MARCUS
As the motorcade approached the palace, Marcus glanced at Burton, seated beside him in the back of the state car. His private secretary’s fingers flew over the tablet permanently attached to his hands. A slight pursing of the man’s lips was the only outward sign of his disapproval.
“Everything is in order?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus nodded and returned his gaze to the window.
Trade negotiations were not going well. Their longtime ally, Deshbourg, was concerned about labor practices, while Ducklenburge wanted more tax transparency between the neighboring maritime nations.
Both requests seemed reasonable to Marcus, but given he’d taken his father’s seat mid-talks, and under the ire of Lord Belaye, who had the ear of Ducklenburge’s Prime Minister, his own countrymen had largely ignored his views.
Not a good sign of things to come with the Queen ailing.
Marcus still couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge that granny was terminal. Call it denial, but he wasn’t ready for what her passing would mean for himself or his country.
She’d been the nation’s stalwart leader for decades. And while his father had ensured Marcus’s education and training were up to par, Crown Prince Thomas clearly hadn’t expected to pre-decease his own mother and had kept Marcus to a ceremonial role.
Cutting ribbons, shaking hands, cooing over babies.
Marcus hadn’t realized how completely he’d been kept in the dark on most matters of state until the past two days.
He’d thought his presence would speed up discussions, but it had only bogged them down. The added formality in the proceedings increased posturing instead of fostering better communication as he’d hoped.
The blustering and bickering that he’d witnessed between members of Ducklenburge’s Parliament, and Deshbourg’s officials, was confounding. No wonder nothing was finalized when they refused to listen to each other, let alone make any concessions.
Despite the impasse, Marcus had excused himself for the day. Burton hadn’t been the only one who’d voiced disapproval of the Crown Prince’s plans. But he’d felt a peaceful sense of certainty within himself and had held firm.
Sofia’s words on their call drifted through his mind. “I’ll be praying for you…”
Marcus wasn’t ready to attribute his newfound confidence to her prayers or her God. However, he couldn’t fully explain it either. Usually, he weighed everything that he wanted against what duty demanded, and duty always won. But that was before Sofia.
The motorcade stopped outside the north wing of the palace, the closest entrance to his suites.
“My wife?” Marcus asked his closest detail as he exited the vehicle. Johnson spoke into the earpiece that kept all royal security connected, and after a pause, he replied, “Her royal highness is in her suites, sir.”
Operating on a hunch, or maybe a hope, that Sofia wouldn’t care about his travel creased suit, Marcus course corrected away from his suites in the north wing, heading for her rooms in the east. As he did, he pondered how very far away her rooms were and wondered if he might remedy that. In due time, of course.
“And the others?” He asked.
“In place as requested, sir.”
Marcus nodded his thanks and picked up his pace. Walking down the hall, he registered that in the days he’d been away, the palace’s transformation for the advent season had been completed. Every inch of the palace was decked out for Christmas.
Hearty garlands were draped along banisters and wrapped around marbled columns. Bronze ornaments embossed with the Abdiel crest adorned the sentinel Fraser Firs. And hundreds of lights interwove through it all, adding a twinkling magic to the ornate architecture of the vaulted ceilings. The effect was charming. Festive and bright.
And Marcus couldn’t help but see it through fresh eyes. Couldn’t help feeling swept up in the season's wonderment for the first time in… a long time.
Marcus had fallen asleep listening to Sofia’s original voicemail on repeat. Her melodic voice and sweet wish for a good night’s rest had soothed something within him.
He was at a loss trying to recall the last time someone had encouraged him without reiterating his duty or demanding something in return. It was selfish, he knew, to want to keep Sofia in his life. But Marcus had stopped lying to himself.
He wanted to experience being loved by her.
Wanted to learn how to love Sofia well enough to make up for what she’d be sacrificing if she stayed with him. Which is probably why he’d taken the risk of declaring himself to Sofia yesterday on the phone, instead of waiting until they were in person.
