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Do I take this man to be my lawfully married husband? It doesn’t matter that he’s built like a Viking, that he’s gorgeous in his own rugged way and oozes alpha testosterone, or that he’s a prince who will one day be the king. None of that matters when I don’t know the guy. And if I don’t know Magnus like I should, then I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting into and I’m not sure anything—even losing my father’s acceptance—is worth that.
I had originally come here not really knowing what my answer would be, but I do have my own list of negotiations that I’d tapped out in the notes section of my phone, just in case it came down to it.
I wrote down that I wanted an easy out before the wedding, and I wanted an easy out after, if I was at all publically humiliated by Magnus in any way.
I wrote that I wanted to continue my studies in Oslo.
I wanted my own non-profit organization off the bat with built-in media interest and the brightest minds working for me.
I wanted a house or palace of my choosing.
I wanted a rich personal life away from the prying eyes of the media.
And I wanted a dog (I’ve always wanted a dog).
I considered adding a clause in there that roughly said that I was under no obligation to have children or to have a sexual relationship with Magnus, but I decided that would probably something to discuss privately since no one wants their wife-to-be admitting to their family that she would never touch him with a ten-foot pole.
Hmmm. In his case, make it twenty.
But now that I’m looking at this man, this stranger, I realize that the negotiations are worthless.
There’s only one reasonable, sane, and smart thing to do here.
“I want two weeks,” I tell them.
Everyone stares at me in surprise and Jane nudges me questionably in the side. I ignore her.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the Queen says. “Two weeks of what?”
“I have a list of negotiations here,” I tell them, awkwardly fishing out my phone and pointing at it. “Things that must be agreed upon before I even consider this. I assume there will be a contract between us before the actual marriage? Something that will make sure that none of us talk about the truth, that this is an arranged marriage?”
The Queen looks over at the bald man who nods. “Yes, of course,” he says, and I’m guessing he’s the lawyer. “Everything will be airtight.”
“Good,” I continue, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice. It’s like I’m possessed and someone else is talking for me. Maybe Ella of the future, if you want to get all metaphysical. Perhaps I’ve been meditating too much. I clear my throat. “Then I would like my list of demands added to the contract. But only after two weeks, if I agree to it.”
“And what’s happening during these two weeks?” Magnus asks.
I meet his eyes again and smile tightly. “It’s a trial period. To figure out if we can stand to be around each other.” I quickly give his mother an apologetic look. “You’ve raised a good son and I’m sure he’s a good man. But I have to know this for myself. With all due respect, having good looks and blue blood isn’t enough for me. We have to be compatible, even in the most basic way, before I’ll consider it.”
“Look, Princess,” Magnus says, and it doesn’t escape me that every time he calls me princess, he does it in a slightly mocking way. “This goes both ways. In two weeks I might decide I’d rather be chained to the Princess of Belgium instead.”
“Magnus,” the Queen says sharply, giving him a glare that would melt the strongest steel. “These comments are exactly the reason why she’s asking for this.” She sighs, closing her eyes briefly and then looks to me with an apologetic tilt of her head. “This makes sense to me and I completely understand. It took the King years to win me over and convince me to become queen. We can afford you two weeks to do the same.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“But,” she goes on, exchanging a look with her lawyer, “after those two weeks are up, we will need an answer. And once you give that answer and the documents are signed, things will need to happen very, very fast. We’re looking at a winter wedding, around Christmas.”
Jeez, that is fast. It’s the start of October. If I give my answer in the middle of the month, we’ll have just a month to get everything planned. I want to ask why the urgency—surely saving face doesn’t have an expiration date, especially after I saw the public apology Magnus made the other day—but I bite my tongue and save my curiosity for later.
After all, I’ll have two weeks to get all the answers I need.
I didn’t hang around for long after the meeting. We all shook hands—I swore Magnus was trying to break mine in two so I tried to match his grip, which then led to us holding hands for longer than I wanted to—and then Jane and I headed into Oslo to grab some lunch and shopping before getting on the plane back.
The Queen invited us to stay longer, saying her husband, who was noticeably absent from the meeting, would love to say hello, but I figured it was just better to get out while I could. There’s a lot I have to do.
