Royally Not Ready(27)

“I never met your mother,” he says quietly, “but King Theo has told me so much about her that I almost feel like I do know her.”

“Tell me something special about her.”

“She was an expert at hardanger embroidery.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It’s an intricate form of embroidery using white thread on white linen. It’s painstakingly difficult and takes great patience, but when done right, it’s beautiful.”

“Really?” I ask. “Do you know . . . do you know if any of her pieces are around still?”

Keller nods. “King Theo has quite a few of her pieces in his bed chambers. My guess is he’d be more than willing to part with some if they’re in the right hands.”

That makes my throat grow tight. After my parents passed, all our belongings went into probate, and one by one, I saw my parents’ valuable items get sold off to pay their debts. It was painful to watch, and it left me with barely anything of theirs. So, to have something my mother made would mean the world to me.

“I don’t think you know how important that’d be to me. After my parents passed, I didn’t have much to remember them by.”

He glances away and nods, and I can see that there’s something he wants to say, but he doesn’t, he keeps it close to him instead.

So, I continue, “You’ve seen them?”

“Yes, I have. There’s one on his nightstand, in particular, that’s quite complex but expertly done. King Theo keeps it close on purpose. She was very skilled, Lilly.”

The more Keller talks about Theo, the more I’m starting to feel like I know him. He seems to carry the same loving traits as both of my parents, and it feels like home to hear stories about him.

“What else?” I ask him. “Tell me more about Torskethorpe.”

“Vinatarte.”

“Vin-a-what now?”

He gently smiles and, oh my God, is it a gorgeous smile. “Vinatarte. It’s a traditional dessert that’s usually served during the holidays, but it’s also a popular dessert during Torg.”

“What’s Torg?”

“Torg is an annual summer celebration where the country gets together to celebrate our culture. We trade, we dance, and Kulners call on their herds. There are live wood-carving contests, feasts, and the traditional toast where we drink mead.”

“Okay, back up. Is this like a festival of sorts?”

“Yes. It’s always at the end of August. It gives our people a chance to show off the skills we’ve acquired throughout generations. King Theo’s favorite part of the year. He always leads the mead toast.”

“Now, I don’t want to sound rude,” I say, “but when you say mead, that seems like it could possibly be something like . . . goat’s blood. Or fox saliva. Is that correct?”

He chuckles, the sound so deep, so rumbly, that it warms me up under my already warm blanket. “Mead is fermented honey water.”

“Fermented?” I gulp. “Why is everything freaking fermented?”

He laughs again. “It’s actually really sweet. Delicious. It’s used quite a bit as a natural remedy when people are ill. The toast of mead is to indicate a healthy start to the oncoming colder months.”

“Do you take part in these traditions?”

“I do.”

“What is your favorite thing to do?”

“I enjoy wood carving. I’ve always found it therapeutic in a way.” Why do I find that so enticing? His large hands, maneuvering tools over a piece of wood . . . “My talent isn’t as admirable as others, but it does act as an escape for me.”

“I’m sure whatever you carve is a thousand times better than what I can do. I don’t have many skillful talents like that, or at least that I’ve tried. I think the best tool in my toolbox is my ability to rally and convince a crowd to let me spray them down with water.”

“A talent in itself.”

He closes his eyes and leans against his pillow. I can sense he wants to go to sleep, so I take a deep breath, wanting to ask him one more question. “Keller?”

He peeps his eyes open. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I could do it? Do you think I have it in me to take on this role?”

My question is met without an immediate response, which worries me.

And as he gives it some thought, I feel myself shrink deeper and deeper into the couch, my nervous stomach filling with trepidation. I have no idea about my abilities to be a *gulp* queen. My knowledge on the matter feels like a negative ten out of a scale of one hundred and, I don’t know, maybe some reassurance could help me decide what to do.

When his eyes finally meet mine, I’m greeted with a gentle expression, a far cry from the dirty man from earlier. He speaks softly, but with a sense of validation in his voice.

“I think your life is in Miami, but your soul rests among the moss and lava rock. You belong here, Lilly.” And for the first time since I met Keller, I feel as though he doesn’t dislike me. And that’s when I realize I want that from him. I want him not to be disappointed in me. I want to make him smile more.

With that, his eyes drift shut, leaving me with a newfound sense of wonderment.

What if he’s right?

What if I do belong here?