And I was feeling bad since earlier that evening I broke it off with her. Not that Heidi and I were anything serious, but we’d been on a few dates we somehow managed to hide from the public—and her father—and I could tell she wanted a lot more from me. As in, she wanted to become the next princess of Norway.
Naturally, I had to nip that in the bud, even though apparently when I break up with someone I still think it’s cool to film a sex tape afterward. Just another example of my impulsiveness getting me in trouble.
God, did I ever fuck up.
But that’s all out of my control and who knows what’s going to happen to me now. Since the news broke yesterday, I’ve yet to speak to my parents about it, though I could feel their anger simmering all the way from their palace in downtown Oslo.
I’m feeling that same anger simmer through me right now with only one place for it to go.
I increase the throttle on the boat, and now we’re steadily catching up to the paparazzi speedboat. Soon we’ll overtake them.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Einar says quietly, his eyes focused on the boat as it gets closer and closer.
“Do I ever know what I’m doing?” I repeat, biting back a smile.
And even if this doesn’t work, who cares? They deserve it and more.
“Hey!” I yell at the photographers as we pull up alongside their boat. “Get any good pics?”
My voice is carried by the wind but they both look over and in unison raise their cameras.
I proceed to give them the finger and a big fucking smile.
Then I swiftly grab the wheel and yank our boat to the side, creating a giant wake and ensuring a wave of water flows over the side of their boat, soaking them from head to toe.
I burst out laughing and then gun our boat in the opposite direction toward our boat launch at the end of the fjord, leaving the two fuckfaces yelling at us in Russian, sopping wet and shaking out their cameras which are no doubt ruined.
Serves them right.
“Nice maneuver, sir,” Einar says after a moment, and I glance at him to see the hint of what could be called a smile pulling at his mouth.
“Thank you, my good man.”
“You know they’re going to try and sue you for that,” Ottar pipes up, slowly staggering up the side of the deck, never letting go of the railing.
“You’re a killjoy, Ottar,” I tell him. “Let me have my fun.”
I know it’s the only fun I’m going to have for a while.
Even though I’ve always had my pick of where I wanted to live, including various royal palaces throughout Norway, I’m rather fond of my tiny apartment. Okay, maybe it’s not tiny by normal standards. It does take up the entire top floor of a corner building in Majorstuen, one of the city’s “hip” neighborhoods, and I have more room than I know what to do with, but it makes me feel a lot more normal to live this way rather than in a palace.
Ignoring the fact that the floor below me is where Einar and Ottar and various rotating guards live, the floor below that is an H&M. On the street, trams trundle on by, a sound I find soothing, and people hurry to and fro, shopping and hitting up the bars.
The paparazzi know I live in the neighborhood but aren’t exactly sure where. The windows that face the street are tinted, obscuring me from people and when I need sun, I head up to the roof where I have a whole private deck free from prying eyes. And there are more than a few entrances into the building, including a tunnel that pops up a block away in a small gated courtyard.
That’s how my mother will be getting here tonight. I feel bad having her go through the tunnel since it was built in the 1800s and it can get pretty dank in there, but she was insistent that she come visit me as soon as possible.
It’s all bad news. The fact that she wants to discuss something with me here instead of at the palace where my father and youngest sister, Mari, are says a lot. Like there are less witnesses in case she wants to murder me.
I’m looking around the apartment, wondering if I should hide my knives, or, at the very least, the large Viking axe I have on display on the wall, when there’s a knock.
I stride over to the door, running my hand through my hair to make sure it’s all in order (my hair is usually messy and longer than she thinks is appropriate), take in a deep breath, and open it.
My mother and her bodyguard, Per, are standing in the hall. I catch a glimpse of Einar in the background, heading down the stairs.
“Magnus,” my mother says to me in a curt voice, which is her default voice at any given moment.
“Mother,” I say right back. I flash her a smile which used to charm her but doesn’t seem to have that effect anymore. I meet Per’s eyes, but just like Einar, they give me nothing. More robots in fine suits.
I clear my throat and gesture to the apartment. “Well. Come in, then.”
She nods and glances at her bodyguards with an internal message for them to stay where they are. Then she steps inside and I close the door after her.
“You cleaned up,” she says, stopping in the middle of the living room and looking around. It’s an open plan apartment which means you can see most of it from any location, and normally it’s a mess. Even though I have a housecleaner who comes in here every other day, it doesn’t take long for the place to look like a tornado ripped through it. Let’s just add Messy Magnus to my list of nicknames.
“I tried to make it fit for a queen,” I tell her.
“Bullshit,” she swears, shaking her head and eyeing me sharply.
That’s my mother for you. She might be the Queen, but she can be as crude and blunt as I can be. While my father is easygoing and gregarious, if not a little loopy, my mother says what she wants, when she wants. She’s fearless.
At least she normally is. As sharp as her gaze is tonight as it cuts into me, I can see the sparks of fear behind her eyes, which in turn brings out the fear in me.
