by Kristen Reed
Tucking a fair lock of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand, she placed the doll in the girls’ chest, crossed the room, and curtsied to the taciturn king, whose rapid breathing was all she could hear in the quiet palace. Though the room was completely dark, Ingrid could still make out Viggo’s furrowed brow and slumped shoulders as he studied her with bloodshot eyes.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t join you for supper tonight. I meant no offense, Your—”
Viggo turned and walked away without a word, leaving Ingrid standing in the doorway and gaping after him in bewilderment. Casting her confusion aside, she resolved to find the king rather than leaving him to his own devices. Ingrid closed the bedroom door behind her and rushed to catch up with Viggo, who had already fled to the first floor.
Once downstairs, Ingrid followed him outside to the garden, and a blast of winter air chilled her to the bone. She mentally chided herself for not grabbing her cloak before chasing after the boorish sovereign, but she pressed on. The lady found him in the gazebo surrounded by Ansgar’s rosebushes, resting his hands against the railing as he hung his head in silence.
“Your Majesty, I—”
“Go away, Ingrid.”
“Forgive me for being impertinent, but I can tell that you’re upset. I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to, but I don’t think I should leave you alone.”
Ingrid patiently waited for him to speak and steeled herself for a harsh response. The maiden halfway expected him to bark at her to leave or rail against her for rejecting his supper invitation. Either way, she was determined to stay the course. She had to let the king air his grievances so she could calmly address them in an attempt to be reconciled. If his enmity toward her prevented him from doing what was right, she had to pursue peace with him.
But how could she make amends if Viggo remained silent?
When several ragged breaths passed without him saying a word, Ingrid moved toward the king with some hesitance, but she froze when she drew close enough to look past Viggo’s mane of dark hair and see his face in the moonlight. Tears streamed down the king’s cheeks and disappeared into his thick, wild beard as he fought whatever emotions waged war inside of him. Viggo glanced in her direction for a moment, but he promptly averted his tormented gaze.
“My mother sang the same song to me as a child,” Viggo said, his voice shaking with every word. “Even though I had a nurse as a young boy, she still insisted on tucking me in each night. She would sing the tune before kissing and praying over me exactly as you did. You were praying, correct?”
Ingrid nodded.
A cheerless smile crossed Viggo’s lips, but the sorrow never left his piercing eyes.
“You’re very different from my mother in many ways, but you remind me of her at times. She was an incomparably artistic, graceful woman. More importantly, she clung to her faith as fiercely as my father did. They were both willing to compromise when they could do so without dishonoring God, but they never yielded when it came to fighting for righteousness. Their convictions are why they’re both buried somewhere at the cathedral in Bjartyra.”
Ingrid’s soul ached for Viggo as she witnessed his profound distress, but she felt powerless to give him the comfort he needed.
“Halvard and I spent our afternoon there two days ago. I only intended to survey Bjartyra and the surrounding area, but he went behind my back and gave our driver the order to take us to the cathedral,” Viggo revealed. “At his insistence, we stopped and watched the soldiers attempt to find and exhume my parents’ remains so I could give them a proper burial in Villriket. I had no desire to see the men’s work and be reminded of what Ansgar did to them, but that’s exactly what Halvard wanted. My sadness turned into anger with every passing second, and he fanned the flames … breathing hatred in my ear like the devil himself until my rage consumed me. I wanted to send Ansgar to hell for the pain he inflicted on my parents, so I gave the order for his execution the moment we returned to the palace.”
“Anyone in your position would be angry with Ansgar,” Ingrid commiserated.
“Yes, but a wise man wouldn’t let his fury control him as I have. My anger is why I sought you out tonight. I was livid when you refused to come to supper, and I came to officially end our engagement. When I heard you singing, my heart stopped.”
Viggo gripped the gazebo’s railing so hard that Ingrid feared he would snap the delicate wood.
