A Nordic King

by Halle, Karina

  “Typical,” Maja says. “You give them all the toys in the world and they still want to play with the packaging it came in.”

  Finally, it’s nearly unwrapped and I’m starting to figure out it’s some sort of pottery or dish.

  And then … my heart stops.

  This can’t be what I think it is.

  “What is that?” Clara asks, reaching for the bubble wrap. “It looks boring.”

  But it’s not boring. It might be the most magical, priceless thing I’ve ever held in my hands.

  It’s a black vase or pot with handles, with a gold painting that stretches all around it depicting a few scenes. Greek scenes. It’s ancient as all hell, and as far as I can tell, absolutely real.

  Aksel clears his throat and gestures to it. “It’s a red-figure bell krater,” he says. “Made from terracotta. I’m sure you know what it was used for.”

  I nod slowly, having trouble finding the words. “It was a vase used in ancient Greece, to mix water and wine in.”

  “Like an ancient punchbowl,” Stella remarks in awe. “Aksel, where did you get this? Please don’t tell me you bribed a museum. Indiana Jones would be very upset.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says dismissively. “It was obtained legally at auction.”

  Auction. He bought it. I can’t imagine what it would cost. This vase is older than I can wrap my head around.

  “It’s from 430 B.C.,” he says to me. “And the painting is supposed to depict Zeus, Apollo, Athena, and some other Greek gods that I can’t remember. It’s an origins story, so they said.”

  “430 B.C.,” Maja says, whistling. “That’s 2,400 years old.”

  “Whoa,” Clara says. “No wonder it looks like that.”

  Actually, the vase is in remarkably great condition. I just … I don’t understand why he gave this to me. This is history. This is something bigger, more expensive, more important than anything in my life. It doesn’t even belong in my life. I grew up in a shack in the outback.

  My hands are actually starting to tremble so I put the vase on the floor and glance up at him. “Aksel. Thank you but … I can’t keep this. This belongs in a museum.”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t. It belongs to you.”

  “It’s too much.”

  “It’s yours. I went to the auction house specifically to get it for you. I know your love of history and ancient Greece.”

  “I can’t accept it.”

  “But you will.”

  Meanwhile, everyone else’s eyes are volleying back and forth between us like they’re watching a tennis match.

  “Aksel…”

  “It’s yours,” he says emphatically. “Just tell me that you like it.”

  My eyes widen. “Like it? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s … everything.”

  He looks relieved, his brow smoothing, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Good. Then you’re keeping it. That’s an order.”

  “But.”

  “But nothing,” he says, waving his hand. “It’s a remarkable piece of history, but it’s a dime a dozen in the world of cultural artifacts. It belongs to Aurora James now and no one else. I know you’re the best person to keep it safe.”

  “Yeah, you’re a goddess,” Clara says. “You get to keep it.”

  I look at everyone with my chin up, trying to keep tears from rushing to my eyes. I breathe in deep through my nose, feeling it burn, then manage a smile. I can’t believe he did this for me.

  Why would he have done this?

  Of course, now my present to Aksel looks lame as fuck compared to a vase that was made before Jesus was around. I mean, he’s a bloody king, he has everything he could ever want or buy. So I made Maja dig through old photos and find the picture of him posing beside his wrecked Datsun rally car, the last rally car he ever drove. Then I superimposed “Why I Took Up Sailing” on top of it, had it blown up, printed out, and professionally framed. I figured he could hang it up in his office.

  But even though it’s not an ancient heirloom, I at least made him laugh when he saw the photo. And honestly, making Aksel laugh, seeing his wide smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, is just as meaningful as the vase and just as rare.

  After the presents are all done, we ignore the mess of discarded wrapping papers and play another tradition, which is to each light a candle and stick it on the tree in a special holder. This game should be called “Fire Hazard” but the point of the game is to stay up and see whose candle burns out last.

  Maja is the first to call it quits, heading up to her room. Then the girls fall asleep, curled up with their new plush toys at the foot of the tree.

  “I’ll take them up to bed,” I say, about to get to my feet and rouse them.

  “You will not,” Aksel commands. “You’re off duty right now.”

  “I’m going to go to bed anyway,” Stella says tiredly as she gets up. “You both stay. Just make sure the palace doesn’t burn down.”

  She gets Anya and Clara up, who give us a bleary-eyed goodbye, then she scoops up a sleeping Freja into her arms as they leave the room.

  All at once I’m aware that it’s Aksel and I, alone. Even the copious amounts of sweet cider and wine I’ve been drinking all night aren’t enough to temper the nerves that are beginning to dance inside me, like a live wire on the ground. I’m painfully aware that the last time I was alone with him was in this very room and things got weird.

  “How did you enjoy your first Danish Christmas?” he asks idly. He’s sitting back in his chair, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingers. Half his face is lit by the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes, highlighting his high cheekbones and the hollows underneath. I’ve felt those cheekbones under my fingertips once.

