CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
King Erik
The fireplace does its crackling thing, and flames attack the logs in their customary violent manner. How have I never noticed how brutal they were before? The orange fire overwhelms a log until it blackens, then simply disintegrates.
“Father!” Anders marches toward me, and I jerk my gaze toward him.
The glare of the sun makes me blink. So does his expression.
He’s never looked more like a Viking.
His blue-grey eyes look like the ocean on a particularly stormy day, when everyone who sails on it is confident it’s going to do its best to drown each one of them, or at least make the captain reconsider his career path and contemplate the merits of joining a monastery.
“I just said goodbye to Glen and Max. Where were you?” Anders bellows.
I frown. I don’t appreciate Anders acting like I’m not devastated.
“I didn’t want to make things sadder,” I say. “Or give shots to the paparazzi.”
“You’re letting him go.”
“We were only going to be a short-term thing.”
“But now you know him. Now you love him.”
I draw back. Anders’ eyes remain narrow, and he crosses his arms.
The word love echoes through the air.
Glen is gone. Glen left and I didn’t even say goodbye.
“You didn’t deny it,” Anders says.
“I—” I consider lying. My shoulders slump instead. “I can’t.”
“Oh, Father.” Anders shakes his head like I’m a toddler who’s smeared food over my face, and he pulls me into his arms. “Is love such a terrible thing?”
“It’s too fast to love him. It’s not possible.”
“Love only occurs after six months of dating?” He cocks his head. “You’re not feeling an ache in your chest?”
“Well...” I touch my chest. It does ache. But sometimes life is difficult. Sometimes life isn’t fair. “I can handle the pain.”
“I suppose you don’t think he’s appropriate.” Anders’ tone is lighter than before, and he shrugs, all nonchalance. “He’s not rich. He has a child. He’s... a cowboy.”
“Those aren’t problems! I raised you better than that.”
“You’re right. You did.” His eyes sparkle like a fish has just swum into his net.
“I didn’t realize how much you’ve grown. I’m sorry.”
“Have a conversation with him,” Anders presses.
Hope gleams through my son’s eyes. I didn’t think I would see him interested in anything.
“Have a conversation with him, Father.”
I don’t want to meet Anders’ eyes. I’m not willing to see disappointment. “I can’t confuse the population more. Anything with me has to be serious. His home isn’t here.”
“Maybe his new home can be.”
“I let him go. He’s going back to Nevada. I won’t see him again.” My chest aches, like someone has shot a cannon from the courtyard through my heart.
“Never.” Anders’ voice is firm. “He lives on the other side of the world. You’ll never see him again. Never.”
My hands tremble, and the world is liquid. “I let him go.”
“Talk to him, Father.”
“Right. Right.” I press a button on my watch, then Olav glides in.
“Your Majesty?”
“I need to go to the airport.” I try to look my most authoritative.
Olav’s eyebrows leap up, then he’s all cool composure. “Impossible, Your Majesty. The paparazzi are at the gates. You must not worsen the scandal.”
I grasp hold of the back of a chair. The rungs crease my skin. “Glen is important to me.”
He blinks. “But you said—” He swallows hard. “After the kiss, you told me it was pretend.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh.” His eyes round. “In that case, the e-mail...”
“Was uncalled for.”
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t know.”
“Just get me a flight to Nevada.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
My grip on the chair loosens.
Olav scrolls through his phone. “You have time in seven weeks.”
Seven weeks? That’s ages from now.
“That’s too late!” Anders exclaims.
I bite my lower lip. “Please arrange the trip to Nevada in seven weeks, Olav.”
“But—he’ll be sad in between! He’ll think you don’t care! He’ll hate you if you show up so late!” Anders throws his arms around, and his voice has a pleading edge I despise.
“Please leave us alone, Olav.”
Olav scurries from the room.
“You love him.” Anders glowers at me with the force of the medieval kings who founded Solberg and refused to give it to Norway or Sweden or Denmark for centuries.
“I do,” I say, and something in my chest loosens.
I love him.
The words should be painful. I’m not supposed to love anyone except Sissel or Anders or my people or my country...
But I love him.
I do.
I lean closer to Anders and lower my voice. “That’s why I had to send Olav away. Olav’s priority is Solberg. But though I’m a king, I’m also a man. A man in love.”
When I step back, Anders looks stunned. “Wow.”
“Sentimental enough?” I grin.
Giddiness has overtaken my nerves, and I can barely keep from laughing.
I love him. I’m in love.
“I like it,” Anders says, nearly giggling too.
“Tell me how to leave the castle without drawing the attention of Sven and his crew.”
Anders’ eyebrows draw together. “I’ve never left the castle unauthorized.”
“Oh.” I shift my legs. “I haven’t either. Naturally. Safety is important, and Sven does not approve of anyone breaking from their rooms.”
He nods.
“I think I know a way.” I head from the drawing room.
“Wait!” Anders calls.
I turn to him.
“You need a present.” He takes on a dreamy look. “A flower will do.”