“I remembered what Ansgar took from me, but I realized I was committing the exact same transgression against him and his children. God should have struck me down for my hypocrisy,” he trembled. “I’m just as wretched as Ansgar, and maybe even worse. You tried to turn me from my sin twice and I lashed out at you instead of heeding your counsel. I should have rebuked my brother for inciting me to violence, and begged God to forgive me. I started breathing vengeance and violence the moment I learned of my parents’ deaths, and it has to stop!”
Much to Ingrid’s surprise, Viggo wept, and she instinctively pulled him into her arms, letting his hot tears moisten her shivering shoulder as she stroked his back. Though witnessing the king’s most intimate expression of his pain grieved Ingrid, his astonishing vulnerability inspired her to hope more than she dared to before their unforeseen encounter.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered several minutes later.
“I should be apologizing to you. You’re only here because I threatened your father and your people. I disrupted your life because of my greed, and I treated you poorly when I should have cherished you. I’m not worthy of you, and you certainly shouldn’t be condemned to a lifetime yoked to a beast like me.”
“You’re not a beast, Viggo. You’re just in pain. Anyone grieving a loss as profound as yours would be angry or disillusioned in some way. God no doubt placed people like my father and I in your life to help you carry this burden and to comfort you. This is too grave a loss for you to heal from alone.”
Viggo ended their embrace, and Ingrid’s soul ached at his withdrawal. Despite the tugging of his heart, the contemplative king refused to look into her eyes. If he met her compassionate hazel gaze, he feared he’d lose the nerve to voice the weighty words sitting on the tip of his tongue. In that same stillness, Ingrid asked God for the wisdom to respond to Viggo’s next statement or action. Whether his repentant attitude persisted or died away as quickly as it surfaced, she needed to reply based on her faith instead of fear or anger.
“I’m releasing you from your commitment to marry me,” he said. “A carriage will take you back to your home in Anselm tomorrow, and I will richly compensate your family for the trouble I caused. A better man than me will see what a beautiful woman you are body and soul and treat you with the kindness and love you deserve.”
Before Ingrid could say a word, Viggo trudged away, but he stopped at the bottom of the gazebo’s steps and spoke one last time without looking over his shoulder.
“Ansgar, Bettina, and Anton still live. The former king and queen will remain prisoners until enough time has passed for a fair trial by their peers, but I will release the boy tonight. No more blood will be shed in my name.”
After his final proclamation, Viggo disappeared into the darkness, leaving Ingrid alone to contemplate their unanticipated interaction. The young lady stared after her former fiancé in shock for several breaths, incredulous that God had answered her prayers for the deposed royal family so quickly … and he also freed her from her hasty engagement to the once barbarous king. Alas, even though elation and praise over Viggo’s repentance filled her heart, she couldn’t bring herself to feel true joy over her dissolved betrothal.
Two days ago I was preparing to spend my life as his queen, and now I’m a free woman again. I simply need time to adjust, she assured herself as she slowly retraced her steps through the fragrant garden.
Taking a deep breath, Ingrid entered the palace and searched for her father, eager to tell him the news they had both been praying to hear since they first learned of Ansgar’s condemnation.
♦ ♦ ♦
As Ingrid prepared for bed and packed her few belongings two hours later, she praised God for changing Viggo’s heart. While she didn’t know what the future held for her homeland, her spirit sang with joy. For the first time in decades, her people had a ruler who could see the error in his ways and turn from his iniquity. Just as the maiden sat down to brush her hair, an unexpected sound ripped through the night and shattered her equanimity.
A gunshot.
Dropping her brush, Ingrid shot out of her room. Relief filled her soul when she saw her father and Liesel also stepping into the hallway unharmed. However, the respite only lasted for a brief moment when she realized that one person in the palace had far more enemies than allies in Schlagefilde.
Viggo.
