The Wicked Prince

by Wood, Vivian

  I hear raised voices and turn my head. Stellan does too. Down the hall, Annika comes rushing out of some darkened room, her expression stormy. She says something cutting in Danish, holding her purple ball gown skirts up.

  What is she running from?

  My question is answered only a second later when Erik steps out into the hallway, reaching out and catching her by the arm. He spins her around to face him as if she weighs nothing.

  She looks mad enough to spit at him. He leans his dirty blond head close to her ear. His words are too low to make out; from this distance, I only get the low grate of his voice.

  “Erik!” Stellan shouts.

  As one, Erik and Annika freeze, then turn to look at us. Annika steps away, wresting her arm from Erik’s grip. Erik clears his throat and then calls down to us.

  “We were just having a disagreement about…” He pauses. “Suitable choices.”

  Annika leans over and pushes his shoulder hard. “And I was telling him that he can’t tell me what to do!”

  She screws up her face and stalks away from all of us, vanishing around a corner. I see a look of concern slide between Stellan and Erik.

  “Er alt i orden?” Stellan asks.

  Erik shrugs. “Ja. Vær ikke urolig.”

  Before I can ask Stellan to translate, Erik takes off down the hall after Annika. I watch Stellan’s face and catch a suspicious look rippling across it, but in the next second he turns back toward the elevators. He presses the button again, impatient.

  “What was that all about?” I ask. The elevator doors slide open and we step inside.

  He presses the button for the top floor and shakes his head. “I have no idea. My sister has always been dramatic. Erik has always been… I don’t know, whatever the opposite of that is.”

  The doors close. Stellan runs his hand through his hair, using his reflection in the elevator doors to groom himself. I fidget nervously, wondering where we are going.

  As the elevator car rises, I look at Stellan. “What are we gathered here for? Tonight, I mean. All the fancy people downstairs in the ballroom.”

  He swings his gaze to me. “Is it going to end up in your article?”

  Sighing, I give my head a gentle shake. “Not if you don’t want it to.”

  The elevator slows. He brushes off his tux. “We raised several million krone for my homeless youth outreach program. I am pleased, to say the least.”

  The surprise must be evident on my face, because he looks at me with a chuckle. “Oh, come now. If there’s one thing the royal family is good at, it’s fundraising for charities.”

  The doors roll open to a little lobby. Stepping out, I see a luxurious restaurant to the right, people in their evening attire chatting and drinking, waiters circling with refills. I start to walk that way but Stellan stops me with a hand on my inner elbow.

  “No, no.” He pulls me the other way. “Come on.”

  He walks to a stairwell and opens the door for me. I head where he directs, up the stairs to where the stairwell dead ends at a dark metal door. When I look back at him, he jerks his head to the door.

  “Open it.”

  I push the door open and step out into a little area no bigger than a closet. To my surprise I’m greeted by the night sky full of stars overhead. I move forward just a little to a railing. Looking down, I can’t keep from gaping.

  “You can see the entire city from here!” I gasp. I look back at Stellan, who grins at my reaction. “I can see the palace from here. Oh! And the Politiken offices are right over there… which means…” I consider the cityscape, then point. “I think Pippa’s apartments are that direction.”

  He steps forward, pressing himself against the balcony railing. “I think her apartment is over that way, actually.”

  I shoot him a puzzled look. “Why would you know?”

  He grins at me, his eyes dancing. “Because I know. Pippa’s been friends with our family for years. Does that soothe the jealous monster within?”

  Yes, a little. I stick out my tongue at him. “I’m not jealous, Jealousy is for the rich. Me? I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to scrape by.”

  He smirks, running his gaze up and down my body. “You’re doing all right, if I had to guess. Except that your top half seems to want to be free of your ballgown…”

  My mouth opens. A little sound of displeasure comes out as I quickly adjust the top of my ballgown. “It’s a rented gown, okay? My boobs don’t stand a chance of actually fitting in this thing.” I scowl at the grin that spreads across his face. “Quit looking at my tits!”

