2. Jakob
CHAPTER 2
JAKOB
W ith a satisfied sigh, I close the weekly reports. There is little of note, which is good. In the national security department, that’s exactly the way that you want to end your week.
Of course, Bergovia has been this way for decades. There’s little to worry about here, hardly anything that goes unnoticed. The benefit of being such a small country is that it is fairly easy to keep everything in order, everything buckled up tight.
Standing, I turn the lights off in the office and head to the elevator. All around me, the air crackles with the typical excitement of a Friday. Everyone is looking forward to being with their families, going out, or spending time relaxing.
While I have a family dinner to get to, I wish I could be one of those people looking forward to it.
“Have a great weekend, Your Highness.” Frederick, one of the security guards out front, bows to me as I leave.
“Thank you, Frederick. Same to you,” I reply.
As I make my way to the parking lot, several curious pedestrians send long glances my way. It’s no secret of course that one of Bergovia’s princes is also the country’s director of national security. I knew years ago that I did not wish to just sit on my hands and hope for the crown to be handed to me. For one, I hate having nothing to do, and charity work and public appearances don’t fill that void for me.
For another, I am well aware that taking such an active role in the country’s security improves my father’s opinion of me, and since the crown is passed on according to the king or queen’s preferences, I must do everything possible in order to stay on my parents’ good side.
Speaking of which… that includes family dinners.
Not that I hate family dinners. It’s more that they have become increasingly tense over the years as we inch closer to my father’s inevitable retirement. He has it well known that he plans to step aside within the next five years, and that has me and my siblings chomping at the bit.
It doesn’t take long to arrive at the palace — no more than fifteen minutes — and the guards open the gates at the sight of my approach.
The scent of roses fills the air, spring in full bloom. It’s another gorgeous afternoon in Bergovia, and my mind drifts to thoughts of sailing and lazing in the sun.
Wouldn’t it be nice if I had a beautiful woman to join me?
I catch my thoughts before they go any further. There is no point in fantasizing about romance, something that I haven’t entertained in several years. My responsibilities as both a prince and the head of national security keep me more than busy. Once I become king, then I can think about building my family life. Until then I must keep my eye squarely on the prize.
An attendant takes my car keys from me with a bow, and I smooth my suit jacket as I walk up the front steps. It’s more bows and “Good evening, Your Highness,” from every angle. It’s the story of my life — one that I should feel comfortable with by now, and yet it puts me oddly on edge.
These formalities are not what being a royal should truly be about. It should be about sacrifice, responsibility, dedication to your country. When I was a boy, I was enamored with stories of kings and queens who would ride into battle at the head of their armies, people who put their necks on the line in order to care for their land.
That’s the kind of ruler I wish to be, and while Bergovia has not participated in a war for many decades, I hope that our people see me as someone who is driven by love for our country above all else.
I weave my way through the palace, each step familiar even though the halls are vast and winding. I grew up here; learned to walk in these halls. Even though I still have quarters here, I only spend part of my time in them. Even someone as devoted as me needs their time away, and that’s when my apartment in the city comes into play.
“Oh!” Someone lets out a little gasp as I round a corner, and I stop short just before running into my sister.
Christina smooths her blouse, as if I had rumpled it just from getting close. “Where did you come from?” she asks, annoyance filling her voice.
I suck in a long breath and consider how I want to respond. The two of us were close as kids and teens, but the subsequent years have put some distance between us. It’s no secret that we both want the crown — as does our younger brother Teddy — and that’s driven a bit of a wedge between us.
It’s not that I hold anything against her. Absolutely not. It’s merely that our conflicting interests make things awkward.
“I came from work,” I say, choosing to keep it simple. “And now I’m headed to dinner.”
Her lips purse the slightest bit, and I can tell that she’d been hoping to achieve the same goal as me: to be the first of the royal offspring to dinner, in order to impress our parents with our punctuality.
But she quickly schools her features into pleasantry. “Then we will walk together.”
The doors to the family dining hall are propped open, staff posted in corners waiting to be summoned. My mother and father are already at the table — but so are my brothers, Oliver and Teddy.
Teddy smirks at Christina and I, clearly wise to our plan.
“Good evening, Mother and Father,” I say, ignoring my brother.