But waking up to her splashed across the news with Bella, combined with how their last conversation at the winter lodge had gone wrong, had necessitated action.
Watching her directly take on Mr. Grady, a reporter infamous for scathing coverage of the monarchy, had stirred a fierce, and protective, pride in Marcus.
Considering that Sofia hadn’t been formally introduced or even fully explained to the nation yet, it was a testament to the first impression she’d made that the press hadn’t gone for the jugular with their coverage. At least this time.
It would appear that some of them saw in her what Marcus had seen all those years ago.
A fierce champion, with a voice and a heart for others, without artifice or subterfuge. Maybe Sofia was just what he, and Ducklenburge, needed.
Though the matter of her beliefs still stood between them, time away had given him perspective. Plenty of people held different beliefs than their spouses and they made it work, right? By all accounts, Granny and Grandpa Herbert had been such a couple.
So, no. He hadn’t been willing to take the chance that she would see the headlines, decide he wasn’t worth it after all, and leave. At least, not without knowing how he felt.
That he was all in. On her. On them.
“When will you be home?” Her response to his declaration had unmanned him.
Marcus hadn’t considered the palace home in twenty years. His mother’s passing had stripped all warmth, love, and comfort from the place, making the grandeur that displayed antiques feel more like a national museum than anything that resembled a home.
“Vance, have you seen Grace?” Sofia’s words drifted to Marcus as he rounded the corner. So, she’d taken the time to learn her details’ names. Of course she had. “We’re supposed to call the fam, but I can’t get ahold of her…”
Marcus didn’t suppress his grin, or the excitement that ran through him, as he took in the sight of her. Standing outside the threshold of her suite, her back to him. He noticed her hair was damp, freshly showered from her morning ride with Chance, no doubt. Sofia grew more beautiful every time he saw her.
The protection officer she’d addressed caught Marcus’s eye, and responded, “No, your highness but perhaps…”
“Perhaps I can help you locate her.” Marcus said as he crossed the distance between them, enchanted by the delight that bloomed on her face.
Without hesitation or decorum, Sofia threw her arms around his neck. “You’re home!”
Marcus’s arms instinctively wrapped around her waist. He marveled at how perfectly she fit within his arms, and understanding flooded him as he held on.
Maybe home wasn’t about a place. But about the person who made the place a home.
Luxuriating in the soft warmth of Sofia pressed against him, Marcus was filled with a deep satisfaction that she was still here. And happy to see him. Both facts soothed the fear that had gnawed on him, whispering that he’d bungled things with her, like he always bungled things according to his father.
He hugged her tighter, loathe to let go. Taking comfort in having her in his arms. If it went on for hours, that would be just fine by him. But Sofia must’ve remembered they weren’t alone because she let go.
Reluctantly, Marcus released his hold as she stepped back.
“How was your trip?” Sofia asked. Her question brought him back to reality. He’d left her at the worst time, and he’d have to leave her again to return to the negotiations. Could the day he had planned for them really make up for being an absent partner? For leaving her alone in his world while he tended to his responsibilities?
Worse, what would she think of him if she knew how he was failing to bring the leadership needed to finalize the treaty?
“Negotiations are… ongoing.” He felt the weight of weariness in his words and tried to lighten his tone. “I’ll have to return tomorrow, but a prior engagement here takes precedence today.”
At his words, Sofia took another small step away. Her earlier elation dimmed slightly. “Of course. I shouldn’t keep you—”
“Walk with me?” Marcus offered his arm. It unsettled him to see Sofia distancing herself after her uninhibited greeting, and he almost ruined his surprise right then. Instead, he suggested. “Maybe we’ll come across your sister along the way.”
The reminder of Grace prompted Sofia to action, and she gifted him a smile as she hooked her arm in his. “Lead the way, my prince turned private eye.”
Burton and their guards trailed at a distance as Marcus and Sofia began to walk, arm in arm.
