CHAPTER TWELVE
King Erik
Olav has been with Glen all afternoon, instructing him in heaven knows what. When Glen and Max appear for dinner, they both look slightly more ill at ease than normal. Max is wearing a suit that used to belong to Anders, and he keeps running his little fingers over his tie knot.
Cutlery clinks and scrapes, filling the dining room. Normally, I’m attempting awkward conversation with Anders while footmen look on. Now, I’m attempting awkward conversation with Anders, Glen, and Max while the footmen look on.
Perhaps the problem is me.
I’m the constant. It’s simple algebra.
Christmas garlands drape from the ceiling, and candlelight flickers from long ruby-colored candles. Glen and Max send wide-eyed glances at the tall, coffered ceiling.
My stomach tightens, and even though the steak knives are the highest quality, they feel ineffective, as if someone swapped them with butter knives.
I want Glen and Max to enjoy themselves, but both Glen and Max look uneasy. I wonder what Olav told him on their etiquette lesson, and I vow to tell Olav to clear my schedule, so I’m available to supervise my guests.
Max frowns at me, and I stiffen. A piece of steak falls from my fork.
“You have a lovely castle,” Glen says hastily.
“Thank you.”
Another awkward silence ensues.
“Why are we here?” Max asks.
“Max!” Glen exclaims.
“I invited your father and you to Solberg to celebrate Christmas with Anders and me.”
Max rises, his chair scraping the stone floor. “May I please be excused?”
Glen sighs. “Yes, Max.”
Max patters out of the room, and Glen turns to me with a tight smile. “I’m sorry.”
I wave my hand in a lofty manner. “No need. We’re all jetlagged. Anders was grumpy today too.”
Anders eyes round, then he places his napkin on his plate. “May I please be excused?”
I inhale.
Anders never asks to be excused. Normally he sits opposite me, sullen and sad.
“You may,” I say.
Anders gives a curt nod, then leaves.
“See, everyone is tired,” I tell Glen.
Glen gives a weak laugh. He glances down at his empty plate. “Guess I better read some of those Norwegian textbooks Olav gave me.”
“I can help you.”
Glen’s eyes soften, then he shakes his head.
“Don’t want to waste your time.” Glen stands. “See you later, Your Majesty.”
I blink. “Goodnight.”
Glen leaves the room. I watch him go. His shoulders are tight, his stride quick, maybe because of his natural athleticism... or maybe because he’s in a hurry.
My throat constricts, and I avoid eye contact with my footmen.
This is what I feared.
A servant arrives shortly after, carrying a platter in his hand. “Your Majesty. I have the almond cake you requested.”
He pauses, noticing the empty dining room.
“Don’t worry, Knut,” I say. “We’ll have that tomorrow for lunch. Please apologize to Cook for making him bake it at such short notice.”
I leave the dining room, the back of my neck hot.
I walk alone in the hallway. And even though I’m used to being alone, ever since Sissel passed and Anders became reclusive, my chest hurts.
I frown, then have an idea.
I turn to a corridor I seldom venture down, then knock on a door before I can talk myself out of it.
Max swings the door open.
“I suppose you want to talk, man to man. You better come in.” Max ushers me inside his suite to a set of armchairs. I haven’t been in this room in a while. I’m glad my staff decorated it for Christmas. Max gestures for me to take a seat. “Would you like a drink?”
“Please.”
Max plonks down two glasses on the tiny coffee table. “I have water with bubbles and water without bubbles.”
“With bubbles, please.”
“You’re strange. Who puts bubbles in their drink?”
“We’re pretty strange here.”
Max slips from the armchair. He struggles to reach the water bottles from the cabinet, and I make a note to tell my staff later. Finally, he lugs two water bottles to the coffee table. He tries to open the bottle with bubbles but struggles.
“Want me to open it?”
“If you insist,” Max says generously.
I take the bottle and open it. I pour myself water, then open the bottle of still water and pour it for Max.
Max climbs into his armchair. It takes him a while. Finally, he folds his arms against his chest and scowls. “You may speak.”
“Thank you for coming here with your dad. I know it’s difficult. We’re rather removed from Nevada.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“No?”
“I like traveling. We traveled before, you know. I’ve been to five states.”
“Wow.”
Max shrugs, pleased.
“I also like traveling. I like you too. And your father.”
“My aunt made my dad go on a date last year. He cried when he got back. He pretended he didn’t, but he did. I saw.”
“I don’t want him to cry.”
“You better not. I know where you keep your weapons.”
“I suppose they are rather on display,” I admit. Olav must have taken them through the armory.
“I guess I could have another friend,” Max says finally.
Something in my chest loosens. “I’d like that.”
“And if you mess up, I have access to an iron flail.”