My mother stands to kiss Christina and me on the cheeks. “Good evening. How were your days?”
“Wonderful.” Christina takes the seat across from her, immediately launching into a story about how she has extended her nonprofit’s reach to another school in Afghanistan that needs learning supplies.
It’s virtue signaling at the finest, and I catch Teddy rolling his eyes.
My father’s gaze is heavy on me, and it feels as if he’s probing, trying to ask a question without putting it into words.
“And you, Jakob?” he finally asks. “How was your day?”
“Wonderful.” I sit a little taller as the staff serves the first course. “Very productive. The quarterly reports came in and?—”
“Is there even much to do there?” Teddy cuts in. “Bergovia hasn’t had any real security threats since before we were born.”
I frown at him. “And why do you think that is? It’s not accidental, I can assure you. It’s due to the work of everyone at the security department.”
Oliver smirks at Teddy. “Just because you don’t have anything to share, doesn’t mean you need to undermine Jakob.”
Teddy’s face turns beet red, but before he can retort, our mother delicately clears her throat. It’s the softest sound, but enough to make us all pay attention. “The rose show is coming up. I do hope everyone will be in attendance.”
The conversation turns to talk of the palace’s annual display of its rose gardens, but I take a moment to send Oliver a grateful look. Even though I’m the oldest and he’s the youngest, we’ve always gotten along. He doesn’t care much about inheriting the crown, although I know he would honorably accept it were our parents to choose to give it to him.
Sometimes I envy that about him — that lack of desire for something that can make or break a person’s happiness. He has his eye on other things. Exploring, traveling, learning.
The way he sees the world, things just slide off his back. It’s truly something to aspire to, although I’m so tightly wound, I’m not sure I will ever get there.
Since it is Friday night, the meal lasts longer than it would during the week. We linger over dessert, some of the earlier tension dissipated. It almost feels as if we are a normal family, although truthfully, I haven’t a clue what that feels like. My whole life I have been a royal, subject to appearances and expectations that many people cannot imagine.
Then again, at this point, I cannot imagine my life without all of that. I have been given an opportunity to make a massive difference in the world, and despite the things I have had to give up — such as privacy — I am very grateful.
“Jakob, a moment,” my father says softly as my siblings drift away from the dining room table.
I nod at him in acknowledgment, intensely curious about what he has to say to me, and follow him into his study.
He shuts the door behind us, sealing us away from the rest of the world.
“How are you, Father?” I ask, deciding to go ahead and jumpstart the conversation.
He selects a cigar and rolls it between his fingers, then offers one to me. Even though I have never liked them, I take it anyway.
“Your mother worries that you are working yourself too hard,” he says.
I blink at him in surprise. “Why would she think that?”
“She has noticed the bags under your eyes.” He pins me with a hard look.
I swallow that down, unsure how to respond. Out of everyone, he should understand that sometimes long hours are necessary in order to do what is right and important.
“Are you also concerned?” I light the cigar, watching its end glow bright.
He eyes me. “What kind of father would I be if I weren’t? Are you sure that this is the right profession for you?”
The question is a punch to the gut. Why would he even ask me that?
“You have no life outside of work, Jakob,” he goes on.
“Neither do you,” I point out.
He chuckles. “And I wish I did.”
“Father.” I stare him down. “I love what I do. Bergovia is worth it. I do not need a life outside of my job and my royal duties.”
He puffs on his cigar, his attention turning to the dark window. What does he expect of me? That I sit on my hands and watch the days pass by? What good would that do?
It certainly would not bring me the crown, that is for sure. Unless my father is planning on giving it to whichever child of his maintains a better work–life balance.
I suck in a breath, about to say this, when it hits me. He’s testing me, isn’t he? Waiting to see how I respond to his criticism.
I swallow my response, knowing I need to formulate a new plan.
No, not formulate a new plan. Rather, double down on the original one.
I need to prove myself to my father in a way that I haven’t yet, and in a way none of my other siblings can hope to.
I suck in a deep breath, sitting with the heavy truth that I’ve already done everything I can… Or at least everything I thought I could do.
I’ll figure it out, though. I must. That crown is meant to be mine, and no one will stand in my way.