodies everything about our proud heritage. Before the Normans, Saxons, the Visigoths, and everyone else came over and changed everything. Look at him. He looks born to rule. So much so that he may just save the royal family from becoming a complete and utter laughingstock."
My hackles go up.
"Respectfully, Your Majesty, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
To my surprise, she doesn't react other than to give me a bemused, haughty expression. So, I continue. "Appearances have nothing to do with being a good king or queen. Just because he has the right look doesn't mean anything."
The queen laughs. "Oh dear. You have a lot to learn. When it comes to the royal family? Appearances are everything."
I've had enough of my future mother-in-law, and pregnancy hormones are pushing me closer and closer to saying something I'll regret.
So, I'm relieved that Uther drove in a separate vehicle. Flora, Sigurd, and I pile into the back of a Land Rover driven by Uther's second-in-command.
Flora and Sigurd, meanwhile, have been discussing plans.
Sigurd reaches over and places a gentle hand on my belly. He's been rubbing it frequently lately, enjoying the kicks and movements.
Together with Flora, we discuss the future.
"Sister, if you do not want to rule as queen, I'll accept that role. We'll be married as soon as possible before the baby is born. As long as it's alright with Stasi."
I smile at my future husband and see what the queen sees. He is magnificent, both inside and out. He'd make an excellent king. I don't know the first thing about being a queen, but I'm willing to try my best as long as Sigurd is by my side.
"It's more than alright. It'll be brilliant."
Sigurd plants a rough kiss that borders on not-safe-for-siblings-to-witness.
When Flora clears her throat, Sig pulls away from me grudgingly, still cupping my jaw.
"I love you, Anastasia."
"I love you, too."
Flora chirps. "I would say get a room, but this moment is too romantic!"
Sigurd clears his throat and lets go of my jaw.
There are still many unanswered questions on my part.
"How did Uther find us, anyway?" I ask. "Did they ping Sigurd's phone?"
Flora shakes her head. "That's what I was trying to call to warn him about. They finally decided to follow the money. Did you know that the high minister of justice can access anyone's digital bank drafts if the palace asks for it?"
"I do now," Sigurd growls.
"I'm sneaky, and I've been spying on Uther for months. Not for anything nefarious, mind you. I've been trying to get information on him for Sable. Purely a one-sided infatuation-ship, poor dear," Flora says.
She goes on after Sigurd pinches the bridge of his nose. "So, here's the tea on how they found you," Flora continues. "You removed exactly seven hundred and fifty thousand eight hundred and twenty Euros on September 18 from your accounts, and exactly that amount was funneled into Stasi's account over eight months. And when they saw that Stasi was also the renter, they knew they had you. I guess my big brother's been learning how to use technology."
Wait, what?
"Sigurd, you put how much into my account?" I ask.
He smoothes a lock of hair behind my ear. "Do you not check your checking account? I thought you knew," he says, gently teasing. "You certainly love to keep up with royal news, but you don't watch your bank account?"
"I knew you moved money, but I thought you were just reimbursing me grocery money and helping pay the rental fees!" I shout.
"Why are you mad?" Sigurd looks genuinely confused as to why I'm yelling.
"Because…I don't know!" Tears well up in my eyes, and I curse these hormones.
He leans in and places one heavy arm around my shoulders. "Remember when I told you I don't half-ass anything? This is what I meant. I'm taking care of you all the way."
I smile over at him tremulously and surrender to the feeling of comfort again.
It's not just the money. He does everything so freely and intensely, without thinking about it.
Everyone thinks he's a loner recluse.
But he's none of those things. He's the world's best big brother. He's already the best husband and father. In general, just a good human.