“Here comes the bride, all dressed in white!”

Welcome to my new alarm clock.

Apparently, it’s Jane, sneaking into my room in the wee hours and singing this song. But before I can laugh at how horrible a singer she is and how obnoxious she’s being and how much I want to keep sleeping, it all hits me like a hot frying pan to the face.

Today is the day.

I’m getting married today.

It’s actually happening.

I open my eyes to see Jane holding a tray of food and coffee.

I slowly sit up. “What is this?”

“Well, since this is the first morning in over a month that you’ve slept in this bed here and not with your husband-to-be, I decided to take advantage of that and bring you breakfast in bed.”

She places the tray down on the bed and then hustles over to the windows, opening the curtains. It’s been snowing for the last few days, though today the sun is out, and everything is blinding and bright.

This should be a good omen.

As is Jane bringing me food.

I stare down at the tray, eagerly going for the cup of coffee and slice of cake. I turn my nose up at the pickled herring strewn bread in the corner. “Jane?” I gesture to it. “I’m not eating that.”

“Sorry,” she says cheerfully, snatching it up and cradling it in her hand like it’s a precious gem. “This is for me.”

“Since when do you eat pickled herring?”

“Since I decided to become as Norwegian as possible,” she says, taking a large bite. I grimace and turn away. “Today I’ll stand before the public as your maid of honor, and I want them to know I’m fully embracing their culture.”

“Well, then I’m sure they’ll appreciate your culinary sacrifice,” I tell her as I take a sip of coffee. I close my eyes. It’s bliss. I feel like I’ve gotten no sleep these last few days and it was only last night when I went to bed early that I was able to get some shut-eye, AKA my beauty sleep.

It helps that Magnus stayed at the royal palace in Oslo last night as part of the tradition of the bride and groom not seeing each other before the wedding. I love that man, but my god does he tire you out sometimes, especially in the bedroom. He can go all night. I can go once, okay, usually twice when he’s working his magic. But then I need to sleep.

“Are you nervous?” Jane asks. “How do you feel?”

I give her a dry smile. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re handling all of this rather calmly. The last few days with all your fittings and that damn drama with your tiara, you’ve been taking it in stride. I’m impressed.”

That damn tiara. It’s customary for those marrying into the royal family to wear their own tiara at the wedding, given to them from their own country or family. I’m not sure what the protocol is if you’re not of royal blood but in any case, I had to get Schnell to send it from Liechtenstein. Only it was never sent.

Now, he and my father arrived in Oslo last night and are also staying at the royal palace and apparently have the tiara with them. I just hope I get that thing on my head before I’m walked down the aisle.

I really should just be grateful that my father came at all. I know it would have been in very bad taste if he didn’t—he really does care about a better relationship with Norway—but I hate the feeling that I was pulling teeth with him. I mean, my brothers aren’t coming, and they were invited.

I sigh. I’m not upset that they’re not coming, per se, but I do feel slighted. They’ve never given a damn about me and maybe it’s because I was sent away from them so young, it was easy to forget I existed, but even so it brings back all those feelings of being not wanted and not good enough.

“Oh, come now,” Jane says, coming over to me. “Keep your chin up.”

I look at her fearfully. “I am nervous, obviously. It’s not just this whole family drama. It’s the fact that this is a wedding, my wedding, and there’s a lie underneath this whole wedding and then there’s the fact that it’s going to be televised! I mean, people in Norway have the day off today because of this! This lie is a fucking national holiday!”

“Calm now,” she says, taking the coffee from my hands and putting it on the tray. “You’re spilling your drink.”

“I am calm,” I try to say, but the words come out shaking.

“Yeesh, I shouldn’t have asked you. But listen, now that we’re talking about it I just want you to remember one thing. This isn’t a lie anymore, Ella. You love Magnus. He loves you. You are getting married now because you love each other. It may have not started that way, but that’s what it’s become. There is no shame, no wool over the public’s eyes. Maybe you have to lie about how you met, but you will never ever have to lie about the way you feel about him. You got that?”

I nod. I know she’s right. I know we love each other. Ever since he opened up and told me how he really felt while at King Aksel’s in Copenhagen, I’ve fallen even more madly in love with him. And he, well, he loves me with the same kind of focus and intensity I’d come to expect from him. Every day we’re together he’s making sure I’m a part of his world, a part of his heart. Even now, being away from him this morning, feels unbearably wrong.

