Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
I never expected it to feel so natural.
Or for everyone to listen.
A man takes off his helmet now and regards me with respect as I move quickly back toward the palace, eager to see with my own eyes that Britta is unharmed.
Another solider performs the same gesture. And then another. And another.
A seed of pride is planted in my chest and begins to grow, nurtured by humility and a fair amount of shock. “Thank you,” I mutter, passing them.
“No, Downsriver thanks you, Rexington Monroe,” one of them calls at my back. “We’d have been flying the Northstream flag without you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I nod and keep walking. But the closer I get to the palace, the more pressure invades my chest. Earlier today, the love of my life asked me to be her king and I turned her down, so certain I didn’t have what it took.
Is it possible…I do?
Jesus Christ, I almost hope not, because the timing of this realization could not be worse. I heard her vow never to marry. I heard the conviction in her tone. Any chance I had is gone. I’ve lost Britta…and I’m beginning to think I could have kept her.
No. Hear me now, all who listen. I will marry no man. Today alone, one has tried to kill me, another is displaying his cowardice and another still has cut the heart straight from my body. I will not marry. Not now. Not ever. Do not ask me again!
With those words banging around in my skull, I stop at the doors to the palace, rubbing at the center of my chest with the heel of my hand. My heart feels like it’s being choked by a garrote. I could have been her king, couldn’t I? More importantly, her husband. Her lover and friend. The father of her children. Who would have thought it possible? I am a leader after all. I’m not the butt of my sisters’ jokes or the pudgy, overlarge blacksmith. I’m a soldier. I’m a man that was wanted by the most incredible, fiercely beautiful girl on this earth.
Apparently I’m also a squandering fool.
Swallowing hard, I pull open the doors of the palace, clanking through the vestibule and into the great hall. Britta looks up sharply at my entrance and shoots to her feet, a hand flying to the arm of her throne, as if to steady herself.
Her lower lip trembles, her eyes growing luminous.
Love is like two hands squeezing me around the throat.
And I know in that moment there is no giving up.
My life will be a shambles without her.
I rip off my helmet and throw it aside, followed by my breastplate. The armor on my legs comes off next, which is imperative, so I can kneel in front of her. And I do that now. I kneel in front of my queen and beg for my life. “Ask me again,” I rasp loudly. Loud enough for the gathered soldiers and members of the court to hear. “Please, Britta. Ask me again to be your king.”
Her silence is like a knife slash.
Ah God, I hurt her so badly. It is agony knowing this.
But giving up is not an option.
I’ll never give up. On her. On us.
“Ask me to be your king again, so I can tell you I’m in love with you. I’ve loved you—every moment of it my own free will—since the day you rode in a procession past my home. I left my job to be near you, to guard you day and night, my love, because there is no one more precious in any kingdom. Worshipping a girl as thoroughly as I worship you, my queen, it was hard to imagine myself belonging at your side, but I would stand there a proud and fortunate man, if you will have me. I’m sorry I was a fool before. Please ask me again,” I finish brokenly.
I look up to find tears coursing down her cheeks.
For a long moment, however, she says nothing.
Until, miracle of miracles, she reaches down and brushes her fingertips down my face, bringing them away wet, studying them. “Will you be my king, Rexington Monroe?”
Joy and relief and love explode within me. She has taken me back. She has taken me back against all odds and I can barely breathe. “It would be an honor.”
I lunge to my feet and after what seems like a lifetime, Britta is back in my arms, and I carry my future wife out of the great hall to the tune of soldiers bashing their metal helmets on stone and shouting their approval. Shorty after, the members of the court add their voice to the chorus.
Then there is nothing but her. And the years unfolding in front of us like a shimmering path.
Epilogue
Britta
Five years later