Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
By the time July rolls around, I’ve been officially proclaimed King Theodor of Denmark, or specifically His Majesty the King, Count of Oldenburg, as Mamma predicted. If I thought public interest was real before, and the paparazzi’s too, it’s a whole new level now. Even for Copenhagen and Denmark.
Freja went back to America a couple of weeks after my Proclamation.
People have packed up my clothes and brought them to me.
A few personal effects were left behind in my London flat, along with my furniture for now, following the chaos of the announcement of Freja’s abdication and my ascension to the throne.
The immediate shock’s wearing off. I’m starting to find my legs at the palace.
Even so, I’m not ready yet to sell my London flat.
As promised, there are plenty of advisors and staff, and Mamma, too, to help me learn the royal ropes.
I’m given a whole lot more media training.
I’m well behind on messages to friends, and my personal phone has mostly been off.
I get a sleek new phone for all my official kingly stuff, which has gone through all kinds of security witchcraft.
A makeover has also happened to my personal phone. My old life feels a million years ago.
Today, I’m taking a lunch break on my own, and at the minute, I’m gazing more out the window at Copenhagen’s harbor rather than downing my rye bread open-faced sandwich. I scroll through my personal phone now that we’re reunited.
I open Instagram, where I’m met with James’ latest, a garden party where he poses with friends and laughs and carries on. As I scroll through, there’s no sign of Frankie. And on Frankie’s socials, there’s also no sign of James. Things must be well and truly over, then.
Ethan and Sacha are on Ethan’s grid, sharing a cozy picnic up on Primrose Hill, where I had been not that long ago. They look happy, leaning into each other for a selfie. It’s a bittersweet feeling, seeing my friends move on with their lives.
I haven’t dared text Stef since that night, and he hasn’t messaged me, which tells me everything I need to know.
Obviously, Stef’s a catch, and I’m glad he’s exploring his sexuality on one hand—but on the other, I can’t bear thinking about it.
Every time I do, my stomach twists, and my mood tanks, wondering what he’s doing.
Or if Francois is with him. When I’m feeling particularly bold, I wonder if he misses me at all.
Don’t be silly. It was fun while it lasted. He’s got his life, and you’ve got yours to live.
It doesn’t make it hurt any less. And late at night, when I let myself think about it, I replay scenes in my head, like telling Mamma I fell in love, an admission that’s a gut punch.
Every time I think about it, my face burns like an inferno.
Or other times, when I’m alone late at night in bed, I think of the last time I saw Stef in person in Edinburgh, how it felt to have him pressed in my arms, on fire for each other.
Another lifetime.
I swipe into my personal email and skim messages.
Something from Ethan I need to answer tonight about a client project.
A message from Eddie wishing me well. And a message from the Greek coast guard asking me to come to Kerkyra as soon as possible for some final questions as my last legal obligation about the yacht-sinking debacle.
I lift my eyebrows at that. Could I send a lawyer in my place?
Then again, what if there’s a chance to see Stef?
Shit. It’s been months since I heard anything, and I figured that was old news. With a glance at next week’s schedule, I message my private secretary, Hans, and ask him to make arrangements instead for my travel to Greece for a few days.
“Don’t you think this is a little like overkill?” I murmur early one morning to Mads, my lead bodyguard, as we’re driven up to the waiting plane on the runway, a small private charter.
“Your Majesty, as noted, this is the private flight option. Otherwise, it’s the Royal Danish Air Force for official engagements, as your parents have done.” He peers at me. “You don’t wish to outrage the taxpayers, do you, by choosing the air force option for your private trip?”
“No!” I quickly compose myself and quash my alarm. “That’s definitely not what I meant. I mean, couldn’t I fly business class or something on a commercial flight? Also, we’ve been over this—please call me Theo.”
Mads has a killer piercing stare, which is his default expression. I hold my ground, practicing my best poker face as if my flail seconds earlier hadn’t happened. Mads is having none of it. “A commercial flight would be a security nightmare. Absolutely not.”
“It worked when I was Crown Prince.”
“And now you’re the King. Different arrangements.” He gives me a sharp look, which is a highly effective visual evisceration technique.
“Noted,” I say wryly.
The car rolls up to the plane and the waiting staircase and people for my flight to Kerkyra.
The July breeze gusts over the open terrain, ruffling everyone’s hair.
As I exit, I wish everyone a good day, and I’m given a variety of bows, curtseys, and a couple of handshakes, all of which is still disconcerting after a few weeks of this kind of treatment.
With a glance over my shoulder, my bags are efficiently being loaded onto the plane, along with Mads’ bags and the air crew’s.
My personal goal is to get Mads to crack a smile, but he’s a man more given to scowls, with, I’m sure, accompanying impeccable military and police training in takedowns.
