by Wood, Vivian
Chapter Nine
Stellan
Don’t react. Just keep your facial expression smooth and untroubled.
I’m sitting at one end of a very long dining room table, looking at the coffee cup in front of me. I am being lectured on responsibility for about the millionth time; I learned as a child to school my expression into a troubled frown and look at some object that’s just out of reach.
God. Why am I even here? I know I messed up. But my mother and father, the queen and king of Denmark, are sticking to their world tour. They are busy; my four siblings are off doing god knows what with god knows who.
Why won’t my grandmother just let this scandal die?
But I can answer my own question. As the oldest child of Goran and Thora Løve, I should expect to inherit the crown someday. There are endless expectations and responsibilities that I’m responsible for… things that even my closest family and friends don’t know about.
“I don’t even think he’s listening!” Prime Minister Finley, the prime minister of Denmark, growls at me.
He stops to brush a fleck of lint off of his dark gray suit, shaking his head. He tsks and tuts; with his fake blond hair and his preening posture, reminding me of nothing so much as a prized cockatiel.
As of today, he’s an angry cockatiel. He puts his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth. Several other members of my private cabinet have been brought to Amalienborg Castle to watch this act of Finley’s. To watch and learn as Finley scolds the golden boy prince.
They sit at the opposite end of the table, looking at least as bored as I am. This isn’t new, the summoning of multiple people to witness my dressing down.
My grandmother watches everything from her seat by the window, her keen blue eyes picking up on everything she sees. She clears her throat gently and picks at a phantom thread on her pink Chanel suit. A tendril of steel gray hair has escaped from her chignon. No one says anything about it, though. Just like no one is fooled by the fact that she isn’t speaking.
We all know who really has the power in this country, and it isn’t the absentminded king or the ridiculous prime minister.
“The entire reason you were sent to New York was to do one simple interview. And what do you do instead? You go and cause a scandal!”
He walks over to the table and points a long, pale finger at the tabloids that are spread out over it. My face is splashed on every last one, as is the same shot of a very harassed-looking Margot leaving my hotel.
PRINCE STELLAN HAS ONE NIGHT STAND
ONE MAGICAL NIGHT WITH THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
RAGS TO RICHES: BEFORE MARGOT MET STELLAN
And my personal favorite…
SHE’S ALREADY PREGNANT WITH HIS ROYAL BABY
God, even in that picture of her scurrying away from my hotel, her face pinched, Margot looks incredible. She’s a tiny person, yes. And she’s wearing nothing but a dark-colored negligee and that shocking pink hair… I could’ve given up everything if only she had let me keep sleeping with her.
Instead, she ran away—
“Stellan!” my grandmother calls. I look up, my cheeks coloring slightly. She nods to Finley. “Prime Minister Finley isn’t done.”
I crease my brow but my expression stays… not placid, but fixed. Margot reached out to me after she fled my hotel. Several times, actually. I’ve obsessed over her messages but not returned any of them.
After all, I’m supposed to be on publicity lock down now. The last thing I need in the world is a spotlight.
“You see, that’s the problem with your generation…” Finley says, puffing his chest out and pacing again. He pulls out his glasses and puts them on, blinking at me like an owl. “You don’t have any privations or restrictions on what you can do. You have so much more freedom than our generation ever had…”
The feral beast inside my chest raises his head at that. He glares at Finley, showing his teeth.
What Finley knows about my personal freedom could fill a thimble. And the fact that he has the audacity to come here to my home and lecture me makes me fucking furious.
But I shove that anger down deep, trying to exude a vaguely repentant air. I want everyone in this room to know that I’m concerned about the scandal, but not too concerned. There is an art to wearing the right level of intensity on my face.
My grandmother Ida checks her tiny gold watch, silently sighing. Her gaze rises to take in the whole room with its vaulted ceilings and baby blue walls. Outside the gauzy drapes of immense windows, the summer sun is at its zenith.
Could that mean that Ida expects this to end soon? It’s been going on for over an hour and it’s the fourth time this week that I’ve been yelled at for…
Well, an indiscretion, to say the least. It’s really not even my fault… I just looked into Margot’s eyes and saw myself. Or not myself, exactly. But myself if I were not a royal.
If I weren’t going to be king, how different my life would have been. How could I be so close to that reflection of my other self and not lean in a little?
She just had this quality that made me forget about everyone else around us, homing in on her. What is that, exactly? If I could, I would find out and bottle that essence for the future.
It made me fall for her, at least a little.
Besides, I can guarantee that one glance at Margot’s incredible body and her unbelievable ass would have even old Finley howling like a wolf at a cresting moon.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Finley’s smug expression and cocky strut make me fucking angry.
I roll my neck, listening for a loud crack. When I speak, I try to show Finley and his government cronies not an ounce of genuine emotion. “It was a mistake.” I grit my teeth. “It won’t happen again, obviously.”
“You’re damned right it won’t happen—” Finley starts.
Ida rises from her seat. As soon as she does, the room falls silent. Everyone is extremely afraid of her, the physically weakest one among all of us.
