The Wicked Prince

by Wood, Vivian

  My heartbeat gallops away in my chest. I suck in a breath.

  “There’s Pippa,” Stellan says, nudging me.

  I glance in the direction he nods. Pippa is right there, wearing the most amazing bright pink ballgown topped with an enormous bow. She turns and spots me, grinning.

  I look up at Stellan, then go still. I want to go see Pippa, but I definitely don’t want to let Stellan down.

  He leans in so close to my ear that his words are a kind of tease. “I’m afraid we have to say hello to a number of important people first. I promise you, the second we are through, you can go see Pippa.”

  I grin, slipping my hand down to find his. “Is this okay?”

  His lips twitch. “Very.” He kisses me on the lips and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I can feel the gazes of the people around us turning curious.

  I blush red as a ripe summer strawberry, straightening his lapel. “You can take me around to as many people as you want. At the end of the day, I get to be here with you.”

  He smirks then leans down to whisper in my ear again. “Good girls get rewarded. Just something for you to think about.”

  My blush deepens, going all the way down my neck. “You are wicked. A truly wicked prince.”

  He winks. “You’re fucking right I am.”

  Stellan guides me over to an older couple. He says hello, chats with them for a moment, then introduces me.

  “This is Margot Keane, my girlfriend.”

  My eyes widen a little. I glance at him with a startled look. We definitely didn’t talk about labeling this thing between us. The older couple look at me curiously as we shake hands.

  “Hi,” I say, because I have no idea what else to say.

  “You’re American!” the woman says, a little taken back. “How… interesting!”

  My cheeks burn sixteen shades of red. She just made it clear as day that I am the weirdo, standing here in a dress I don’t own, on the arm of a man who isn’t mine. I nod dumbly, feeling like I want to crawl under a rock and never come out again.

  This was such a bad idea. I watch Stellan’s face anxiously, trying to figure out when he’s going to pull the ripcord and bail out of this disaster.

  It’s only a minute before Stellan excuses us, pulling me by the elbow as he moves away. He looks down at me, but never stops moving. “If we keep circling, it will look like we are on the way to talk to someone,” he confides.

  “Should I leave?” I whisper.

  That causes him to stop. “What? Why?” Then he glances back where we just were. “Oh, because of the Eldins? God no. I picked them as the first people because they will hate you no matter what you do. They hate me, to be perfectly honest.”

  My jaw drops. “What?”

  “Ja. I just wanted you to cut your teeth on them. Because it doesn’t matter if you are the most charming person ever or if you’re a nervous wreck… they are so old and so conservative that they won’t approve of you either way.” He slides his palm up my back, his smile genuine. “It wasn’t that bad, actually.”

  A surprised huff of laughter leaves my lips. “It was terrible! Not to mention the fact that you sprang the whole girlfriend thing on me…”

  He smirks. “What? You’re going to say that you don’t desperately want to be my girlfriend?”

  I blush and roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.” His eyes shine with a mischievous light. “Are you ready to meet people who aren’t an absolute waste of space?”

  I suck in a deep breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  For the first ten people I am introduced to — as Stellan’s girlfriend, no less — I’m nervous. The next thirty or so go by in a blur. And after the next thirty, my head starts to spin.

  “I need a break,” I whisper to Stellan.

  He raises his brow. “Now? We are almost done.” he wrinkles his nose. “We just have to greet my grandmother and Prime Minister Finley. Don’t worry, they are almost always together at these things. My grandmother thrives when she feels like she’s important. Finley does his part by following her around and kissing her ass.”

  I color faintly. “Okay. I just… I don’t know how you do it. Smile for everybody, remember mundane details about their lives…”

  He shrugs. “I’ve had years of practice. Trust me, you get better at it the longer you do it.”

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes briefly. “Okay. I can do one more.”

  When I open my eyes, I find him looking around the ballroom. “I think my grandmother and Prime Minister Finley are holding court all the way over there.”

  He takes my hand and leads me through the densely crowded ballroom. It’s weird to watch people realize that they are in the path that Stellan intends to take. They jump out of the way, apologizing profusely for having done exactly nothing.

  We pass Pippa again, who is slow dancing with Lars. Her head is on his shoulder, her eyes are tightly closed. He holds her as carefully as if she were made of the most delicate glass. As if he is afraid to shatter her.

  I tug on Stellan’s hand. When he looks back, I nod at them.

  He doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “That’s been going on for years. They’re best friends. Or maybe they are lovers. Who can keep track anymore?”

  He turns away and keeps going, and I force myself to turn my gaze toward the far corner of the ballroom. We pass by more people and then the path we are on clears. There in the corner of the room is a huddle of people, centered around the most petite figure, that of Stellan’s grandmother.

  She is elegance personified. She’s wearing a dress made of ivory silk and she looks as perfect as a wedding cake topper.

  “What do I call your grandmother?” I whisper.

  “Her Royal Highness,” Stellan whispers.

  He leads me right up to the people gathered in the circle. Without a word, the circle widens, leaving a gap for us to step through. Her Royal Highness is just finishing a story and several people laugh.