  “Better than Australian ones,” I tell him, giving him a quick smile.

  “Ah yes. I’m sure eating shrimp on the barbie and going to the beach makes for a rotten Christmas.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “No one says shrimp on the barbie.”

  “I’ve heard you say a few odd things,” he muses. “Once you said that the square out front was choc a bloc when it was crowded. You called Clara a bludger, was it? When she wouldn’t get out of bed one morning? And another time you said I was wearing daks when I was going to the gym in my sweatpants. I had to Google everything to figure it out.”

  “Welcome to my world,” I say with a laugh. “I’m still trying to figure out every second word spoken here. Lord knows what I’ve been agreeing to half the time.”

  “Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully between sips of his drink. “Had I known that, I would have spoken Danish more. See what you’d agree to.”

  Butterflies burn in my stomach from that comment. There’s something teasing and light about him right now. Dare I say it’s sexual innuendo.

  I raise a brow at him. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Because Christmas can be depressing sometimes and, well, you’re never in a good mood.”

  “You think so highly of me, even after that gift.”

  I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to conjure up the right words. “You really shouldn’t have given that to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t … I’m not deserving of it.”

  His brows knit together and he leans forward in his chair to look at me closer. “Why would you ever believe that?”

  I shrug. Because it’s true. I try not to dwell on it, but it’s true.

  “Aurora,” he says, his voice so low and velvety that I feel it under my skin, “you deserve that vase and more. You have no idea what you’ve done for this family. No idea at all.”

  Another shrug. “I do what any nanny would do.”

  “Not even close. You don’t even do what some mothers would do. You are always going above and beyond for them. More than that, you let them be who they need to be without trying to contain them, without putti
ng them in a box. They’ve never had that before, and it’s what I’ve always wanted for them. It’s what I never had growing up. You have such a big, beating heart and you love them and they feel that. You have no idea how invaluable that is. It’s worth more than a vase. It’s worth more than I can ever give you.”

  I glance at him, lost in his eyes, in his words. He has no idea that he’s wrong. That there is more that he can give me.

  His heart. He can give me his heart.

  I’ve never wanted anything more.

  But of course I can’t say that, so I don’t say anything. I press my lips together and keep all those secret wants and fears and desires locked in.

  Bloody hell.

  I think I’m in love with my boss.

  A king.

  And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  “Are you alright?” he asks me.

  I blink, trying to clear my head so I can deal with this realization, this blow, another time.

  That I love him.

  “I’m fine,” I say quietly, avoiding his probing eyes, ignoring the concern in his rich voice. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  I get to my feet just as he gets to his feet and reaches out, grabbing my arm.

  “I haven’t dismissed you,” he says, and though I know he’s joking, his eyes are dead serious. Maybe they’re more than serious. They’re wild again, searching my face with quiet desperation.

  I err on the side of caution and take the playful route, very aware that he’s still grasping my arm, standing close. His cheeks are a little flushed, from the fire and the brandy. This could all go a million ways but it most likely won’t go the way I want it.

  “Permission to be dismissed,” I say with a small smile. “Your Majesty.”

  His grip on my arm tightens. “Permission denied.”

  “Then you better start paying me overtime,” I say, and he takes a step toward me, until there’s barely any space between my chest and his. The energy radiating from him is overwhelming, enveloping me like a black hole until I’m sure there’s no escape.

  He gazes down at me, lost in thought. His lower jaw is tense, as if he’s holding something back. He’s so restrained. What would he be like if he let loose? What would he say?

  What does he want from me right now?

  Is it possible that he wants the same thing that I do?

  I want to stop hiding how I feel. I want it all to be allowed, to be okay.

  I want him with a need so deep that I feel ravenous to the bottom of my core.

  Just as I’m thinking he might kiss me, just as I’m thinking I might do something stupid like kiss him, or worse, blurt out that I love him, he takes his other hand and ever so gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes absently gliding over my face as he does so.

  “Merry Christmas, Aurora,” he says softly, his fingers running down my neck, my shoulder, my arm. “Goddess.”

  My heart flips.

  Goddess.

  I manage to swallow, even though my throat and mouth have dried up and every inch of my body feels like it’s coming alive.

  “Merry Christmas, Aksel.” I pause. “King.”

  His touch falls away from my skin, and I’m free to go.

  But even as I turn and walk away from him, I’m not free at all.

  My heart belongs to him now.

  Even if he doesn’t know it.

  Chapter 13

  Aksel

  January

  “That was one hell of a present, Aksel,” Stella says to me as she sips her coffee.

  Considering it’s been a week since Christmas, it takes me a moment to figure out what she’s alluding to.

  But it’s Aurora. Of course, it’s Aurora. I knew the moment I bought that vase for her that everyone else would be giving me side-eye, making assumptions on why I would buy a 300,000 euro vase from a Christie’s auction and give it to a nanny. In some ways I wish I could have given it to her in private, but at the same time, I want everyone to know what she means to the family, what she means to me.