But even with all that, there are some things I’m having a hard time letting go of. The fear that the truth might one day be exposed. The fact that I’m about to enter a life that I’ve had no preparation for. And, unfortunately, his mother’s words to me. That there already seems to be a time limit to this relationship, and it’s not a question of if, but when, his intentions begin to wander.

“I suppose this isn’t the time to tell you some bad news,” Jane says.

“What?” I whisper. My heart feels like it’s getting a workout lately. “What bad news?”

Oh my god. Today? She’s giving me bad news today?

“It’s about the guest list,” she says, cringing as she looks at me.

“What about it?”

I didn’t have a hand in the guest list. I mean, I did but there’s really only my father, my brothers who declined, some cousins who I think are showing up, and Jane. It’s sad that my side is so lacking, but that’s the way it is. The rest of the list was handled by the Queen.

“I only found out this morning while talking to Her Majesty,” she says. “But Heidi will be there.”

“What?!” I nearly knock over the tray. Jane quickly removes it before I can do any damage. “Heidi Lundström, that crazy bitch of a prime minister’s daughter?!”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“No!” I cry out, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. “She can’t be there! She’s going to try and ruin the wedding! Why would the Queen invite her after everything? Doesn’t she know how that looks?”

“I guess she didn’t really have a choice. Heidi is the prime minister’s daughter and he will obviously be there.”

“But the sex video! Everyone will be talking about it!”

“Everyone will be talking about how gracious you all are for allowing it. The Queen thinks it will make us look like there are no hard feelings, and we’re taking the high road.”

“Fuck the high road! And there are hard feelings. Jane, that bitch leaked that sex tape, I know it was all her. She’s crazy, she’s obsessed with him, she’s going to do something.”

“Your language has really become quite colorful after meeting Magnus.”

“Jane!” I point at her. “This is serious.”

Jane tries to smile. “I know. I know she’s daft and I agree she shouldn’t be there after all that. But there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I can talk to the Queen.”

She gives me a caustic look. “Oh really. You know this is more about the Queen today than it is you? It’s about her son getting married and stepping up in his role as heir apparent. You aren’t going to win arguments today.”

I growl angrily, snatching the cup of coffee off the tray and downing it. I think I need something a lot stronger than this.

“You know I’m right, Ella. So instead of being angry about the things you can’t control, why not just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“Enjoy the ride? This is a wedding, not a theme park.”

“Actually, I’d say it’s closer to a rollercoaster.”

“Closer to a shitshow.”

“I mean it,” Jane says sternly, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Look, you’ve got me, and I’ve got you. You’ve got Magnus. You’ve got the man you love and you’re about to become the Princess of Norway, a title you can wear proudly. You’re about to embark on a new life, one that you do have control of. So just sit back and relinquish what little control you have over today. Let everyone else worry about everyone else.” She cracks a smile. “You don’t think that the Queen hates the idea that Heidi will be there? Believe me, it’s going to eat her up. Today all eyes are on the Norwegian royal family, on Magnus. They know nothing about you, so you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. So just let it play out and have faith knowing that everyone else is trying to make this the best day possible. For crying out loud, you get to be paraded in a horse and carriage around the streets of Oslo.”

“I’m going to freeze my ass off,” I tell her.

“And I’m sure you’re going to look very chic while doing it,” she says. “Now come on. We have to make you into a blushing bride, not an angry one.”

* * *

This is surreal.

I’m standing in my wedding dress in an ornate and gilded room in the royal palace staring at myself in the reflection of a floor to ceiling mirror.

I’m alone.

I requested I be alone.

I needed a moment to just let everything sink in. Otherwise, I don’t think I’ll remember a single moment of the day. It’s hard when there are a million people rushing about you like there has been all morning.

There were copious amounts of hairdressers and makeup artists and wardrobe ladies. Photographers who captured every moment of the getting ready process. Well-wishers whom the Queen led into the room just to get a peek at me and say hello.

I felt like a mannequin on display, nodding here and there, especially as a lot of the time they were speaking in Norwegian and I couldn’t understand a word that they were saying. I can only hope it was good.

But now, now I have a moment to breathe.

A moment to take it all in.

I have to admit…this is the best I’ve ever looked.

There was a team of beautifiers, so I can’t take any of the credit, but my skin has never glowed like this before, my eyes have never looked so sensual and expressive, my lips never been so supple. My hair is piled into an updo with a few strands framing my face. My dress fits me like an absolute glove.

The only thing missing is the tiara.

I take in a deep breath.

Was there even a back-up plan in the event that he didn’t show, or he forgot to bring it? I mean neither my father or Schnell are getting any younger, it’s possible they forgot to even dig that crown out of storage.

