It’s a little bit dangerous. It’s dangerous for me because I see that in him and it does something to me in return. It makes me hopeful. It makes me love the fact that I mean something to him. Even if he just looks at me with fondness, the way you would a pet, it doesn’t matter. Here’s a man made of ice and he’s choosing to thaw for me.
But I’m overthinking it, obviously. He’s not choosing anything for me, he’s just hating me less. I need to keep myself in check otherwise these thoughts might start to build and build upon themselves, like the foundation of a house, until I’m standing on something that may not exist. For now, maybe the idea of him makes me smile. Maybe I catch my gaze falling on his face, memorizing his features, all of his quirks. Maybe it’s just a crush. I’ve had crushes before. I survived them.
I’ll survive Aksel. I’ve survived him this long.
And as if on cue, though my absent gaze is at the window and my back is to the doorway, I feel his presence enter the room. It’s like the molecules in the air change, the skin at the back of my neck prickles.
“It’s snowing,” he says, his voice low, adding to the electricity in the air, swirling with the falling flakes.
I glance at him over my shoulder and I’m already smiling before I see him. The man just gets more and more handsome every bloody day. It’s hardly fair.
And now, as he strolls toward me and Karla, he’s wearing one of my favorite outfits on him—pajamas. Well, essentially just red flannel drawstring pants and a white t-shirt. I only catch him wearing it late at night and usually he’s wearing this silk robe over it that I always want to reach out and touch.
I let my gaze linger on his body longer than I should. I know it’s as inappropriate for me to check him out as it would be for him to check me out (though, good lord, I wouldn’t mind him being inappropriate for once), but I can’t help it. I drink him in like water. I love Aksel in his usual sharp, dark suits but to see him dressed down like this is, well, a treat. I’m sure his t-shirt is made of some fancy material and costs a million bucks because it clings to his muscles perfectly.
Have I mentioned that the King of Denmark is ripped? Because, yeah. He very much is. I know he goes to the gym inside the palace every morning and whatever he’s doing there, it shows. He’s the perfect mix of lean and muscular. Especially in his upper body. His shoulders are like works of art, broad, rounded and perfectly sculpted, leading to large biceps and strong, sinewy forearms. Sometimes I think his hands are my favorite part of him. Maybe because I see them so often. Maybe because they’re massive and commanding and they look like they’d leave perfect handprints on my ass.
These thoughts aren’t new to me. The problem is that I’ve been having them more and more often, and it doesn’t help that I’m fantasizing about him spanking me while he’s standing right beside me.
Thankfully Aksel is eyeing the Christmas tree instead of me and therefore can’t see the flush on my cheeks. “It looks…” he says, trying to find the right word. “Festive.”
“I think I’ll decorate the top half tonight,” I tell him. “If you want to join me?”
Karla comes away from the window, and her gaze flits from him to me and back to him again. Aksel cocks a brow at me. “You want me to decorate the tree?”
I roll my eyes and scoff. “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I forgot that Christmas tree decorating is beneath you.”
He doesn’t look amused.
Karla clears her throat and asks him in Danish if he wants his port. Now that the weather is getting colder, Aksel tends to sit by the fire every night with a glass or two, going over some paperwork. Occasionally I’ll see him reading some Danish hardback.
“Please,” he says to her and juts his chin out at me. “You want a glass?”
“Am I allowed?” I ask, glancing at the grandfather clock across the room. “I’m still on the clock for another hour.”
“I’ll allow it,” he says, and I swear I see a hint of a smile. “In fact, I insist.”
“I’ll bring two glasses,” Karla says cheerfully as she leaves the room.
“Generous mood tonight?” I ask him.
He nods at the tree. “I must be feeling the spirit of the season. So are the girls. I haven’t seen them this excited about Christmas in, well…” He trails off, clearing his throat.
“It’s hard not to be excited when you have presents every single morning. You know, I think you might be spoiling them.”
