“Oh, he knows, Helena!” Nicklas says, voice in anguish. “He knows, everyone knows. This is it for us. This is the end.”
“It’s not the end,” she snipes, and I can hear the panic in her voice as her hands slap against the side of my arm. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”
“Fuck is right,” I yell. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been betraying me? Betraying the family?”
“You’re full of shit,” she hisses. “I haven’t betrayed you. We both know you never loved me. You only married me because you had to.”
“I loved you!” I roar. I squeeze the steering wheel so tight I swear I could break it in half. “I loved you so much that I thought my world would end if our love ended. And our love did end and everything else kept on going. I learned it was all a lie.”
“Fuck you,” she says, sitting back. “As if I haven’t given you what you wanted, children, as if I haven’t been the perfect future queen. I’ve given you all you wished for.”
“You wanted that too! That throne, that crown, that’s the only thing that’s mattered to you from the start. And now you have it. Now you’re queen and I’m tossed aside for some fucking butler. A man who is supposed to shine your shoes, not fuck you out of them. But we both know your standards are pretty fucking low.”
“You fuck!” Nicklas says, lunging, trying to punch me again.
He’s hitting me and I’m ducking, and the road sweeps to the left in a tight curve and I hit the brakes, whipping the wheel around like the pro I used to be. But even though this sort of turn isn’t a concern to me, the wetness of the road, especially after weeks of drought, means that the rain hasn’t sunken into the asphalt.
It’s slick and the car starts to spin out.
In a moment I forget why we’re even fighting.
I forget about the betrayal.
I forget that I’ve never hated two people so much in my life.
All I know is that we’re sliding out.
All I know is that if I can’t correct this vehicle, we’ll all go over the edge of the road and down into the valley below.
So I tap the brakes and I correct and I do everything that racing has taught me and I keep my head level, like this is just another bend in the course.
But the SUV does not behave like a rally car.
And the road does not behave like a rally track.
And my passengers aren’t navigators.
Everyone screams as the SUV speeds forward, spinning out of control as it bursts over the side of the road that barely had a shoulder to begin with.
We’re airborne for a moment.
Then we crash.
We implode. It feels like thousands of pounds of steel are warping around me.
Then we flip.
Over and over.
Again.
Bam.
And again.
Bam.
And again.
I don’t know what’s up or down.
The seatbelt digs at my windpipe, carving into my waist, just as Helena’s figure moves past me.
I reach out for her, to grab her, and I graze the length of her leg, my fingers trying in vain to grasp her.
But it’s too late.
She’s going through the windshield.
Glass shatters like rain and then everything is black.
It’s a blackness I can sink into. A void. A place where my sins live, waiting for me in its depths.
Then, after eons, centuries, years, minutes…
There’s rain on my face.
My head wants to explode.
Everything comes back to me.
I gasp for air, feeling trapped like a wild animal.
I fumble for my seatbelt and unclick it. My body drops, freefalls, slams against the car’s ceiling that’s now the floor and nearly knocks me out again. The SUV landed upside down.
Helena.
That image of her moving past me, like a darkened ghost in the night, a spirit trying to flee the world I live in for another. That was no dream. This is no nightmare.
I raise my head, glancing up to see Nicklas unconscious and upside down.
I should check on him. I will check on him, even though I want to do anything but.
But first I have to find Helena.
Helena.
I crawl out of the SUV, the broken windows cutting my arms and legs.
We’ve landed on a slope, far beneath the road. My flashlight is swallowed by oak trees that surround us on either side, the car nestled in a patch of low foliage and rock.
“Helena?” I cry out, stumbling through the rocks, trying not to fall. It feels like my knees will give out at any second. “Helena!”
There is nothing. There is nothing here except the rain and soft warmth running down my arms and legs and head. Blood, maybe.
I hear a groan and try to run, nearly falling a few times. I see her, about twenty feet from the SUV. She’s lying on her stomach, pressed up against a rock. Her face is covered in blood, she wears it like a veil.
“Helena,” I cry out, dropping to my knees, ignoring the pain that rips through me. “I’m here.”
“Nicklas,” she manages to say, her eye fixed on me with such intensity that I know not to doubt what she’s saying. “Where is Nicklas?”
I swallow but it’s impossible. There are rocks in my throat. “I’m here,” I say again. “Aksel. I am here.”
But that is no comfort to her gaze. If anything, she shrinks from fear.
And then she shrinks from life.
I’m on my knees beside my wife, bleeding, maybe dying, and in the end just asking her to still see me for who I am, see me for me.
But she only sees him.
She only wants him.
And I can’t even fault her for it anymore. Because she should have whatever she deserves.
Because you don’t realize how precious and fickle life is until you see it drain right before your eyes. You don’t know how petty and trivial your stupid feelings are until someone is gone.
