The Harvest Homecoming

2. Chapter One

Chapter One

“Are you sure, Harold?”

I pulled my attention from my face in my hairstylist’s mirror to look at Gus.

His amber eyes locked with mine. He’d told me he wore colorful contacts to match his moods.

Handsomest hairstylist in all of Oslo, I liked to say.

Stunning man Gustav Bakken. Dark, robust, possessed of skilled fingers that could tease a hairdo and a man into a state of bliss.

I’d learned after a few tumbles in his bed several years ago.

Somehow I’d let him go as a lover—something that I seemed to be prone to do—but I’d clung to him tightly as a stylist and a dear friend.

He plucked a dark curl from my head, then let it spring back.

“I’m sure.”

“What you’re looking for is drastic.”

“I know,” I replied, sitting upright in one of four exquisite salon chairs in the entire salon.

Gus was extremely finicky about whose hair he styled.

He only accepted the cream of European society into his tiny shop facing the grounds that housed the royal palace.

Lovely place filled with lovely monarchs.

Friends of my parents, mostly, but kind enough to her boys, as my mother liked to call her sons.

He rested his long fingers atop my curls, his brow furrowing. Chatter from the waiting area blended into a playlist of alternative rock bands from Norway as he studied me like an amoeba on a slide.

“Harold, what you’re asking for is drastic.”

“You said that already,” I reminded him, the collar of the soft gold cape—changed seasonally from pink to green, then gold, and then winter white because Gus was just that way—tied around my neck was beginning to itch.

I felt the need to give it a yank but left my hands on my lap, hidden under the hairdressing cape where I could fidget with the royal ring on my right index finger.

All four of the Valdemar princes wore one or had one in their possession.

My younger brother Anders, now in the States with his beloved Mitchell and Mitchell’s daughter Gilda, had probably tucked his away because he’d given up the life of a royal to be obscure and in love.

Bearing the seal of ?stermon, it chafed occasionally. “I feel it’s time for a change.”

He sighed through his nose. “Does this have anything to do with your thirty-fifth birthday coming up soon?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Did I seek out a new Harold because the old one was getting…

dare I say it…old? Or was this growing unease with my life due to something else like maturing?

Gasp! My parents would love that. So naturally I pushed against it, but even with the rebellion against the restrictive ways of our country and the weight of a crown to keep me busy, there was a chasm in my life.

I hated to consider what that crevasse might be, but it had increased in size since Anders had gone back to the States nine months ago, leaving me the lone queer in the castle.

Even Rani had left, scurrying off to the UK to work with my sister-in-law, Lady Alva, as her personal assistant.

Truly, it fucking sucked not being able to glimpse him from time to time.

I’d let him slip through my fingers too, damn my foolish eyes.

“Do you want me to lie, or do you want the truth?” I asked and got a crinkle of his nose. “Fine, the truth. Of late, I feel as if the faster I drive, boat, run, or ride a horse, whatever it is that is pursuing me is not only keeping up but is damn close to overtaking me.”

“Are you speaking about reality or one of your abstract modern art dreams?” He ran his fingers through my hair as he spoke.

“That was one dream six years ago, Gustav.”

“Yes, but it was freaky. Who but you dreams of people he knows moving through the streets of Raivask as walking cube humans? It was very distressing when you told me about it the following morning.”

I will admit that was an unsettling dream. The good folk who lived in our nation’s capital did not in any way, shape, or form have two noses or mismatched eyes.

“That was only because we’d been to see that Picasso exhibit at Raivask Art Museum that night. Also, I may have indulged in a tiny little mushroom before going to bed.”

“Hmmm, yes, you and your indulgences.” He gave my scalp a good rub. “Are you positive, Harold? Straightening and lightening your hair will—”

“Be drastic. Yes, I know. Please, let’s do it. I think that it may do me good to be a new Harold for a while. If I hate it, I’ll just wear a wig until it grows out.”

“As you wish.” He gave my head a pat. “We’ll lighten first, then in a week or so you can come back to straighten. You’re staying in your apartment by the Akersalva so you can skip over when it’s time. No, do not bicker with me. You may be the prince, but I’m the ruler in this salon.”

Guess he told me.

My chair spun, and I was tipped back for a spray.

Staring at the ceiling of Kron Tress, I let out a long breath as Gus began wetting my hair while gossiping about the newest scandal in the British royal family.

I’d read about it online this morning. Not to be a shit, but it was nice to see someone else with regal blood being lambasted by the press for a change.

Petty? Surely. But honest. I rather prided myself on my honesty of late.

Papa hated it. Mama cringed over it. The rather conservative palace PR department winced every time I spoke out about being bisexual.

No more hiding for the queer princes of ?stermon.

Those days were long gone. Some things deserved to stay in the past. Some people not so much…