  She looks right at me, her face creasing ever so slightly. I can feel her gaze as it traces down to where I cling to her grandson’s hand. She cocks an eyebrow, looking at Stellan.

  “Should we go somewhere more private?” she asks him.

  Stellan grips my hand harder. “Why would we? I just wanted to introduce you all formally.” He turns to me. “Margot Keane, this is Her Royal Highness, the Queen Dowager. And right beside her is Prime Minister Finley, the Prime Minster.” They each lower their heads for the barest second. “Everyone, this is Margot. My girlfriend.”

  Every pair of eyes within hearing distance is suddenly on me. Every drop of blood in my whole body rushes to my cheeks.

  “Hello,” I say softly. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Prime Minister Finley clears his throat. “Girlfriend, you say?”

  Her Royal Highness fastens her gaze on me. “I suggest we withdraw to somewhere we can speak alone, Stellan.”

  Stellan gives everyone a bland smile. “We are perfectly fine, Momse. Thank you. Actually, I promised Margot that we could head to another engagement as soon as she had formally met you.”

  The expression of astonishment mixed with a frosty anger looks right at home on her face. “I would speak with you in private— “

  That’s the moment that I hear the first angry shout. I whip my head around and see a few of people wearing all red coming into the ballroom.

  “Danmark ønsker frihed!” one cries, raising a fist in the air. The others shout in support.

  “Frihed fra tyranni!”

  “Frihed!”

  My eyes widen and my jaw drops. They are protesting. Worse, they are protesting us.

  I look at Stellan, who instinctively steps in front of me. “What are they saying?”

  “Afskaffe monarkiet!” another one screams.

  Stellan’s face is stony as he watches the protestors as a swarm of security guards moves in to surround them. “They’re calling for freedom from tyranny. I as
sume that they are Red-Green Party protestors, calling for the abolishment of the monarchy.”

  I turn back and look at the protestors, my face going beet red. Though I’ve been too wrapped up in Stellan lately to be a rabble-rouser, I have been in their shoes. I’ve even been to Red-Green Party meetings.

  How am I on the other side of the issue now? My heart starts beating at a frenzied pace.

  Am I turning my back on the issues I once so cared about?

  A bodyguard materializes out of nowhere. “Vi må flytte dig et andet sted, Prins Stellan.”

  He starts to corral Stellan, who has a good four inches on him. “Vi tager afsted,” Stellan says. “Come on, Margot.”

  I allow myself to be hustled out of the ballroom while the protestors are being herded out the opposite side. One of the protestors throws a balloon filled with red paint, which bursts against the doorway just as I pass under it.

  Red paint falls on my head and the back of my dress, but Stellan shelters me from most of the fallout.

  “Rend mig i røven!” he mutters. “Fuck! We have to go. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press gets wind of the protest.”

  Still stunned, I let him lead me down the back stairway and to a waiting car.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Stellan

  A few days later, I’m escorting Margot down a long hallway at Winthrop Manor, the house in which my parents have finally come home to rest. I slow my pace, stopping her for a second. She looks up at me, her face worried.

  “What?” she asks. “Did you forget something?”

  My brow creases. “Are you okay?”

  She nods slowly, pressing her hands down over the full skirts of her light blue ballgown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  I shrug. “You’ve been quiet ever since we went to that ball.”

  She bites her lip, her face heating. “I know. Just… I’m still a little shaken by the fact that the protestors were protesting you. I’m trying to figure out how to feel about being a part of the problem and not part of the solution.”

  My eyebrows rise. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

  She bows her head and shrugs. “It’s just… stuff I need to get over, I guess. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

  I reach out, grabbing her hand and hauling it against my chest. “Are you sure you’re still okay with meeting my parents? It’s a big step, I know.” I pause. “Is it too soon?”

  There is a moment of hesitation. I see in her eyes that she’s still not a thousand percent sure. But Margot raises her chin, looking at me proudly.

  “I’m ready,” she affirms. “I promise.”

  I lean down and kiss her, reassuring myself as much as her. She tastes sweet and perfect, just like she did the last ten thousand times I’ve kissed her. I squeeze her hand, then lead her to the doorway of the dining room.

  “Your highness,” the servant at the door says, bowing low. “Please.”

  He waves us into the room. Everyone else in my family is already here, and my late joining doesn’t exactly go unnoticed. The entire table turns to me, as if they are collectively waiting for something.

  I reach behind myself and find Margot’s hand. She’s gone pale as we approach the two empty seats, situated between my father and my little sister Annika.

  “Speak of the devil,” my brother Lars announces.

  “Yes, we were waiting for you two,” Annika says, looking amused. “Join the party.”

  My father looks jovial as usual, a huge dark-haired giant with bright red cheeks. “Ah, our firstborn has finally deigned to join us.”

  My mother gets to her feet, rushing over to hug me. She’s a tiny person, and when she embraces me tightly, several strands of her dark hair escape the chignon at her nape. “Ach, min son!”

  I let myself be hugged for a second, then chuckle. “Okay, okay.” My mother lets go and I draw Margot closer. “Mother. Father… this is Margot. Margot, meet the king and queen.”

  Margot curtsies awkwardly. “Your highnesses.”

