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Chapter 8
Frida
Her old legs had found new strength, as if a witch had transformed her into a young woman again. Frida took all those stairs up from the courtyard without stopping to catch her breath once.
It had been only minutes since she had watched Mina turn the last curve of the road on that awful two-horse wine barrel cart, but every minute had felt like years to her. She was deeply worried for her princess. Unlike most, she had known the princess from before the horrid accident that had taken her beloved mother. What a sweet, beautiful child she had been. Caring, kind. The princess was still unbelievably beautiful, even more so now, but her heart had closed off. She had built a thick wall around it. She was lonely, confident she could never love or be loved again.
The doors to the library were guarded, as always, but Frida knew the guards well. In fact, she had nursed one of them when he was a little boy.
“Open, Helmut,” she said.
Helmut leaned forward. “The king said he doesn’t want to be disturbed, Frida.”
Frida put on the same iron face she had given him when he got in trouble as a child, which was on more occasions than she could count. Helmut was often bullying others.
“He will want to hear what I have to say, Helmut. Now open before I tell your superior about the times I have found you in the stables with the milkmaid instead of training the squires.”
Helmut’s eyes widened, then he turned to open the gate. “Be my guest, but he is in a terrible mood.”
Frida sighed. “And it will only get worse.”
Patiently, Frida waited until the doors were closed behind her again, and the king took notice of her presence. He was sitting with Wimfred at the fire in silence, drinking wine.
“Frida, I don’t want to be disturbed,” the king said.
“Your Highness, it is important.” The king and Wimfred exchanged looks, then he nodded and waved Frida closer.
Passing the endless shelves of books and an extensive collection of oil paintings, mostly landscapes, Frida stopped a few feet away from the king and bowed.
“Your Highness, I have shamed you.”
The king drew his brows in curiosity. “How so? There is no servant more loyal to my daughter than you are. Some would call you her friend.” The king sighed. “Her only one, that is.”
Frida lowered her gaze to the floor; she couldn’t meet the king’s eye.
“Your Highness, I have done the unthinkable. I have aided the princess in...” Frida took a breath to steady her racing heart. “I have aided the princess in fleeing the castle.”
Prepared to feel the king’s full rage, she flinched, only to realize his anger did not come. Instead, he took a sip of his wine. Frida frowned and looked over to Wimfred, who stared back at her, as calm and composed as the king.
“Your Highness, let me repeat myself. I have aided the princess in fleeing north with the carpenter and his sister. I have packed her dresses and jewelry and organized a wine cart with two horses for her.” Frida stepped a little closer, her hands nervously fumbling with her skirt. “I have lent her one of my wool coats as a disguise. But...but if we act quickly, we can see her safely returned before dawn.”
The king scratched his cheek, seeming to settle deeper into his seat. Was the princess right? Had he sincerely lost his mind? Had Frida given her location to a madman?
“Your Highness.” Frida looked at Wimfred for help.
Finally, the king lowered his cup and looked at Frida. His face was filled with sadness and worry—but not surprise.
“I am well aware of all of it, Frida.”
“You...you are?”
The king nodded. “Yes. For once, my daughter and I are of one mind. We both believe that time in the North will do her good. She is accompanied by an honorable man and his sister.”
“You know about all of this? What about the roads?” Frida protested. “They are filled with dangers!”
The king nodded as Wimfred leaned forward in his seat. “She is being followed by a large number of guards. Out of her sight, yet close enough to protect her if need be. And her companion is a well-trained soldier. The dangers she will face on her journey north are far less than the dangers that await her if she takes the throne unmarried.”
Frida was a simple woman; she knew nothing of politics. She looked down at the red carpet at her feet, still confused and worried, even if less terrified for her princess.