One day, I hope to wield that kind of power.
“I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?” she says. She gives Finley a smile that is as cool as ice. “As it happens, I have a solution.”
Finley looks astonished. “A solution?”
The smirk is in her voice but not on her face. She just appears critical, as usual. “Yes. A solution. You may not be familiar with them as you are only prime minister, but in the royal family we require them from time to time.” One of the cabinet members gasps quietly. Ida cocks her head and her lips curl up. “It appears that the girl has already moved here. All the royal family has to do now is find a way to silence her.”
My eyebrows rise and I rock backward in my chair. “She moved here?” My brows hunch. “Why?”
My grandmother eyes me for a long moment before walking purposefully over to the table, looking down at the tabloids splashed out there. “It appears that Miss Margot Keane is a journalist. I used a contact at Politiken to lure her here.” She frowns. “Not that I gather she will miss much about New York. From my understanding she doesn’t own anything of value.”
She shrugs, the movement barely raising her shoulders. What she isn’t saying out loud is the second part of her sentence. In comparison to us; we have all the castles and all the yachts that anyone could want.
Ida raises a brow, looking down at me. She’s very small and very fierce; she eats lesser men than me for breakfast. That’s her unspoken communication sent to me, anyway.
I shift in my seat, struggling to keep my face assembled in a remotely pleasant expression. “And you think that Miss Keane will just… what, sign a nondisclosure agreement? I’m assuming that you believe that she will agree to lie for the royal family.”
She scans the room, pretending at being thoughtful. “Prime Minister Finley, cabinet members… would you please leave us? I think my grandson and I should speak in private.”
Finley bows, turning to usher the rest of the small group out o
f the room. Picking up my coffee cup, I take a sip and look at my grandmother. I would guess that she came up with whatever plan she’s about to unveil days ago.
She comes up to me, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Ida looks at me, her blue eyes like two frozen pools of ice.
“Now then.” She cants her head. “Perhaps we offer Miss Keane something… like an exclusive story with you, close up and personal. We could have her sign documents saying that you were working together in New York… and she won’t be able to contradict us, because she will have signed a nondisclosure agreement. We will control the story, not the other way around.”
Ida’s lips quirk; she looks pleased with herself, from what I can tell. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Momse,” I say, careful to use her pet name. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Will Miss Keane just write an article based on nothing, then?”
My grandmother’s lips flatten. “No. She will follow you around for a few weeks or a month to complete the charade.”
I shake my head. “People don’t like to be led around by the halter, Momse. I hate the press as much as anyone. You know that. I don’t want or need anyone in my private business. But—”
She pushes herself to her feet with an anger that is born of ruling a kingdom with an iron fist for ages. “Enough! I expect more from you, Stellan. I pulled you out of the fire once already when you were wrapped up in drugs. I stepped in and made sure that other girl and her family stayed quiet.” Her expression turns from disappointed to terrifying. My toes curl up in my shoes. Even though she’s old and almost a third of my size, she’s still domineering. She has been this way since I was born.
I lower my gaze. “I know, Momse.”
She slams her hand down on the table, startling me. “I was willing to write that off as a youthful failure, ja? But this? This could be the end of the monarchy.”
I stare at her for a second. Yes, she absolutely did have to save my fucking neck once. And she did so without question. But that was ages ago.
I feel defensive. Rising to my full height, I fold my arms across my chest. “That was a lifetime ago, Momse. And this little mistake with Miss Keane? It was just that. Why can’t we just let it be?”
When Ida gets angry, she glares at me and her face puckers like a wrinkled apple. Her eyes flash, their blue icy enough to cut fucking steel.
“One day soon, I will be gone. Let’s both face it; your father does not have the instincts that my husband had. So I am trying to instill those instincts in you.” She pauses. “I think I’ve done a passable job. But I will not have this family brought down by some little girl. You understand? I won’t allow it.”
I soften a bit, reaching out to touch Ida’s elbow. “I know, Momse. I don’t want the monarchy abolished either. Okay?”
That’s a lie. Or at least a partial truth… when I was a kid, I used to lie in bed at night and dream about the monarchy’s downfall. I wanted to do normal things like go to school or have play dates with friends.
That was a long time ago, though. I squeeze my grandmother’s arm in an attempt to make her feel better. She pats my hand a few times and then pulls away.
If anything ever defined our relationship perfectly, it’s that moment right there.
“Miss Keane will follow you around for a month.” She goes over to the chair that she previously occupied and presses a button to summon the staff. “And you’ll be on your best behavior now that you know who she is. Ja?”
I incline my head. “Ja. Sure, Momse.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “There are half a dozen suitable girls just waiting for you to look their way, Stellan. I’ve given you my list of acceptable candidates. The next time you find yourself in need of company, call whichever one you want. It’s long past time that you got married.”
I shoot her a scowl just as a butler sweeps into the room. He bows. “Your purse and coat, your royal highness. The car is waiting for you downstairs.”
