by Kris Tualla
The bedroom door clicked. Nicolas felt for the warm spot Sydney left behind in their bed. He got up and pulled on a pair of drawstring breeches, and wrapped his dressing gown around his bare chest. He opened the door, closed it solidly, and headed toward Sigrid’s room.
March 14, 1821
Nicolas sat on a low stone fence. Though this spring day was pleasant enough, the rocks still harbored the cold of winter, and pushed it through his breeches. The sun shone between small, scudding clouds and the breeze was as much cool, as it was warm.
Nicolas shared his lunch with Stefan and Leif while they watched the castle’s farrier shoe the Akershus horses. Leif sat next to Nicolas and subtly mimicked his gestures. Nicolas pretended not to notice.
“Should I get the next horse?” Stefan hopped up.
Leif nodded. “Go ahead. It’s the bay in the fourth stall.”
“I know!” Stefan frowned. He marched toward the stable.
“He’s a hard worker,” Leif commented to Nicolas. “For such a young boy.”
Nicolas struggled not to smile. “Yes, well you would know. Being thirteen and all.”
The farrier’s assistant carried out an armload of horseshoes, hefting the various sizes of u-shaped irons onto a sturdy plank table. He glanced at Nicolas and paled.
The farrier barked at him, “Olan!”
He dragged his eyes to his superior. “Yes, sir?”
“Give me a hand, will you?” The farrier pointed at the shoe. “That one. It needs to curve more.”
Olan grabbed the hammer and pounded the shoe on the anvil while the farrier held it with long tongs. In five powerful strokes he had the task accomplished.
“My thanks.” The farrier nodded and carried the shoe to its new owner, the bay gelding whom Stefan held in place. Olan stared at Nicolas, eyes and mouth open wide.
“Have you business with me?” Nicolas inquired politely.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but have we met before?” Olan fidgeted with his leather apron.
Nicolas shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m a candidate for the throne of Norway. I have been on public display for months.”
Olan shook his head. “I think it’s something else.”
“What could it be?” Nicolas looked as pleasantly innocent as he could. “Have you traveled abroad?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I have no answer for you.”
Olan turned and walked toward the forge, glancing over his shoulder and scratching his head.
Leif shaded his eyes and squinted up at Nicolas. “What was that about?”
“He thought he knew me. But he has never met me.” Nicolas handed Leif half of his sandwich, which the boy devoured in two bites. “Are you ever going to put on weight?” Nicolas teased.
“I am trying, Sir!” Leif grinned. “You are a help, to be sure.”
Nicolas ruffled his hair. “I think a stiff North Sea breeze would still knock you from a deck.”
Leif hopped off the wall and stretched his neck as tall as he could. “I’ve grown, Sir!”
Nicolas stood next to him. “I believe you have, Leif. I believe you have.”
Stefan stomped up. “Are there any more?”
Leif nodded. “The fifth and sixth stalls. Then we are done.”
“Should I get them?”
“If you want.” Leif shrugged. Stefan trotted to the stable.
“I have a task for you boys, if you are interested.” Nicolas packed away the accoutrements of the lunch. “Do you like to draw?”
“I don’t know. I never tried.”
Nicolas hid his surprise. “Well, I have been meeting with the Storting. Do you know what that is?” Leif shook his head. “It is the group of men who make decisions about Norway.”
“What kind of decisions?”
“Things like laws. And citizens’ rights. And trade agreements.”
“Oh.”
Nicolas was fairly certain Leif had no idea what he was talking about. No matter. “Here is what I need from you boys. We are looking for a design for a flag.”
Leif screwed up his face. “What kind of flag?”
“A country flag. For Norway.”
Leif’s eyes rounded. “And you want us to draw it?”
“Yes. At least, I would like you to try. Come up with some ideas. Do you want to do that?”
Leif nodded. “Can I tell Stefan?”
Nicolas grabbed his shoulder to keep him from bolting. “Can you come to his room when you finish here?”
