by Melinda Minx
“I’m an adjunct professor,” she says. “That means I’m basically an indentured servant.”
“Ah, I see. What do you teach?”
“I teach a few general education courses,” she says. “That means I’m mostly free labor for the tenured professors in the department. I earned my master’s anthropology.”
“So you know a lot about people,” I say.
She laughs. “God, I can tell you are just laughing at me. I bet you’re wondering why I would be dumb enough to dedicate my life to anthropology, of all things.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. In Norida, we don’t think like Americans. It’s not at all about how much money you can make at a job. There’s real value in doing what you love, in advancing human knowledge.”
She gives me a weird smile. Her lips smile, but her eyebrows are furrowed. I can tell she thinks I’m bullshitting her.
“I’m not bullshitting you,” I say. “Honest.”
8
Jane
He’s so totally bullshitting me, but I love it.
I chug down another sip of the wine. The spices hit my nose with a warm aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg, and then the warmth of the alcohol hits my stomach, and I feel my cheeks warming up even more.
“I did manage to convince the department to pay for my trip here,” I say. “I’d never have been able to afford it otherwise.”
“Part of your research?” he asks.
“Honestly,” I say, “I just wanted to go on vacation. I’m really interested in Nordia and wanted to see it, but it’s barely related to my research. My dissertation was on Denmark.”
“Ouch,” he says. “So you’re in bed with my mortal enemy?”
I laugh. “Come on, Ri―Dick―you and Denmark are hardly enemies today.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says. “We smile and shake hands and play nice, but we’re still suspicious of each other.”
“You think the Danes are going to storm the steps again?” I ask. “Maybe they will scale the castle walls with little Lego ladders?”
“You’re right,” he says. “It really is ridiculous. As you’ve seen today, the real risk doesn’t come from outside the country, but from within.”
“Do those guys today really even consider themselves part of this country?”
He shakes his head. “No, they are a serious minority. We actually allowed Sydia to vote―just three years ago―and the vote to leave the country failed. Only twenty percent of Sydians were in favor. The separatists claim we rigged the election.”
“Did you?” I ask.
I’m being sarcastic, but I notice he bristles a bit at my question.
“We’re a democratic monarchy,” he says. “Emphasis on democratic.”
“Sorry,” I say. I shouldn’t have joked about it.
But then Rikard grabs my hand and squeezes it. HIs strong hand feels warm and protective clasped around mine.
“No,” he says. “I’m sorry. I get...touchy, when it comes to Sydia.”
I glance down at his hand on mine. “I might have to mention them again then, later tonight. I like when you’re touchy.”
He grins, and our eyes meet.
I feel someone walking up behind me then, and I turn around.
There’s a big man, and he looks a lot like Rikard, though he’s not as tall or handsome.
“Dick,” he says, grinning.
“Siegfried,” Rikard says.
Rikard smiles at me. “This is my cousin. Siegfried.”
“And who is this?” Siegfried asks, eyeing me.
“Jane Caswell,” I say, standing up and offering my hand.
Siegfried takes my hand and kisses it.
Rikard rolls his eyes at his cousin. “She’s American.”
“All the more reason to give her a proper European welcome,” Siegfried says.
“How do you know she hasn’t been here for years?” Rikard asks.
He grins smugly. “I recognize her from the news reports. She was one of the hostages from the castle.”
9
Rikard
Siegfried looks at me, and I know right away that I won’t get to finish this date.
“A word, cousin,” he says.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say to Jane, before rising from my chair to follow Siegfried outside.
When we’re outside the restaurant and out of earshot of the other guests, he says, “Breivik just got sacked.”
“What?” I ask, nearly crushing my glass in my hand in shock.
“Ekdahl is the new Royal General,” Siegfried says. “And…”
He eyes me, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news.
“Out with it,” I snap.
“He wants you brought in,” he says.
“Brought in?” I repeat. “I saved everyone’s ass up there!” I jab my finger in the direction of the hill and the castle.
“He’s just throwing his dick around,” Siegfried says. “Showing that he can tell even a prince to roll over when he says so.”
“Fuck him,” I say. “I had other plans for tonight. I’ll keep to them.”
Siegfried looks through the window toward Jane and smiles. “I’m sure you had...stimulating...plans, but you don’t want to make an enemy of Ekdahl, do you? We can’t afford more enemies right now.”
I let out a long sigh. “General Cockblock better realize the sacrifice I’m making here.”
Siegfried grabs my bicep and squeezes. “Don’t call him that, Rikard. The man has no sense of humor.”
I return to the table without Siegfried. Jane is sitting, her wine glass empty, but she smiles when she sees me.
I smile back, but I put little enthusiasm into it. I’m not thrilled that some asshole on a power trip is going to make me cut my date short.
“I hate to say this,” I say to her. “But duty calls.”
She frowns. “I figured it was something like that. I can’t expect a prince―” she cuts off and switches to a lower whisper. “I can’t expect you to have a lot of uninterrupted time. Especially after everything that happened today.”
