Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
Amid the many, many messages of congratulations, there are a few other messages of note, aside from seemingly everyone I’ve ever met.
Mamma. Eddie. A refreshingly normal reminder for a dental appointment.
And, most significantly, Stef, who asks if I’m okay.
I stand in my kitchen with the charger plugged in, juicing up my phone.
I don’t want to see anyone tonight. Miles is here, and as promised, security services are outside my building and presumably up and down my street. My life—as I know it—is effectively over.
“H’llo?” Stef mumbles into the phone.
“Hey. I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize the time…”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’m awake,” he says thickly. “I swear.”
“Well, now you are.” Fuck, why is it such a relief to hear his voice on the phone? I feel a hell of a lot calmer than I have all afternoon. Today’s been a lot. And then some. But hearing Stef cheers me. Otherwise, I feel like I aged ten years in a day.
“I saw the news,” Stef says.
“Yeah. Me too. That’s how I found out. No, actually, James showed up and told me the news, then we watched the announcement.”
“Wait. Your family didn’t tell you?” Stef’s voice rises with incredulity. He’s very much awake now. “Ahead of the announcement?”
“Kind of my fault, actually. Kind of ignored my sister.”
“Wow. That’s hardball of her,” Stef marvels.
“Yeah, well. It’s a family trait.”
“What, denial? Noted.”
“No. I mean, I was thinking, err, hard balls. Never mind.” I swallow hard as Stef laughs, looking around my room. “I mean, very technically, she’s newly abdicated. Unofficially. And I will be proclaimed as the new King as soon as possible.”
“Wow.”
“And… I’m flying home tomorrow. To Copenhagen. To get ready.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
There’s a low mumbling in the background on the call.
The indistinct—but specific—sounds of another man.
And then Stef says something in Greek I don’t follow.
Instantly, I doom spiral. Another man? With Stefanos?
How much did this other man overhear, and oh my God, I think I might die for real right now, mortified—
“Who—who’s that?” I say breathlessly.
“Francois.”
Because of course he’ll speak Greek to a man named Francois.
Presumably in his bed, no less. Very fucking romantic.
As predicted. And I’m seriously annoyed with myself for not trying to woo Stef in a variety of languages, because that’s totally an option as a European royal.
Especially the romance languages, including Italian and Spanish.
Plus, I also speak Swedish. I can technically read and speak seven languages, some better than others.
I’ll totally add an eighth for Greek. And for the record, my French and German are fucking amazing, along with my English, and Danish is my mother tongue.
“I—I’ve got to go. Please—don’t say anything—” I blurt.
“Of course not. Wait—”
“Fucking hell.” I hang up, my hands trembling, heart pounding.
Whatever I expected, it wasn’t Stef with another man. Definitely not on my bingo card for this summer. Then again, neither was becoming the Danish King.
Arriving in Copenhagen, I’m whisked from the airport to Amalienborg Palace in record time, in a sleek car with a police escort, so quickly I’m sure my spleen is left behind somewhere in the air between London and here.
I hardly slept last night, which meant I gave bad dreams a miss, at least. I don’t even have time to acknowledge how out of sorts I am.
Thankfully, my security detail is doing all the thinking, and I’m letting myself be swept along. There’s clearly a set itinerary timed to the minute. The thought comes that I’d make an ideal kidnapping subject and just go with whatever’s going on, now that they have me.
Someone takes my bags on arrival, and it’s disconcerting that I don’t even need to carry them inside, as is my usual habit.
Instead, I try to make myself feel alert up in my old rooms, washing my face with ice-cold water.
There’s a moment where I scroll through my phone to look at the photo of Stef he sent recently, and I shake my head. If only I were living some other life.
After shutting off my phone again, I beeline to see Mamma in her office. Quite possibly, I’m frantic-looking by the time I knock on her door, the gravity of the situation fully thrown in my face. I’ve heard various versions of Your Majesty since landing, and I’m unraveling.
