The Wild Heir(93)

I don’t have time to ponder that.

There’s another knock at the door.

“Come in,” I say, wondering who it could be now.

The door opens and a gaggle of blonde heads in light-blue gowns scatter into the room, followed by Jane. It’s Magnus’s sisters, my bridesmaids.

They all stop the moment they see my father.

“Oh,” Mari cries out, automatically curtseying. “I am so sorry, Your Serene Highness.”

My father waves her away. “No need for that formality, we’ve already met.”

“What’s going on?” I ask them.

“It’s time!” Jane barks, pulling down at her sleeves. “Bloody hell, I think my arms got fatter since the last fitting. It’s like they’re wrapped in sausage casing.”

I’m too nervous to roll my eyes. Jane’s actually lost some weight since coming to Norway. Must be trading in all the British pies for all that herring.

“Are you ready?” Mari asks, looking me up and down. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“Magnus is going to die when he sees you,” Britt says.

“Not literally, I hope,” says Irene.

Cristina rolls her eyes at her.

My father looks at me and holds out his arm. “Shall we get going then?”

I gulp, my heart beating faster than ever.

It’s show time.

My bridal party and I are taken by limo through the streets of Oslo to the Cathedral. Though the Cathedral itself is pretty, especially as it’s all done up for Christmas as well, my jaw drops at the sight of the people crowded around outside, held back by barricades. There must be thousands of them all bundled up in the cold and waving tiny Norwegian flags.

They’re here for me? For us?

Holy hell, now I’m even more nervous than before. So nervous that I think I’m going to pass right out.

“You’re going to be fine,” Jane says, patting my arm. “Trust me.”

I don’t have a choice.

I take in a deep breath and exit the limo.

Everything after that happens in a blur.

There are flashbulbs and cheers from the crowd.

Music inside starts playing.

Jane and the sisters start walking down the aisle.

My father appears at the doorway of the Cathedral and offers me his arm again.

I take it and my other hand is shaking as it holds onto the bouquet, a mix of yellow lilies, Liechtenstein’s flower, plus some tiny white flowers that symbolize Norway.

We start walking down the aisle.

Everyone stands.

The music plays.

A TV camera records it all.

And there, standing at the altar, looking absolutely dashing in a black uniform with red sash and medals, is Magnus. I can see his beautiful smile, feel his burning eyes from all the way across the Cathedral, shining like divine light.

The minute I see him, I know I’m going to be okay.

As long as I have him in my sights, I’m going to be okay.

I hold onto his gaze the entire time until my father has given me away at the altar. It’s only then I notice Viktor, his best man, standing proudly beside him in his own country’s military uniform, nodding at me with a big smile on his face.

Then I notice the elderly Bishop standing between me and Magnus.

I flash him a quick smile—I met him at the rehearsal ceremony—but then my eyes go back to Magnus.

I never want to look away.

He looks just as excited, nervous and elated as I feel.

He can’t stop smiling at me.

I can’t stop smiling at him.

But, eventually, I do.

Because the Bishop blabbers on, and on, and on. This isn’t one of those quick weddings where we go straight to our vows and be done with it (which is, frankly, what I would have wanted) because the Queen wanted to drag this out as long as possible. I guess if it’s a national holiday, you have to make it worth their while.

So, my gaze starts to wander over the crowd. There’s a staggering amount of people in here, packed to the pews. The entire front section seems to be taken up by royalty of sorts. There are Kings and Queens and Princes and Princesses and Dukes and Duchesses of Monaco and Belgium and the Netherlands and Spain and so on.

There’s Magnus’s parents, the King looking better than I expected, the Queen I think might even be crying. I see Maggie, Viktor’s American fiancé, sitting with the King and Queen of Sweden. I see King Aksel. Then behind that row of royals, I see the prime minister, looking especially greasy today. Then a spindly-looking woman I assume is his wife. And then…Heidi. Her long, red hair side-parted with movie star waves, wearing a demure black dress with a high collar.

Our eyes lock and she stares at me with that blank, vapid expression.

I hate to admit it, but it’s getting to me.

Don’t let her win. There’s a reason why she’s sitting there and she’s not up here.

I bring my focus back to Magnus.

Magnus.

His beautiful face.

Those fathomless dark eyes that seem to hold a world of love for me.

How did I ever get so lucky?

That keeps running through my mind, even as we say our vows, even as we slide the rings on each other’s fingers and promise to be there and love each other until the end of time, even as the tears come to my eyes.