He gives me a withering look. “They’re princesses, Aurora. Literal princesses. I hardly think they can be spoiled. Besides, that’s Danish tradition.”
When December 1st rolled around, so did the presents. That’s when the Christmas Calendar comes out, which means children get a present every morning, counting down to the big day. It’s a bit much in my opinion, but then again, most of what goes on in this palace is a bit much. I mean, this is the King who closed down a national theme park for two days just so we could be there in peace.
“Well, I heard your tradition was to also only decorate the tree the day before Christmas Eve,” I tell him. “Look at you now. It’s only December fifth.”
“Where did you learn that?”
I give him a leveling look. “You know I know things. I probably know more about this country than you do at this point.”
His eyes rake over me appraisingly, like he’s sizing me up. “Hmmm. Perhaps you can take my place on the throne. I might want a day off.”
I hate the little thrill that runs through me because what he said is such a throwaway line. But for a split second, I imagine what that would be like. To be a queen. Even the fact that he said that with such ease.
“I don’t think that’s part of my job description,” I tease him. “You might have to pay me extra.”
“How about we start with the glass of port and see where it goes from there,” he says to me just as Karla comes out with the two small glasses, each with a generous pour.
She hands them to us and then leaves, shooting me a curious look before she goes. I wonder what that look meant. Probably the fact that Aksel isn’t one to share his time like this with anyone but the girls.
“Skål,” I say, tipping my glass at him before I take a delicate sip. It tastes expensive as hell.
He opens his mouth to say something just as we hear Clara yelling from downstairs. I turn to see Freja in the doorway to the room, tears running down her face.
“What happened?” Aksel says, quickly putting his drink down on the mantel as Freja comes running over to him. She immediately throws herself at his leg, wrapping her arms around him.
“Snarf Snarf, han er væk,” she cries.
“Han er væk?” I repeat.
“He’s gone,” Aksel says, frowning, glancing up at me.
I shake my head. “I told the girls they could say goodnight to him.” It’s then when I hear Clara yelling again and I realize she’s calling for the pig.
“Clara åbnede døren,” she says, wiping her face on Aksel’s pajama pants. “She opened the front door. He ran outside into the snow. He’s going to be cold.”
Oh shit. Snarf Snarf escaped. It’s late and it’s snowing and he could be anywhere in the city by now, perhaps getting hit by a car. My mind goes to the worst scenario.
“I’m on it,” I tell Aksel, downing the rest of the port for courage and running out of the room.
“Aurora, wait!” I hear him say, but it doesn’t matter. I have to find that damn pig or the girls are going to be crushed, and the last thing they need is to lose something else they love.
I’m dressed only in my uniform, albeit with a light cardigan, so I slip on a pair of rubber boots from the downstairs closet and run to the front door. Clara is outside on the steps, yelling into the night, and of course to the people milling about in the square. They’re all looking at her, some even taking pictures. It’s so rare that any member of the royal family would use this door.
“Clara,” I tell her, pulling her back inside. “Stay in
side.”
“But Snarf Snarf,” she says, and as I pull her into the light of the foyer, I can see the pure fear on her face. “I didn’t mean to do it. I thought it would be fun to see him in the snow and there wasn’t as much snow in the back and…” She trails off into a slew of mumbled Danish that I don’t understand.
“I’ll get him back. Just stay inside, okay? Go find your father.” I usher her further in before I step out and close the door.
Even though I probably should head over to the curious onlookers and ask them if they’ve seen a pig, I know that will get reported to the tabloids (“Hog Wild: Nanny Loses Royal Pig in Snowstorm”) so instead I just follow the tiny little tracks in the snow that his hooves have made.
The sight makes me feel sick to my stomach. I barely feel the cold itself, but as the wind and snow are starting to pick up, I just know that Snarf Snarf will get hypothermic fast, if I even find him at all. He may have grown a lot in the last month or so but he’s still a small pig with delicate skin. The more that I follow the prints, leading away from the square and toward Amalie Garden, the more I’m starting to panic. The snow is starting to cover his tracks and the garden is fairly large.