And yet here I am, standing in the middle of my dorm room, taking far too long to figure out what to pack. My room looks like it’s been ransacked with clothes and bras and books.
At least I have some idea what to expect. Over the next two weeks, Magnus and I are supposed to move into one of the royal estates located in the Asker region which isn’t too far outside of Oslo. It’s a pastoral area and the estate has a lot of land, so it will be a completely private setting.
Also, I’m not to leave the estate at all just in case the paparazzi get wind of me, but at this point I don’t mind. It’s just two weeks. At the very least I can pretend to be Jane Eyre and the estate can be my Thornfield Hall.
Anyway, originally they suggested I move into Magnus’s two-bedroom apartment downtown but I quickly vetoed that idea. I want to get to know him better but I still need my own space, and being confined to an apartment with him is a recipe for disaster.
And I still need Jane. I’m not doing this on my own. I’m going to be completely out of my element and need as much moral support as I can get.
“So why do you get to take two weeks off again?” a voice asks from my doorway and I look up, bras and undies in my hands, to see one of my flatmates, Michelle, staring at me with a dry expression on her face.
“I have some, um, business to attend to back home,” I tell her, feeling my face grow hot from the lie. When I approached the school and told them that I needed two weeks away from my classes, I couldn’t very well tell them that I was figuring out if I wanted to marry the Prince of Norway or not. But they let me take the time off, regardless, probably because of my upbringing. When I was at boarding school, it was the same kind of thing.
“Must be nice,” she says with a tight smile. “Well, have a nice time, Ella. Sorry. I mean, Princess.” She walks off down the hall to the kitchen.
I sigh. She says it the same way Magnus does, but with less warmth. Whatever progress I’d made with them before the wine and cheese night has now been erased. It’s like I’ve gone backward, no longer someone they tolerate tagging along, but someone they don’t want anything to do with. If (when) I come back from these two weeks, I know I’m going to have a very lonely year ahead of me.
In the end, I throw pretty much everything I own into a giant suitcase, check with Jane to make sure she’s packed too, and then try and get some sleep. Our flight to Oslo is fairly early. When I said I needed two weeks, I didn’t know that the clock would start ticking so soon.
But I barely sleep.
I toss and turn.
When I do fall asleep, I have dreams.
Those same dreams again about the whales beached on the pebbled shoreline, cold wind in my hair, oil filling up the ocean.
And just like last time there is a man walking toward me. I can’t see his face—it’s too hazy, too blurry—but he’s in a suit.
His arm stretches out for mine.
And just before the haze around his face seems to clear, when I can grasp his features, the oil slides up over my mouth, my eyes, and everything is black again.
I am alone.
That loneliness clings to me when I wake up, my throat dry, my head feeling like it’s stuffed with soggy cotton balls. It doesn’t help that the weather in Scotland has taken a turn for the worse again and when I learn on the plane that it’s sunny in Oslo, I feel a twinge of excitement for the first time. If anything, maybe the next two weeks will be a nice break from my normal life.
That’s why I’m doing this, isn’t it? A chance to be someone else, to be someone in general, just for a while?
“That’s the spirit,” Jane says beside me as the plane descends over sown fields and raging rivers, doing a wide arc toward the runway.
“What?” I ask. As far as I know, I’ve been keeping everything inside my head. Where it belongs.
She studies me for a moment and then shrugs. “Oh, nothing. You just looked hopeful for one moment. Must have been the light in your eyes.”
I ignore that.
It’s not long before we get our bags and step into the limo that the family has sent for us. The drive to Thornfield Hall (officially known as Skaugum Palace, but it’s Thornfield to me now) is about an hour, along wooded mountains and rolling countryside, the leaves in the trees now red and gold. While the sun is warm, there’s a distinct chill when you’re in the shade.
After we drive down a narrow road, passing fields full of horses and a large red school with children playing outside, the driver guides the limo between a pair of gates that it barely fits through. The Royal Guards nod at us from their station house and we continue on our way down a tiny, bumpy road covered by fallen leaves from the trees above.
Then the trees diminish.
I’m not sure what I was expecting at all but I don’t think this was it. It’s actually a lot more like the Thornfield I had imagined in my head while reading Jane Eyre, rather than an opulent palace fit for royals.