“So… Belaye hasn’t murdered you yet?” Sofia inquired, and he chuckled, despite himself.
“Not yet, though he’s doing an admirable job killing the treaty talks. And undermining me at every turn.”
“Ah.” Sofia said simply as they continued to stroll. That was it.
She didn’t pry or offer unsolicited advice. Just kept her arm in his, her presence letting him know he wasn’t alone. And as much as his father had drilled into him that asking for help was a weakness, he wanted… needed Sofia’s perspective.
“What would you do?” Marcus’s question earned him an incredulous side glance. “What?”
“I’m gonna need more than that to go on, prince. What’s the point of contention…” When she peeked up and saw him at a loss for words, she asked again, “What’s the toy being fought over?”
“Tax transparency. Concerns about labor practices.”
“On which side?”
“Ours. Deshbourg officials seem to think our dockworkers are being mistreated.”
“Are they?”
“I…” Marcus stopped. Behind them and out of earshot, Burton and their guards halted, too. “I’ve poured through all briefings for the past year, and nothing is amiss.”
“Hmm…” Was all Sofia said, and she resumed their stroll. With her arm in his, he moved with her. There was something behind her ‘hmm’, like she was worried about overstepping and wanted him to come to it on his own… Marcus replayed his last words but was distracted when he noticed Sofia was pulling them slightly off the center path. Giving up, he asked. “Hmm…?”
“Who creates the reports?” Sofia answered his question with her own.
Marcus pondered the chain of communication. The council selected staff to oversee and compile briefings. There were levels of bureaucracy all meant to filter and then expedite what the monarch needed to know about the myriad of hot items on each day’s docket.
It was a well-oiled and intricate communication machine… a system that added too many layers where truth could become distorted. Finally grasping her reason for asking, he acknowledged. “Point taken.”
She smiled, briefly. Studying her, Marcus realized he could easily become addicted to observing her when she was deep in thought, even as he recognized more was churning in her mind. “And?”
“I’m not a politician, Marcus. Bella is adamant I learn chess, and I’m trying, but as my current suspension proves, I mostly react in the moment. I’m not sure I’m the best person to advise you.”
Sofia’s face was so transparent, so devoid of artifice. He felt he could see her sifting through puzzle pieces, like she had at the winter lodge, carefully cataloguing each piece, then placing them together. Belying her words. He couldn’t help but grin.
Sofia definitely wasn’t a politician, even though he appreciated her attempt at diplomacy. A fact that only endeared her to him more. “But…”
“But…” Sofia seemed to decide, and a torrent of words poured from her. “Why would a neighboring country belabor a point of contention if there is no truth to it? Who would stand to gain from it? Who would cover it up? And why in the world does anyone care about tax transparency?”
He laughed at the rush of her questions, letting the simple questions he should’ve been asking root within him. Later. He would handle all this later. Today was about them, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Thank you, Sof. You may not believe you’re the person to advise me, but you’ve given me much to consider.”
As they’d talked, she’d continued to drift them to the edge of the hall. He doubted she’d done it deliberately. Not with the way her brow furrowed as she puzzled over another problem. Still, her unconscious discomfort walking on the Orientals was clear. “I see I have a new edict to overturn.”
That drew her attention away from whatever thought she’d been chewing on. “Hmm?”
“From henceforth, all shall tread the oriental threads. May father roll over in his grave.” Marcus meant his decree to be blithe, but even to his own ears, it sounded bitter.
Sofia’s forehead frowned again; the adorable wrinkles that appeared telegraphed her displeasure. “About your decrees. I…”
She paused, weighing her words. Marcus didn’t like the new hesitation he saw in her and as he steered them down a flight of stairs, towards their destination, he said. “Sofia, speaking your mind is one of the many gifts you give me. Please don’t stop. Now or ever.”
“The carpet rule is ridiculous.” Sofia blurted.
