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‘Freya, do you think you’d mind if I left a little earlier than planned?’
‘From the party?’
Henna shook her head. If nothing else, what she’d just shared with Aleksander was a goodbye and she couldn’t bear to work out the next two weeks of her notice.
‘You go whenever you need to, Henna, but...’ Freya looked at her as if wanting to say something but deciding against it.
‘Freya?’
Losing the fight against whatever held her back, Freya said, ‘Are you sure you want to do this?Reallysure? There are so many things you could do.’
Surprised by what Freya hadnotsaid, it took her a moment to orientate back to her question. ‘It’s such an amazing opportunity. And I like helping people.’ The words had come automatically, from a place of ease rather than of thought. And the look Freya gave her said as much.
‘But you don’t need to hide behind someone else to help people the way you could. You are a woman of considerable means,’ Freya reminded her gently. ‘Means that you could make work the way you want them to. Just think about it?’
Freya smiled, pulling her back across the threshold of her office and into the party, while Henna worked to ignore the afterimage her words had left in her mind.
The following evening Henna unzipped the white covering over the dress she’d chosen for Freya’s engagement ball, the strange sense of déjà vu unsettling her. Usually she would have worn a dress that was unobtrusive, that would have disappeared into the background, leaving her faceless and unremarkable to the other guests. But, as of one hour ago, she was no longer employed by the Svardian royal family and was now welcome as a guest to her best friend’s engagement party. The knowledge of that had been the impetus behind her unusual purchase.
For many years Henna had ignored the account that she had accessed when she’d withdrawn the money needed to gain entry to the private tables at the casino in Macau. At first, she had seen it as her father’s money and she hadn’t wanted it or anything to do with it. It had been a poor replacement for the man who had loved her with such strength that she still felt it now. And as the years had gone by it had been pushed to the back of her mind, mainly because she simply hadn’t needed it. Freya had offered her the role as lady-in-waiting as soon as she had finished university, her housing was included with the position, her expenditure was minimal.
But Freya was right. Hennawasa woman of considerable means. And while she hadn’t quite worked out what that meant to her yet, she had known that this evening she had wanted,needed, to look stunning. It was a vanity, but it was also an armour. Aleksander would be presenting Tuva Paulin at the ball and while Henna knew she would be forgiven for not going, she also knew that she needed to see it. Needed to face this so that she could finally draw a line in the sand between herself and Aleksander, the present and the future. It would hurt, yes, but hopefully it would also cauterise her wounded heart so that she might go on.
She slipped the white garment bag from the hanger to reveal the midnight-blue dress she’d been unable to resist buying. Somewhere in there was the dress she had worn to Macau, the same midnight-blue silk at the very core of the dress, but embellished with a million sequins and sparkles. A thousand layers of embroidered tulle cascaded from the waist into a skirt fit for a princess, falling into a slight train that would fan out on the floor behind her.
Henna reached up to feel the exquisite beading and stitching that reminded her of the sky from the cabin’s window in Öström. The texture beneath her palm, sharp and smooth, grounded her. She felt as if this dress told her story, her journey to here, where even though it would hurt and quite possibly damage her heart irrevocably, she would still have the power to stand and bear it. This dress made her feel strong and feminine and courageous—all things that had been in her but hidden...until now.
On the other side of the palace, Aleksander looked out of the window, unseeing of the grounds wrapped in the night’s darkness. There was a strange sense of numbness to the evening. Freya’s joy had been inescapable since her return from her time away with Kjell, and she had extracted promises from him to visit the cabin in Sweden that she had fallen so in love with. And Aleksandar was glad. Glad that she had Kjell, glad that Marit had Lykos—the latter couple arriving soon.
Aleksander had orchestrated situations that had thrust both of his sisters into the arms of men who loved and valued them beyond compare, whichsomemight call manipulation, but that Freya and Marit knew love, thrived in that love, was the one bright light in his life so he was at peace with his actions. Time and time again it had been proved to Aleksander that people could not be trusted to make the right decisions, for themselves or others. He engineered situations where he could be sure of an outcome that would benefit everyone. But as he thought of the last situation he had engineered, he wondered if perhaps he had been wrong to do it. His conscience twisted in warning, but it was too late to change it.
The mantel clock, a present from an old British prime minister, chimed its way through seven tolls and the red-haired woman on the sofa behind him shifted.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ Tuva asked.
It didn’t matter what he wanted. It was what was needed.
‘Absolutely.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IFTHEVÅRBOLLhad been exquisite, Freya and Kjell’s engagement party was nothing short of magnificent. Having done much of the preparation for it before Freya had left with Kjell, Henna got goosebumps looking at the Rilderdal Palace ballroom. Huge wide strips of white tulle were draped from the ceiling below strings of fairy lights, creating an illuminated vee between each of the chandeliers. Freya had requested boughs of Norwegian spruce and trails of ivy throughout, bringing the outside in and achieving a magical quality to the decorations. Even the staff passing round canapés and drinks had been caught staring at the beauty of it.
Henna smiled. Freya and Kjell deserved nothing less. Breaking a little with tradition, they had been the first in the room, there to welcome every single guest personally. It was what made Freya such a well-loved princess, the personal touch she afforded to everyone equally. Marit and Lykos appeared at the back of the ballroom, clearly not wanting to interrupt the line waiting to wish the happy couple their best. Something in Henna’s chest eased at the realisation that this was the first time all the siblings would be together since Aleksander’s coronation. Whether his sisters knew or not, he needed it, needed them by his side. Because while he might feel threatened by emotion, he was completely fuelled by it, or it never would have mattered to him who his sisters had married.
Marit approached with Lykos, her eyes staring holes into the back of her sister’s head until Freya turned and gave her an affectionate wave before returning to her duty. Only a year ago, Henna knew Marit would have seen it as a dismissal, not being secure enough in herself or the love of her family, but Lykos had come along and stolen her on her wedding day—twice—and changed that for her.
Marit pulled Henna into a fierce hug and whispered, ‘You can’t go. I won’t let you.’
Tears threatened to spill at the strong bond of love she felt between them. ‘Oh, Marit.’
‘What are we going to do without you?’ she demanded, pulling back.
‘You don’t need me any more,’ Henna replied, with a smile at the Greek billionaire beside Marit.
‘It is nice to finally meet the famous Henna I’ve heard so much about,’ he said, inclining his head over her hand as if to kiss it.
Charmed instantly by the old-fashioned gesture, she replied, ‘Likewise.’