“Come in,” Mamma calls.
“It’s Theo.” I open the door and slip inside, shutting it. Then I hesitate just inside the threshold. “I’d say His Royal Highness Prince Theodor of Denmark, but that’s passé, I hear.”
“Yes.” Mamma gives me an appraising look. She takes off her reading glasses and sets them down next to her laptop with a certain gravitas. “It’s going to be His Majesty the King, Count of Oldenburg, I believe.”
I cough. “Business or pleasure?” I ask gamely, nodding at her computer.
“Mostly pleasure,” she confesses. “I took a break to work briefly on my novel.”
“Oh? How’s it going?”
“I’m writing a historical heist, so I’m enjoying myself.”
“Great. I mean, I guess it depends which side of the heist you’re on.” I swallow hard. Feels relevant. My hands sweat, and I rub them on my trousers.
Mamma gestures at the guest chair by the window. “Please sit, darling.”
“Where’s Freja? I thought she was supposed to be here. Or did she skip town already?”
“Of course she’s here. She will join us for lunch soon. She was just meeting with her—your—advisors for the handover.”
I swear, I feel all the blood drain from my face. The room swirls. “Right. Advisors.” I know we have advisors. Plenty of them. My head spins as everything hits me at once. They’ll no longer be my father’s advisors, or even Freja’s advisors—they’ll be my advisors. Oh God.
“The advisors are wonderful people and very knowledgeable,” she says firmly. “We have several. Theo. Are you… going to faint?”
“No,” I say, feeling far more feeble than I want to admit. I dig my fingers into the armrests, white-knuckled. Blood rushes in my ears.
“Breathe,” Mamma commands, and I breathe. “Listen to me. You’ll be fine. You have me and Freja—”
“Freja’s going to America!” I erupt, but Mamma waves me off.
“Freja,” she says firmly, “will be here for at least a week to help with your new role as King. And we’ll move back the Proclamation celebration to September.”
“Right. The celebration.” Blood rushes in my ears. I feel dizzy. In an act of incredible self-restraint, I don’t even whimper or try to create a diversion. Which I’ll consider progress in this situation. At any rate, I feel numb.
“Theodor.” Mamma stares me down and fillets me with her gaze. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“I’ve never been a king before,” I protest, “in my defense.”
“Freja was so much calmer after—”
“Freja had a whole lifetime to prepare for this!” I frown. Mamma clearly needs the reminder.
“Well, at least your father hasn’t just passed away this time,” she says wryly.
And then I feel like a complete shit acting the way I am.
And maybe on some level, I’m acting so weird because the change in monarch usually means a family member has died.
Specifically, bringing back the memory of Papa passing away last summer by subconscious association.
Papa’s death still cuts too close when I let myself think about it or, more to the point, feel it. It’s hardly been a year, after all.
My shoulders ease. “Mamma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“I know you don’t mean anything hurtful, but please, darling, we all need you to lead by example right now. I know it’s a big change, but I also know you can be a great leader when you want to be.”
“Rallying everyone for a holiday is different than, say… kinging.”
Then my mouth is bone-dry, and the room too hot, and my eyes prickle in a way I really, really don’t want them prickling. Because then I’m thinking of Papa, who will always be the proper King to me, as well as my father.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this. People will look at me, and they’ll be thinking up how I don’t measure up to King Christian.”
“You’ll make your own way,” she says firmly. “There are other young royals inheriting their thrones you can reach out to, along with your own family. You’ll need support. Like I said, you’ll have advisors too.”
One time, Auggie made some joke about the royalty group chat for advice, and it seems highly relevant now.
“So… maybe there’s one thing I should tell you, Mamma. I was supposed to fake-marry a man—well, technically real-marry a man—to make me seem… respectable. To help me be accepted as King.”
It sounds way more outrageous saying this out loud to Mamma than it did when James first floated the idea in my flat, all those months ago.