  In a strictly professional way, of course.

  “She deserves it,” I say simply, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

  “I know she does,” she says. “I’m just saying, that cost you a fortune.”

  I shrug with one shoulder. “We have the money. I had the means to get it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?” I look at her mildly. “Hmm?”

  “The point is … well, you better hang on to her for as long as you can.”

  Her comment shouldn’t fill me with dread but it does.

  In one way, I can’t imagine not having Aurora around. She’s part of this family now, beyond just being the help. Whether she knows it or not, she’s the thread that holds this palace together.

  In another way, I can’t imagine how I’ll even fucking handle the future.

  The truth is, I can’t. I’ve been barely hanging on this last month.

  She’s started to become a full-blown obsession, one that I can’t shake, one that I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.

  And I do try. I avoid her when I can, put up my walls again and again, keep my distance. I do everything I can to keep her in her place as the nanny. She isn’t supposed to be anything more than that, and I certainly am not supposed to think of her more than that.

  But Aurora is a force of nature. She’s sunshine and fresh air and the northern lights. She’s a goddess, through and through with playful eyes and a smile that will knock you flat on your back. She came into our lives like the first rays of the morning and she won’t be shuttered out or dimmed.

  Even when I do my best to ignore her, she has this way of pulling me back into her orbit, wrapped up in her very being.

  I always thought I was stronger than most people because I had lost so much. I thought that my upbringing, being groomed for the throne, would have made me hard and impenetrable. And it did. I prided myself for being the sort of man that nothing would get to. Even when Helena managed to penetrate my defenses, I was quick to put them up again. Stronger. Better.

  But the truth is, Aurora, this living goddess in my home, is making me weak, and for the first time ever, I have something to lose.

  Her.

  I can’t lose her.

  And I can’t keep her.

  I don’t know what to do.

  “Aksel,” Stella says gently, putting her hand over mine. “You know it’s okay for you to move on.”

  I eye her sharply. “What do you mean?”

  She levels me with a disbelieving look over her coffee. “Come on. You know what I’m talking about. It’s been two years since Helena and…”

  I shake my head. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

  “I’m your sister.”

  “I know you are. But there’s nothing to even say.”

  She frowns, and in that moment looks so much like my mother that I feel yet another pang of guilt for not going to see her recently. “I have a hard time believing that. Look, I know what you and Helena had in the public eye was not what you had in private.”

  My heart lurches. Our loveless marriage was something I’ve strived to cover up, no matter the cost.

  You’re so good at covering things up, I tell myself.

  I’ve been silent for a few seconds so I finally manage to say, “What makes you say that?”

  “You think I don’t know what a loveless marriage looks like?” she says. “Come on, Aksel. My divorce was just finalized. I know that Egil was only interested in my money and status, just as I know Helena was only interested in yours. She wanted that throne and she got it.”

  I have trouble swallowing, my heart wrapped in layers and layers of hardened guilt. “She did a lot of good.”

  “I know. Everyone knows. You can still do a lot of good for the world and generally be a good person all while doing the wrong things. People aren’t just black and white. W
e’re not even grey. We’re all the colors, mixed into one muddy mess. Maybe Helena just wanted to be a queen so she could make a difference in the world with her charities. That’s a noble cause but it doesn’t erase the fact that she was cheating on you.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “How did you know that?” My words come out ragged.

  Her eyes grow soft. “Because I saw her and Nicklas once when they thought I wasn’t there. If they were that sloppy around me, they’d be that way around you. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t assume you already knew.”

  She’s right. They were sloppy. It’s like Helena wanted me to know, knowing full well that I’d never divorce her. The thing is, she was right. I wouldn’t have divorced her—that’s not why I confronted them in Madeira. I just wanted the charade to be over. I needed to say my piece.

  And I said it. It was the last thing Helena heard.

  “Why on earth did you keep Nicklas working for you?” she whispers. We’re in the dining room. Everyone else is outside taking part in a snowball fight that Aurora orchestrated.

  “It’s complicated,” I tell her.

  “It wasn’t your fault that Helena died.”

  I give her a wry smile. “As much as I love it when you visit, I don’t like talk of death with my morning coffee.”

  “Fine.” She sighs, annoyed with how obtuse I’m being. “Shut me out. I’m used to it. But don’t do the same with her.”

  “Her?”

  “Aurora.”

  “My nanny?”

  “Yes. The nanny you bought a priceless heirloom for. Stop pretending she’s just your nanny. I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before.”

  I get up abruptly, the scrape of my chair echoing in the room. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there, Stella. You’ve always done that, since you were little. Your imagination gets the best of you. She’s just a nanny. End of story.”

  “She isn’t,” she says, staring up at me, pressing her fingers into the table. “And if you don’t figure out your shit, you’re going to lose her one way or another.”