“That’s enough. I said I will hear no more of it,” the king growled.
“As you wish; shall we return to discussing his party? Tell me, shall I hire prostitutes and have an open bar for the celebration? Maybe that will bring him home. Or shall I just offer to pay his debts?” The queen gasped. Brenna sipped her coffee.
“That is enough! I am in no mood for this. There will be no more talk of Eric, understood?” her father said through clenched teeth.
“Yes, Father, your wish is my command. Since we have changed the subject and you have clearly demonstrated your preference, allow me to demonstrate mine. I despise the name Eirinia. If I’m to not to be given any consideration for the title of monarch, a role I clearly deserve, I will be known as Brenna.”
“Darling, please, you’re upsetting your father,” the queen said, tears in her eyes.
Brenna threw down her napkin and stood. “Yes mother, we can’t have that – the king of Rogandal upset over his daughter asking for what is rightfully hers, while his son is a public disgrace. If you will excuse me, I have other places that I find more welcoming than here.”
Brenna left the breakfast room despite her mother’s pleas for her to return. She strode confidently across the icy courtyard without a single concern for slipping. She smiled as she thought about the seed she had planted. Despite his refusal to hear reason, she knew her father better than he realized. He was vain and proud, and he did not want to be thought of as a laughingstock.
With a little help from her friends in the press, Brenna was sure she could make it very hard for her father to ignore Eric’s antics much longer. After all, she was the beautiful princess whom everyone wanted to interview and photograph. She had leverage, and unlike her brother, she knew how to use the press to her advantage.
* * *
The wind howled in the chimney as the fire dispelled the chill in the library. Queen Gyda sat by the fireplace with a book in her hand and a cup of tea on the marble table in front of her. Concentrating on the words on the page proved to be nearly impossible; her mind returned to the conversation at breakfast.
She looked at the clock on the mantle and hoped the king would be in to join her for tea this afternoon. There was much to be discussed between them about their children.
It was quarter past four in the afternoon when he finally strode into the library. He dismissed the footman in attendance and closed the door behind him.
Gyda’s eyes never left the handsome face of the man she had married. His hair was more gray than blond these days and he wore a neatly trimmed beard, but he was still as dashing and aristocratic as the day they met.
Closing the book, she put it down on the settee beside her as she asked, “Why did you dismiss the footman? Is there anything wrong?”
“Wrong? I should say there is,” he answered, taking a seat across from her, beside the fireplace.
“The conversation this morning with Eirinia has concerned me all day. Is that also upsetting you?”
“Yes, it is. And so is this!” He handed his cell phone to Gyda. “Read that text from our son. Go ahead, read it.”
Gyda read the text and shook her head. Her son was acting just as Eirinia had said – he was in Thailand, broke, and asking for more money. Glancing at her husband’s face, she could clearly see that he was frustrated with Eric, as she was. Unsure what to say, she asked, “He needs more money, is that the message you wanted me to read?”
“It was. Did you see the rest of the text where he claims he underestimated his expenses and his yacht needs a costly repair? Why does he lie to me?”
Gyda poured a cup of tea for her husband and placed a large portion of streusel on a china plate for him. He reached for the streusel and consumed it in three large bites before haphazardly returning the priceless antique plate to the table and sliding it away from him, as though he was pushing away an unpleasant thought.
“Is it possible the boat needs a repair? It is a racing yacht; you know nothing on that boat is cheap,” Gyda replied.
“Captain Jorlsen doesn’t seem to be aware his ship needs anything. When I texted him regarding the condition of the boat and crew he assured me all was well and they were under full sail to Phuket.”
Gyda sighed. “That would seem to differ with Eric’s story.”
“To make matters worse, even though our daughter’s methods were heavy handed, she was not wrong. Eric is causing irreparable damage to our reputation as he gallivants around the globe.”
“Perhaps he’ll settle down soon?” Gyda asked as she took a bite of streusel.
“Not likely. He spends our money as though it was a limitless resource and the stories Eirinia mentioned – she wasn’t mistaken. He has a terrible reputation in the press.”
“Why haven’t you said anything about this before? And if this is all true, why did you treat our daughter so rudely? She has a good point. She’s never given us a moment’s trouble, and yet you allow her older brother to behave irresponsibly and do as he pleases with the crown waiting for him when he comes home.”
“Gyda, I did not mean to speak to Eirinia harshly but she must learn that what it looks like to rule, and what it is like to rule, are not the same thing. She is smart and would make a good politician, but I find myself doubting her commitment to the good of all of our people, even the poor ones.”
“Do you mean you don’t think she’d be a good queen? And yet our son – who has shown no disposition towards leadership or any kind of responsibility – would be the king Rogandal deserves. Is that not a double standard?”
He looked down at the table before meeting his wife’s unwavering, piercing gaze. “I know that it must appear that way, but do you not remember them as children? Eric wanted to donate his toys at Christmas to families less fortunate, or build a sanctuary for all the stray dogs and cats in the capital? Do you remember how he once was – his heart, his compassion for all people and manner of creatures? That’s what I’m talking about; he would care for all of Rogandal’s citizens.”
