A Nordic King(45)

It’s a little bit dangerous. It’s dangerous for me because I see that in him and it does something to me in return. It makes me hopeful. It makes me love the fact that I mean something to him. Even if he just looks at me with fondness, the way you would a pet, it doesn’t matter. Here’s a man made of ice and he’s choosing to thaw for me.

But I’m overthinking it, obviously. He’s not choosing anything for me, he’s just hating me less. I need to keep myself in check otherwise these thoughts might start to build and build upon themselves, like the foundation of a house, until I’m standing on something that may not exist. For now, maybe the idea of him makes me smile. Maybe I catch my gaze falling on his face, memorizing his features, all of his quirks. Maybe it’s just a crush. I’ve had crushes before. I survived them.

I’ll survive Aksel. I’ve survived him this long.

And as if on cue, though my absent gaze is at the window and my back is to the doorway, I feel his presence enter the room. It’s like the molecules in the air change, the skin at the back of my neck prickles.

“It’s snowing,” he says, his voice low, adding to the electricity in the air, swirling with the falling flakes.

I glance at him over my shoulder and I’m already smiling before I see him. The man just gets more and more handsome every bloody day. It’s hardly fair.

And now, as he strolls toward me and Karla, he’s wearing one of my favorite outfits on him—pajamas. Well, essentially just red flannel drawstring pants and a white t-shirt. I only catch him wearing it late at night and usually he’s wearing this silk robe over it that I always want to reach out and touch.

I let my gaze linger on his body longer than I should. I know it’s as inappropriate for me to check him out as it would be for him to check me out (though, good lord, I wouldn’t mind him being inappropriate for once), but I can’t help it. I drink him in like water. I love Aksel in his usual sharp, dark suits but to see him dressed down like this is, well, a treat. I’m sure his t-shirt is made of some fancy material and costs a million bucks because it clings to his muscles perfectly.

Have I mentioned that the King of Denmark is ripped? Because, yeah. He very much is. I know he goes to the gym inside the palace every morning and whatever he’s doing there, it shows. He’s the perfect mix of lean and muscular. Especially in his upper body. His shoulders are like works of art, broad, rounded and perfectly sculpted, leading to large biceps and strong, sinewy forearms. Sometimes I think his hands are my favorite part of him. Maybe because I see them so often. Maybe because they’re massive and commanding and they look like they’d leave perfect handprints on my ass.

These thoughts aren’t new to me. The problem is that I’ve been having them more and more often, and it doesn’t help that I’m fantasizing about him spanking me while he’s standing right beside me.

Thankfully Aksel is eyeing the Christmas tree instead of me and therefore can’t see the flush on my cheeks. “It looks…” he says, trying to find the right word. “Festive.”

“I think I’ll decorate the top half tonight,” I tell him. “If you want to join me?”

Karla comes away from the window, and her gaze flits from him to me and back to him again. Aksel cocks a brow at me. “You want me to decorate the tree?”

I roll my eyes and scoff. “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I forgot that Christmas tree decorating is beneath you.”

He doesn’t look amused.

Karla clears her throat and asks him in Danish if he wants his port. Now that the weather is getting colder, Aksel tends to sit by the fire every night with a glass or two, going over some paperwork. Occasionally I’ll see him reading some Danish hardback.

“Please,” he says to her and juts his chin out at me. “You want a glass?”

“Am I allowed?” I ask, glancing at the grandfather clock across the room. “I’m still on the clock for another hour.”

“I’ll allow it,” he says, and I swear I see a hint of a smile. “In fact, I insist.”

“I’ll bring two glasses,” Karla says cheerfully as she leaves the room.

“Generous mood tonight?” I ask him.

He nods at the tree. “I must be feeling the spirit of the season. So are the girls. I haven’t seen them this excited about Christmas in, well…” He trails off, clearing his throat.

“It’s hard not to be excited when you have presents every single morning. You know, I think you might be spoiling them.”

He gives me a withering look. “They’re princesses, Aurora. Literal princesses. I hardly think they can be spoiled. Besides, that’s Danish tradition.”

When December 1st rolled around, so did the presents. That’s when the Christmas Calendar comes out, which means children get a present every morning, counting down to the big day. It’s a bit much in my opinion, but then again, most of what goes on in this palace is a bit much. I mean, this is the King who closed down a national theme park for two days just so we could be there in peace.

“Well, I heard your tradition was to also only decorate the tree the day before Christmas Eve,” I tell him. “Look at you now. It’s only December fifth.”

“Where did you learn that?”

I give him a leveling look. “You know I know things. I probably know more about this country than you do at this point.”