“Am I allowed?”
“You are if I invite you. I will have paper and pastels there for you boys to experiment with.”
“Yes, Sir!” Leif vibrated with excitement.
“Go on, then.” Leif ran off, all elbows and feet. “And you’ll have supper with Stefan as well!” Nicolas called after him. Leif waved over his shoulder.
March 15, 1821
Nicolas set a package by Sydney’s breakfast plate.
“What’s that?”
“A present.”
Sydney shook her head. “You don’t need to give me presents, Nicolas. I don’t expect it.”
“Today is your thirty-second birthday and I wanted to mark it.” He stroked her cheek. “It pleases me to give you things. I put quite a lot of thought into it.”
Sydney lifted her mouth and Nicolas kissed her. “I suppose this is one hardship of marriage that I shall have to learn to bear,” she teased.
“Go on, open it.” Nicolas pulled a chair close and sat. Sydney undid the ribbon and the paper fell away. She lifted the lid of the revealed wooden box. Nestled in a bed of purple velvet was a golden circle, half-a-foot in diameter.
“What is it?” Sydney picked it up. “A crown?”
“It is. It was my grandmother’s. She left it behind when she moved to America.”
Sydney turned the circlet around and examined it from all angles. Made of solid gold, the front rose to a point, and tapered to a narrow back. A large oval ruby was centered in front, and surrounded by marquis-cut diamonds which radiated outward like rays of a sun. Fountains of sapphires and diamonds flowed out on either side and entwined with raised gold braid. A row of garnet baguettes lined the bottom edge.
“I had the garnets added, to go with your wedding ring.” Nicolas pointed at the stones.
“It’s beautiful, Nicolas. How old is it?”
“I would guess three or four hundred years. I’m not really sure. Put it on.”
Sydney’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I want to see how it looks on you.”
“Why?”
Nicolas sighed his impatience. “Because if I am king, then you are queen. You will need a crown.”
Sydney hesitated, then placed it on her head and fiddled until it felt secure. “Like this?”
“Yes.” Nicolas adjusted it slightly. “Like that. Come look in the mirror!”
He pulled Sydney to her feet and led her to the dressing table. What Sydney saw in the mirror was hardly royal. The woman staring back at her had the look of a trapped animal.
“It suits you,” Nicolas whispered. “You are beautiful, min presang.” He kissed her ear.
“Thank you.”
Nicolas continued to stare at her.
“Might I take it off?”
Nicolas scowled. “Do you not like it?”
Sydney turned to face him. “Of course I like it, Nicolas. It is a beautiful piece of your family’s history. I am deeply honored that you want me to have it. And, that you added something of mine to it.” She lifted the crown from her head. “Someday, it will be Kirstie’s.”
“I want you to wear it to dinner tonight.”
“Oh, no. I don’t believe that is necessary.” Sydney placed the circlet in its velvet bed.
“I do.”
Something in his tone warned her that this was not negotiable. Even so, she tried. “Why? What point are you trying to make?”
“I want to show that we are in agreement.”
>
“Agreement?”
There was that sigh again. “About my candidacy.”
“Do you think that my wearing this crown to dinner will show that?” Even as she asked, her stomach clenched; she knew it would.
“Yes.” Nicolas spread his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. “I need to let Anders, and everyone else, know that if I am to be king, I will have a supportive queen by my side.”
***
Sydney felt ridiculous as she descended the stairs on her husband’s arm. She was an American. Americans did not have kings or queens! She lifted her chin and forced herself to meet the palpably inquisitive looks launched from the hall below. There was nothing she could do but resolve to make the best of the evening.
“And here she is!” Anders turned to her. “Happy birthday, Lady Hansen!”
Sydney curtsied, her smile endearing, her silk dress rustling, and was careful not to lower her head so far that the crown fell off.
“You look absolutely beautiful, my dear.” Erling took her hand and kissed it. “The coronet suits you.”
“Thank you. It belonged to my husband’s grandmother.”