  “Oh!” my mother says, beaming at Margot. “Please, call me Thora. And that’s Göran.”

  My mother then proceeds to be her charming self, embracing Margot and pulling out her chair. Margot turns red and hurries to sit down. I see Annika tug on her arm and whisper something into her ear. Judging by the smile that appears on Margot’s lips, I would guess that Annika just told her something whimsical.

  “Sit, sit,” my father says. “Join the rest of us.”

  I take my seat next to him, looking around the table. Lars and Finn are in attendance, though Finn looks bored.

  “Where’s Anders?” I wonder.

  My mother clears her throat. “We should talk about that later,” she says, smiling. “We are all here to meet your new friend, Stellan.”

  I reach for Margot’s hand under the table, glancing at her. “Girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend.”

  My father looks surprised. “You didn’t tell my mother that, I hope? She would have a stroke.”

  “Oh, quit,” my mother answers, rolling her eyes. “She’ll be just fine. Your mother gets so hysterical over everything.”

  I look at my siblings to gauge their reactions to that. Annika wrinkles her nose, Finn looks at his glass of red wine, and Lars looks somber. No help there, I guess.

  Not that I really expected it.

  “I did tell her,” I reply. “In fact…” I grip Margot’s hand. “I was hoping that you could give me guidance about announcing the relationship to the cabinet and the parliament.”

  Margot squeezes my hand. I glance at her and she gives me a wide-eyed look that says we didn’t talk about that!

  I wink at her. “When the time is right, I mean.”

  Annika interjects. “Isn’t that like… a step away from announcing that you’re engaged?”

  Between us, Margot goes pale and shrinks down in her seat an inch. My father sizes us up, then gives his head a shake. “Your sister is right. Telling parliament is quite serious.”

  My mother actually tears up. “I’m so happy for both of you! Now Margot… I learned you are from New York City. Is that correct?”

  Clearing her throat, Margot nods. “Yes, ma’am. Born and raised.”

  “That’s fascinating.” My mother looks at my father. “Isn’t it?”

  “Very,” he says. “Tell me though, aren’t you a journalist?”

  Margot goes red as a beet. “Yes, sir.”

  He waves his hand. “Göran, please. And you realize that being my son’s girlfriend will probably mean you won’t get the best stories assigned to you any longer, correct?”

  Margot looks at me, wetting her lower lip with her tongue. “Yes sir… I mean… yes, Göran.”

  I sit forward, eager to defend her. “Margot isn’t dating me for access to the royal family.”

  “Oh! Göran is not suggesting that!” my mother says, eying my father. “Is he?”

  My father, ever the wise man, knows when he should stop talking. So he just smiles. “No, of course not.”

  I sit back and let Margot take over the answering, making eye contact with my father once more. His lips tip upward and he gives me a nearly imperceptible head tilt.

  I take that to mean that he approves of Margot. Then again, how could anyone not be pro-Margot when my mother is so obviously over the moon about her?

  We get through dinner just fine. Between Annika and my mother peppering her with questions, Margot talks almost the entire time. She is bashful at first but in the end, I feel like she charmed the hell out of my parents.

  Now there is just the rest of the fucking world to go, I guess.

  When it’s time to go, my mother hugs both me and Margot so hard that it’s almost painful.

  I shake hands with my father, who is still seated at the table. “Talk soon?”

  His lips tip upward. “Yes.”

  There’s something hanging between us, a moment of hesitation on my part. Should I bring up what my
grandmother told me? “I’m glad you are doing well.”

  He frowns but says nothing. He just nods his head.

  Then I squire a talked-out Margot down to the waiting limo, where she crawls in the back seat and closes her eyes.

  “Oh my god,” she moans as I climb in beside her. “I’m so tired! How do you do that all day, every day and manage not to go insane?”

  I give her a look. “That was just my family. That was the easy part.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “The easy part of what?”

  “You have to know that being my girlfriend is…” I stop, trying to decide what I’m going to say. My mouth turns down at the corners. “My sister wasn’t wrong. Let’s say our next step is declaring our relationship to parliament. That’s as good as telling everyone that they should expect a royal wedding in the next year.”

  Her eyes widen. Her throat works as she swallows. “I didn’t realize that.”

  I puff out my cheeks, exhaling slowly. “Well… now you do. What do you think?”

  She screws up her mouth. “I think that’s asking a lot of us.”

  “So you would say no?” I ask, my brow descending.

  Margot pins me with a surprised gaze. “What are you asking, exactly?”

  I rake a hand through my hair, growing agitated. “I’m not asking you to marry me yet. But… are you at least open to getting married? I mean, you had to give this some thought when you agreed to date me.”

  She sucks her lower lip in between her teeth, her gaze lowering. “A little. I…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m not against getting married. I just didn’t think… I mean… I thought we would have more time to get comfortable with the idea.”

  “Royals are born ready to marry. It’s one of our duties to the country.” I exhale, waiting a beat. “Historically, the royal family marries people who are wealthy and titled. People who may or may not be royals in their own right. People with the same expectations that my family has.” I reach out for her hand, holding it gently. “I thought… I just thought that we were lucky, because we happen to be in love with each other.”