I nod. “I’m in some hot water, yeah. I gotta convince some assholes that I actually saved the day. They think I messed up.”
“I guess I’ll take a cab back to my hotel,” she says, starting to stand.
“No,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I told them to serve you some of their best dishes, and then I’ll call my driver for you…”
I suddenly get an idea. I need to smooth things over a bit with General Ekdahl, but I don’t want him to think I’m some pathetic little puppy desperate for him to pet me and call me “good boy.” I’ll come to him when he calls me, but fuck it, I’m bringing Jane to the palace.
“You saw the castle,” I say. “How about the palace?”
“Huh?” she asks. “Commoners aren’t allowed inside…”
I grin. “You think I can’t get you in?”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I thought it was almost unheard of for the rule to be broken. No one besides royalty has ever even seen inside it and talked about it...and we just met.”
I pull out my royal seal and press it into her hand. “I’ll have my driver take you through the gate. I’ll order the staff to make you up a room. You shouldn’t have to sleep in a hotel...you’re a hero, Jane. You saved the day just as much as I did.”
She laughs, then looks at me sincerely. “Having me sleep under the same roof as you, Dick, it’s not just…”
She trails off, not saying exactly what I’m thinking.
“You’ll have your own room,” I say, not really answering her question. “The royal treatment.”
“Okay,” she says. “I guess I’d be crazy to turn that invitation down.”
10
Jane
We’re stopped when we arrive at the gate, and the guard asks the driver to roll his window down.
“It’s me,” the driver says.
“Sorry, Gideon,
” the guard says. “Increased security protocol. I need to ID everyone in the car.”
“I have one passenger,” he says. “Guest of the prince.”
The driver, Gideon, looks back at me and tells me that he will be rolling my window down.
I nod.
The window opens, and the guard shines a flashlight inside. He looks right past me, shining the light around looking for anyone else who may be hidden inside. Once he’s sure it’s just me, he turns off the light and looks directly at me.
“ID please.”
I pull out my driver’s license. I left my passport in the hotel.
“What’s this?” he asks, looking at it.
“It’s my driver’s license,” I say nervously.
“This is all you have―”
I pull out the royal seal and hand it to him. My nerves are making me jittery.
He points to Gideon and says, “Wait here.” He disappears, leaving me to stew anxiously in the car. I wait until I see him back in the little guard post.
When I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I whisper to Gideon. “Are we in trouble?”
“Nothing to worry about, madam,” he says, but then he eyes the guard post nervously.
The guard comes back to the vehicle. “You’re clear to go in.”
He looks at me as the window rolls up, squinting with intense suspicion, and I feel hugely relieved when the tinted window is fully shut.
“Is that normal?” I ask Gideon.
“Perfectly,” he says, driving down the long driveway.
“Gideon,” I say, leaning farther forward. “Please let me know if anything is weird here.”
He hesitates for a few seconds before saying, “It’s not exactly common for a commoner to hold the royal seal.”
I nod, remembering what I learned in my history classes. Usually the seal would only be given to someone—in the days prior to electronic communication―in cases when someone had to be able to represent a royal official in some kind of emergency situation. Seeing it presented by a woman that the prince met only a few hours ago and is inviting to stay over in the palace probably doesn’t qualify as an emergency worthy of the royal seal.
“I see,” I say. “How many people know who the prince is?”
“I can’t disclose that,” Gideon says.
I wonder if the guard knew who he was. He must have, or how else could Rikard go in and out? The guards would eventually figure out who he was even if he never told them outright.
When we arrive inside, I’m met by a man who somehow has all of my suitcases from the hotel loaded on a cart. I look at the cart, my jaw hanging open in amazement.
“Ah,” the man says. “We had the hotel bring your things ‘round.”
My face flushed. I remembered throwing my dirty clothes that I had worn to tour the castle on the floor and over the chairs, and then I threw more clothes on the chairs and desks―clothes I tried on for the date which didn’t look good enough―until I finally decided on the dress I’m wearing now. I try to recall if I had dirty underwear lying around.
“A female hotel staff member fetched your things,” the man adds, as if reading my mind.
“You could have asked,” I say.
“The prince insisted,” he says.
Presumptuous of him. So far, the “royal treatment” has included receiving the full airport security theater check at the gate, and finding that my things were moved from my hotel room without my knowledge or permission.
I take a minute to look around the palace, and I realize that this is at least ten or eleven notches up from the hotel I was staying in. My hotel didn’t have a giant, ornate glass and bronze chandelier, nor did it have three hundred-year-old paintings and etchings covering the entire domed ceiling.
“I’ll take you to your room,” the man says then, grabbing hold of the cart.
I follow him into an elevator. It’s an old style one with a golden cage thing that the bellhop shuts manually. “Great care is taken in maintaining the historic preservation of the palace,” he says. Again, he’s reading my mind.