Breaking into a sprint, Ingrid tripped over the hem of her nightgown almost a dozen times as she flew down the stairs to the library. Edmund followed not far behind, shouting at his daughter to stop for fear she was running into a situation he couldn’t protect her from. Unfortunately, his less than agile, aged body and her brief head start prevented him from stopping her.
Edmund and his daughter reached the library only moments apart, and the panting count immediately snatched Ingrid away from the door. Though she only had a second to look past the soldiers in the doorway and into the room, dread weighed down the young maiden’s heart as the haunting sight replayed before her eyes. Ansgar’s fourteen-year-old son, Anton, stood next to the bookcase, which was open to reveal a secret passageway much like the one in her own home. Viggo on the other hand lie motionless on the floor with blood on his shirt.
The king had been shot.
Ingrid tried to pull away from her father to rush to the king’s side, but Edmund held fast to his trembling, tearful daughter and kept her out of sight.
“His men are with him now, Ingrid. Anton would be a fool to try anything more. Let them handle this.”
“But, Papa—”
The sound of Viggo’s strained voice silenced Ingrid and her heart leapt in anticipation as she tried to discern how badly the prince hurt him.
“I understand your anger, Anton,” the king grumbled. “I know what it’s like to hate someone for shattering everything you loved, but if you try to blot out destruction with destruction, you’ll only succeed in destroying yourself. When I learned of my parents’ deaths, I didn’t just become angry, I became anger itself. Revenge ruled my every thought and consumed me until nothing remained of me but a bloodthirsty beast in a man’s body. I was an unlovable wretch and held my wrath so dear that I came close to committing the sins I detested and lost the person who has meant the most to me since their passing. You would’ve become another of my many victims if someone didn’t show me the error of my ways. Please don’t repeat my mistakes.”
“What about my parents? I’d rather die trying to save them than live as a poor orphan begging on the streets while you sit on their throne.”
“What if those weren’t your only options?” Viggo countered. “What if I let your parents live?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would if it meant keeping you from becoming a monster like me. Don’t let me blacken your heart after I’ve already broken it.”
Recognizing her own words pouring from Viggo’s mouth, Ingrid waited in wordless anticipation for Anton to respond or make his next deadly move. A loud, metallic thud reached Ingrid’s eager ears followed by sobbing and a flurry of movement as the soldiers seized the blubbering teen.
Ripping her arm away from her father, Ingrid finally looked through the doorway. A soldier held Anton’s hands behind his back while another tended to Viggo, who rose to his feet holding the discarded gun. The king set the weapon on his desk and walked over to the shamefaced prince, who refused to meet his remorseful blue eyes.
“No matter what verdict the court brings against your parents, I will not allow them to be executed,” he promised. “If you prove yourself to be a virtuous man in the next few years, I will place this kingdom back in your hands. Either way, I won’t hold your actions tonight or your parents’ misdeeds against you. God has forgiven me for much, so who am I not to forgive you for a moment of weakness that I inspired with my own sinful ways.”
Viggo glanced at the soldier who had detained the prince.
“Take him to his room.”
“Yes, my king.”
The two plodded out of the library, and Viggo instructed three guards to explore the tunnels and make sure they were properly monitored. Just as Ingrid stepped inside the room, a medic from the king’s army breezed past her with his supplies. The young man went to work cutting off Viggo’s bloodied white sleeve to reveal that the teen’s bullet had only scratched his arm.
“Thank goodness,” Ingrid exhaled.
Looking up from his injured arm, Viggo met his former fiancée’s concerned gaze, but he immediately turned his eyes away.
“It’s only a superficial wound,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Ingrid tore her eyes away from Viggo as Edmund touched her shoulder.
“There isn’t anything we can do here, sweetheart. You need your rest,” he said.
The young beauty looked back at the king, who nodded in agreement. Heaving a sigh, Ingrid let her father lead her out of the library and back to her room. As the maiden finished her nightly routine without her earlier levity, a strange kind of hope welled up in her heart. Though she witnessed the beginnings of Viggo’s heart change hours before, his merciful response to Anton’s assault was further proof of his miraculous repentance.