In the moments before, I wanted nothing but revenge and love and a million things that Helena could never give me.
Now, as she dies in front of me, I want nothing more than for her to be happy.
I want nothing more than for her to live.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, holding her hand tight, so tight, as the tears start to roll down my face.
They mingle with the rain.
Soaking my heart.
She dies.
I die.
I live and yet I die with the last breath she takes.
Once my lover. Once my wife.
My world has changed forever.
Chapter 1
Aurora
Present Day - September
When I first applied for the job I didn’t think much of it. If anything, I hesitated to fill out the application to begin with. I’d just come off being a nanny for Etienne Beauregard for two years and after that little French tyrant did everything in his power to defeat me, I started to think that maybe I ought to give being a nanny a break. I’d been an au pair, then a nanny, for various families across Europe for the last seven years. Even someone as optimistic and resilient as I can get a little burned out, and yearning for something new was what led me overseas to begin with.
But even though I gave myself permission to look at other options I could do instead (Teaching English? Being a private tutor? Busking on a street corner dressed as Marie Antoinette?), the moment I went into my recruitment agency to tell them I needed a change of pace, my advisor, Amelie, promptly told me about the position.
“It’s in Copenhagen,” she said with a waggle of her brows, as if Copenhagen was more alluring than the fact that we were currently in Paris.
“Listen, Amelie,” I told her, switching from my still rusty (by their standards) French to English. I blame it on my Australian accent. “I was actually thinking we could try something else.”
She stared at me blankly.
She chewed on her lip for a moment, brows furrowed. “Pourquoi?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Etienne was…”
“Yes, he was a brat and his father was a creep. But you did well and left when you could. They aren’t all like him. You know this.”
“I know, but maybe I could do something … different.”
She shook her head and put her attention back to her computer screen. “No. You can’t. You came here asking for work and we’ve placed you with four families since then. This is what’s allowed you to stay and work in the EU. You’re a good nanny, Aurora. Your energy is how you say, infectious. And that’s why this position is so appealing.” She punctuated her sentence by clicking on her mouse.
Suddenly all the different new directions and all the little lives I could have had disappeared from my head in a poof of dust. “Okay,” I said with a sigh and pasted on a smile. “What is it?”
“Alors.” She shot me a cunning smile. “It’s for a prominent family in Denmark. One-year term to start. Two girls, ages five and six. The father is, uh, single.”
Single dad? That was a new one. “Where is the mother?”
“Dead,” she said. I remember the look on her face, like she knew her personally. “Such a shame. So, yes, obviously the father needs some help.”
She went on with more details but not too much. Not enough to give it all away. After all, Amelie knew me and liked me and knew I was a good match with certain families. That infectious energy or whatever she was talking about. But there was no doubt she had to keep these cards close to her chest until the very end.
The first round of interviews took place in a nondescript café beside the Peninsula Hotel. The interviewer had been Maja, a very refined woman in her late seventies with enviously smooth skin and ash blonde hair pulled back into a long braid. I had been surprised that she came—normally it was the parents who interviewed me and I figured in this case at least the father would have. She wasn’t even a former nanny.
While her role in the family escaped me, her questions were odd as well. I learned nothing about the girls except their names—Freja and Clara—and instead was asked a lot about how I behave. My decorum. My beliefs. It was an interview but it felt less like it was for a job and more for if I was a decent human being. Maybe better than decent.
I couldn’t be sure that I passed.
I don’t come from a line of decency.
Then two days later, Amelie called. She wanted to meet me outside the Chloe boutique on Rue Honore, which I thought was an odd location considering it’s an expensive part of Paris and far from her office.
I found her there, smoking a cigarette.
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
Her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was afraid she was being followed. Then she nodded. “Come with me.”
Bewildered, I went down a side street until she stopped against a wall. Her eyes were still roaming around and I was about to ask if she was okay until she said, “You need to fly to Copenhagen tomorrow.”
“What?” Until that morning, Amelie hadn’t said anything about the position. I started to assume I didn’t get it.
She took a quick drag of her cigarette. “Short notice. But they want to introduce you to the children. If it works out, then you have the job. Maja seemed impressed. Either that or she had something in her eye.”
“You met with her in person?”
“Earlier today. We had lunch up the street.”
“Why was she still in Paris?”
“You don’t think you were the only candidate, do you?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
She gave me an amused smile. “You were my only candidate. But she’d seen a few from other places in Europe. They all met her here as a central location. At least that’s what she said. Germany, Austria, Belgium. She’d already been through England. And Denmark, of course.”
“It can’t be that hard to find a nanny. Why is she searching half the continent?”
Amelie’s smile widened. “Because it’s not easy to find someone fit for royalty.”
And that’s when I finally knew the whole truth about the position.