My heart starts to speed up and she nods at the two armchairs by the fireplace, an heirloom bearskin rug between them. “Sit down. I have something I need to talk to you about, and for once, I need you to listen.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t want coffee or?” I glance at the kitchen as if making her an espresso will buy me some time.
“Magnus,” she says sternly. “Sit.”
So I sit, and she sits across from me. She’s a petite woman, only about five feet, two inches tall, but even in a casual silk pantsuit that borders on pajamas, she’s formidable.
She doesn’t say anything for a moment which ratchets up the tension in the room to an unbearable amount. I finally have to say, “Look, I am so sorry about what happened—”
“Stop,” she says, raising her palm. “Just stop. You don’t need to apologize. Though I do wonder if you are ever truly sorry about anything.”
That was a cheap shot.
“What happened, happened,” she goes on. “There’s no stopping it. All we can do is damage control, if we can even do that.”
“I’m sure the prime minister understands that—”
“The prime minister,” she roars, her dark eyes blazing, “does not understand! For crying out loud, Magnus, you filmed a sex tape with his daughter!”
“I was breaking up with her,” I say feebly, covering my face with my hands because fuck I don’t want to talk about a sex tape with my mother, even though it’s all over the fucking news.
“That’s how you break up with people?” She’s incredulous. I peer up at her to see her shaking her head in disgust. “First of all, what the hell were you doing with Heidi Lundström to begin with?”
“She’s a fan,” I try to explain. “I mean, she wanted to go out with me. We’ve met so many times over the years, you know it was kind of inevitable. She’d just broken up with her boyfriend and we were at that fancy charity event for frogs and wetlands or something and…”
“Did you not think for one second that perhaps she was off-limits?”
I shrug. “Well, no.”
/> “Of course not. Because you never take one second to think about anything. Always jumping into everything like you’re out of control. You are out of control, Magnus. Always have been. I—we—have tried everything to rein you in over your twenty-eight years and nothing has worked.”
“Hey,” I say, hating that she throws this shit in my face. “I did think. In fact, I thought maybe for once it would be a good match since she has a similar lifestyle to mine and knows what it’s like to grow up in a family of power, but she’s a lot, uh, more unstable than I realized.”
“Well, since you’re unstable too, I can see why you bonded,” she says, pretending not to notice me wince at the unstable remark. “But honestly, a sex tape?” She says the words like they’re in a foreign language. “You didn’t once think about the repercussions of that?”
“Why would I?”
“Because that sort of…thing, it always gets loose. Haven’t you learned anything over the years with celebrity scandals?”
“That’s Hollywood.”
“And the same dynamics apply here. Obviously you’ve learned nothing about being a prince. Instead, you try and shun it every chance you get. Is that what you want? You want to abdicate? Is that why you’re self-sabotaging?”
“I’m not self-sabotaging! And I don’t want to abdicate.”
But my voice trails off at the end of that sentence as it always does when abdication is brought up, when I’m reminded of what a poor choice I am for a king, how terrible I will be.
“Look,” I continue, leaning forward with my elbows on my thighs, my fingers laced together as if in prayer. “I made a mistake with Heidi. I obviously didn’t want to humiliate her or the prime minister, even though I think he’s always hated me to begin with. Can’t we do damage control here? Can’t we tell the press that it’s a fake? Surely someone did hack into Heidi’s phone like she says. Can’t we say that person made the whole thing up with, like, Photoshop or something like that?”
She exhales through her nose and gives me a steady look. “Not when Heidi has already admitted to the press what happened. Rather proudly, I might add. I think that girl has some, how do you say, daddy issues.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter under my breath, having a flashback to some rather questionable words Heidi muttered during sex. “So what do I do?”
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, Magnus. And you’re not going to like any of it.”
I take in a deep breath, wondering what kind of royal terrors await me. “Okay,” I say slowly. “What is it?”
She rubs her lips together, taking her time. I know she does this because I’m terribly impatient and hate having to wait. I also know she loves to see me squirm.
“First of all, you’re going to have to apologize to the prime minister and Heidi. In person. And then later on camera during a press conference.”
“What!?” I exclaim. “On camera? But…the world will eat that up with a fucking spoon. That will make us look weak.”
She gives me a sour smile. “We already look weak, thanks to you. The entire monarchy has now been razed to sub-standard levels. We are the laughing stock of the country, of Europe, of the entire world. Magnus, the damage you’ve done with this is just the straw that broke the damn camel’s back. All respect that this royal family has earned is gone and in a world where monarchies are no longer in vogue nor in real power, this will have lasting effects.”
Well, fuck.
“Okay,” I tell her, gathering my courage. “I’ll do it.”
“Yes. You will do it. And you’ll do the next thing as well.”
“What next thing? It can’t be worse than that,” I say softly, but from the look in her eyes I can tell it is. I brace for impact.
“The next thing…” she starts and then seems to wince at what she’s about to say. “Magnus. You’re going to have to get married.”