“Done. And…?” Marcus asked, hoping she would share what was really bothering her.
“And I don’t want palace-wide mandates issued about me.”
Ah, the memo. A few maids curtseyed at them, and Marcus inclined his head as they passed by. Yesterday, he’d thought having Burton send a memo palace wide that the princess consort wasn’t to be disturbed in the morning had seemed like a reasonable safeguard to reinforce his support that she keep a small part of each day for herself.
But apparently, she’d seen the memo and didn’t agree.
“Too much?” He asked, and was rewarded with the hint of a smile playing across her lips before she responded.
“Waaaaay too much. I am… learning to accept there isn’t much privacy in your royal fishbowl. And to an extent, I understand it. But I don’t want to worry that I’ll see bullet points from a private conversation with my husband in an official palace-wide memo afterwards.”
A thrill ran through him at her words.
It was the first time she’d claimed him as her husband. It delighted and encouraged him.
“Duly noted. It won’t happen again.” Marcus promised. “I’m new to protecting someone I… care about. Forgive me?”
Sofia nodded; her cheeks flushed. Was it because he’d almost slipped and professed how he really felt? Was it possible that she might be starting to feel the same?
Marcus contemplated whether Sofia knew she chewed on her lower lip when she pondered. He doubted it. And the last thing he was going to do was point it out for fear of making her self-conscious. Because it was adorable.
He drew her nearer to him as they kept strolling and asked. “What else?”
“The advent ball on Sunday.”
“Are we cancelling that too?” Marcus teased, and she laughed.
“Hardly. But Ava’s Angels puts on their own version of celebrations for the children. I was hoping we could visit them before the other duties.” Sofia stated.
“Burton?” Marcus called out and waited for his secretary to catch up to them.
“Yes, sir?”
“What time does Ava’s advent celebration start?”
“I’d have to check, sir.”
“The princess consort and I are going to attend.” Marcus held up his hand, halting the man’s rebuttal. “Work with their events coordinator to adjust their start time if needed. Make what trims you can to our day to find the time.”
“Sir, your investiture—”
“I understand it won’t be easy to arrange with the ceremony, but I have every confidence that you will accomplish it. And please make a note in the annual calendar that we will attend Ava’s Advent Celebration moving forward.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Burton reluctantly palmed his tablet and started typing.
Marcus didn’t envy the amount of shuffling ahead of his secretary, but they all had their jobs to do. His own had expanded to include the duties of a husband.
His father may have died believing his son was a failure, but Marcus had promised himself that Sofia would never have cause to think the same. He was committed to prioritizing his wife. And anyone who wished to work for him needed to adjust to doing the same.
Sofia’s instant elation was infectious. And Marcus found himself looking forward to celebrating with the children before the royal pageantry began. While also wondering why he hadn’t thought of it himself. Probably because the fight to get funding for the center had felt like all he could get away with. An inkling of a childhood memory, long buried, prompted another idea.
“Vance, the princess consort and I would like to visit the Christmas market this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir.” Sofia’s head of detail spoke into his earpiece, his murmured tones communicating an extra team of protection would be needed later.
Marcus looked at Sofia and found it almost impossible to ignore the urge to lean down and kiss the forehead-frown that had reappeared. Distracting himself, he asked. “No shopping?”
She shook her head. “Not my favorite.”
“Ah, but have you ever shopped with your hands warmed by a cup of mulled wine while you take in the charm of Ducklenburge’s town square and artisans?”
“No, but—”
“Or had a prince’s personal funds to purchase all the children’s gifts your heart could desire?”
Marcus saw the moment she understood his meaning because her sunshine smile was back. Her body radiated excitement. “I might like that kind of shopping.”
“I look forward to finding out.” He’d navigated them down another stairwell and across another hallway before he stopped.
“Your meeting is in the kitchen?” Sofia asked.
“A very important one.” Marcus affirmed. “With my wife.”