Mamma stares. And she Theodors me, and I groan.
“Theo,” she tries again. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”
I clear my throat and sit up straight, giving her my very best royal face.
“I was going to marry Duke Edward of Wiltshire in order to make over my reputation and become all respectable to help me become accepted as the new King.” There’s a waver in my facade.
“And… Eddie was actually really nice? I mean, yes, he’s considerably older, but very sensible.
Top points for sense. You would have actually liked my fake husband very much. ”
She’s gamely trying to digest all this.
“Maybe I should have saved this for lunch to tell Freja too.”
“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
I give her a sly look. “What, you want to keep secrets from my sister too?”
Mamma gives me a warning look before she shakes her head, and I grin in triumph.
“He was a very moderating influence, actually,” I offer, musing.
“Dare I ask… what happened?”
“I had a whole plan to marry him in July. Before the coronation celebration. If I’m getting coronated, that is.” I wave a hand. “We don’t really do that anymore.”
Mamma’s staring again. Possibly still. “July’s in two weeks.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Then… well. It’s off.”
“Well?”
I cough. “It’s a little complicated.”
Mamma gives me a look. “Theo, we’re discussing your—”
“Proposed sham marriage to a duke.”
As if it’s a totally normal discussion. People talk about sham marriages all the time.
“Yes, and”—Mamma’s stare is piercing now—“I fail to see how this can get even more outlandish than it is already. Or help. Or did sense kick in?”
“Definitely, definitely, not sense.” I try to look demure.
She sighs. “Out with it. I need to know how to help you manage this situation if any part of it comes out.”
I squeak. “Mamma—”
“All of it.”
“Okay, fine.” I hold my hands up. “You remember the whole yacht-sinking thing—”
“The stuff of nightmares, yes.” Mamma nods, looking entirely resigned now. She leans an arm against her writing desk as if she needs it for support, despite her perfect posture.
“Sooo I was kind of involved with the Greek prince—for a minute—” I stop her before she starts in on me, anxiety rising. “All kinds of awkward, I know. Especially after what happened. But… Mamma, I fell in love with him.”
If only I could stuff those words back in my mouth. In fact, I cover my mouth in shock. What did I just say?
Then we’re both staring at each other.
“And before you say anything else, Eddie—” I blurt as my face blazes.
“Eddie?”
“Yes, the duke, remember?” I cough. “He suspected I had real feelings for someone else. Don’t ask me how he figured it out.”
“Which interfered with your fake arrangement?” she asks carefully.
“You’re getting into the spirit of things now,” I say proudly. Despite the outrageousness of the scheme, she’s following along admirably. “Apparently, it did. So we broke up, for real.”
“And the Greek prince? Where does he fit here?”
I hold up a hand. “Nothing is happening with him.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“God, plenty of reasons, Mamma. Not least of all, the last time I fell in love with someone, it ended up in Hello! and as tabloid fodder.”
“Aidan was a bad man.”
I laugh. “Yeah. A real bad man. And—well, believe me, Stef doesn’t feel that way about me. He’s secretly seeing some guy named Francois. Secretly, because his family doesn’t know he’s gay, and he doesn’t want to tell them. End of. And then I become King. Finis. Game over.”
We consider each other in the thick silence. A clock ticks.
Mamma rubs her eyes with a hand. “I’m going to need a drink, I fear.”
“We’ll find you a nice aperitif before lunch,” I assure her.
“I could totally use one too.” I sag back in my chair, crossing my leg over my knee.
I fidget with the silver buckle of my oxblood shoe.
The familiar ache in my chest comes as I think of Stef.
“Also, please—you can tell no one about any of this. Especially about Stef. He’s very private. Unlike some of us.”
“Believe me, I will go to my grave without sharing this information with anyone.” But she gives me a wry smile and a pat on the knee, and we sit in the quiet for a long moment before facing the entire royal life waiting for me.