  He leans a little closer, biting his lip. Only now do I realize that he’s almost close enough to touch me. My pulse starts speeding up as I look up into his face.

  “And what if I don’t want to stop looking?” he taunts.

  My mouth goes dry. I’m suddenly aware of my hands. What should I do with them? I slip them in my pockets as my gaze slips down from his ice blue eyes to his perfect, soft-looking lips.

  He breathes a little harder than usual. When I look back up to his eyes, I can tell his pupils have dilated a bit.

  He wants me. I can feel it. There is something in the air, something occupying the space between us.

  Say something. Tell him you want him, I think.

  “I— “

  The moment is shattered by his phone ringing. His eyes widen and he straightens, giving himself a shake. He reaches into his pocket and looks at the screen, then shrugs one shoulder.

  “I should take this. I’ll see you later, maybe.”

  Stellan whirls and puts the phone to his ear, pulling the door open. “Hej ja ja - nej du forstyrre ikk.”

  I sigh, looking back out over the amazing cityscape, wondering what if?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Stellan

  After a record number of photo ops, meet and greets, and charity galas, I find myself fucking exhausted. Not just exhausted, actually… I feel like I’m on the verge of getting sick. I’ve done too much over too small of a window of time.

  It’s time to retreat from sight.

  I text Erik letting him know that I am going to get away for the weekend. He should cancel all my plans, at least until Monday. He responds quickly.

  I’ll let Fredensborg Palace know that they should expect to see you. Will Margot be going with you as well?

  My eyebrows rise. I hadn’t thought to bring her… but I can’t see the harm.

  Yes, I answer. Call her if you would. And send a car to pick her up. I’m going to drive myself.

  His response is instant. Ja, okay.

  An hour later, when I pull up in Fredensborg’s curved drive, Margot stands waiting. I take my helmet off and admire the way her pink hair looks against Fredensborg’s white stucco walls and green metal roof. She gives me her most aloof look, running her hand over her short black dress.

  She looks like a little pink meringue on a dessert plate. My mouth curves up. I stride over to her.

  She looks less than pleased to see me. “Why am I here? I’m supposed to be having an evening off, according to the schedule your press office gave me.”

  I shrug. “You’re here to keep me entertained.”

  Margot glances up at the darkening sky. “Why are we here, though? You could’ve asked me to come anywhere in Copenhagen. No need to drag me all the way out here.” She wrinkles her nose and glances at the palace behind her. “Not that the scenery isn’t majestic or anything…”

  “Stop whining,” I command. “Follow me.”

  Stalking straight ahead, I climb Fredensborg’s stone steps, entering the palace itself. Two butlers and two maids await me in the grand foyer, curtsying low. I look back at Margot, who is following me with a frown.

  “Hurry,” I say, waving her on. “This way.”

  I turn right, down an echoing marble hallway. The butlers trail after Margot, as if they are unsure what I could be up to. No one will be left hanging for long, though.

  I stop o
utside of two double doors, swinging them open to reveal my grandfather’s rather large billiards room. There are three red felt pool tables by the far wall. Two long bookcases line the back wall. Standing guard by the fireplace are a taxidermized bear and panther, both posed as if they were about to attack.

  As a little boy, those figures both terrified and delighted me in equal measure.

  A distinguished bar made of polished cedar sits to my far left. And to my right, there are several couches and chaise recliners made out of red velvet. The walls of the room and the windows are draped in a dark green fabric.

  It looks like the Great Gatsby threw up in here, but this room called my name when I thought about where I might spend some downtime. And when Margot steps inside, her eyes widen with awe.

  “Oh my god,” she breathes. She glances at me. “Is this place for real?”

  “Yep.” I take my leather jacket off and sling in onto an ottoman on my way to the bar. “Would you like a drink?”

  She’s not really listening. “Sure, whatever is fine,” she murmurs. “God, it’s like something out of a Hemingway novel in here.”

