4

“Abdicate?” I gasped. “So that means…”

“Yes.” Brodie’s voice tightened with longing. “I guess that means me.”

“But, but…your parents. They’d talk her out of it, wouldn’t they? Abdication, I mean. Of course they’d rather she marry the man she loves than give up her rightful throne. Wouldn’t they? I mean, Dornfeld already got rid of the male succession thing. It sounds like a place that can change. Do your parents even know about Ilka’s love?”

He shrugged. “It’s never been tested, royal offspring marrying commoners. Not for centuries, I mean. It was a huge controversy after World War One when our parliament amended succession so that the oldest child of the ruling monarch ascends the throne. No matter prince or princess.”

“That sounds pretty modern for a century ago,” I said, meaning it.

“Yes, it was. My great-great grandfather King Eilert had good reason. He had one surviving child, a daughter Estrid, so his brother Erno was presumed to inherit instead of her. Salic law and all of that. But the brothers despised each other—I think a woman was involved—so Erno was done for, and Estrid became Queen in 1920.”

OK, I got that, but…” No offense, but the commoner rule sounds positively medieval. Why is that a thing?” I chuckled, some with nerves, some with amusement. “You even talked about your father’s interest in strengthening bloodlines. That can work for people, too.”

“Can you bear with me some more? I don’t want to lecture you.” He relaxed a little, laughed the laugh I’d hear in my dreams for the rest of my life. It was strong and angelic both, sturdy yet gentle. Shook the long locks of his hair and added stars to his eyes.

“Of course. I’m interested in everything,” I said. Everything about you, I didn’t say.

First he got up to toss another log onto the grate, then sat close to me again. He warmed me even more than the roaring fire. “All right then. I don’t think the commoner restriction will ever change. Long ago, a ‘berserker’ kidnapped a Dornfeld princess, an only child. Seduced her into marriage and used her status to claim the throne for himself.”

“A berserker?”

Brodie chuckled. “A Norse invader probably high on some sort of mushroom to induce a furious rage. Well, this particular crazy man was imprisoned by castle guards, and the monarchy learned a lesson, made new rules. A monarch’s offspring can marry only royalty or nobility, should they ever inherit the throne. That part of the succession is carved in stone. Even after the succession change, that requirement has stuck.”

“Oh, I think I see. The carved in stone part. Your sister can’t marry her college love.” And Brodie—Prince Anders—had to marry a blue bloodline, too. My heart sank stupidly.

“No. No matter Olwer is a wonderful guy, it’s still a no-go. If she marries Olwer, she forfeits the throne.” His voice lowered with a sad smile. “And that puts me on it.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why she’s trying hard to like Prince Sebestyen. To spare me. As well, I’d like to spare her.”

What a mess. So I had to ask. “Did your parents, um, marry for love?”

He shook his head, the scent of his hair wafting over me. Like pines in springtime. “It was an arranged marriage as well. Both understood. They grew up in the same circles, always liked and respected each other. But love? I don’t think so. They’re more like, uh, affectionate friends, trusted business partners.”

I kind of felt guilty myself. Both Rachel and Dad marrying for love twice. Gram-Elaine, too.

Brodie must have read my face, my thoughts. “Oh, Addie, they are a very suitable couple. My mother is a great queen. Ambitious, smart. Beautiful of course. I admire her tremendously. A great asset to Dornfeld, and my father.”

“But still kind of sad, in this day and age.”

His nod was a smidge dejected. “Yes, the past, present, and future, too.” He hesitated, as though maybe he shouldn’t be too critical. Because of his parents’ marriage, Brodie had definitely experienced more privilege and advantage than most people on earth. And it sounded like his parents got along fine. But I felt some sort of satisfaction that he confided in me. Although—I hadn’t done the same a little while ago, about how the plane crash affected me, about how it was the equine therapy program that had allowed my parents to meet. Heat brushed over me. My time to confide would come. He’d not leave Hearts Crossing Ranch without knowing my truth. I just didn’t feel the time was now.

“Mother was born into one of Dornfeld’s oldest noble families. She found her calling in marrying my father. She takes our heritage and bloodline very seriously. And from day one, she’s known every inch of protocol, royal duty, tradition. She has great diplomatic skills. My father recognizes and appreciates her for all of that.”

