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“Will the princess find a husband in the North?” Frida asked.
The king shrugged. He looked defeated, sad. “Either that or she will change her ways. If we dare to hope for her future as this kingdom’s queen, that is.”
Although Frida understood why all this was done, she didn’t agree with the methods. Why not try to teach the princess how to rule, how to manage politics, and how to ease the suffering of the poor in this kingdom? And, above all, why not show her love? Why not give her what she’s needed most for years: a loving father?
Sighing a little too loud in front of His Highness, Frida bowed.
“Wait,” Wimfred said before she could leave. Frida turned to look at him. “Spread the word that the princess has been sent to the North to become familiar with its lands and decide on a suitor.”
Frida hated lying. She was a God-fearing woman. But she was also obedient and could twist the lie into words that resembled the truth.
Frida bowed again. “As Your Highness wishes. With your permission, I would like to return to my duties.”
The king nodded.
With much slower steps, mostly from physical and mental exhaustion, Frida made her way to the library’s double doors and waited for the guards to open them. Slowly, the enormous wings of the doors swung open, and Helmut stumbled backward as if he’d been standing with his ear against them.
“Helmut,” Frida scolded him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Helmut exchanged looks with the other guard. “I wanted to let you out, that’s all.”
Frida narrowed her eyes. “You are only supposed to let people in. The guards on this side of the door are supposed to let them out. Is that so hard to understand?”
“No, Frida. My apologies.”
Frida studied the man, who was still very much a little boy at heart. Then she shook her head.
“If you must know the newest gossip, the princess is to live with relatives up north to learn the North’s ways. For marriage...”
Studying Frida’s face carefully, Helmut straightened his back. “That’s woman’s nonsense...gossip.”
Helmut cleared his throat and looked away. With heavy steps, Frida made her way back to the princess’s chambers. There were dresses scattered everywhere. She would hang them back up and leave the rooms impeccable for her princess’s return, which she prayed would be soon. Unlike anybody else in this kingdom, Frida believed in her princess. In her strength, her wits, her beauty, her fierce will. But above all, in that good heart she had inherited from her mother, a goodness one was born with and couldn’t lose, no matter how deep it was buried under pain.