  She runs her hand over the smooth cedar bar top, taking it all in, her tone one of hushed awe.

  Pulling a couple of glasses out from the little cabinet below the bar, I smile at her words. “I think my grandfather and Mr. Hemingway knew one another. In fact, I bet that if we went over to the library, there are some signed first editions in there.”

  She whirls, pinning me with a stare. “Shut. Up.”

  I cock a brow at her. “No.”

  “Ugh!” she says, throwing up her hands. As she turns away, looking at the bookshelves that are in here, I smile. She leans over and comes very close to showing me her panties. As a matter of fact, I think I catch a glimpse of them while I pop the cork on a bottle of champagne.

  They’re pink and lacy, just as I hoped they would be. If she knew that I could see them I doubt she would like it… so I bite my lip, not breathing a word about it. In fact, I think she’d yell at me for looking at her ass.

  Why spoil such a good thing for myself?

  “Who picked these books?” she asks. She straightens and turns, biting her lip as I walk over to her.

  I hand her a coupe glass of champagne. “Here.”

  Margot accepts it, taking a sip. “Mm. Thanks.”

  I throw her a smile, then take my own glass of champagne over to one of the couches. I lie down on it, kicking my feet up. “I think my grandfather picked the books.”

  She comes over, sitting on the same couch, but at the other end. I take the liberty of putting my feet in her lap. She makes a face and slides my feet to the floor.

  “Hey!” I protest. I can’t suppress a grin though.

  “Your grandfather had pretty strange taste. There’s a whole section of transcendental poetry wedged in there.”

  My eyes find her face. “I have no idea what that means.”

  A huff of laughter escapes her. “Neither does anybody else, so don’t feel bad.”

  I cock my head at her. “You’re really smart, aren’t you?”

  She turns red and rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

  “No. I mean it. Who the fuck has ever heard of transcendental poetry? And I’ve heard you call me privileged for growing up with private tutors, but you haven’t exactly missed any references. You are actually, genuinely smart.”

  She covers her face with her hands. “Oh my god. A change of topic was needed like… yesterday.”

  Smirking, I shrug. “Okay. Tell me one thing I wouldn’t guess about you just from looking at you.”

  Margot peeks out from behind her hands, then relents. She drops her hands, still blushing but looking thoughtful. “Umm… Ooh. I like pop music. I mean, not all pop music. But like… Billie Eilish? I know every single one of her songs by heart.”

  I chuckle. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

  She sips her champagne, sneaking a look at me. “Now you.”

  I pull my feet up again, this time resting them on her thigh. She scrunches up her face but doesn’t try to remove them. I consider that a win.

  “I play polo.”

  “Ugh, I could’ve guessed that. I need something good.”

  I wag my finger at her. “You didn’t let me finish. I play polo, but only because one of my charities asks me to every year. And every fucking year, I get my ass beat. I’m ridiculously bad at it.”

  She laughs. “All right, you win. At this game, not at polo. Because you apparently suck at polo.”

  I sigh dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re common.”

  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because she stops laughing. Instead, she fixes me with a frown. “I don’t like the way you say that. Common. Like there’s something wrong with everyday people. Why don’t you realize that we are what is normal? It’s you guys, the top one percent of the one percent… you’re fucking weird.”

  Taking several gulps out of my glass, I pin her with a stare. “Maybe. Then again, I’m not putting on airs. I’m not pretending to be something I’m not, hanging out with people I wouldn’t normally meet. That’s you.”

  Margot sits up straight, looking at me with a puzzled frown. “You get that I’m only here because my job told me to be, right? It’s important to me that you understand that.”

  I roll my eyes and put my feet down on the floor. “This conversation has gotten very boring all of the sudden.”

  Standing up, I upend my glass of champagne into my mouth and slurp it down. When I look back at her, she has this wounded look on her face, like I’m the one who is being a bully.

  I’m not.

  Am I?