“You remembered...” Sofia’s words were soft, pleased. And Marcus was glad he hadn’t let anyone sway him from the day he had planned with her.
Maybe the secret to ruling well would be to remember to live well, too.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now.” Marcus assured and Sofia leaned into him, content. “Even if I am about to embarrass myself with my lack of culinary skills.”
She chuckled. “Don’t tell me. You really disappeared this week to brush up on your cooking chops.”
He held the door open and motioned for her to walk ahead of him. A protocol he kept breaking. But he enjoyed the opportunity to place his hand at the small of her back. And to admire the view.
“I could tell you that, but I’d rather say… surprise.”
As they entered the kitchen, a resounding, “Happy Thanksgiving!” greeted them as the Truit family emerged from behind island counters that had concealed them.
When Sofia turned to Marcus, the astonishment in her regard made him feel invincible. “You don’t do things by halves, do you, prince?”
“Not when it pertains to you.”
**\*
SOFIA
Sofia was grateful that the Truit hug-a-bug that ensued gave her an excuse for the sheen of tears that clouded her sight.
Within the football-like huddle of her mom, her dad, Fred, George, and Grace, Sofia let out a small sob-laugh. “Hey mom, hey dad.”
Her dad squeezed her shoulder, and her mom kissed the top of her head. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“What are we—” Fred asked, and George finished. “Chopped liver?”
“Please, you’re not that fancy. Can of SPAM, maybe?” Sofia countered and got a half-hearted noogie from Fred as he declared. “Watch it… I like SPAM.”
“Oh, we know.” Grace made a face of disgust and ducked away from Fred’s attempt to give her a noogie too.
“We’re fancy enough to ride in the private jet that was sent for us.” George quipped. With a surreptitious look at Marcus, he lowered his voice. “So, are we supposed to like kiss a ring or something?”
Eloise had entered the kitchen during the Truit reunion and was now by Marcus’s side. The Abdiel cousins observed her family politely from a distance. Formality etched in Marcus’s stiff posture, but she sensed his underlying longing. Glimpsed the uncertain, lonely boy she’d first met on the playground.
Not when it pertains to you.
Her heart overflowed with gratitude and Sofia left the hug-a-bug to join Marcus. A question in her gaze. His arm automatically lifted, and she took her place at his side. When his arm settled around her shoulder, she marveled at the sense of rightness she felt standing next to him.
Just like their hug moments ago, Sofia felt a current of anticipation run through her. But it was the vulnerability masked in his gaze that snagged her heart.
As her arm naturally settled around his waist, she prayed. Please help him feel welcomed by my family, Lord. Please help us give him a day of belonging.
“Marcus, this is my mom and my dad…”
“Mrs. Truit, it’s an honor to meet you.” Marcus bowed his head over her mom’s hand, but her southern momma was having none of it and reached up to pull him into a hug.
Eloise’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under her bangs, but Marcus responded to the maternal embrace by awkwardly patting her mom’s back once. Then twice.
“Momma Truit or Marie will be just fine. Wouldn’t have felt like Thanksgiving without all our children. Thank you for arranging this trip.”
“It was my pleasure, Mrs.—Marie.” Marcus responded. Sofia didn’t miss his small swallow of emotion before he turned to offer his hand to her dad. “Mr. Truit, sir.”
Her dad assessed Marcus before shaking his hand. “It’s Jim. Good to see you again, son.”
Marcus’s jaw clenched momentarily, then relaxed as he gave a tight nod. “Welcome to Ducklenburge. I hope you and your family will be most comfortable here.”
The twins were next. Now out of the huddle, Sofia realized her brothers were playing their favorite game: Guess Who? She rolled her eyes at their identical hoodies and jeans, and the way George’s normally spiked hair was gel-free to match Fred’s no-maintenance short curls.
“This is George,” Sofia said, heading off her brothers’ fun. “He has a scar above his right eye from an errant block throw when we were kids.”