“Snarf Snarf!” I call out as I cross the street to the garden, the wind whipping snowflakes in my hair. I gather my cardigan close to my neck as the air starts to freeze over my skin, following his faint tracks until they stop altogether before a giant hedge. I don’t even know why I’m calling for him. The girls have been teaching him tricks but I’ve yet to see him respond to his name.
Still, it can’t hurt.
“Snarf Snarf!” I yell again in a high voice.
I listen. I don’t hear anything but the snow and wind and the occasional car driving past.
I shiver, my nose and ears now officially frozen and continue walking into the park. I don’t even have my phone on me to use as a light, and in the darkness the lampposts seem few and far between. I head toward the fountain in the middle, thinking maybe he went there to get a drink, but I only see a couple, hand in hand, taking an evening stroll.
They give me a funny look as I pass them since I’m obviously not dressed for the weather in my woolen mini-skirt. “You haven’t seen a pig, have you?” I say, teeth chattering.
They glance at each other and keep walking. Proof right there that not everyone in this city speaks English. Or maybe they do and the fact that I’m barely dressed in a snowstorm and searching for a bloody pig means I have a screw loose or two.
I can’t deny that either. I shouldn’t be out here. I’m getting colder by the minute, and the longer I look, the more my heart starts to break. I just know I can’t go back without the pig. I just can’t. To give up now means he’ll die and I…
I’m not sure what comes over me.
Panic has me by the throat.
Tears start to blur my vision.
Aksel will be so angry, anger that will get directed at me for not supervising them. But more than that, the girls will be crushed and he will drown with guilt. None of this is his fault but I’ve seen how protective he is over them, I’ve seen how he harbors this sadness over Helena. I know he was in the car with her when she died—maybe he feels responsible.
Either way, I can’t fail. I can’t let them down. I can’t fuck up again. I’m so invested in him, so invested in the girls, I can’t lose them. And if I lose him, I feel like I’ll lose everything.
For the first time in my twenty-six years, I feel like I’m actually living a life I love. For the first time, I have everything to lose.
“Snarf Snarf!” I yell, my tears freezing on my face. I’m fully aware of how ridiculous I sound yelling that name into the wind but I can’t help it. I continue to stumble along in the slippery snow, now running out of the park and to the promenade along the waterfront. The opera house is shining across the water, probably filled with music and joy and tuxedos and all I can feel is the kind of terror that makes your heart sink so low in your chest you don’t think it will ever rise again.
Please let me find him, please let him be okay.
“Aurora!”
Aksel’s voice booms across the park and I turn to see him jogging toward me.
“I can’t find him,” I cry out. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He stops in front of me, skidding in the snow. He’s wearing pajama pants tucked into boots, and a coat, with another coat in his arms. His eyes are wild, shining in the waning light of the lampposts.
“For helvede,” he swears, putting the coat over my shoulders. “Aurora, what are you doing? You’ve gone mad.”
His hand goes to my cheek and he winces. I barely feel it. You’d think that for the first time he’s touched me in such an intimate way that my body would be dancing with fire, but I can’t feel anything at all. “You’re frozen,” he practically growls at me. “I’m getting you inside.”
“No,” I cry out. “I have to find him.”
“Aurora, I need to get you inside.”
His arms go around my shoulders and he tries to push me toward the palace.
“The girls…” I sob, looking around me, trying in vain to spot him. “They’ll die if he dies. I can’t see them like that. I can’t have them go through that.”
“They’ll understand.”
“They won’t!” I yell at him. “And you’ll blame me!”
He flinches like I’ve slapped him across the face. “Blame you?”
I take the moment to rip out of his grasp and start running along the water, calling for Snarf Snarf over and over again.
Then my foot hits an icy patch of snow and I go sliding forward, trying to catch my balance and falling anyway. My knees crash into the pavement and I yelp, pain shooting through me, making me crumble until my cheek is pressed into the snow.
