I quickly fish the phone out of my bag then nearly drop it when I see the words on the screen. The call is from Liechtenstein, though the number is blocked and private.
Oh, please no, did something happen to my father or brothers?
I press the talk button and hold it to my ear, taking in a deep breath.
“Hello?”
“Is this Princess Isabella?” a familiar male voice says in German.
“Yes,” I answer back, switching languages easily. “Who is calling?”
“This is Schnell, your father’s butler,” he says. I didn’t recognize his nasally voice at first, but Schnell has been working alongside my father as his right-hand man for decades now. I’m used to seeing Schnell as much as my father, maybe even more so.
“Hi, Schnell. Sorry I didn’t recognize your voice,” I tell him, my heart gripped by panic as I realize why he could be calling. “Is my father all right? Are my brothers?”
“Yes, yes, they are all fine. I’m calling on behalf of your father, actually. He has a meeting today and couldn’t call you himself but it’s a matter of importance.”
“Okay,” I tell him, relieved that everyone is fine. It’s not unusual for Schnell to do most of my father’s phone calls, even when it comes to state matters. “What is it? Is there a problem?”
“Not a problem,” he says. “But you have been invited to dinner tomorrow night at the Royal Palace in Oslo.”
What?
“Uh, can you repeat that, Schnell?”
“Yes, madam. The Norwegian royal family has invited you for dinner tomorrow night and your father thinks it’s very important that you attend.”
“But…why? Why me?”
I mean, this is most unusual. I’m never invited anywhere, let alone any place royal. My princess status has been nothing but a hindrance ever since I left my own country. I don’t think the world even knows I exist.
“I am not sure,” he says. “Your father didn’t say much except to say it was mutually beneficial.” He pauses and I swear I hear some murmuring in the background. “Perhaps you can use this opportunity to speak to them about one of your issues.”
I think by issues he means environmental issues. As socially progressive as Norway is, the country has done a lot of harm to the environment with fishing practices and whaling and it’s something I care deeply about. Maybe too deeply. I’m not sure how well a dinner will go if I get all passionate and heated and start yelling at the King and Queen about their policies. I may be shy and quiet ninety-nine percent of the time but when there’s something that gets under my skin, I’m hard to shut up.
Schnell clears his throat and goes on. “We’ve already booked a flight for you and Lady Jane tomorrow afternoon from Edinburgh to Oslo. You will be picked up at the airport by one of their men and taken straight to the palace. You are to wear something demure and appropriate for the occasion. Buy something today if you have to but do make sure you look your best. You’re representing Liechtenstein after all.”
“Okay,” I tell him, though it’s kind of weird to have old Schnell give me advice on how to dress. Though maybe I need it. I glance down at my fluffy black cardigan and ripped jeans. Not exactly the regal look.
“Your father will call you directly after the dinner,” he says. “Take care now, madam, and do reach out to me if you have any questions.”
“How do I reach out if your number is private?” I quickly ask, but it’s too late. He’s already hung up.
I stare at the phone in disbelief for a few moments, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.
Why on earth would I be invited to dinner at the Norwegian palace? It doesn’t make any sense at all. I’m…nobody. Honestly. And though sometimes I wish I had a bigger voice about the issues I care about—hence why I’m going to university—I kind of like the fact that beyond this campus, no one knows who I am. I shouldn’t be on any monarchy’s radar whatsoever.
Unless I’m being used as some sort of chess piece in some inter-country power play. Since I was sent away from my own family and country at an early enough age, I was never fully immersed in the politics and goings on that surround my father and the thirty-seven thousand people that he represents. Could it be there’s something that either my father wants from Norway or vice versa?
Paranoia doesn’t suit me, but I can’t help thinking that’s more than likely the reason for all this. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going, and now I’m more curious than ever. Perhaps I’ll be an unwitting spy.
First things first though—I need a dress, and there isn’t much time to get one. I’ve never skipped class before, and I feel guilty for doing so, but these kinds of opportunities never come up for me, and it’s not like I can say no to my father when he never asks me to do anything.
Instead of texting Jane, I turn around and run back through the rain all the way to my dorm. I shuffle down the hall, the wet soles of my shoes squeaking across the floor, and then knock on Jane’s door.
It takes her a moment to open, and when she does, she’s peering at me suspiciously.
“It’s me,” I tell her. “I need to talk to you.”
“I know it’s you, I’m not blind,” she says, opening her door wider so I can come in. “Why aren’t you in class?”
“I have news,” I tell her as I step into her closet-sized room.
“Why are you so wet?”
I run my hand over the top of my head, wincing at how soaked it is. “I forgot my umbrella. And I’m not going to class today. Instead, you and I are going to Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh?” she exclaims loudly. I knew she’d get all excitable about this. She never keeps things very subtle.
“Yes. Now promise you won’t get all, you know, loud about this,” I warn her, putting out my palms as a way of calming her before she can start.
“I’m not loud,” she says extra quietly.
I give her a steady look. “Anyway,” I go on, “Schnell called me. Just now on the way to class.”
