A Nordic King(86)

Of course, I want nothing more than to be there as Aksel’s date. We’ve been sneaking around forever and as thrilling as it is to keep up this secret affair with him, it’s starting to wear on me a bit. It’s just so fucking hard to have my heart belong to his and his heart belong to mine and yet we’re unable to show the world. Unable to act on it.

I don’t even want to make an announcement about it, I don’t want to open my life—and the girl’s lives—up to that kind of scrutiny, but the truth is, when I see him at dinner, I want to be able to sit next to him. When we drink brandy in the living room, I want to be able to sit at his feet, his hand in my hair. When we pass each other in the halls, I want him to put his arm around me.

I want his kisses, his touch, his utterly romantic words all the time, not just in the dark when we see each other. It’s just not fair that he makes my whole world go around and yet I get so little of that world. I want all of him, all the time, and it’s a bloody impossible thing to wish for.

“Okay,” I say to Clara, putting the last pin in place. “All done.”

Clara frowns at her reflection. “I look dumb.”

I grab her shoulders and pull her back into me, kissing the top of her head. “You look as cute as a button.”

“A button? Buttons aren’t cute.”

“It’s an expression.”

“The English have so many strange ones,” she comments thoughtfully.

I laugh and look over at Freja, only to see her fancy hairdo has been completely undone, her hair loose around her shoulders. She grins at me, showing off her new missing tooth.

“What happened to your hair?” I cry out. “That took me forever.”

“It’s pretty now,” she says and keeps grinning, sticking her tongue through the empty space in her tooth.

Freja has really come out of her shell in the last nine months and some ways I wish I could shove her back in that shell since having two precocious and mischievous girls is a lot to handle.

I wave at her to come over. “Come on, let’s try this again.”

An hour later, I have both girls ready and we head out to the festivities in the square just in front of the palace.

It’s packed. People are everywhere, there’s a marching band, the guards are doing their thing, people are waving Danish flags, everyone is drinking coffee and eating sticky buns.

Maja waves me over from the area at the front of the palace. The place for King Aksel is empty, but I’m sure he’ll make a late appearance.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” I tell her, leading the girls over. “We had some hair mishaps.”

I expected Maja to give me a bit of a tsk tsking since she’s so good at that but instead she’s biting back a smile. “What on earth,” she says, laughing quietly. “What are you wearing?”

“What?” I say and then I notice that she’s wearing a simple pant suit and that no one in the crowd is wearing this costume either.

Oh my god.

“Where did you get that?” she manages to say, pulling at my red sash, her eyes sparkling with humor.

“From a costume store in town. I had Henrik go get it. Was that wrong? Aksel told me to do it.”

“Well, I’m afraid Aksel was having a little fun with you,” she says, and I swear she winks at me. “The bright side is that none of the papers can accuse you of not trying to fit in.”

Ah, fuck.

So I sit down with the girls on either side of me and I know, I know, that there are a million photos being taken of me right now. It doesn’t matter. I raise my chin high.

Then Aksel comes out from the doors, striding toward the microphone in front of us.

He looks so sinfully handsome that it takes my breath away.

His perpetually tanned skin against his navy-blue suit, perfectly tailored of course, and white shirt. His hair is a little longer now, shining in the bright sunshine and swooped to one side.

He passes by us and gives us a little nod and then his eyes meet mine. Then they trail down my blouse, sash, skirt, and back up to the white bonnet pinned to my head.

And he laughs.

The bastard laughs.

In front of everyone.

Dick.

Then he quickly covers it up and turns to the crowd, clearing his throat, before he greets them all.

My Danish at this point is good enough that I understand most of the speech and it totally helps that over the last few days, I’ve been sneaking into his room to go over the speech with him, helping him practice. He talks about the country’s pride and prosperity, he talks about freedom and traditions and culture, he talks about families and today’s youth.

All in all, it’s a stirring speech, and he’s just as magnetic with the crowd as he was with me in practice, and the crowd seems to be just as in love with him as I am.

“You’ve done such a good job with him,” Maja whispers to me, briefly placing her hand on mine.

I’m surprised at her affection. “He’s the one who wrote the speech.”

“Not just with that,” she says. “With everything. This is not the same King that gave a speech last year. This is a different man. This is a man who sits on a throne and inspires a country. This is who he was always meant to be.”

I swallow hard. “I guess it takes time to come into your own.”