I’m full-on crying now, everything coming out of me, things that were lying dormant, things I didn’t know still existed. I’m in pain and I’m cold and I feel like I’ve finally found my place in the world, only to realize how temporary it really is.
I finally have a family and they aren’t mine to keep.
I’m crying so hard I barely realize that Aksel is behind me, his warmth coating me like a shroud, pulling me to my feet. I’m both aware that he’s a king and he’s out in public like this and at the same time I’m torn by grief I’d never recognized. Grieving for a loss that hasn’t happened yet.
And just like that, all the energy is drained out of me, like rapidly thawing snow. I collapse back against Aksel and he scoops me up into his arms. I have just enough strength to bury my face into the crook of his neck, trying to hide from everything, trying to breathe.
I hear his heartbeat.
I feel his hot breath on my skin.
I feel the strength of his muscles as they hold me up, protecting me.
It’s the only time I’ve felt protected before. The only time I’ve ever felt safe.
I try and hang onto that feeling as the cold comes for me, again and again, tempered by numbness.
Then the snow stops hitting my cheek and there are bright lights and squeaking floors.
We go up the stairs and Aksel is barking at someone to move the chair to the fireplace.
He gently places me in the chair and I’m swaddled with blanket upon blanket, the fire roaring in front of me.
Then he leaves.
I see Karla’s face peering at me as she tucks the blanket in around my chin, my world slowly rocking back into place. I want to run after him, I want to help, I don’t want to be here, numb and useless. But I have no energy to move. I feel like everything I have is going toward keeping me alive, even though I’d give it all to run out the door and back into the snow.
“Go to your room,” Maja’s voice comes through, dancing with the flames. I manage to raise my head to see her standing behind Clara and Freja who are off to the side of me, looking stunned.
Karla says something about warm soup and disappears.
My eyes meet Clara’s and
I wish I could tell her how sorry I am that I came back empty-handed. But she looks more concerned for me than anything else.
“You’re so cold,” she says, putting her hand on my hand, and from that alone I’m melting in my heart. I’ve been so deprived of touch, I’ve had to grow numb to finally feel it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She frowns, not understanding. Or perhaps my voice was too shaky, too low, to hear.
“Clara, lad os gå,” Maja says, holding out her hand for her.
I can tell Clara doesn’t want to leave my side. She’s staring at me, torn, filled with sorrow. She’s lost so much at her age.
Then her attention is stolen.
“Papa!” she cries out, and I manage to look over my shoulder to see Aksel enter the room, striding toward us. Snowflakes rest in his hair, on his shoulders, his coat held tight across his chest. His eyes still have that edge, that wildness, as they rake over me, assessing the damage. Then he opens his coat and a little pink snout pops out.
“Snarf Snarf!” Clara cries out as Freja rips out of Maja’s grasp and comes running over to him.
“Where did you find him?” I ask, immediately offering one of my blankets. The numbness is starting to fade, my nerves are prickling as they grow warmer and warmer. My heart is the warmest of all, seeing Aksel take the blanket and wrap the little pig up in it, placing him in front of the fire, crouching beside him. Snarf Snarf’s snout twitches, his eyes curious. He’s alive, he’s safe. We’re both safe.
“He was curled up inside one of the guard booths,” he says. “He was shivering but he didn’t seem as bad off as you were.” He glances at me sharply. “You shouldn’t have run off like that. What were you thinking?”
Oh god. Here comes the lecture.
Maja clears her throat loudly. “Clara, Freja, kom nu.”
Though they’re petting Snarf Snarf and loving on the bundled-up pig, I can tell they’re a bit uncomfortable with the way Aksel is speaking to me, so they immediately go over to Maja who takes them both by the hand.
“Godnat Snarf Snarf,” Freja says.
“Goodnight Papa and Aurora,” Clara says.
“Goodnight girls,” I tell them as Aksel says the same in Danish.
A Nordic King Page 14