“Oh my god, is everything all right!?” she cries out, hand to her chest.
“Jane,” I warn her. “This is you. Being loud. This is what loud is. And yes, everything is fine, don’t worry. It’s just that he called with an unusual request on behalf of my father.”
“Why didn’t your father call?”
“You know why.”
She narrows her eyes. Even though my father is the one who pays her salary, I know Jane doesn’t like him. Her personality with his is like oil and water.
“What does he want?” she asks.
“Well,” I say, taking in a deep breath, “it seems I’ve been invited to dinner tomorrow night at the royal palace in Norway.”
She stares at me for a few moments before she goes, “Say what? You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”
“Someone might be pulling mine, but I’m still going. Both of us are. Tomorrow we fly out of Edinburgh for Oslo. I need something to wear—I assume you do too, unless you’ve got some fancy dress in your closet here”—I pause to glance at the closet by her bed which looks like it holds maybe three hangers—“so I thought we would just head to Edinburgh right now and get some shopping in.”
She’s still staring at me with the same blank expression as before. I stare right back at her, brows raised, waiting for some sort of explosion. “Why?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s some horrible joke my brothers are playing on me. Maybe I’ll go there and no one will be there to pick me up. Though my brothers would first have to know I exist before that could happen…”
“Bloody hell,” Jane exclaims breathlessly, her eyes growing wider by the second. “You’re serious.”
“When am I not?”
“We’re going to an actual royal palace!”
“You act like you’re not the lady-in-waiting to an actual princess,” I remind her stiffly. “You’ve seen the palace I grew up in.”
“And you know that it’s not the same
,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Your family’s palace is a castle fit for Count Dracula. That’s what happens when you have only men ruling your country. Oh, if only my mum could see me now. She was so bloody obsessed with all royal families, the type to collect every single mug and collector plate she could get her hands on. Ooooh,” she goes on, “maybe the Prince will be there!”
I roll my eyes and shudder. “Ew. I hope not.”
Jane recoils at that and gawks at me like I have two heads. “Prince Magnus? What’s your problem with him?”
Ugh. Don’t get me started. Maybe it’s because I’ve only been mercilessly teased by those types back in boarding school (princesses are an easy target), I have no patience for men who act like boys or think with their dicks, and it seems like Prince Magnus of Norway is nothing more than a glorified playboy with a fancy title. All I ever see when I flip through the blogs and news is him racing motorcycles or hooking up with a new socialite.
Now there’s a sex video floating around of him and the prime minister of Norway’s daughter, which seems like bad news all around, though I shouldn’t be surprised at the lengths that people go to for more and more fame. “He just seems like an idiot. That stupid smug smile I always see, like everyone wants him or wants to be him. And flaunting all those women around. I mean, hello, who the hell makes sex tapes anymore unless it’s for attention? Yeah right, it was accidently leaked.”
She chuckles. “Believe me, I don’t think he did that for attention. He has enough of it already.” She pauses, a strange gleam in her eyes. “Have you watched it?”
I scrunch up my nose. “God, no. Why would I?”
She shrugs and looks away.
“Jane,” I say slowly. “Have you?”
Her head tilts and she’s unable to hide her smile. “Maybe.”
“Ugh, you’re supposed to be refined, Jane.”
“I am refined!” she yells, her round cheeks going pink. “I just have a healthy dose of curiosity.” She pauses. “It’s going to be hard having dinner with him after I know what he looks like naked. How he moves…the man has skills, Ella. Skills you need to see.”
I raise my palm. “Please, please stop talking. I don’t share my…sex life with you.”
“This isn’t my sex life,” she says with a snort. “It’s his sex tape and it’s all over the news. And need I remind you that you can’t share your sex life with me if you don’t have one.”
I turn around. “This is getting wildly inappropriate.”
“Sometimes you need to get inappropriate,” she calls after me as I head over to the door, my shoes sloshing as I walk. “It would do you some good!”
I open the door and look over my shoulder. “With any luck he won’t even be there so I don’t have to be embarrassed over my lady-in-waiting drooling over the Crown Prince and picturing him naked. I’m going to pack and I’ll come back here in an hour. Just promise me when I do you keep your head out of the gutter.”
She gives me a grave nod, standing up straighter, and I know there will be no promises. Sometimes it feels like I’m the one keeping Jane in line and not the other way around. This time though, I know the both of us have no idea what to expect.
For once I’m going to have to put on my princess face and act like I belong.
Four
Magnus
When I was younger, I was the world’s shittiest student. It explained why going to university after high school was never even on my radar. What was the point when everything to do with studying bored me to tears? Besides, even if there was something I was interested in, the testing system was always designed to make me fail. Every time I sat down to take a test, it didn’t matter how well I knew the subject, I totally froze. I couldn’t decide on the right answer for the life of me. Everything I knew went out the window and my mind went a million other places instead. As a result, I flunked.
So you can see why I’m having second, third, and fourth thoughts about my choice of princesses from the fact sheet.