Erling smiled. “Anders told me. He said our father held it in the hope that Marit might return someday.”
“What is this?” Sigrid’s acid tone carried over their conversation. “Have we a pretender to the throne?”
Nicolas rested his hand in the small of Sydney’s back and pressed it reassuringly. “Only if the pretender is the American.”
“Hm.” Sigrid squinted at the crown. “Needs polishing.” Then she patted Nicolas on the chest and sashayed into the Great Hall. Sydney’s jaw tightened.
“Let’s go in and enjoy your night, shall we?” Nicolas’s smile strongly suggested her cooperation.
“Yes, Your Highness. Whatever you wish.” Sydney imitated Sigrid’s sway as she walked to her seat at the front of the room. Nicolas pressed his lips in a grim line, and followed.
Karl frowned as Nicolas held Sydney’s chair.
“What is this?” He approached them with a stiff stride. “Was there an announcement that I missed?” Sydney felt her face warming.
“I beg your pardon?” Nicolas’s tone was smooth.
Karl waved at the crown pressing its increasing weight into Sydney’s skull. “You know well to what I refer, cousin.”
“It’s merely a family heirloom, Karl. A birthday gift to my wife.”
Karl glared at Nicolas, and dropped his gaze to Sydney. He bowed slightly. “I hope your birthday has been pleasant, my Lady.” Before Sydney could respond, he whirled and stomped to the opposite side of the room.
Sydney pulled Nicolas into the chair next to her. “May I take it off?”
“No. Not yet.”
Sydney closed her eyes and tried to smother her embarrassment. “Please?” she whispered.
Nicolas pressed his lips to her ear; his warm breath condensed in its folds. “I desire to make a point and it is important that you to submit to my will in this matter.” He lifted her hand to his lips and lingered over it. Any observer would interpret his actions as the ministrations of a devoted husband.
Sydney bit her lip, eyes lowered. Nicolas leaned back as the soup was served.
***
Nicolas opened his eyes and sucked a quick breath. Why was he in the window seat? Oh, right. Hiding.
He escaped to the empty sitting room, crawled behind the drapes, and fell asleep after a long dinner and uncounted cups of akevitt and beer. Sydney was quite irritated with him. Sigrid flirted with him in public and pressed for increasing intimacy. Avoiding both women tonight seemed a good idea.
He recognized the voices that woke him. The door closed and the lock clicked. He watched through a gap in the drapery, leaning back so he would not be seen.
Espen rested his hands on the back of the settle, the planes of his face limned in orange by the dying fire. “You must stop doing that in front of my father!” he growled.
“Forgive me, Espen. It’s only because I love you so much.” Dagmar stepped behind him and rested her head against his shoulder.
“But you embarrass me, Dag. Don’t you see that?” Espen turned to face her.
Her hands slid up his back. “Then marry me, Espen.”
“Dag— ”
Her lips stopped him from speaking further. She pulled him close and opened her mouth to his tongue. Espen’s hands slowly lifted to cradle her head as they kissed. Nicolas blushed and looked away until the kiss ended.
“Marry me, Espen,” Dagmar said again. “Please, just marry me.”
Espen shook his head and walked around the settle. “You know that’s impossible.”
“Why, Espen?”
He shot her an annoyed look.
“Do you love me?” Her simple question hung in the air.
Espen’s shoulders slumped. “You know I do. And you know that doesn’t change the matter!”
“We can make this work, Espen.”
Espen threw his hands up. “And when there is no heir? What then?”
Dagmar stepped around the settle and grasped his hands. “There can be an heir! It’s simple, really. I will merely develop some exotic condition that requires me to be treated in Paris. When I return, I will bring the infant with me.”
“You have considered this, have you?”
“Only every time you touch me.” She fiddled with the buttons of his flies.
“Dag, don’t.”
“The door is locked.”
Espen’s eyes darted that direction.
“Let me love you, Espen. Please let me love you.” Her eyes met his.