I wouldn’t be a nanny for just any wealthy or prestigious family.
I would be a nanny for fucking royalty.
And that’s why I’m currently on a plane to Copenhagen, trying my best to keep calm. Doesn’t help that we keep hitting pockets of turbulence and the woman next to me is clutching her rosary and muttering a fevered prayer in Italian.
I try and distract myself from the rollercoaster in my stomach by going over all the last minute research I did on both Denmark and the Danish royal family. I only had twenty-four hours to cram before I got on the airplane and I wasn’t about to show up at the bloody royal palace without being prepared.
Denmark was always a place I wanted to visit and I love doing research for fun, so luckily I already know a bit about the country, but I knew nothing about their royal family.
Now that I do, well, the history of the royal family is a rather messy one.
King Aksel is forty years old and one of the youngest kings in recent history.
He was the oldest child of King Felix and Queen Liva, with a younger sister Princess Stella. He inherited the throne after his father died of a heart attack four years ago. The dowager queen hasn’t been the same since and has spent most of her years hospitalized for various things that the internet can’t quite agree upon.
The tragedy in King Aksel’s life didn’t stop there.
Two years ago, his wife, Queen Helena, died in a car accident on the island of Madeira where the King and Queen were vacationing, thus leaving Aksel as the single father to their daughters, Clara and Freja. Ever since the very public funeral, the kids have been barely seen and Aksel’s own public appearances have been limited.
The King is said to be grief-stricken, which is understandable. More than that, the entire country is still in mourning. You see, the minute she became a princess, Queen Helena was often compared to Princess Diana. Not so much in that she was the people’s princess. If anything, Queen Helena was elite, coming from a line of Danish and Swedish nobility. But she was beyond charitable, gorgeous, stylish and witty, and the public absolutely adored her. I may have not known that much about the Danish royal family but I did recall headlines about Princess Helena.
So yeah. Not only am I heading to the bloody royal palace to meet them all but I have to be mindful of what this family has gone through. The kids I’ve watched over in the past have all had varying degrees of difficulties and problems (don’t get me started on Etienne), but none of them have had to deal with grief other than the death of a goldfish.
Me, on the other hand? Well, let’s just say I know it in many forms.
The harsh jolt of the plane’s landing literally snaps me out of my thoughts.
The woman next to me stops her praying and I peek out the window at the runways of Copenhagen airport.
I’m here.
Nausea rolls through me as if we’re back in the air again.
The funny thing is that though days ago I had been considering a change of pace, doing anything but this, ready for a new direction in my life, now I’m counting on getting this job above all others.
I am not refined. I have zero interest in royalty.
There’s absolutely nothing that makes me think I would even be a good fit for this position. I’d always assumed that people who worked for a royal family—especially a nanny—would have to come from a line of nobility themselves. Lord, I hope I don’t have to open up about my own background because I’m pretty sure I’d be shown the door in a hot second.
And yet, if I did happen to get the job, I can see the doors opening from it, my future expanding, and a purpose that’s always eluded me might finally be in my reach.
If I get the job, of course.
Bi
g, fat if.
Once we’re at the gate, I grab my small carry-on from the overhead compartment and shuffle down the aisle. The royal family paid for the flight, which was nice of them. I’ve been saving up over the years so I could swing it but even so, I’m careful with my money.
At the arrivals area I see Maja again plus a man who must be the driver, standing at attention beside her. Like before, her hair is back in a braid and she’s dressed plainly in dark colors.
Here I go.
“Hello again,” I say to her, holding out my hand. “Thank you so much for having me.”
Maja’s hand shake is firm, her smile tight. “Come this way,” she says in her heavy accent before turning and walking off, the driver beside her.
Okay. So she may have called me back for a second interview but we’re definitely not best buds yet. That’s fine. I can win her over with time.
If you have time, I remind myself. Think before you speak.
I follow the two of them out to a waiting black Town Car where the driver takes my bag and puts it in the trunk and then opens the back door. Maja nods at me to get inside and I feel a thrill run through me. Not that I haven’t been in such a car before but I am a little suspicious these two are going to dump my body in the castle moat. With all my research I hadn’t found any information on Maja.
The urge to ask her about herself is strong, especially as neither she nor the driver talk at all during the drive. I like to talk, mainly because I’m curious and also because I can’t stand awkward silences.
I stare at Maja, trying to figure out her game.
She stares right back at me, one eyebrow raised.
Shit, I’m already blowing it. I do tend to stare at people a lot but I do it out of curiosity, not to be rude. There’s a lot you can learn about people just by staying silent and watching them.
Unfortunately, I sometimes have problems with the staying silent part.
“I take it you might have some questions for me,” she says after a beat.
“I do,” I say. “I mean, I never really got to hear what your role in all of this is.”
A Nordic King Page 2