“Glen loves Christmas. Grab that mistletoe! And maybe...” My gaze catches on the Christmas tree, and I grin.
“Why are you staring at the Christmas tree? Do you want to bring him an ornament? There’s a bear with a heart on it.”
I laugh. “He’ll think of Gunnhild. I have a better idea.”
I march to the tree, bend down, and rescue it from its skirt.
“Father?” Anders asks. “What are you doing?”
I lift the tree up. “Grab the other end, Anders.”
“Seriously?”
“A man needs a gift.”
Anders and I carry the Christmas tree through the hallway. Perhaps we bump into the occasional expensive-looking side table or chair. That’s on my ancestors for not making the hallway sufficiently wide for both the display of one’s expensive taste in furniture and tree lugging.
I knock into another sideboard. “Oops!”
“When you said present, I wasn’t implying you bring this.”
“I want to make him smile.” My face sobers. “What if I’m too late? Or worse—what if I’ve misunderstood everything?”
“You’ll make him smile.”
I nod. I want Anders to tell me that Glen cares about me too. But that’s up to Glen’s feelings, and Anders can’t speak for him.
I tighten my grip on the tree and lengthen my strides.
“Your Majesty!” A stern alto voice rings through the corridor. “What are you doing?”
Anders freezes and turns to me wide-eyed. Gunnhild marches toward us.
“Giving my son some Christmas cheer,” I lie. “We’re putting this in his room.”
Gunnhild frowns. I haven’t lied to her since I was a teenager. I hope she’s forgotten my tells. “It looked perfect in the drawing room.”
“Next Christmas, order a Christmas tree for each room!”
Her eyes round. “You do appreciate Christmas more.”
“It’s the merriest, jolliest season of them all,” I say, and she nods happily.
She walks past us, no doubt to record my new Christmas tree count preferences.
Anders and I continue carrying the tree. We come to Anders’ room.
“Open the door.”
“Fine.” Anders lets me in, then turns back to me. “This is unhinged.”
“This is romance.”
We march through his bedroom, bed made, video game console in the corner.
I put down my side of the tree. I throw open the window to the snowy countryside, like I used to do when I was his age, like I did when this was my room. “Ta da.”
“That’s your big idea?”
“This room is on the ground floor.”
“You want to escape?” Anders slips away, then returns with his Nintendo Switch.
“What’s that for?”
“In case your wooing is boring.”
I shrug, push the Christmas tree out the window, then jump after it. Anders follows.
I stretch my arms and gaze at the sky, no longer obstructed by ceilings, and not in the presence of any security. I’m free. “We escaped the fortress!”
“Be quiet,” Anders hushes me. “The guards will hear.”
I turn to him. “Is there a bus?”
“On Christmas Day?” Anders frowns. “No.”
My shoulders slump. This isn’t going to work. We left the castle, but we need to get to the airport. Glen and Max’s flight will leave.
“Maybe we should tell Sven to bring us to the airport,” Anders says gently.
“By the time he has the route secured, the plane will be gone. I need to get there now.”
“Where would we find people hanging around the castle with cars?”
I stare at my son. “You’re a genius, Anders! Come! Don’t forget the tree!”
“Father?”
I laugh, then hurry to a small, unobtrusive car on the other side of the gate.
“Father! Don’t go there!” Anders calls after me.
Shutters click, and the world is yellow.
“That car belongs to the paparazzi,” Anders whispers.
“I know, Anders.”
I continue my march toward the car, clutching the tree.
“You’re not supposed to go there,” Anders whispers frantically.
The paparazzi seem to be in a similar state of disbelief. Both men wear black, as if that will make them blend into the seats.
I tap on the window, and they draw back.
“He’s going to yell at us!” one of the paparazzi exclaims. “He’s going to put us in the tower!”
“They don’t do that in Solberg.”
“Are you sure?”
I snort. “Open the door.”
“Do you think he heard us?” one paparazzo asks.
“I heard you,” I say.
“Should we open the door?” he asks his colleague.
I sigh. “Yes. I am in a huge hurry.”
The paparazzi open the door, and I grin.
This is going to work.
“Merry Christmas. I find myself in need of a ride to the airport.”
“Um...” The paparazzi exchange a mystified look. “Very well.”
“Hop in, Anders!” I say cheerfully. “I hope none of you are allergic to Christmas trees.”
The paparazzi shake their heads, and one of them gets out and helps me put the Christmas tree in the trunk, then ties the lid of the trunk down with a shoelace.
“Ingenious,” I tell him, and his cheeks pinken.
Anders and I are driven to the airport, the car smelling like stale peppermint mochas, then deposited at the front. We wave goodbye to the shocked paparazzi.
I head for the revolving doors, remember the tree, and open a narrow door beside them. We stumble inside, the Christmas tree barely fitting.
Holiday travelers drag wheeled suitcases, and the PA announces something.
Pine needles scatter across the polished floor, and everyone stares at us.
“Come on, old man,” Anders says, heading for a flickering board above us, as people murmur and raise their cellphones in our direction. “Let’s get you a happily ever after.”