Chapter Twenty-two
Even with a night spent in the small village closest to the summer manse, I slept like crap.
Knowing that another possible showdown with King Magnus was likely to take place over toast and coffee had me tossing and turning.
I’d decided last night that Gilda was not going to attend, and when I explained why as we strolled through a display of hand-carved wooden likenesses of eagles, fish, and stags, she didn’t argue or beg to attend.
I took that to mean she was scared of another family fight.
I was too, if I were being honest. Katie and I never really squabbled.
Not big. Sure, we had spats about me draping my shirts on doorknobs or her leaving the trash can lid cocked, thereby allowing the raccoons to get into it and scatter garbage around the yard.
But those were generally done out of hearing range of Gilda.
She’d never seen such behavior from her parents or anyone in Grouse Falls.
She was a lucky child. Many of her friends would have thought explosions over soup were commonplace.
Rolph arrived at my door at seven. I showered, shaved, and allowed him to pick out something suitable to wear to a royal shout fest. Did one wear a tie to such an event?
It seemed the answer was no, but one did wear slacks, a suit jacket, and a shirt freshly pressed by one’s valet slash personal assistant.
“You look quite fitting to have breakfast with the king,” Rolph said as he fussed with a pocket square of soft yellow to match the safflower shirt he had chosen for me.
“The food will be brought into Prince Justav’s trophy room.
The king favors that room for informal meetings and family gatherings.
There are a few small matters of etiquette I have been asked to pass along by Prince Harold.
You will be shown into the trophy room in order of precedence, so Prince Harold then Prince Anders and then you.
This is a less formal meal at a small table for four so seating shall be one prince on either side of the king while you are seated across from him.
When the king is done eating, it is customary for others to cease eating as well, but he may indicate that you may continue eating after he is done. ”
“That’s a thoughtful consideration,” I mumbled as he patted at that darn pocket square.
I highly doubted I would be eating much, especially if things detonated.
Good thing I stuffed myself at the fete last night.
I had still been burping grilled sausages mixed with butter and dill potatoes at midnight.
“King Magnus is a considerate man,” Rolph replied and stepped back to give me a final inspection. “You look quite good. I shall lead you to the trophy room.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at the man who inclined his head and waved at my bedroom door. The bed was still a tangled mess from my rolling around and Anders flipping for several hours. When Rolph arrived, he’d left to clean up and would meet us in the trophy room.
Rolph was a fine tour guide, pointing out this room or that tapestry.
I tried to pay attention, but every step closer to the king cranked up my nerves and the lingering indigestion.
Poor Anders. Having to lie there listening to me belch and flop around half the night.
No one ever said loving another person was all roses and glitter.
Sometimes there were burps—or worse—in the night.
We made our way to the first floor, and instantly I noticed the increase in security.
“The trophy room is down here,” Rolph indicated as I padded along in his wake, catching the soft sound of cooks in the large kitchen as we walked past a pool room.
We’d not ventured into that room yet, maybe tonight if we weren’t booted to the border by the king.
Well, the border would be the ocean, and even if he was irate, I rather doubted he would toss us into the North Sea. “Ah, here are the princes.”
Anders and Harold were standing outside a dark cherry door, dressed much as I was, which was a far cry from our casual clothing yesterday. Rani was seated in a sturdy chair beside a table with a holiday centerpiece of pine boughs, ribbons, and pinecones.
I was patted down by a large man in a dark blue suit. Once I was cleared, Rani rose to offer me his seat, which I declined.
“If you are ready?” Rani asked, and we nodded.
He turned to the guards at the door. They knocked once, opened the door, and motioned us to enter.
Magnus sat at a round table in the middle of a large room filled with trophies of hunts from around the world.
Stuffed heads of lions, water buffalo, mighty stags, and dozens of pheasants stared down at us.
Cases of glass and cherry wood held guns, photos, and old leather-bound journals.
“Your Majesty, the princes and Mr. Baxter are here,” the guard who had frisked me announced.
“Thank you, Lyle, you may leave us.” Magnus was dressed casually. Sweater, slacks, and soft suede loafers. “Come in and sit, please. The food has just arrived.”
We took our seats. Anders and I sat as stiff as new pencils while Harold splayed his lanky form over his seat, plucking a tart from a platter piled high with baked goods.
Magnus arched a brow but said nothing. Anders opened his napkin and placed it on his lap.
I did the same, sitting there with my hands on my napkin, fiddling with a torn cuticle on my thumb.
“Can you pass the butter, Papa?” Harold asked. The look Magnus whipped at his third son could have peeled the paint off a building, but again, he said nothing, only handed the prince the butter dish. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Magnus answered, bringing his attention to me. “I was hoping your daughter might join us.”