Gyda’s expression softened as she considered his words. “And Eirinia. What is your opinion of her abilities?”
The king looked uncomfortable when confronted with his wife’s question. He stood and walked to the fireplace. He watched the flames dance and leap before turning around to face his wife once more, answering her question. “Our daughter is a strong-willed and strong-minded woman, there can be no doubt of that. Her reputation is not tainted by scandal although I suspect she is no angel, she is just far too smart to be caught by the press in an uncompromising circumstance. She would be well received as queen, but her heart is cold. There is no regard for others, only ambition.”
“Eric! That’s a horrible thing to say about our daughter,” Gyda exclaimed, shocked by her husband’s candor.
“I know it is; but search your heart and your memory and you will find it to be true. I love her very much, but as a monarch, as ruler, she must be as charitable as she is strong, as compassionate as she is wise, and that is where she is lacking.”
“Yet our son is just the opposite; he is all heart without a brain, he behaves thoughtlessly and carelessly without regard to the consequences, and you find that preferable? You would trust the fate of this country, of our people, to a man who does not consider the consequences of his actions or his words?”
The king sighed, exasperated. “It’s a tough decision, is it not? They are opposite in nearly every way, and yet they both possess qualities that a monarch needs. Forgive me for saying this, but I believe Eric can be taught to behave as a king, but compassion is not a trait that can be learned.”
“What do you intend to do about this? Our son is somewhere halfway around the world, acting like a spoiled juvenile and filling the headlines with his antics.”
“I will give the matter some thought, but I believe I have found a solution to the problem.”
“And what would that be?”
“Not what, whom,” the king said.
Gyda was not certain what he meant but she welcomed any solution to bring peace back to the palace.
Chapter 3
The private Learjet landed smoothly at the airport in the capital city of Hoburg in Rogandal. Snow covered the landscape and the gabled rooftops of the city, barely visible through the small oval window by the seat of Lady Astrid Willoughby.
As the plane taxied to the hanger, she stood and stretched her long legs. At nearly six feet tall, she was slender and was often mistaken for a model with her striking red hair and blue eyes. Her sole companion was Grieg Haffsen, private secretary to the king of Rogandal.
“My Lady, the king wishes for the utmost discretion regarding this matter. It goes without saying that if you choose to not accept his offer of employment that not a word will get leaked to the press. Do I have your word?” the handsome older man asked as he stood and joined her in the aisle of the narrow airplane.
“Mr. Haffsen, I believe you will find I am uniquely qualified in these circumstances, which is what brought me to the attention of your king.” Leaning close to her companion, she whispered in his ear. “I promise I can keep a secret.”
“Yes, My Lady, forgive me, but I must ask. I did not mean to be disrespectful in any way.”
Astrid answered, “I am sure you didn’t, but don’t concern yourself about my lack of interest in this position. I enjoy a challenge.”
The door to the plane opened to a limousine waiting in a private hangar. Astrid collected her purse and her shoulder bag as she gave Grieg a reassuring smile.
The ride through the capital was pleasant and it was just as she remembered: quaint cobblestones and colorful architecture mixed with stylish, sleek glass buildings and edgy modern architecture. It had been years since Astrid had visited Hoburg, the place her mother’s family called home.
Arriving at the gate of the palace, Astrid peered through the window to get a better look at a building that was considered one of the finest examples of Swedish Rococo architecture in the world. She had visited the palace once when she was a child, but the memory of it was no match for the reality she was experiencing as the limousine glided through the ornate metal swirls of the gate.
The palace was built of cream colored stone, with blue and gold embellishments and rounded windows. The palace was five stories tall and the front was incredibly wide, and yet the structure did not seem imposing from that angle. It was the enormous courtyard that was buttressed on all sides by the apartments and rooms of this enormous residence that truly demonstrated the magnificence of the design.
Astrid remembered running through the gardens as a child. The mazes and water features that were among the most famous in the world were planned to accommodate the taste of the royal family of that gilded era – the same family whose descendants occupied the residence now.
The limousine stopped at the entrance and a footman in full livery opened the door. Astrid stepped out of the limousine into cold so bitter it sent chills up her spine. She shivered involuntarily as she walked into the great hall.
“My Lady, allow me to introduce Mrs. Connelly, the housekeeper. She will show you to your rooms, where you may freshen up before your meeting.”
“My Lady, it is a pleasure to meet you; welcome to Hoburg palace. If you will accompany me, I will have the footman bring your luggage.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Connelly.” Astrid followed the cheerful woman up the marble staircase and through a corridor. The older woman with the posh British accent moved surprisingly quickly through the maze of hallways and corridors, all a blur of gilded furniture, oil paintings, and gold embellishment.
A footman kept pace behind them carrying the one overnight bag Astrid had packed for the trip. She could easily have carried it herself, but she understood the protocol of great houses such as this one and she did not want to upset the delicate balance of duty and rank among the domestic staff.