Not that I want to see said full training applied on myself or anyone else, for that matter.
I’m sure he could feed someone their pancreas for breakfast.
I’ve had some introduction to what he’s capable of when I wake up with night terrors, with Mads shaking me because, apparently, I yell like I’m being murdered.
Then I can’t breathe, and he stays till he’s certain I’ll be alright.
And till he’s satisfied I’m not, in fact, being murdered.
But those nights, after my nightmares, I can’t sleep till dawn, when light floods my room again.
One night, he brought me a nightcap. Another night brought chamomile tea.
We don’t talk about this in the daytime.
On board, I settle into a leather seat by a window, fishing my two phones out, one for each hand. I put the official phone on flight mode and scroll through my personal phone. An air steward comes by, and I assure her I’m fine and don’t need anything right now ahead of the direct flight to Kerkyra.
Back on my phone as we wait for clearance to begin to taxi to the runway ahead of takeoff, I call up Stef’s contact details.
I’m dropping into the neighborhood and I hope I can see you for an hour or two if you have time x
There. I’ve only been practicing what to text him for weeks. I sigh, sagging my head back against the headrest. The crew readies for our takeoff while the plane’s hum already rings in my ears.
And sweet reward—a message back from Stef arrives five minutes later.
What do you mean, Your Majesty?
I send a selfie shot with the window and runway in the background.
Wheels up in five for Kerkyra. Also quit it with the your majesty stuff, you’re making me nervous x
Are you serious?
Very serious about your majesty being a no-go for you specifically. Also I’m very popular with the Greek coast guard what can I say? Made an impression I guess
You’re memorable, to be fair
That’s suspiciously like flirting. Or he’s messing with me.
At any rate, I’m grinning. Across the aisle, Mads catches my eye and frowns slightly, and I cough and pretend to look all businesslike to appease him.
I can’t wait to do my best to try to ditch him in Greece.
Or at least not have him hulking over my shoulder, and I’m hardly a short man.
I know he’s meant to protect me, and he has a job to do, but he’s entirely disconcerting.
Meanwhile, I stare at Stef’s text, my heart pounding.
Where are you?
Kerkyra. Also for coast guard reasons.
Did you finish your dig? Find anything old?
For now and yes
Are you free later?
Can be. Text me when you’re settled
I’m so tempted to ask him about Francois, but I refrain. Forget Francois. The universe has given me an opening, and I’m taking it. I shut off my phone, close my eyes, and do my best to fake sleep all the way to Greece. Until it actually becomes real sleep after we take off.
“Your Majesty? We’ve landed at Corfu International Airport. Plentiful sunshine and 32 C.” The same air steward from earlier peers down at me. I rub my eyes and straighten. She hands me a little packet with a warm, damp cloth to refresh myself and a bottle of water.
“Thanks. This is great.”
She smiles. “You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy your trip.”
“I’ll try.” I smile back.
Then she goes off. I wipe my face to wake up, then my fingers, and down half the bottle of water.
The door to deplane is open, and already, the plane is warming up with the hot summer’s day outside.
I’m in a lightweight summer suit, white shirt, shiny shoes—ready as it gets for my appointment this afternoon with the coast guard in Corfu Town.
As arranged, we meet in a secure room behind the scenes in the airport.
I have a Greek lawyer meeting me, and together, we sign off on my affidavit with the Greek authorities detailing the accident and confirming there was no foul play or negligence.
It’s surprisingly brief. I expected an afternoon of questions, but we’re out within twenty minutes.
I get plenty of curious looks from airport staff even through the back channels of the airport, who don’t usually have royals stop by every day, in fairness.
Soon, I’m taken to my car with an unmarked escort tailing us and driven northeast from Corfu Town to the private villa I’ve booked for the week. As ever, the security details are impeccable. Mads is satisfied when he checks in with the advance security team.
Better yet, the villa is even more gorgeous than the photos. It has a stunning view of the water from a high vantage point, with an infinity pool I can’t wait to get into.
I waste no time in finding my bedroom inside, admiring the very sleek contemporary interior, all bright and fresh, and changing into shorts, sandals, and a linen shirt.
I slide on my sunglasses and stop by the kitchen to grab a beer, where a private chef has stopped in for a couple of hours to prep a few meals for me.
I flop on a lounger and text Stef.
Arrived at my villa. Let me know if you want to come up or for me to come meet you
I’ll come up if you want to keep low profile
I make myself take a deep breath and stare up at the cloudless skies to compose myself.
I message Mads to let him know I have a very special guest arriving.
Then, I send the address, drink my beer, and try to be very, very patient as I gaze at the Kerkyra coastline with the summer’s heat beating down—waiting for Stef.