“No disrespect, Your Majesty, but I’d rather not subject her to any more outbursts laced with bigotry. She’s not used to such behavior. After the last meal we shared, she ended up in tears.”
Magnus sighed deeply. “That’s upsetting. I was not aware that our discussion upset her so.”
“Well, it wasn’t actually a discussion, Father. It was an assault on myself and Mitchell as well as our sexuality, so of course the girl would be upset,” Anders said, his tone harsh.
“I am aware I handled things poorly that night,” Magnus conceded, the fire in the mighty hearth leaping and crackling with green wood that spat like bacon on a skillet.
“That, Papa, is an understatement,” Harold said around his bite of tart.
Magnus nodded softly. “I never meant to drive either of you away,” the king said softly, and it seemed with much difficulty. “You two are just so different from Frode and Ivar. They never once created scandals or scenes.”
“Well, Papa,” Harold piped up. “That is because they were groomed to be good little princes. The heir and a spare, while Anders and I were just two little boys who weren’t really considered all that important, and so we decided at a young age to become queer just to rile the status quo.”
The king’s lips flattened. “That is far from the truth. Your mother and I love you just as much as we do your elder brothers.”
“Harold, stop provoking him. We did not choose to be queer, Father,” Anders patiently stated as I sat staring at food going cold as no one other than Harold was touching a thing. The porridge looked exceptionally tasty with brown sugar and butter melting over it.
“I know, Anders. I’ve never fully grasped the whole LGBT world, but I do know that people are born homosexual, and that they have no more choice of being gay than they do of having blue eyes or writing with their left hands.
” The king sat back, his dark eyes growing sad while Harold chewed with veracity.
“I never meant to drive you two away from the family. Change is hard for some people, and while I clung to my beliefs and those of our church, I pushed you and Harold from us. I did not mean to do that. I love you both.”
“That sounds like Frode’s words falling out of you,” Harold snapped and tossed what remained of his flaky pastry into his mouth.
“Frode, Ivar, and your mother have spoken with me on the matters of how the queer people of this kingdom are treated, and mostly how you two have been made to feel unwanted. I wish to apologize for that. I am still concerned about the changing morals of your generations, and those of my grandsons, but I was made to see that even if we don’t agree, we can and should talk openly and respect each other. ”
“Oh, that is definitely Frode’s verbiage.” Harold sniffed as he toyed with another tart.
“Either take the pastry or stop fingering it,” Anders said to his brother.
Harold picked up a tart, blueberry by the looks, and dropped it onto the fine China plate in front of him.
“Father, it’s not easy being here. There are so many bad memories of things said to me, and I suspect to Harold now that I know he’s bisexual like Mitchell.
” Magnus glanced at me. I tried to work up a smile, but it probably looked like a grimace.
“I know we see the world very differently. I’m not asking you to change your beliefs, just to listen to mine.
Don’t dismiss them right off or scorn them because you think that I’m less than because I am not straight.
I’m still the same person you’ve always known.
The same son you took fishing and skiing.
Nothing has changed but your attitude toward me and the person that I love.
Perhaps now would be a good time to try to reach out to embrace those who differ from you instead of persecuting them. ”
“I am willing to listen and to be more accepting. It will be hard, but you have proven to be a good example of a gay man with respect for the ways of ?stermon and yourself. I was pleased with the way you and Mitchell carried yourselves at the baptism.” He gave me a tiny smile that I did manage to return.
“Thank you. I never planned to have gay sex with my boyfriend on the steps of the cathedral,” Anders tossed out. Magnus made a soft grunting sound.
Harold tittered and sobered. “And what of me, Papa? What do you think of my behavior at the baptism?”
“I think you were admirably respectful, and for once did not drive a car into a fountain, fence, or lake,” Magnus replied so dryly it was a wonder sand didn’t tumble from his lips.
“I’ll do better next time,” Harold said as he slathered butter over his tart.
Anders and Magnus both rolled their eyes. “Please let’s eat. The food is growing cold,” Magnus declared and forked some eggs onto his dish.
Only then did I spoon up some food and begin eating.
The food was delicious, and the atmosphere passable.
Magnus was trying, and I could see that Anders was as well, so I did my part by filling in the king about my profession and my life back in the States.
Harold, well, he ate heartily, but his jabs at the king were pointed just enough to open the flesh but not cause deep bleeding.
Neither son was fully ready to open their arms and dive into things, but Anders did seem willing to wade out to his knees.
It was a start. An awkward one, but a start, and all things had to begin somewhere.
As Pastor Pete has quoted Zachariah many times, “Do not despise small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”
It felt like work was starting here this morning.