1. 1
Magnus
The arena shakes as I rip into the solo. Fingers dancing, heart thumping along with the drums, I’m one with the music.
At least that’s what I tell myself. That’s what they think, how the crowd sees me. The lead guitarist for Kr?ftig, finishing up the European leg of our latest tour.
Benny, with his long curly hair held back with a bandana, is going crazy on the drums. Etienne, steady and stoic, keeps time on the bass. Classically trained, Luciano shows me up every time he solos. And Duncan—his face as much as his voice bringing in the girls.
I’m not the best musician or singer, but I’ve got the energy, I’ve got the pow, and I keep us rocking.
This—on stage with my friends, playing for the sold-out crowd, and keeping them here right with me in the palm of my hand—this is what I want. The music and the fame and the guys in the band, where I don’t have to make all the decisions and responsibility doesn’t weigh heavy on my shoulders.
The lights are hot, the faces a blur as I drop to one knee. The last notes hang in the air, joined by Benny’s double thump of the bass drum, and the crowd erupts.
I grin at Duncan, and he raises his arms, the crowd on their feet. He rules the stage at these shows. I may be the heart of the band, the one who gives the energy, but Duncan is the face, the voice, the king up here.
And I’m happy to let him be.
Fans scream, and my heart is about ready to burst.
I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but this has got to be one of the best.
We finish up with the latest hit, Adieu my love, and then it’s over. Another show in the books. Germany loves us, but I’m ready for a break. In two months, we head back to Canada for a handful of shows, before ending in Halifax, the closest we come to Laandia.
But tonight, Laandia has come to us.
My father is in the crowd tonight. He insisted on watching the show from the floor, slightly off to the side so he won’t accidentally get caught up in the mosh pit. His security surrounds him like a wall and my younger brother stands beside him.
I was excited to see Dante. There’s always a chance this time will be different. That we can be brothers, friends even.
And then I caught sight of Dante’s face during one of the early songs, as sour as it usually is. There’s only one reason he’s here, and it isn’t to enjoy the show.
Dad seemed like he was enjoying himself, though.
I duck out of the meet and greet as early as I can to meet them back at the hotel bar.
My father is King Euan of Laandia, the small country, perched on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean in the northeastern part of North America.
We’re a small country and only forty-nine years old. Because Laandia used to be the provinces of Newfoundland and Labrador in Canada. After my grandfather, Leif Erickson, prevented a Nazi invasion during World War II, the Canadian government rewarded him with his own country.
His own kingdom, because apparently my grandfather really wanted to be king.
I don’t get it.
My father seems to like the role as well, taking over for Afi Leif—King Leif to the rest of the world—when he passed at the ripe old age of seventy-nine, three years before I was born.
I would have liked to have met him, to ask him just what the holy hell he was thinking, starting his own country.
Who does that? Other than my family.
Dad and Dante are seated at a table in the hotel bar, their security team arranged discreetly at the exits.
In his pressed black jeans, black polo shirt, and thin leather jacket that his assistant must have told him was suitable to wear at a rock concert, Dad looks like an uptight businessman on vacation rather than a sitting monarch.
My brother is another story. Dante could be the poster boy for a Disney Prince Charming. Tall and handsome—even his hair is picture-perfect. Most times it looks like the hunk of plastic on a boy Barbie’s head that constitutes hair, but it always looks good in pictures.
Unlike me and my shock of thick reddish-blond hair that won’t stay tamed regardless of what I do to it.
It’s worse when I’m on stage, so I’ve taken to wearing a hat, a plaid felt newsboy cap. It’d probably be better if I took it off, but I can only imagine the mess my hair would be.
My brother always works at looking good for the pictures. Viking tall like all of us, bland blondness, but I’ve never been able to trust his smooth handsomeness.
Maybe it’s just that I don’t trust him. He might be my brother, but since I’m the person standing in the way of everything he’s ever wanted, just because I had the misfortune of being born first, trust is hard to come by.
“How did you find the show?” I ask as I take the seat across from Dad, too eager for their approval. A moment later, a frothy schooner of beer is placed before me by a smiling waitress. “Thanks, love.”
Duncan, Benny, and I closed the place after last night’s show, so I guess she remembers what I like to drink.
“Loud,” Dante says, his blue eyes as cold as the chardonnay in the glass before him.
“It’s supposed to be that way, for all the fans at the back to hear,” I tell him. Not for the first time do I wish I’d brought Duncan along for moral support. He handles my brother better than I can.
I turn to my father, wishing his approval didn’t matter as much as it does. “You definitely have a presence on stage,” Dad says, albeit grudgingly. “Then again, I don’t think you’ve ever been lacking in charisma.”
I think that’s a compliment?
“It will serve you well when you’re king,” he adds.
I stiffen, but not as much as Dante.
“When I’m king,” I echo. “That won’t be anytime soon.”
Wishful thinking. I’m sure my father is aging at a normal rate, but in the last few years, every time I see him, his hair has more white than blond, more lines have been carved into his face, and his energy seems to be slowing to a snail’s pace.
It might be because I haven’t seen much of him in the past few years. Busy with the band, living my life away from Laandia, literally running from the idea that I’ll have to take over from him.
