Epilogue

Sigurd

Five Years later

We've been going round and round on the most critical matter in our lives: where to host Florence's fifth birthday.

I can hardly believe my little flower is about to turn five.

But I can believe that Stasi and I still haven't decided where to host the party for her and all her friends and cousins.

A week before the main event, my wife and I are still arguing.

"But she loves fishing," I remind Stasi as we sip our tea on the newly-built veranda of our hideaway cabin.

"Yes," Stasi says, slapping a mosquito. "But this is a huge milestone for a little girl, and your daughter loves tea parties. I say live large while we can! Give the princess a massively awesome tea party."

Stasi blinks at me, and my heart softens on the issue. Smiling, she sets her tea down and inches toward me. I pull her on top of me, her legs straddling my hips, because I know that's what she was aiming for anyway. I feel perfect with her legs hugging me like this and her big blue eyes smiling down at me while her thick, wavy locks brush against my face. I still find solace in nature, but I find even greater comfort in my wife.

My fondest childhood memories are of fishing trips with Callum Black and his father, and I'm happy that I've passed the love of the outdoors on to my child. But I'm happiest when I give in to my wife's wishes. I have to remember that she's never had a privileged life. She deserves to have the palace decorators and party planners at her disposal.

"You and she can go fishing whenever you want. But she's only five once. How often does she get invited to use the palace for a childhood birthday party?"

Reaching up, I grip her face and draw her lips down to mine. "I have an idea."

And when I tell her, her smile lights up her face.

The kiss begins sweet and turns hungry, and before long, I'm carrying my wife to bed.

Stasi

The compromise we reach is nothing short of magical. On the morning of Florence's fifth birthday, the royal yacht sets sail, adorned with potted flowers, peacock feathers, and flowing ribbons dancing in the breeze. The tables on the main deck of the Frigge are set with the finest china and silver. Pink chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The crew fills ornate wine goblets with grape juice. Tiered curates are crammed with finger sandwiches, scones, curds, and fairy cakes in every color of the rainbow.

I am elated, and so is Florence.

At the moment, she's questioning the captain of the Frigge about the tea. My gods, the tea.

The palace party planners have gathered the finest teas — the finest fruity teas to tempt a child's palate, that is — from all over the world. The entire main deck looks like a whimsical wonderland to rival Versaille, and my mommy heart is happy.

"What is your favorite, blueberry tea or orange?" Florence asks, tugging on Captain Lance's rugged fingers. He's busy overseeing the crew dropping anchor in Frost Bay, but bless him, he stops and squats down to listen to a five-year-old.

The captain rubs his craggy chin thoughtfully. "I think I like raspberry tea the best."

Florence claps her dimpled hands and beams at the old sea captain. "Will you join us for tea?"

He pats his chest as if the queen made him an offer he can't refuse. "It would be my honor, Your Highness."

Florence squeals and jumps up and down. Then, she sees her cousins, and runs to them.

"The Captain will be joining us for tea!"

Flora, Kala, Hailey, and I laugh delightedly at the little ones' exuberance.

All the little princesses and princes came in their finest attire to sip tea from miniature cups.

Later, Sigurd will guide them all to the lower deck, where poles affixed to the ship await them for fishing, followed by a cruise to the best spot for dolphin spotting and whale watching.

At the end of the day, the children's bellies are full of cake, tea, and treats, and their heads are overloaded with memories.

A sleepy Florence is passed out on her father's shoulder, and my heart swells at the sight of it.

The Captain steers us back to the dock at sunset.

Against the soothing lull of the water, Sigurd slips his free arm around my shoulder, and I entwine my fingers with his.

"That was a good day," I whisper.

Florence burrows her little face into her father's neck and sighs.

Sigurd offers, "We can stay at the palace for a day or two if you want."

This is a strange offer. He can't stand the drafty old palace.

"Where is that coming from?" I ask.

Sigurd cocks his head and says, "Well, I was thinking. You never had the chance to grow up as a princess. I had the riches of my ancestry at my disposal and didn't appreciate it. So if you ever decide you want to move here, to Arenhammer, to the palace…"

"To the palace?" I'm shocked he would even suggest that. Even if we did decide to move to the palace, how long would that last until the monarch's plans move forward to turn it into a museum and a library for the public?

"Or, simply to some place bigger, with more … bathrooms. I'd be in favor of it."

He's already added a second full bathroom and a nursery to our little cabin on Mirror Lake. Florence has outgrown the nursery, but I am not interested in moving back to the capital.

"I love you so much for saying that. But I'm happy where we are."

It's true. Florence has her schoolmates here. Also, she spends every other night in a tent outside with her father. Sometimes, I join them, and we stargaze for hours or cook our supper over the fire. I love our simple life. I don't believe that will be tolerated on the palace grounds.

"Or we could just expand the nursery," I say. "It would give you something to do before you get me pregnant again."

Sigurd laughs. "That's a project. But I could do it."

"I can help."

"My queen is a delicate flower. She won't be swinging any hammers."

His beard twitches because he knows I won't listen. He knows I'll pick up hammers, drills, and screwdrivers, determined to learn new skills even if I injure myself.

I'll build something, hurt myself, and he'll fix me and show me how to do it correctly. And then we'll start all over again. Eventually, we make it work because love is the undercurrent of all of it.

"I love you, Sigurd."

"I love you too, my girl."

The tiniest princess hears this and thinks her father is talking to her. Her little arms tighten around his neck. "I love you too, Daddy."

I have not only a daughter and a husband but more sisters and brothers than I ever thought I would.

And I love us all so much I could burst.

THE END