He hesitated, then succumbed. He kissed her hungrily. Her fingers loosened his breeches and she pushed him onto the settle. Her head dropped to his lap.
Nicolas leaned back and held his breath without realizing it. His legs were cramping in the small space, but he could not give himself away. He waited, and tried not to listen to Espen’s grunts of pleasure.
“Oh my Lord, Dag. You are amazing,” he moaned.
“Will you love me?” Dagmar draped herself on the settle.
Espen’s hand reached up her skirt. “Of course, darling. Of course.”
Dagmar panted and mewed. Her swift finish was, apparently, not diminished in intensity.
Nicolas winced and prayed they would leave the room soon. His full bladder magnified his discomfort.
“You are the love of my life, Espen,” Dagmar gasped. “If you do not marry me, I shan’t be responsible for my actions.”
Espen sat up straight. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Dagmar straightened her skirt. “Only that I ache for you. I must have you.”
“You have me now.”
Dagmar pushed to her feet. “Now is not enough.”
Espen stood and buttoned his breeches. “Do not threaten me, Dag. I’ll not have it. I have told you that before.”
She shook her head and looked as though she might cry. “Don’t be angry, Espen. Please?”
Espen wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “I do love you.”
“I know.”
They left the room arm in arm.
Nicolas rolled out of the window seat and fell to his knees. He stretched one cramped leg, then the other, and bent them under his hips. He pulled himself up by the drapes, stumbled on pins and needles to the fireplace, and unbuttoned his flies.
He pissed into the fireplace. Pungent steam wafted through the room.
I am going to sleep in my own bed this night, he resolved. I don’t care how angry Sydney is.
When he got to his room, she was not there.
Chapter Twenty Five
March 23, 1821
“Look, Pappa. Flags.” Stefan spread the drawings on the table. “I did four, and Leif did six.”
Nicolas flipped two of them over. “I don’t see any names on them.”
“That’s so you don’t know who drew it!” Leif grinned.
“Ah. Go
od thinking.” Nicolas looked over the selection. “This is interesting…” The drawing of sailors on a Viking ship shooting flaming arrows at a sea monster screamed Stefan’s name. “While it is excellent artwork, it might not fit a flag.”
"I told you it looks too much like your map!" Leif pointed a the journey map pinned to the wall by Stefan’s bed.
Stefan glanced at the drawing and his shoulders slumped. he punched Leif’s arm.
“Now this one, this is more like a flag.” Dark blue across the bottom third, and light blue on the top third, both a white crescent moon and yellow sun hung in the sky.
“That’s the North Sea!” Leif pointed at the dark blue.
“This is yours?”
Leif blushed and nodded. Nicolas laid it to the side and picked up another, similar, drawing. This one had the dark blue bottom, and waves of color in the sky, much like the northern lights.
“And this is yours as well?”
“Yes.”
Nicolas laid it on top of the other one. He picked up a red, white and blue design. Five vertical red and white stripes were crossed by a blue horizontal band across the middle.
“Hmm. Stefan, can you fetch the pastels?” Stefan did, and Nicolas colored one vertical white stripe, blue. “What do you think?”
“I like it, Pappa.”
Leif nodded his agreement.
Nicolas asked Stefan for a sheet of paper. He drew a Danish flag: red background with a white off-center cross. Then he drew a Swedish flag; same design with a yellow cross on a light blue background. He laid the red, white and blue one beside them.
“This one seems to go well, don’t you think?”
Stefan and Leif nodded.
“What will you do, Sir?” Leif asked.
Nicolas smiled at the boys. “I believe that we three shall present these designs to the Storting together.”
“Are we to go as well?” Leif’s eyes were open so wide, Nicolas thought the brown orbs might actually fall out of their sockets.
“Of course. These are your designs. You should present them.”
Stefan hopped up and down. “When, Pappa?”
“Tomorrow.”
Leif looked down at his clothes. “What will I wear?”