Two
Magnus
The words hang in the air, refusing to sink into my brain. It’s like I can stare at them, observing, not really understanding why they’re here.
“What?” I eventually say.
My mother’s eyes narrow. “You heard me. You’re going to have to get married.”
Still, they don’t sink in. I tilt my head, not sure I heard her right either time. “I’m sorry. Married?”
“Married.”
“To who?”
“To whom,” she corrects me. “And I’ve compiled a list. I don’t have it on me because I figured you would need time to warm up to the idea, but I assure you it will be someone European and of noble blood, someone this country can be proud of.”
My mouth opens. Closes. My heart pounds in my head, louder and louder as I realize what she’s saying.
Dear God.
What is she saying?
“How is…what is…” I pause. “You want me to get married?”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a short sigh. “I know you’re not stupid, Magnus, so instead of repeating it back to me, how about you start believing it?”
“But…why? How is this your solution to a leaked sex tape?” I take in a shaking breath. “Fucking hell, you don’t expect me to marry Heidi, do you?”
“Oh, calm down. We both know the girl is batty. So is the prime minister. You will get married to someone beautiful, nice, proper, and prestigious. As soon as possible. It’s the only way we can save face.”
“How does this save face?!” I exclaim, throwing my arms out as I jump to my feet.
“Sit down.”
“Sit down? Sit down?” I can feel my face growing hot, my pulse beating wildly out of control. I know I should try and contain myself, especially when I get this way. “You’re telling me I have to marry some stranger for no reason at all except you think it will somehow make the country and the prime minister happy?”
“Yes,” she says simply, folding her hands in her lap.
I stare at her, breathing hard, daring her to mess up, to flinch, to show me that there’s a part of her that feels ridiculous for suggesting such a thing.
But she only stares back at me with flames in her eyes. Those small, smoldering flames that only hint at the dragons she has caged back there.
Yeesh.
Still, I don’t sit down. To sit down is to give in.
“Listen, I know this isn’t something you want to do,” she begins.
I scoff loudly. “You don’t say.”
“But honestly, what the country needs is to know a good and responsible man is representing them.”
“That’s what father is. Everyone loves him.”
She looks away, her gaze going to the windows and the lights of the city. “Your father is very ill.”
Over the course of the summer, I’ve heard my father been described as ill, sick, under the weather, of poor health, ever since he was diagnosed with pancreatitis. Over the last month he’s had his own sick room in the palace where the doctor comes to visit and conduct tests. From all that I’ve heard, pancreatitis is something he’ll recover from. This is the first time my mother has used the words very ill to describe him, the first time that I’ve grasped a hint of sorrow from her.
“He’s getting better,” I tell her, as if my words make it all true. “I saw him just two weeks ago and he looked great. Well, good. Better, anyway.”
She lets out a low breath and wrings her hands together for a moment, another telltale sign that this is a lot bigger than she’s letting on.
Everything inside me sinks to a depth I rarely venture.
“He’s got acute pancreatitis,” she says.
“I know. But you said eighty percent of people pull through.”
“That’s what the doctors said. He’s seen a lot at this point. But even doctors can be wrong.”
I don’t want to ask the next words. My father just turned seventy-five. Sure he drank a lot when the world wasn’t looking, but we all do in our family.
“Is he…he’s going to be okay, rig
ht?”
“He’s in a lot of pain, Magnus. He’s got surgery coming up, and even that is risky. And even if it goes fine, he might be in a lot of pain for the rest of his life. He won’t be fit to rule.”
For some reason I imagined my father would live forever. Until he got sick, I didn’t really think about his age. He didn’t marry my mother for a long time, and it was even longer after that before she was finally pregnant with me. There’s a fifteen-year age difference between them and he’s always been so outgoing and spry.
Because of that, I’ve always thought of my role as heir to the throne as something that would never happen. Or something that would happen to someone else, even if subconsciously the idea has caused me to panic.
She looks at me and her eyes are watering.
Shit.
“If you don’t wish to abdicate, then you will be king. Sooner than you think, sooner than we all hoped. With all you’ve put this family through over the years with your partying and your women and your damn adrenaline sports, you need to step up and be the man we want you to be. We need you to do the right thing and marry someone and start a family and do all the things that a king should be doing.”
This is too much to take. My stomach is starting to twist. I sit back down, my foot tapping rapidly against the floor.
“Have you talked to father about this?” I ask quietly.
“I did,” she says. “He agrees.”
“This is like an arranged marriage.”
“It isn’t when you have a pick of who you marry,” she says stiffly.
“It’s an arranged marriage,” I repeat, looking at her hard. “A marriage of convenience. Or inconvenience since you very well know marriage has never been on my agenda.”
“You’re twenty-eight. It had to be eventually.”
“Why? Because that’s what society says?”
“Phhffft,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ve spent your whole life bucking what society says. Maybe this is about something else. Maybe you need someone, Magnus. You need someone in your life instead of all these, these things.”