The man who had his heart set on executing Anton only hours before practically promised the young man his parents’ kingdom. Furthermore, he sent the prince back to the luxury of his room instead of a cell in the tower. Of course, this didn’t mean the King of Villriket was magically healed of the pain Ansgar caused, but he chose the path of righteousness over retribution.
Viggo was a new man through and through, and she couldn’t wait to see what he could do for a kingdom in dire need of the same healing and transformation.
Chapter 6
Upon rousing the next morning, Ingrid dressed for her journey back to Anselm with Edmund and Liesel. The women bid goodbye to Ava and Annette, who wept with joy upon hearing Viggo’s decision. The homebound ladies vowed to write to the princesses once they returned to Anselm and to visit them as soon as they could.
When the time came for the Count of Anselm, his daughter, and her friend to leave, the trio departed with Espen and Johan accompanying them for their protection. Though Ingrid thanked God for allowing her to return to the familiarity of her childhood home, she couldn’t muster up true joy in her troubled heart.
Just as the three travelers were halfway to the gold and black wrought iron gate surrounding the Schlagefilde royal palace, the carriage bumped and jerked violently before coming to a stop.
“Are you all right?” Edmund asked.
“Yes,” Ingrid said while Liesel nodded in agreement.
A moment later, Espen appeared at the window to address his charges.
“One of the wheels broke, my lord. We need you to leave the carriage while a new one is put on. It should take less than an hour to fix.”
“Thank you, Espen,” Edmund said.
After the three travelers stepped out of the carriage, Ingrid realized they were a stone’s throw from the cherubic fountain in the palace garden. Seeing the marble bench only a few yards from the gorgeous spectacle, an idea was conceived in her heart.
“Why don’t we have a seat in the garden while we wait?” she suggested.
“Marvelous idea,” the count agreed.
When they reached the bench, Ingrid realized only two could comfortably sit on it. Remembering her father’s age and Liesel’s past hardships, she opted to take in her surroundings while her father and her friend rested and enjoyed the fresh morning air.
As Ingrid wandered through the artfully sculpted hedges and pruned bushes, her eyes
soon rested on a bush of scarlet roses much like the ones she and her mother had cultivated in Anselm. The young lady leaned over, but as she inhaled one bloom’s sweet scent, she noticed the multitude of thorns adorning each rose’s stem. Seeing the prickly scourges reminded Ingrid of something her mother had once said.
“People are like these roses, Ingrid. When they grow wild without anyone pruning their branches, they fail to be as beautiful as they were created to be. However, even with the best pruning, they still can’t be embraced without causing pain because of their thorns. Likewise, we imperfect humans are painfully flawed because of our sinful nature.”
The late countess had pulled a rose from her basket and removed the thorns one by one until the bloom’s stem was perfectly smooth and safe for Ingrid to take in her tiny hands.
“A rose can’t take away its own thorns and neither can we take away our sins. Only Christ can do that. He allowed His hands and feet to be pierced and his blood to be shed so we can be sinless just like this rose is now thornless,” Carina showed her daughter where a thorn had pricked her index finger, drawing a single bead of crimson blood.
“God only does this work once. Yet, we must still be pruned and shaped so we can grow into the men and women God created us to be and become more like Christ,” she explained. “When you grow into a woman one day, you will be tasked with choosing a husband. I pray the man you marry will be a faithful, loving man, but never make the mistake of thinking you’re without your own thorns or he’s without his. If you both realize your deep dependence on God in every aspect of life, he can continuously prune you with His capable hands, and you’ll bloom together beautifully.”
As the long-forgotten memory faded into the recesses of Ingrid’s mind, she pulled the rose from the bush and her heart was suddenly aflame with conviction … and an unexpected, incomparably sweet flurry of emotions. A grin spread across the young maiden’s freckled face and she flitted back over to Edmund and Liesel.
