Chapter 813 - 365: Riven’s Heart!_3

Chapter 813: Chapter 365: Riven’s Heart!_3

She seemed to recall something, and her voice softened: "Riven, do you remember? When you were a child in Oslo, you loved the Norwegian fish ball soup your grandmother made the most."

Upon hearing the word "grandmother," the chopsticks holding a fish ball paused in midair.

The smile on her face gradually faded, and after a moment of silence, she replied softly, "...Yes, I remember."

Those two brief words seemed to span an insurmountable distance.

Yet the Crown Princess Mette did not stop; she seemed to be caught in a vortex of memories, speaking on, as if talking to Riven and also to herself.

"Back then, the winter in Oslo always had heavy snowfall, and the whole world was white. Grandmother’s kitchen was the warmest place in the entire manor."

"She would always wear her white apron, standing at the stove, using a large copper pot to slowly simmer a broth made from cod bones and milk."

Her voice was distant yet vividly picturesque: "She would remove the freshest cod meat, and with a wooden grinder, she would slowly grind the fish into a paste."

"At that time, you were only four or five years old, small in stature, always moving a little stool to sit by the kitchen door, watching eagerly."

"Grandmother would pinch a small ball of fish paste for you, letting you mimic her, using your hands to roll it into a round ball. Your hands were always sticky, but you smiled with such happiness."

Mike silently drank his drink on the side, without interjecting. These stories, he had only heard in snippets from past letters.

"Grandmother’s fish ball soup was nothing like this." Mette looked at the bright red pot before her.

"Her soup was pure white, like snow. It was seasoned with cardamom powder and fresh dill, tasting very clean and mild."

"After the fish balls were cooked, she would pair them with boiled potatoes and carrots, and drizzle a spoonful of melted butter over them. Each time, you could finish a large plate."

"Then, with your round little belly, you would adorably run to the fireplace, asking grandmother to tell you stories of Nordic Myths. Stories of Sol’s hammer, of Rocky’s pranks..."

At this point, the Crown Princess Mette’s voice choked slightly. Looking at her daughter, whose blue eyes were filled with deep sorrow and longing.

"You were six years old when grandmother passed away. We didn’t tell you, just said she had gone on a long journey..."

"Later, you asked me more than once, when grandmother would come back to make fish ball soup for you..."

"Stop it."

Riven suddenly spoke, interrupting her. Her voice wasn’t loud, yet it was like ice, instantly freezing all the warmth in the kitchen.

She kept her head down, her shoulder-length hair covering her face, hiding her expression. All that was visible was her hand tightly gripping the chopsticks, her knuckles slightly whitening from the pressure.

"It’s all in the past." She repeated herself, as if trying to convince herself.

She lifted her head, her face now displaying that hardened and indifferent expression again, even forcing a smile, though it looked more painful than crying.

She picked up a fish ball, put it in her mouth, and chewed heavily, as if trying to swallow all the sadness swelling up inside her.

Lin Yu’an felt the suffocating atmosphere. He finally understood that Riven’s resistance to Norway perhaps wasn’t just because of her mother’s departure.

It was more because that place held the burial of the warmest, most carefree memories of her childhood.

Her grandmother’s passing might be the true reason that "Ice Castle" began to turn cold.

He used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of corn soaked in broth and put it in Mette’s bowl, smiling as he changed the subject: "Riven, try this; the corn from the Bahamas is particularly sweet."

The dinner atmosphere progressed slowly in this continual probing, the unveiling of scars, and awkward maintenance.

Food became the only bridge between them, bearing the past they could not return to, and mirroring the impossible-to-cross distance at that moment.

After dinner, Riven and Lin Yu’an went to the captain’s cabin to discuss the next leg of the voyage.

The deck space was deliberately left for this pair of former spouses who hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

The night was as dark as ink, but the starlight was brilliant.

Mike and Mette each held a glass of whiskey, the waves gently lapping against the hull, with the hustle and bustle of the distant dock carried far by the sea breeze.

"Is he outstanding?" The Crown Princess Mette broke the silence first, her gaze directed at the lit window of the captain’s cabin.

Mike took a sip of his drink, "Very outstanding. Calm, strong, wise, and he knows how to take care of people; he’s very considerate."

"I checked him out this afternoon." Mette Crown Princess Consort’s voice was very calm, like stating a fact.

"The champion of ’Alone in the Wilderness,’ owner of Giant Stone River Farm, quite wealthy."

"More importantly, he carries something Riven has been searching for—a sense of freedom that has broken away from all constraints."

She paused, turned her head to Mike, and asked the core question: "So, what do you plan to do about it?"

"Do about what?" Mike frowned.

"Don’t play dumb, Mike." Mette’s gaze became sharp.

"I know my own daughter; the way she looks at that guy is the same way you looked at this boat the first time you saw it. That kind of light can’t be hidden."

She took a sip of her drink and slowly said: "I know he’s married, and the situation is complicated, but so what?"

"Married people can also divorce. If it’s unsuitable, separating is a relief for both, just like us."