Chapter 15 #2
“I thought I was providing for her,” I said. My chest felt tight. “I gave her everything.”
“You gave her wealth,” my mother said. “You gave her status. You gave her a cold bed and a lonely life. Those things do not sustain a marriage. You must give her yourself.”
I absorbed her words. They stung. They were the absolute truth. “How did you know?” I asked.
“Your father made the same mistakes,” she said. Her gaze softened. “He was great at ruling, but he was a terrible husband for the first ten years. It took a near tragedy for him to wake up. Do not wait for a tragedy, Henrik.”
“I remember,” I said. The memories surfaced with sudden clarity.
I recalled the quiet arguments in the drawing rooms. I recalled the separate bedrooms. I recalled the cold distance between them at public events.
I had sworn to myself that I would never repeat that cycle.
I had promised myself I would be different.
The crown had a way of molding you. It chipped away at your empathy.
It hardened your edges. I had become my father.
“I will not make his mistakes anymore,” I said. I unbuttoned the cuffs of my jacket. I felt a sudden, intense need to shed the armor I was wearing. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Do not thank me,” she said. She picked up her teacup. “Just fix it.”
I bowed my head. I turned and left her chambers. The smell of aged silk faded. The cold reality of the palace corridors returned. My mind was clear. My path was set.
I returned to my private quarters. I walked into the massive walk-in closet.
The room was lined with bespoke suits. It held polished shoes and silk ties.
They were the uniform of my imprisonment.
I started with my cufflinks. I pulled the gold monogrammed circles from my sleeves.
I dropped them onto the velvet-lined tray. They landed with a sharp clatter.
Next came the tie. I loosened the knot at my throat.
I pulled the silk fabric free. I tossed it onto the floor.
I shrugged off the tailored suit jacket.
The wool felt restrictive. I threw it over the back of a chair.
I unbuttoned my dress shirt. I peeled it from my skin.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my undershirt and trousers. I looked like a man half-undone.
I needed clothes that spoke of work. I needed clothes that smelled of earth and sweat.
I walked to the back of the closet. I found a pair of dark, durable denim jeans.
I pulled them on. The coarse fabric was a stark contrast to the fine wool I wore on state occasions.
I found a thick, grey cotton t-shirt. I pulled it over my head.
I grabbed a worn canvas jacket. It was a relic from my university days. I slipped my arms into the sleeves.
I sat on the padded bench and removed my dress shoes. I tossed them aside. I pulled on a pair of thick wool socks. I laced up my old leather work boots. They were scuffed and faded. They felt grounded. They felt real.
I stood up. I rolled my shoulders. I felt lighter. The physical act of removing the royal garments had shifted something within me. I was no longer the prince commanding his court. I was a man fighting for his wife.
I checked my pockets. I had my phone, my wallet, and my keys.
I needed nothing else. I walked out of the closet.
I left the discarded suit on the floor. I walked through the bedroom.
I paused by the bedside table. I opened the top drawer.
I reached inside and pulled out a small velvet box.
I opened it. The diamond ring caught the light.
It was the elaborate apology gift I had commissioned Silas to buy for her weeks ago.
I stared at the cold stone. It represented everything wrong with my approach.
I had tried to buy her forgiveness. I had delegated my penance.
I snapped the box shut. I tossed it back into the drawer. I would not bring it. I would bring myself. I would bring my bare hands and my willingness to work.
I left the private quarters. I took the back stairs.
I avoided the main corridors. I did not want to see anyone.
I did not want to answer any questions. I walked through the service hallways.
The air smelled of bleach and roasted meat from the kitchens.
I pushed through the thick steel doors leading to the underground garage.
The garage was vast and dimly lit. The air smelled of motor oil and exhaust. Rows of sleek, black luxury sedans sat parked in perfect alignment.
They were the vehicles of the state. I ignored them.
I walked past the assigned drivers who were playing cards in the corner.
They stood up as they saw me. They looked confused by my attire.
“Your Highness,” one of them said. He reached for his radio. “Shall I prepare a car?”
“No,” I said. I held up a hand to stop him. “I am driving myself.”
I walked to the back of the garage. My personal vehicle was parked in the corner. It was a rugged, dark green Land Rover. I had bought it years ago. I kept it parked for years. It was built for rough terrain. It was useless on clean city streets. It was what I needed.
I unlocked the doors. I climbed into the driver’s seat. The leather was cold. I inserted the key into the ignition. I turned it. The engine roared to life. The sound filled the concrete space. It was a harsh, mechanical growl. It grounded me.
I gripped the steering wheel. The leather was worn beneath my palms. I shifted the car into gear.
I pressed the accelerator. The vehicle lurched forward.
I drove up the ramp. I approached the security gates.
The guards stepped out of their booth. They saw my face through the windshield. They raised the massive iron barrier.
I drove out of the palace gates. The city streets stretched out before me.
The rain began to fall harder. The wipers slapped against the glass.
I turned the steering wheel. I merged onto the highway.
I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal.
I sped past the outer limits of the capital.
I pointed the car north. I headed toward the coast.