Breathe, I remind myself. Remember what Jane said. Go along for the ride.

I take in a deep breath.

Let it out.

There’s a knock at the door.

I give myself one last look, smoothing out my dress, and say “Come in.”

“Ella?”

The door opens a crack and my father sticks his head in.

Oh my god.

It’s him.

“Father?” I say, taking a step forward.

I can’t believe it.

Surreal indeed.

My father opens the door wide, a tentative smile on his face, the tiara shining in his hands. He’s wearing a black tux with a long jacket and a red sash across the front, his most formal outfit.

I know I saw him about a year ago, but somehow, he looks different and it’s not just the formal garb. He somehow looks less intimidating, if that’s even possible.

My father isn’t as old as Magnus’s is, he’s in his early-sixties, but I’ve always built him up in my head to be this aging overlord or something. Perhaps because all of his official photos seem to take this sinister slant and when you spend half your life living away from him, those photos become default memories.

But here, as he stands before me, he looks spritely and younger.

And kinder.

Maybe it’s because he’s looking at me with a tenderness I’ve never seen, maybe it’s because he’s holding a tiara in his hands, one meant for me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” he says and while I know that we’re not making any moves to embrace each other, I’m still touched that he’s here. “King Anders has been talking my ear off since the moment I arrived.”

“He’ll do that.” I pause. “How does he look? He’s been sick…”

I haven’t seen him lately and I know Magnus has been worried about how he’s going to handle everything. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do anything formal during the ceremony except stand when I come down the aisle.

“Oh, he’s been better,” my father says. I get the feeling he wants to tell me more but that’s not his nature. “I think he’ll do just fine today, however.” He takes a step toward me and holds out the tiara. “This is for you. I’m sorry it’s late.”

“It’s not late,” I tell him. “It’s perfect timing.” I give him a shy, hopeful smile. “Will you put it on?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he says, concentrating as he raises it up and places it on my head. “Oh, I really hope I’m not messing up your hair.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You know this is your mother’s tiara originally.”

This takes me by complete surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

He nods, frowning as he tries to get it in just the right position. “I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about her.” He steps back and smiles, and I swear I see tears in his eyes. “There. You look just like her.”

We have so much to talk about. Now that he’s here and he’s here for me, I just want to sit him down and ask all about my mother, ask about my childhood, ask about him. Everything. Just start over.

But time isn’t on our side today. I am more than grateful that he’s here right now and he’s going to walk me down the aisle, but what happens when this day is over and he goes back home? Where does our relationship go after that? Will it evolve now that I’m an official princess, a future queen? Or will it fade away as it always does? After I see him at Christmas, we’re always back to our old distant ways before the Christmas decorations are even taken down.

I don’t have time to ponder that.

There’s another knock at the door.

“Come in,” I say, wondering who it could be now.

The door opens and a gaggle of blonde heads in light-blue gowns scatter into the room, followed by Jane. It’s Magnus’s sisters, my bridesmaids.

They all stop the moment they see my father.

“Oh,” Mari cries out, automatically curtseying. “I am so sorry, Your Serene Highness.”

My father waves her away. “No need for that formality, we’ve already met.”

“What’s going on?” I ask them.

“It’s time!” Jane barks, pulling down at her sleeves. “Bloody hell, I think my arms got fatter since the last fitting. It’s like they’re wrapped in sausage casing.”

I’m too nervous to roll my eyes. Jane’s actually lost some weight since coming to Norway. Must be trading in all the British pies for all that herring.

“Are you ready?” Mari asks, looking me up and down. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“Magnus is going to die when he sees you,” Britt says.

“Not literally, I hope,” says Irene.

Cristina rolls her eyes at her.

My father looks at me and holds out his arm. “Shall we get going then?”

I gulp, my heart beating faster than ever.

It’s show time.

My bridal party and I are taken by limo through the streets of Oslo to the Cathedral. Though the Cathedral itself is pretty, especially as it’s all done up for Christmas as well, my jaw drops at the sight of the people crowded around outside, held back by barricades. There must be thousands of them all bundled up in the cold and waving tiny Norwegian flags.

They’re here for me? For us?

Holy hell, now I’m even more nervous than before. So nervous that I think I’m going to pass right out.

“You’re going to be fine,” Jane says, patting my arm. “Trust me.”

I don’t have a choice.

I take in a deep breath and exit the limo.

Everything after that happens in a blur.

There are flashbulbs and cheers from the crowd.

Music inside starts playing.

Jane and the sisters start walking down the aisle.