But not someday soon.
Not at all, if I have my way.
“While I’d like to think myself immortal, I’m well aware that isn’t the case,” Dad says in a heavy voice.
“Did something happen?” I ask quickly.
With a sharp glance at Dante, Dad leans forward. “Magnus, it’s time to end this life you’ve been living and come home.”
My heart sinks. One moment, it’s there in the middle of my chest where it should be, and then the next, it’s dropped to my feet. I’ve known this conversation would happen one day, but if I kept my distance, I thought I could put it off indefinitely.
This is why my father came to me. He knew I’m not coming back to Laandia for the break.
“You’ll need to make a choice,” Dad says in a voice that makes me think that no, I really don’t have a choice in the matter.
“I’ve been quite lenient with your side projects over the years, but if you are committed to your place in the line of succession, you need to be in Laandia.
By my side, learning to be king. Or…” He lets the ultimatum fall between us.
I focus on the use of the term side projects. Only my father would consider being a member of a band with a platinum record a side project. Or being an Olympic gold medal winner for the shot put. Or…
Side or not, over the years, King Euan has made it very clear that these are not worthy ventures for his son, the heir apparent to the throne of Laandia. I’ve been able to ignore the comments, the criticisms until now.
But when I see the tired shadows under his eyes, I have to pay attention. This is what being a king has done to him. It’s aged him. Exhausted him.
So why would I ever want to follow in his footsteps?
Dante sits beside him, the mask of indifference in place. But I know he’s waiting with bated breath for me to tell our father that I don’t want the throne. I don’t want to take the crown—ever.
Dante only came to hear me say out loud that I don’t want to be king.
And then he can have it, because being king of Laandia is everything he’s ever wanted.
Only, I’m not convinced my brother would be very good at ruling my country.
“The tour is almost over,” I say. “We’ll wrap up in a few months.”
“This is why I’m here now,” Dad says. “I need to know what your plans will be… after.”
After.
After the tour, we plan on making another album. Duncan is already looking for a producer, and Etienne is working on some new songs. Luciano did ask for some time off, and God knows we all need a break, but after that…
An album. Videos. Another tour to promote it. And repeat.
That’s the life of a musician. A member of a rock band. This album is on its way to going platinum, same as the last one. We’ve got fans around the world, and the guys are loving every minute of this life.
I love it. Why would I want anything to change? But that’s what he’s asking. What he’s telling me.
“You have a responsibility,” Dad reminds me. “A duty.”
“I have a responsibility to the band.”
“He’s not giving it up,” Dante says scornfully. “I can’t believe you thought he’d even consider it. Laandia means nothing to him. He wants to keep playing at his music –”
“I’m not playing at anything,” I snap.
It’s time to make a choice. Do I pick Kr?ftig, the band I joined four years ago, or do I go home and learn to be a king?
A rock star or a king? There’s no decision, really.
My father holds my gaze. There’s still a warmth in his eyes, but not as much as when I was younger. When my mother was alive. Before I started on this path that keeps taking me farther away from home.
The world shifts under me as I puff out a sigh of resignation. “I need to talk to the guys.”
“I wasn’t aware this was a democracy,” Dante says in his smooth tone.
“It is in the band,” I tell him, trying to keep the heat out of my voice. “Whatever I do will affect them, so they deserve to be part of the conversation.”
“You would actually consider giving it up?” Dante demands. His expression is tight, tense, and anger begins to seep out from behind his mask of indifference.
“I’m going to have to give up something.” My tone is bleak, and I don’t bother to hide it. It’s like a punch in the gut when I think about this being the last time I get on stage with the guys.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, Magnus.” Dad gives me a rueful smile. “It would be easier if you weren’t quite so successful.”
“But I am,” I mutter. We are.
My father is asking me to give up my life, the life I’ve created with Duncan and the rest of the band, to take on the mantle of heir to the throne.
Really take it on—not just in name only.
In public, I am Prince Magnus, and everyone knows that I will be king someday.
And in the meantime, I’m enjoying myself.
The partyboy prince. The rock star, the one with a gold medal hanging on the wall.
No one knows that, privately, I don’t want anything to do with being king.
But Dante does, and honestly, knowing my brother is champing at the bit to take on the role is the only thing stopping me from giving it up.
I don’t think Dante would make a good king. In fact, I think he’d make a crap king.
“Magnus, a great man doesn’t seek to lead,” Dad says.
I wonder if he’s secretly talking to my brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that some of the best leaders never asked for the job.”
“Afi Leif definitely asked for it,” I point out.
Dad smiles. “He definitely did.”
“Did you want to be king?”
He takes a moment to answer. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice.”
“Why not?” Dante scoffs.
Dad meets my gaze again but doesn’t reply. Dante may be cultured and well-read, but he’s also self-absorbed and greedy, with a cruel streak. He would not make a good king. He wouldn’t finish what my father has begun, leading Laandia into greatness.
I don’t know what he would do to my country.
I think I’ll be able to do the job. It’s not my first choice, will never be my first choice, but I know I would be a good king.
And I know what needs to be done.