She walks stiffly over to the door, then pauses just before she hits the threshold. “I’m off to Sønderborg to try to dig your brother Finn out of whatever mess he’s in. Do try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, won’t you?”
I hesitate. She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just glides out of the room, patting her perfectly coiffed gray hair.
I am left alone to stare out the window and curse the luck of being born royal.
Chapter Ten
Margot
The buildings in Copenhagen are a kaleidoscope of different colors: the façades are white and brown and peach and brick red, the roofs green and orange and blue and black. Gammelholm, the prestigious downtown area where the offices of Politiken are located, is bustling at nine in the morning.
Businesspeople going to work, tourists meandering toward the nearby art museum, a stream of teens who rush into what can only be a school next door.
Sucking in a deep breath, I look through the viewfinder of my camera at the building that houses Politiken’s offices. I snap a couple of photos; I’ve been taking photos all morning, documenting my first morning in Denmark.
I love taking photos. I love the symmetry that can be found in a perfect picture of an everyday object. I love the pungent smell of the chemicals used to develop film. I’m definitely a nerd about photography.
As I stare up at the ancient cream-colored stone of the building, Pippa gently elbows me in the ribs.
“We’re already late,” she says, grabbing me by the arm. “Come on.”
Everything inside appears to be marble. Eschewing the ancient elevators as she tows me up the stairs, Pippa jogs down a marble hallway until we reach the doors.
Politiken, the glass of one of the doors reads. Nyheden kommer først.
Pippa swings the door open and pulls me inside a big room with high ceilings and about thirty people working in cubicles. A standard newsroom, it wouldn’t be out of place at any paper anywhere in the world. No one even looks up at us when we rush in; the reporters are too busy typing manically or talking quietly on the phone. Against the back wall are the glass-walled offices of people in positions of power here at the newspaper as well as a well-appointed conference room.
A tall blonde woman in her fifties stands across the office, watching us with an annoyed expression. Pippa curses under her breath and tugs at her pale pink dress.
“That’s Anna,” she says, picking up her pace as she makes a beeline toward the woman. I do a quick scan of Anna’s person and take stock of her wrinkled light gray pants suit and the stain on her white dress shirt.
A woman after my own heart. I’m wearing one of three pairs of black dress pants I own and a black Violent Femmes t-shirt paired with an oversize yellow cardigan. Seeing Anna’s disregard for dressing up bolsters my confidence.
Two seconds later, I stand in front of her and rethink my opinions.
“You two are quite late,” Anna says, looking down her nose at us both. She looks at me, at the Nikon camera on its strap around my neck, and she rolls her eyes.
Pippa jumps in.
“Yes. Sorry. We had some trouble trying to leave the house.” Pippa bites her lower lip, sliding her gaze to me. “But I brought Margot to you like you asked!”
Anna’s gaze tightens on my face. “Yes. So you did.” She spins, heading toward the back of the room. “Come to my office, both of you.”
We head back to Anna’s spacious office, sitting down in the chairs in front of her sleek chrome desk. She frowns as she types something into the computer at her side, then slides a drawer out.
“Margot!” she barks. I sit up, wide eyed.
“Ma’am?” I say.
She gives me a hard look before she hands over an employee badge. “This will get you in and out of the building. You’ll need to fill out some tax paperwork at some point… Max will get you settled with that.” She pushes back in her office chair, looking at Pippa and me. “We should talk about the story you will be covering.”
I tilt my head. “
Well… I came prepared with several ideas to pitch to you— “
“Enough,” Anna says, cutting me off. “Your assignment has already been chosen for you.”
I send Pippa a questioning glance. She shrugs and makes a quick I don’t know anything face. Anna starts drumming her fingers on her desktop.
“You weren’t aware of this already?” she asks.
It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking from her expression. Should I already know something?
Shaking my head, I feel my cheeks warm. “No.”
Anna grunts, but I still don’t have the slightest idea what she means by it. “I got the call late last night. You have been selected to work on a cover piece about Prince Stellan and his life.”
My jaw drops.
No.
No way.
It’s not possible.
One night together already made me flee New York. Any further contact between Stellan and me is just… a terrible, horrible, impossible idea.
Pippa, for her part, looks stunned.
“Oh, I can’t do that,” I blurt out, crossing my arms. “Give it to Pippa!”
Anna glares at me. “If I had my way, the most senior correspondent that usually gets her name on the most bylines would do the story. But obviously I had nothing to do with the choice, due to the fact that we had yet to meet.”
My brow hunches. “Who decided that I would do the story, then?”
“Someone from the royal family, I gather.” Anna scrunches up her face. “The question is, why?”
She puts her elbows on her desk, rubbing her lips. My cheeks immediately redden.
“I’m assuming that you are aware of the American tabloids and their… err… interest in me?” I tuck a strand of pink hair back behind my ear, chewing my bottom lip.
Anna glances at Pippa, then makes a show of pulling several brightly colored tabloid newspapers out of a drawer of her desk. Every single one features me on the cover, usually with an inset photo of Stellan.