  “Come on,” I say, nodding my head to the door. “Let’s explore the palace. I bet you I can count at least six blades hanging on various walls.”

  She wrinkles her nose but gets to her feet, following me around through room after room. She’s gone quiet.

  And that’s no good, because I like it when she’s a noisy rebel. Instead, she nods and soaks up information. No matter how I try to encourage her wild side to come out, she’s retreated somewhere, put up walls that I haven’t seen before.

  “Come onnnnnnn,” I prod her, walking down yet another marble hallway. Fat cherubs look down on me from the corners, seeming disappointed in me. “It’s just a swimming pool. You don’t need a suit…”

  She stops in her tracks, whirling to face me. “What is your deal, Stellan?”

  I pause, my mind turning over the possibilities of what she could mean. “My deal?”

  “Hot or cold? Hmm? Which one do you want to be today? The friendly guy who teases me about skinny dipping in the palace pool? Or are you the jerk who likes rubbing my nose in the fact that I’m not royal?” She cocks her hip, fury written all over her face. “If you could just let me know, that would be great. It’s nice to have some idea of when I should be strait-laced and when I should cut loose.”

  One corner of my mouth curls up. “I would love to see you cut loose. Is that an option?”

  Her eyes narrow. “You know what? Hold that thought. Let’s go somewhere that you don’t have the home turf advantage.”

  I squint. “The what?”

  She holds up a finger and stalks away, putting her phone out and fiddling with it.

  And that’s when it hits me. This big, huge wave of warmth, of happiness, of pleasure.

  Oh god.

  I like Margot.

  I like her even more when she’s a little bit cruel to me.

  I like her when she’s mean.

  How did this happen to me?

  She puts the phone to her ear, speaking softly into it. And all I can think is how fucked I am if she finds out how I feel. It’s hard enough right now as it is…

  Margot spins, her eyes lighting up. She hangs up the phone, practically bristling with excitement. “Get your coat. We’re going out.”

  And I just nod like an idiot, trying to smash my feelings down
into a hole deep inside. I can’t act on them. So why does being with Margot make me so… well, happy isn’t quite the right word, is it? I turn back toward where I left my coat, swallowing against the knot forming in my throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Stellan

  As Margot leads the way past the bouncer and into the loud, crowded club, she looks back at me. The lights flash, illuminating streaks that splash across her glitter-covered face. I tug on the dark hooded sweatshirt she made me change into. She grins, reaching back and pulling my hood up a little further to better hide my distinctive features.

  I grab her hand and frown. I lean close to her to make myself heard over the loud music. “Where are we?”

  She pins me with her gaze. “Somewhere you won’t be expected to be. Come on.”

  Turning, she leads me into the bar area. The bar top is made of thick plastic and lit up neon green. It casts a sickly light over all the patrons crowded around, waiting for their turn to order drinks. Ahead of us, I can see people pushing their way into what I assume is the main dance floor. The DJ booth is in the far corner; rock music plays so loudly that it reverberates through my bones.

  This atmosphere is familiar to me. Grungy, underground, yet exceedingly packed with people. Just like New York, although maybe this club is a little bit cleaner.

  A very little bit.

  As we line up at the bar to wait for service, I brushes up against her. I leans down to her ear.

  “Have you been here before?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, looking up at me with a crooked smile. “Nope.”

  “And why are we here again?”

  “The same reason you are concealing your identity. This is a neutral place. Your money doesn’t mean anything here.” She smirks.

  I frown and open my mouth to respond, but she just turns away. The scruffy bartender comes over and she leans close to his ear, ordering drinks. He plops two beers on the counter and she pays for them.

  She turns to me, plastic cups in each hand. “Here.”

  She hands me my beer and then heads away from the bar, elbowing her way through the crowd as she moves toward the main room. I take a sip of my beer and find it stale but cold. Shaking my head, I follow her as she weaves through the young, hip crowd. There are actually several people in this room with unnatural hair colors, but she’s the only one with her unique frothy pink color.