My father appears at the doorway of the Cathedral and offers me his arm again.

I take it and my other hand is shaking as it holds onto the bouquet, a mix of yellow lilies, Liechtenstein’s flower, plus some tiny white flowers that symbolize Norway.

We start walking down the aisle.

Everyone stands.

The music plays.

A TV camera records it all.

And there, standing at the altar, looking absolutely dashing in a black uniform with red sash and medals, is Magnus. I can see his beautiful smile, feel his burning eyes from all the way across the Cathedral, shining like divine light.

The minute I see him, I know I’m going to be okay.

As long as I have him in my sights, I’m going to be okay.

I hold onto his gaze the entire time until my father has given me away at the altar. It’s only then I notice Viktor, his best man, standing proudly beside him in his own country’s military uniform, nodding at me with a big smile on his face.

Then I notice the elderly Bishop standing between me and Magnus.

I flash him a quick smile—I met him at the rehearsal ceremony—but then my eyes go back to Magnus.

I never want to look away.

He looks just as excited, nervous and elated as I feel.

He can’t stop smiling at me.

I can’t stop smiling at him.

But, eventually, I do.

Because the Bishop blabbers on, and on, and on. This isn’t one of those quick weddings where we go straight to our vows and be done with it (which is, frankly, what I would have wanted) because the Queen wanted to drag this out as long as possible. I guess if it’s a national holiday, you have to make it worth their while.

So, my gaze starts to wander over the crowd. There’s a staggering amount of people in here, packed to the pews. The entire front section seems to be taken up by royalty of sorts. There are Kings and Queens and Princes and Princesses and Dukes and Duchesses of Monaco and Belgium and the Netherlands and Spain and so on.

There’s Magnus’s parents, the King looking better than I expected, the Queen I think might even be crying. I see Maggie, Viktor’s American fiancé, sitting with the King and Queen of Sweden. I see King Aksel. Then behind that row of royals, I see the prime minister, looking especially greasy today. Then a spindly-looking woman I assume is his wife. And then…Heidi. Her long, red hair side-parted with movie star waves, wearing a demure black dress with a high collar.

Our eyes lock and she stares at me with that blank, vapid expression.

I hate to admit it, but it’s getting to me.

Don’t let her win. There’s a reason why she’s sitting there and she’s not up here.

I bring my focus back to Magnus.

Magnus.

His beautiful face.

Those fathomless dark eyes that seem to hold a world of love for me.

How did I ever get so lucky?

That keeps running through my mind, even as we say our vows, even as we slide the rings on each other’s fingers and promise to be there and love each other until the end of time, even as the tears come to my eyes.

So, so, lucky.

“Now,” the Bishop says with a smile, addressing the crowd, “if anyone should know of a reason why these two should not be married in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Normally no one ever pays attention to this part of the wedding.

But now these words have weight, a weight that I know both Magnus and I are feeling at this very moment, a weight that could threaten to undo everything we’ve worked hard for.

My mind trips back to when I saw Heidi in the museum.

When she said this was a sham marriage.

When she said I had been invented.

How had she known that?

Was it just a guess?

Good lord, is she going to say something?

I look at Magnus, trying to hide the fear in my eyes, but he picks up on it. As subtly as we can, we both look over at Heidi in the crowd.

She’s staring right at us.

And grinning.

I don’t think it’s her blessing.

“Then, by the power vested in me,” the Bishop says, and his words bring our attention back to each other, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And just like that, crazy Heidi is forgotten. She stayed silent. And now our love is speaking the loudest.

Magnus steps forward, takes my face in his hands, tells me he loves me, then places a deep, passionate, searing kiss on my mouth, the kind that I’ll never, ever forget.

Everyone starts applauding and cheering, but I don’t hear it.

I only hear his heartbeat and mine.

* * *

The fact that we did it, that we made it, that we’re married, doesn’t actually hit me until later, after we get in the horse-drawn carriage and are paraded around the snow-covered cobblestone streets, bundled up with faux furs, waving to everyone as we pass.

It all hits me when Magnus and I are standing on the palace balcony in front of the palace square and waving at the thousands and thousands of citizens, tourists and well-wishers who have gathered below.

With bands playing and champagne corks popping and cannons firing and a whole nation celebrating, that’s when I realize that I’m Magnus’s wife.

The Crown Princess of Norway.

Eternally his.

I turn to him and pull him toward me, kissing him hard, the crowd going wild.

But it’s not for them.

It’s for him.

“My husband,” I whisper to him as I pull away.

“My wife,” he whispers back.