For a long while, Brodie concentrated on Grampa-Doyle’s fabulous dessert. “And after the most important royal duty of all”—he started, voice soft and slow— “You know, producing an heir, she concentrated on being a tireless queen consort. Which meant letting somebody rear Ilka and me.”

His statement saddened me. He might try to sound matter-of-fact, but I heard the pain. To be blessed with beautiful children and…

“Oh, please.” He barked a real laugh. “I didn’t mean to sound so glum. She’s great, but diplomatic travels and palace duties kept her away. Ilka and I spent most of our childhood in our country home. She and I understood everything from the start. I’m incredibly fortunate. And I love my parents dearly. We’re no different from other royal families..” Brodie’s little smile softened his face before his jaw muscles tensed. “Right now, Mother’s principal occupation is training Ilka to be queen in her own right. And instructing me that I have no business digging in the dirt or wishing to leave my country.” He scrunched his nose with, I read, both affection and frustration. “Just in case. Hopefully, all of that explains why I wanted to spend time in America while I can.”

“And then Your NGO?” I prodded, needing to know if he could spend a little more time here.

He breathed out deep. “I doubt it. Or at least, not for long.”

This time, I briefly touched his cheek. While our dream jobs didn’t quite align, they complemented. “You’re a lot like me. I’d like to work with emergency organizations to help with hygiene and rebuilding after major disasters.”

His gaze read every word of my feelings. “But your parents aren’t quite on board, right?”

“Yup.” I sighed. “They don’t want me in harm’s way. And, as I said, Daddy still has hopes I’ll be an artist like my birth mother and head the graphics department of his company.”

“I can understand.”

Guilt swished over me like heat from the fire. Here he’d bared a lot of his soul, and I had the perfect chance to explain my particular reasons for my personal goal. But I just didn’t want a tit-for-tat of my own problems. Of course, my past physical issues were the main reason my folks didn’t want me traipsing around germs and danger.

But I had been well for long time. And my medical experiences were the very reason I wanted to help others.

So I turned the conversation back to Brodie. He’d kind of broken the ice with his parents. Now was the time to find out about his relationship to his sister. It must be close if he’d take on her throne. Even with Nate’s annoying teasing, I knew he always had my back. He’d had always staunchly defended my interest in Health Sciences. “What about your sister? Is she on your side? About the NGO, I mean.”

“Yes, in her way. But she’s dealing with so much herself.” Brodie spooned up the last of his dessert, melted brown mush by now.

“But your father is not an old man, and he’s healthy. Ilka’s not likely to succeed or abdicate any time soon, right? Maybe you can pursue what you want for a while, at least.”

His forehead tensed with a roadmap of attractive wrinkles that women spend fortunes ironing out. “Well, Ilka can’t. I guess I feel guilty.”

At that exact second, an old-fashioned tune burbled from a phone somewhere.

Brodie jumped up faster than a firefighter on a response. “That’s Ilka. Her ringtone.” My eyes asked a question. “Mozart’s Lacrimosa.”

He dashed from my side.

“Sounds like a disease. Or lactose intolerance,” I mused, missing him. Trying to ease the serious expression on his face.

“It’s from Mozart’s Requiem.” He dug in the jacket he’d hung on antlers at the big front door.

The dirge went on. Requiem. Wasn’t that synonymous with funeral? Did that mean…a dark side for Ilka? A dangerous one?

Brodie mumbled into the phone, then walked across the room closer to me, but not close at all.

“I have to take this.” He gave me a thumbs up, as if he’d read my mind. “The ringtone? No worries. Neither of us is suicidal. Our parents sent us on a diplomatic visit to Salzburg a while back, and a special performance of the Requiem was held for us. In the same room that Julie Andrews danced with the captain. It’s a good memory for us. And classier than Disturbed.” He burst into laughter that sounded real, so I guessed Ilka’s call wasn’t an emergency, or bad news.

With the same hand that had held mine, he gave me a little salute, impersonal and business-like now. Which it should always have been. He was brother to a future queen after all, and then scrambled into his jacket. “I’ll find you tomorrow, Addie. So sorry to cut the evening short.”

The front door shut quietly behind him, chatting as he already was to his sister.

And despite his impersonal and business-like good-bye, I remembered his warm fingers and my heart dinged just a smidge.