I see now where Ström gets all his cheeky, impudent ways, as siblings and uncles tease each other with a finger of mashed potatoes to a nose, or a pat of butter hidden on a neighbor’s seat. It’s all laughter and fun; though some here are dressed regally like Ström’s grandmother, most wear only modern, casual suits and spring dresses to have dinner with the family.
It makes me feel overdressed in my chic cocktail dress and black lace heels; Bjorn is even more so, wearing a dark navy suit tonight with a black tie, his short golden beard neatly trimmed and his massive waves of golden hair corralled up into a neat man bun.
Ström apparently knew the occasion better than we did; wearing a charcoal blue suit jacket and jeans, a fitted black turtleneck shirt on beneath, his only decoration tonight is a lovely gold Rolex at his wrist and an ornate silver and gold dragon-ring with a sparkling emerald in it.
A perfect match to his eyes.
“So, Rikyava! Tell us how you and Ström met.” The Jarl turns to me now as he eats, roguishness sparkling in his green eyes as he peers at me.
I know we’re in for it now, as Ström finishes a bite of roast boar and levels his fork at his great-grandfather. “You know how we met, grandfather. I’ve told you that story a dozen times.”
“Yes, but has the entire family heard it?” Jarl Jorg’s clever eyes glitter at his great-grandson as he takes a bite of mashed potatoes with lingonberry sauce.
“I want to hear it!” Mathilde’s voice cuts through the general din as she calls down the table now, bright and full of mischief. Her blue eyes twinkle as she leans in to see me around all the aunties, giving me a wink. “I officially got to meet Rikyava first, and she’s awesome.”
“You were not supposed to be serving at that restaurant that night, and you know it, Tilde.” Ström laughs now as he takes a bite of pickled herring, grinning.
“Hey, I quit that job.” She waves her fork at him. “The manager was an asshole, anyway. Now I work at a bar. Father can suck it.”
Ström laughs, and his great-grandfather only chuckles as he eats. “The tempest will do as she will,” the Jarl says with affection as he winks down the table at Mathilde. “My grandson Andreas tries too hard to contain the storm of passion that lives in those veins. But Rikyava—let us hear the story of how you and Ström met.”
“Well, we were both in the Kingsguard at the time. This would be about… forty years ago? I had just transferred in from the Blood Dragon Military and been assigned as a Lieutenant in the Palace Investigations Division.” I recall it, though I glance at Bjorn, because this isn’t a story he knows yet. I wonder if it’ll make him jealous, but Bjorn only watches me with a kind of candid curiosity now as he takes a forkful of kroppkakor dumplings.
Wanting to hear this story as much as everyone else.
“What does the Palace Investigations Division do?” Mathilde calls down the table again, the youngest member of the family and probably not much acquainted with the Grand Palace in Stockholm.
“They investigate magical crimes in the palace and upon palace personnel, also in the greater King’s City of Stockholm,” I say, filling her in. “We’re like magical detectives for the King, throughout the palace and the city.”
“Cool.” Mathilde takes a bite of food, rapt as she listens.
“Rikyava and I had just been assigned to the same unit.” Ström picks up the tale now as he glances at me from across the table. “I was already a Lieutenant, but she had just made the rank; her magic and mine both had an affinity for magical sleuthing, so the Sergeant made us partners.”
“Our first case together was a cursed object that had shown up at the palace.” I nod, taking a bite of meatballs and thinking back. “It had stricken six palace cooks and five dishwashers with a three-day blindness; we discovered it was a silver spoon that someone had found and started tasting the soups with. We traced its origin and found it came from a little-used vault of extra silver cookware that no one had used in centuries. Ström and I investigated the vault, and found, what? Thirteen cursed pieces of silverware? Quite a lot… probably intended to harm someone at the time those items were still in use centuries ago.”
“See no evil.” Jarl Jorg nods as he listens. “It was a popular tactic, maybe five hundred years ago, to curse cooks with temporary blindness so they wouldn’t see poison being dumped into a dish.”
“We cleared them all out and tested the rest of the silver items in that storage cache for curses. Everything else was clean.” Ström smiles at me. Though the hot glimmer in his eyes says far more about what we discovered back then.
And have been discovering about each other, ever since.
“Boooooring!” Mathilde calls down the table now as she boos at us. Several uncles laugh, someone shouting, “Tell us the real tale!” as Ström’s family all grins.
As I raise an eyebrow, Ström gives me a subtle grin, too. I’m suddenly fretting, though, as I debate how much to say in front of Ström’s copious family.
But he doesn’t care—diving right in.
“I was dumbstruck the moment I first saw Rikyava.” Ström regards me from across the table, a haunting but incredible smile on his lips as he watches me. “You must recall, she was the King’s niece; I was a nobody back then, not even Jarl-Heir yet, since grandfather was still alive, after my brother died. But there I was, just shucking my Kingsguard uniform down in the guard hall after a long day of drills and sparring. I was about to step into the hot pools and have a good soak, when in strides the King’s niece, bold as fuck with six buckles of her Kingsguard leathers already undone. She eyeballs me—I’m totally naked, by the way, with a towel around my neck—then she shucks her own jerkin, undershirt, boots, and pants, sticking out her hand. So I’m nude, she’s naked too, now, and I’m just staring at her in complete disarray as everything inside me goes haywire from this impossibly gorgeous noble drakaina juststriding right up to me and getting buck-ass naked. Then offering to shake my hand.”
“Hey, I felt it was unfair for our first introduction to happen when you were naked and I wasn’t.” A blush hits my cheeks as I take a deep swig of mead. “I wanted us to meet as equals.”
“I appreciate that.” Ström laughs as he lifts his own tankard at me. “It completely fried my circuits, though. And gave me a raging erection to boot. Somewhat embarrassing, when we were about to become partners, but didn’t know each other yet.”
“I stand by my decision,” I say as the table erupts into laughter, making my face redden more. “I didn’t want you to see me as someone above you, or untouchable, as the King’s niece and Hög Skjaldmær for our Lineage.”
“Oh, I got to see everything of who you were,” Ström says with a disastrously hot chuckle now as his green eyes devour me. “And as for touchable… yes, please.”
“You get to touch her now, ha! Good thing you two are life-mates, or our King might kick your ass!” A laughing baritone voice calls from down the table. I see it’s one of Ström’s uncles. A larger man than most, with a jolly face and flyaway tawny hair, he lifts a tankard of mead. “Good on you, Ström, for locking up the King’s niece!”