The housekeeper opened the door to a suite of rooms that were opulently decorated in pastel pinks, blues, and mint green mixed with gold. The fireplace in the sitting room was white marble with a gold mantle clock and ornately carved gold and crystal candelabras on either side. The settees and chairs were confections of chintz which complemented the ornately carved and festooned bed in the adjoining chamber.
“You know, Mrs. Connelly, I could use a nice hot bath and a cup of tea. Do you think that could be arranged?” asked Astrid, as she unzipped her shoulder bag and pulled out the laptop that was her constant companion.
“Yes, My Lady, I will send tea up at once. Now, about the bathroom – these rooms may be antique but the bath is modern in every way. Even the bathtub is a Jacuzzi,” said the housekeeper with pride.
“That sounds wonderful. Dress for dinner in this house, is it formal or semi-formal?”
“Semi-formal, except on occasions of state or galas. Will you be needing anything pressed?”
“I do have a dress that may require some attention, thank you. If I may be forward, how did they steal you away from Kensington?” Astrid asked the housekeeper.
“His Majesty King Eric wanted the best. What could I say?” the older woman answered with a shrug of her shoulders.
“I am glad to see another Brit here in residence. At least I can be assured of a decent cup of tea.”
“Right you are, My Lady.”
After the tour of the suite, Mrs. Connelly and the footman left Astrid to freshen up. Unzipping her suitcase, she selected a navy blue dress for dinner that evening and placed it on the chair in the sitting room before running a hot bath. The steam filled the enormous bathroom that would have easily been at home in any upscale spa in the world.
Surprisingly, Astrid found the bathtub to be long enough to accommodate her height. She lay back in the bubbles and felt her body relax as her thoughts drifted to the meeting scheduled with the king. She was had not lied to Grieg. If she chose to accept this job it was going to be a challenge. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the soothing steam and wondered if she was up to it.
* * *
The footman escorted Astrid through the labyrinth of corridors and passageways to the private rooms of the royal family. She took a deep breath as he announced her arrival to the ruler of Rogandal, His Majesty King Eric Balder Gunborg. With a curtsy, she waited for the king to acknowledge her.
“Lady Willoughby, please be seated.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, and chose an ornately upholstered chair across from an enormous oak desk. The king dismissed the footmen and waited until the door closed before continuing. “I must say you are rather striking in appearance. I seem to remember that your mother was a lady-in-waiting to Gyda, is that correct?”
“It is, Your Majesty. She did serve as a lady-in-waiting before her marriage to my father.”
Your parents, are they both well?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, both are in perfect health, thank you,” she answered.
“Splendid. I am sure Gyda will be pleased to hear it. I am certain you are as ready as I am to get down to business, as they say.”
“Your Majesty, any time you are ready.”
“One never is for a conversation such as this, but here we are. I must confess this is foreign territory for me but you come highly recommended. The Saudis were impressed with your skills and so was the prince of a certain country that shall remain nameless.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, although I am not in position to confirm those references, it has been my privilege to work with a number of prominent families that have found themselves faced with similar concerns.”
“It seems that you are known to be highly effective, and yet discreet. If the reports I have heard are to be believed, then I can think of no one else I would rather engage in this position.”
“If I may, Your Majesty, before we proceed, I think it would be wise to discuss to the fullest extent, the severity of your particular circumstances.”
“My son Eric, the heir to the throne, is a bit wild and may need someone to
provide a guiding hand to get him back on track.”
Astrid looked at the king and tried to refrain from laughing or making an irrational judgment. The names changed and so did the language, but a parent’s ability to delude himself when it came to the subject of his children was universal.
“Your Majesty, let us consider your situation form a rational point of view, shall we?”
The king noticed her expression and appeared exasperated and defensive. “Fine. My son is wild and irresponsible, what of it?”
Astrid dispensed with the formality and cut straight to the chase. “Look, in order for me to do my job effectively, you and I will always have to be completely candid with one another. Your son is not only wild and a bit irresponsible – it is far worse than that. He is a thirty-year-old bachelor who beds every pretty girl he meets, drinks like a fish, and may even use recreational drugs. He has been evicted forcibly from several countries, and the only reason he hasn’t wound up in jail in some third world backwater is because of his title, your influence, and your money. Furthermore, his behavior would have been cute at twenty-one, but at thirty it looks despotic.”
The king rubbed his eyes and the color drained from his face as he shook his head. “Is it as bad as that? I had no idea.”
“It is. What you have to consider is that for every headline he makes because of his lifestyle, the press here are drawing unfavorable conclusions about the money he wastes, and comparing that to the economic challenges you face here in Rogandal. If this isn’t handled correctly, you may be faced with a crisis far worse than simply being embarrassed by your son’s shenanigans, Your Majesty.”
Astrid sat back and let her words sink in. This was the part of the conversation when the parent of the misbehaving prince or princess was forced to face reality and make a decision. In her experience, patience was best and she refused to speak first.
After a long period of silence, the king spoke. “Lady Willoughby, you seem to have a good grasp of the magnitude of the situation, and you might even understand it far better than I do. As I stated before, I would like to offer you this position. I can think of no one better qualified.”
Taming the Rebel Prince: The Royals of Rogandal Page 2
