A Nordic King(20)

But of course the only pair of tights I have are snagged. So I put on thick knee-high socks to go with my boots and a white V-neck t-shirt underneath a light grey cardigan—the “grandpa” kind which is long enough to cover the fact that my skirt is only zipped halfway up—and quickly pull my long hair back into a ponytail, heading out into the hallway. I probably should bother with a bit of makeup but I’d rather be bare-faced than late.

It takes longer than anticipated to finally find the dining room since there are so many freaking dining rooms in this palace and by the time I get there, Clara, Freja and Maja are all sitting at the table and eating what looks like muesli and yogurt. There are two extra empty placements and I’m assuming one of them is mine.

“Hello Nanny,” Clara says cheerfully.

“Honorary Goddess,” Freja says under her breath, giving Clara a contemptuous look.

Meanwhile Maja has one brow raised as she glances at my skirt. She doesn’t say anything though I can practically hear the tsk-tsk in her head. What’s Danish for hussy?

I clear my throat, fighting back the urge to cover my thighs. “Sorry I’m late. I got lost.”

Clara giggles. “I must play hide and seek with you later. There are so many hiding spots, you’ll never ever find me.”

“Clara,” Maja chides her quietly. “You know what happened last time.”

“What happened last time?” I ask, sitting down at my spot and eyeing the empty bowl. Maybe I’m supposed to go into the kitchen and fix up my own stuff?

“I hid so well, it took them days to find me,” Clara says proudly.

“It was a few hours,” Maja corrects her with a shake of her head. “And it was enough to make the old nanny cry when she couldn’t find you. You must promise you won’t do that to Miss Aurora here.”

All I can concentrate on is getting coffee into my veins and I’m about to ask where I can get some when Karla, the cook, enters.

“Good morning, miss,” she says to me. With her blunt-cut blonde bangs, squinty eyes and round cheeks, Karla looks like she’s perpetually cheerful. “What would you like for your breakfast? Waffles? Cereal? An omelet? Cold cuts and cheese?”

I don’t want to be a pain in the ass so I just say, “I’ll have what they’re having. Plus as much coffee as you can give me. Cream and sugar, please.”

“Of course,” she says, and then eyes the empty plate at the head of the table. “Is he not coming again?”

Maja shakes her head. “He’s very busy today.”

Karla nods and heads out of the room while I turn to Maja. “Does Aksel normally eat breakfast with you?”

“Papa used to,” Clara speaks up and seems to stab her muesli with her spoon. “Every morning it was him and me and Freja … and Mama.”

A heavy hush seems to come over the table. This is the first time I’ve seen the girls mention their mother and I have no idea how they’re going to handle it.

Though Clara seems to handle it by being violent with her breakfast and Freja shrinks in her seat like she wishes the room would swallow her whole.

“I’m sure he will soon,” I say, trying to be positive even though I honestly have no clue at this point how anything in this place works.

“You girls know he’s been so busy lately,” Maja explains but even that sounds a bit weak.

It makes me sad to imagine how this family was before Queen Helena died. It must feel like a ghost dines with them every day.

After I mainline a pot of coffee and pick at some muesli, Clara and I pile into the waiting car at the back, Henrik behind the wheel. Freja stays behind with Maja though Maja notes she’ll probably start coming along for the ride if she’s not available. Maja acts as the girls’ grandmother but in the end, she’s not their nanny.

“Good morning, Miss Aurora,” Henrik says cheerfully as he twists in his seat to nod at me and Clara. “Godmorgen, Deres Kongelige h?jhed.”

“You can speak English to me, Henrik,” Clara says as she shuffles along the back seat of the car. “I’m fluent, you know.”

“Yes, of course, Your Royal Highness,” Henrik says as he starts the car.

Clara looks at me with a big smile. “I am fluent, correct? Am I not the best English speaker you’ve ever met?” She’s impossibly cute in yet another dress, this one a blue print that matches the blue headband in her long straight blonde hair, with coral-colored sandals. A backpack that seems to dwarf her occupies the space between us.

“Definitely one of the best,” I tell her and catch Henrik’s expression in the rearview mirror, trying not to laugh. “I’m surprised you don’t have to wear a uniform at school.” I’m also surprised that she started school back in the middle of August.

“It’s public school, we can wear whatever we want,” she says.

Public school? That’s a new one. I would have thought the girls would be locked up in some ultra-private, ultra-exclusive, ultra-expensive academy for royals.

“I’m sure you’ll discover the royal family here is quite casual compared to England,” Henrik says, reading my expression. “They always believed in being as down to earth as possible. Aksel even used to ride his bike around the city all the time, with security and minders following him, of course.”