Let’s just push aside the truth for a moment, that what I’m doing is extremely unrealistic, and, well, silly. Let’s forget that I’m actually selecting a human being to be my motherfucking wife and get down to the gritty facts and logistics. Those being that even though I spent a good week pouring over my options and Google and Facebook and Instagram stalking these blue-blooded, noble ladies to the extreme, I’m still having doubts that I’ve picked the right one.
But how can I even know that at this point? How can I pick the right one if I haven’t even met them face-to-face? There’s so much more than just what my father said about intelligence and wit and it’s got nothing to do with looks. It has to do with sexual chemistry. I’ve been with my fair share of women and not all of them are stellar supermodels. Okay, some literally are. Sometimes I’m after the same pack of women as Leonardo DiCaprio. Hell, sometimes I see Leo at the same party and we do this head nod as if to say, what up brother, keep doing you.
Where am I even going with this? Right. So sometimes I’ve been with women who aren’t conventionally beautiful for one reason or another, but I connected with them on another level. If you want to get into that deep shit, you could say that it’s our souls that forged with one another. If you want to stay real, it’s more that your bodies want to forge. You want to fuck and you’re both very good at it, so you do it and go your separate ways. That’s that.
Anyway, I’ve had to scour page after page of these women and try and settle on one of them, and even though I was never fully confident about my pick—because how can I be—I’m doubting myself now.
As I pace back and forth in the main hall of the royal palace.
Hands behind my back.
Waiting for her arrival.
I don’t know what was said or what was promised, but the moment I went to my parents and told them I’d settled on Princess Isabella of Liechtenstein, calls were made, and then I was told she’d be here tonight for dinner so I could meet her in person.
I’m not sure if this is just a trial dinner, you know, like speed dating, princess-style, or something more. I’m pretty sure if I don’t like her, if she turns out to be a total bore, if we have zero spark or chemistry, I can move on to my second and third choice picks, though honestly, I can’t remember who they are right now which tells you a lot.
The reason I picked Isabella was because she looked the most normal. Apparently she was in a boarding school in England during her high school years and now is studying at St. Andrews University in Scotland. Other than a barely updated Facebook page, there isn’t a lot of information on her, which I took as a good sign. The tabloids don’t follow her, she doesn’t do anything that makes the news, and for the most part, it looks as if she lives a life of total anonymity.
And, yes, of course, she’s pretty as hell. Striking, even. Tall, blonde, sparkling eyes, and a big smile. She exudes charm and warmth through her photographs, more than any of the others did. There was no formality in them, no forced cheer. She just seemed real.
Lord knows if she’ll match my expectations.
“Nervous?”
I stop my pacing and turn around to see Mari standing in the doorway to the sitting room. Her blonde hair is braided down both sides, and her black and red dress almost looks like the traditional Norwegian dress. It strikes me that Mari is closer to Princess Isabella’s age than I am.
“Me, nervous?” I ask her with a smile.
“Of course not,” she says, slowly walking over. “Prince Magnus worries about nothing.”
My smile falters slightly. I wish that perception of me were true.
“Do you think I made the right choice?” I ask her as she walks over to the window and peers down at the courtyard at the back of the palace.
“For your wife to-be?” she asks, her eyes growing wide. “I wish I could say.” She takes in a deep breath. “Magnus…”
I nod and come over to the window beside her. “I know.”
“This is so rid
iculous.”
I give her a hopeful look. “I’m glad you agree. Now perhaps you can talk mother and father out of it?”
“I wish,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’ve never seen them so adamant before. More than that, I’ve never seen them so…I don’t know. Excited.”
“Excited?”
She gives a slight shrug and starts playing with one of her braids. “You’re the first one of us to get married. They thought it would never happen for you.”
“With good reason,” I mutter, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. All this unfairness has been simmering inside me for the last twenty-four hours but my youngest sister doesn’t deserve to hear it.
“And now, it’s something new to do. They get to ensure that their legacy will live on. Mother gets to plan a wedding. Father gets to see you settle down. The world’s focus on us will be in a positive way again.”
“All while I’m throwing the rest of my life away.”
She glances at me thoughtfully, gnawing briefly on her bottom lip. Mari always has this rather unnerving way of seeing straight through you that at the same time makes you see straight through her. Sometimes I think I see an old soul trapped in a teenager’s body. “I know this is bitter pill to swallow,” she says softly. “Never in a million years did I think this would be a solution to anything. But now that it is their solution to a big, big problem, I don’t think it’s the end of the world necessarily. Your friend, the Crown Prince of Sweden, is getting married.”
“Viktor is getting married to a woman he’s fallen madly in love with. So mad that it’s not just her he’s bringing into his royal family but all her sisters and brothers as well. If anyone deserves to get married it’s those two. Not me. Not to someone I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” she says after a moment, looking back out the window. “I’m just trying to see the positive in the situation here.”
“There is no positive, not for me,” I tell her.
“Well, in that case, maybe you can at least go into this knowing this is making our parents—and it will make our country—very happy.”