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And there, in the centre of the maze in the grounds of Svardia’s Rilderdal Palace, where they had lost their hearts, only to find them again, Aleksander and Henna didn’t have the slightest idea that their love and marriage would soon become a real-life fairy-tale that generations would grow up knowing and admiring around the world.
EPILOGUE
HENNASTOODINthe bedroom doorway in the private wing of Svardia’s Rilderdal Palace, watching her husband, the King of Svardia, soothe their son. She leaned her head against the doorframe, the smile familiar on her lips, knowing that she would never forget the sight of him holding their children, never forget the way it made her feel. Henna kept expecting her heart to burst, unable to take any more happiness and love. But, as it had done when Aleksander had proposed, then when they had married, when they’d had their first child, Henriette, and three months ago their son, Jonas, it simply stretched to accommodate as much love as she was capable of feeling.
The last five years had been a whirlwind and there had been times that had sorely tested them both. The news of Freya’s fertility difficulties had been accepted mostly with positivity, understanding and compassion. And, despite some tensions and grumbling, Aleksander had passed the legislation changes he’d wanted, removing the title requirements for royal family consorts, but also incorporating the line of succession to include adopted children.
She had taken to the role of Queen Consort surprisingly well, even though Aleksander still joked to anyone who would listen that she was the real power behind the throne. She had decided with Aleksander not to have a coronation ceremony because the planning for the second of their two weddings—the public one—had utterly exhausted her. Especially as she had been in her first trimester at the time. Heads of state had flown in from around the world and Henna had even caught the familiar names of two members she knew belonged to the organisation. It had been watched by more than thirty-two million people worldwide but it still didn’t mean as much to her as the small private wedding conducted in the chapel in the Palace grounds two weeks before, with just Aleksander’s sisters and their partners in attendance.
Henna had hoped that she might one day be able to create some kind of relationship with her stepsister, but Viveca had remained almost intentionally mean and, while it hurt a little, Henna knew that Viveca’s pain was greater. Aleksander had talked it through with her and she knew he thought she was crazy for hoping, but Henna refused to close that door.
For their honeymoon, Aleksander had taken her to London. They had stayed in an apartment in Knightsbridge, done all the touristy things, and then Aleksander had tracked down some information about her mother and where she and her family had lived. They’d visited the area but, understanding her family were no longer there, she hadn’t wanted to impose on the new tenants. Henna had thought she might feel a connection to it, but realised that her home wasn’t in the memories of the past but in the connections in her present. It was Aleksander, Freya and Marit...it was Svardia, the country and the people.
Aleksander had maintained his twice-yearly visits to Öström and she had gone with him every time, thoroughly enjoying the peace and quiet and relishing the powerful force of nature that was the sea and the tide along that craggy peninsula. Thankfully, no one had heard anything from Ilian Kozlov in the years since his abrupt departure, and every now and then Aleksander persuaded her to play him at cards. Sometimes she won, sometimes he did, but every time it ended up in bed, the cards forgotten and pleasure the last thing on their lips.
She heard the pitter-patter of little feet in the hallway and looked down at the irrepressible mop of blonde curls Henriette had inherited from some long-forgotten family gene.
‘Mama,’ her daughter whispered, reaching for her hand, ‘is Jonas okay?’
Henna swept her daughter up into her arms. ‘Of course, Ette. I think he just missed his papa,’ she explained with a smile.
‘But he’s right there,’ Ette pointed out as Aleksander turned to face them, Jonas tucked against his chest.
‘Which is why he’s stopped crying,’ Henna whispered to Ette. ‘Papa did the same thing for you when you were that small.’
‘He did?’ Ette asked, beautiful brown eyes big and round.
Aleksander looked up at them and in that moment she knew that her husband felt what she did. Awe that this was theirs—their family, their life. They never took it for granted, all that they had and all the good that they could do. Aleksander had promised to give her a home, one where she would always feel safe and loved in, and he had done just that.
‘Are we still going to Narna tomorrow?’
Henna bit her lip, knowing that Ette meant Dalarna, in Sweden, where Kjell and Freya had their cabin. ‘Yes, we are,’ she said, struggling to keep hold of her when Ette started wriggling in joy.
‘We’re going to see Alarik and Mikael and Malin?’
Henna nodded. ‘And guess what...’ she asked her daughter. ‘Marit is pregnant!’
‘Again?’ Ette demanded with excitement.
Henna heard Aleksander stifle a laugh.
‘Yes, now, let’s say goodnight to Jonas and leave so he can get some sleep.’
Following a very gentle kiss from Ette, Henna took in the sleepy-eyed smiling face of her son, his surprising head of hair all his father’s, but his eyes were hazel just like hers. Although she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it, their son had a Pinterest page with more followers than the one of Aleksander’s jawline.
She looked up then, caught the love blazing in his eyes for her, for their children, and knew that he was thankful. Thankful for the journey they’d been on together to be here, now, and happy.
‘I love you,’ he mouthed, not wanting to disturb Jonas.
‘I love you too,’ she returned. Since his proposal in the maze not a single day had gone by without him telling her that she was loved, and not a single day ever would.