“Spoil sport.” George grumbled as he tried to flatten a curl to hide the scar. “You didn’t even let him guess.”
“And that’s Fred. No matter how hard he scrubs, he can never get all the grease off.”
Fred lifted his hands in apologetic surrender, displaying the smudge of black residue permanently etched into the creases of his palms. “Occupational hazard of a mechanic.”
Marcus shook hands with both of her brothers. “Which one of you fixed my glasses?”
“That would be me, but looks like I won’t need those skills on this trip.” Fred answered.
“No. Father ordered LASIK for me as soon as I turned eighteen.” Marcus grimaced and, not for the first time, Sofia worried over whether he was aware of the anger that laced his words whenever he mentioned the late Crown Prince Thomas.
Left unchecked, resentment could fester and poison its host. And she didn’t want that for him. Lord, help him find forgiveness and peace, please— George interrupted her silent prayer, stepping in to fill the awkward silence that filled the kitchen following Marcus's remark. “I’ve never gotten over the smell of my eyeballs burning when they did mine.”
“Actually, there’s no heat involved. You smelled the carbon atoms released from the effect of the ultraviolet light vaporizing the tissue.” Eloise supplied, drawing both twins’ attention to her and, Sofia observed, a bit of their admiration as well. “Your eyeballs weren’t burning.”
“And this is Eloise. Marcus’s cousin, once removed or something.” Sofia said, introducing her to the Truit family.
“Hellooooo….” George started and Fred finished. “Nurrrsseee.”
Eloise giggled. Which quickly turned into laughter when Grace swatted their brothers and reprimanded. “No. Absolutely not. Eloise is a friend.”
“Alright kids,” Her dad intervened, with a nod to the protection officers stationed at the doorway. “We’re on a tight schedule and this meal isn’t going to cook itself.”
George and Fred nodded, but the glimmer in their eyes as they continued to give Eloise long looks informed Sofia that meal prep would be interesting.
Answering Marcus’s silent question, she whispered. “Let’s just say they could talk bees into buying honey… and there’s a no-fly rule on our friends.”
Marcus chuckled until her mom handed him an apron, asserting, “The turkeys and hams are already in the oven. Girls, you’re on green bean casserole and stuffing. Eloise, I heard you wanted to handle the sweet potato casserole?”
Eloise nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “If that’s alright.”
“That’s wonderful dear. Fred always burns it.” Her mom responded. “Boys, you’re all on potato peeling duty—”
“Wait, that’s my job.” Their dad interjected.
“You’re with me on gravy and pies this year, honey.” Their mom stated as she tilted her head up for a kiss, which her husband lovingly supplied.
The Truit children mock groaned, but their parents had never hidden their affection for each other, something that Sofia and her siblings outwardly teased but inwardly appreciated. It had always given them a sense of stability growing up, that their parents were deeply in love and unapologetic about showing it.
Grace broke the moment by stretching her hand out. “Truit Thanksgiving on three…”
Fred and George grumbled good-naturedly while they stacked their hands on top of hers. Sofia’s parents and Eloise followed suit, but Marcus hesitated.
“If we’re doing this thing, I’m not the only one marrying into a family.” Sofia teased Marcus as she placed her hand on the pile. “Think an Abdiel can keep up with the Truits?”
Marcus flashed a grin at her and put his hand in. “Truit-Abdiel Thanksgiving on three…”
“One. Two. Three!”
When the hand stack broke, George shouted. “Last one to finish peeling potatoes does the dishes!”
Then he and Fred charged the potato pile, wrestling for the sweet potatoes.
Grace rolled her eyes while Eloise blushed becomingly, and Sofia tossed a russet potato to Marcus. “They’re not joking. You better start peeling, prince.”
With resolve in his actions, Marcus grabbed the peeler and got to work. Apparently, determined to do whatever it took to be accepted into this brood… and to avoid the dreaded dishes certain to be piled high by the time they were done.
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