He inserts a key into the elevator and turns it, and then hits a button. The elevator starts going up, and it stops on the fourth floor.
For some reason, I expect us to exit into some standard hotel hallway, but instead I am greeted by another massive room. This one has marble floors and marble pillars, and there are golden couches covered in purple cushions. There’s even a Roman-style bath right in the middle of the room.
“Wow,” I say. “This is...just wow. If the lobby looks like this, I can’t even imagine what my room might look like.”
“These are your rooms, madam,” he says.
“Huh?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder. There are like ten of those golden couches, and the Roman-style bath looks large enough for twenty people to enjoy. I don’t even see a bed. “This isn’t...”
“There is a regular shower attached to the bedroom,” he says. “If you prefer that.”
How can he possibly think I was complaining? I was simply in disbelief to be sleeping in some kind of Roman emperor’s palace.
“How many rooms,” I say, “are my rooms?”
“Hmmm,” he says, pulling the cart forward. “I’ve never counted.”
I follow him down past the baths, the marble pillars, and the golden couches, until we come to a large wooden door carved so ornately that I would guess it’s more expensive than most peoples’ houses.
He pulls the door open, and I’m greeted by the bedroom. The bed is the size of a regular room, but the room itself is so big that it doesn’t feel too oversized. There’s a giant window covering the entire middle of the ceiling, and diffused lights from the city are spilling into the room. Through the window in the ceiling―the sunroof?―I can see the outline of the palace’s tall spires.
The man points up. “The prince’s room is in that spire.”
I laugh. “So he can see into my window?”
“The window is tinted, madam.”
Sure it is.
“Can it be closed?”
In answer, he presses a button near the bed, and the entire window turns black. Moments later, it lights up, becoming a huge light rather than a window. The light is soft and warm rather than harsh and fluorescent.
“Nice,” I say. “I think I’ll keep it like that, just in case.”
He begins unloading my suitcases and places them next to a huge wooden dresser. “Would you like me to sort your clothes for you?”
“No!” I snap.
He looks up at me like a hurt puppy.
“I’m not...royalty,” I stammer. “I’m used to doing things myself.”
“As you wish,” he says, stepping away.
He points toward another set of doors. “These doors lead to the living quarters, the doors across the room go to the guest bedroom.”
“The guest bedroom has its own guest bedroom?” I ask in disbelief.
He nods. “If you need anything, pick up the phone and ask. At any hour of the night.”
“What if I want to leave?” I ask.
He hands me a key. “This is for the elevator.”
I put it on the nightstand by the bed. “Did the prince ask me to meet him...or―”
“He’s still occupied,” the man says. “But he said he’d contact you as soon as he was able.”
11
Rikard
“I knew I could pull it off,” I snap. “And I did. No casualties.”
“There were six casualties,” Ekdhal says.
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean, sir.”
“Breivik’s dismissal was your fault, Your Highness,” Ekdahl says.
“Please drop the ‘Your Highness’ shit,” I snap. “I’m being debriefed as a soldier.”
“With respect, Your Highness,” Ekdahl says, “but a soldier cannot disobey orders. Only a spoiled prince can.”
I glare at him. He’s strong and compact, but at least a foot shorter than me. Who
the fuck does he think he is?
Then I realize he is my superior in the chain of command. I can’t ask for treatment as a soldier one moment, then play the royalty card the next.
“The contradiction,” I say, “is that was I not the spoiled prince, I would have been able to fully make use of my training, sir. Only because of my place in line for the throne am I ordered not to take part in such operations. Sir.”
He scowls at me. “You want to protect this country? If you were a regular soldier, we might ask you to give your life to protect the future king. Since you are the future king, Your Highness, we ask you to protect yourself.”
“And I did,” I say. “Not a scratch on me.”
“While your father is indisposed, you are on forced leave,” Ekdahl says, “I don’t even want to see you in uniform.”
I glare at him, knowing there’s no way I’ll get out of this.
“Understood, sir.”
“I also hear that you brought an American woman into the palace. What if she hears about your father?” Ekdahl says.
“She wouldn’t talk,” I say with confidence.
“Curious,” he says. “Don’t you think? She was in the castle at the same time as the separatists, and she was the only one in there who spotted you. Six trained soldiers didn’t see you, but plain Jane from America did.”
“Are you insinuating that she is some kind of Sydian spy?” I ask.
“It’s my job to be suspicious,” Ekdahl says.
“And what is my job now, sir? Now that I’m on...leave.”
Ekdahl shrugs. “Find a new hobby, Your Highness. You lack the discipline required to be a real soldier.”
I stare him down. If my father doesn’t make it and I become king, Ekdahl will be first on the chopping block. He knows that, too, so why would he take such a hard line with me?
“Noted, sir,” I say.
“Your Highness,” he says standing stiffly, and I take that as my cue to leave.
I spend about fifteen minutes freshening up and changing into a suit, and then I take the elevator up to Jane’s rooms.
