The Wild Heir(4)

God, did I ever fuck up.

But that’s all out of my control and who knows what’s going to happen to me now. Since the news broke yesterday, I’ve yet to speak to my parents about it, though I could feel their anger simmering all the way from their palace in downtown Oslo.

I’m feeling that same anger simmer through me right now with only one place for it to go.

I increase the throttle on the boat, and now we’re steadily catching up to the paparazzi speedboat. Soon we’ll overtake them.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Einar says quietly, his eyes focused on the boat as it gets closer and closer.

“Do I ever know what I’m doing?” I repeat, biting back a smile.

And even if this doesn’t work, who cares? They deserve it and more.

“Hey!” I yell at the photographers as we pull up alongside their boat. “Get any good pics?”

My voice is carried by the wind but they both look over and in unison raise their cameras.

I proceed to give them the finger and a big fucking smile.

Then I swiftly grab the wheel and yank our boat to the side, creating a giant wake and ensuring a wave of water flows over the side of their boat, soaking them from head to toe.

I burst out laughing and then gun our boat in the opposite direction toward our boat launch at the end of the fjord, leaving the two fuckfaces yelling at us in Russian, sopping wet and shaking out their cameras which are no doubt ruined.

Serves them right.

“Nice maneuver, sir,” Einar says after a moment, and I glance at him to see the hint of what could be called a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Thank you, my good man.”

“You know they’re going to try and sue you for that,” Ottar pipes up, slowly staggering up the side of the deck, never letting go of the railing.

“You’re a killjoy, Ottar,” I tell him. “Let me have my fun.”

I know it’s the only fun I’m going to have for a while.



Even though I’ve always had my pick of where I wanted to live, including various royal palaces throughout Norway, I’m rather fond of my tiny apartment. Okay, maybe it’s not tiny by normal standards. It does take up the entire top floor of a corner building in Majorstuen, one of the city’s “hip” neighborhoods, and I have more room than I know what to do with, but it makes me feel a lot more normal to live this way rather than in a palace.

Ignoring the fact that the floor below me is where Einar and Ottar and various rotating guards live, the floor below that is an H&M. On the street, trams trundle on by, a sound I find soothing, and people hurry to and fro, shopping and hitting up the bars.

The paparazzi know I live in the neighborhood but aren’t exactly sure where. The windows that face the street are tinted, obscuring me from people and when I need sun, I head up to the roof where I have a whole private deck free from prying eyes. And there are more than a few entrances into the building, including a tunnel that pops up a block away in a small gated courtyard.

That’s how my mother will be getting here tonight. I feel bad having her go through the tunnel since it was built in the 1800s and it can get pretty dank in there, but she was insistent that she come visit me as soon as possible.

It’s all bad news. The fact that she wants to discuss something with me here instead of at the palace where my father and youngest sister, Mari, are says a lot. Like there are less witnesses in case she wants to murder me.

I’m looking around the apartment, wondering if I should hide my knives, or, at the very least, the large Viking axe I have on display on the wall, when there’s a knock.

I stride over to the door, running my hand through my hair to make sure it’s all in order (my hair is usually messy and longer than she thinks is appropriate), take in a deep breath, and open it.

My mother and her bodyguard, Per, are standing in the hall. I catch a glimpse of Einar in the background, heading down the stairs.

“Magnus,” my mother says to me in a curt voice, which is her default voice at any given moment.

“Mother,” I say right back. I flash her a smile which used to charm her but doesn’t seem to have that effect anymore. I meet Per’s eyes, but just like Einar, they give me nothing. More robots in fine suits.

I clear my throat and gesture to the apartment. “Well. Come in, then.”

She nods and glances at her bodyguards with an internal message for them to stay where they are. Then she steps inside and I close the door after her.

“You cleaned up,” she says, stopping in the middle of the living room and looking around. It’s an open plan apartment which means you can see most of it from any location, and normally it’s a mess. Even though I have a housecleaner who comes in here every other day, it doesn’t take long for the place to look like a tornado ripped through it. Let’s just add Messy Magnus to my list of nicknames.

“I tried to make it fit for a queen,” I tell her.

“Bullshit,” she swears, shaking her head and eyeing me sharply.

That’s my mother for you. She might be the Queen, but she can be as crude and blunt as I can be. While my father is easygoing and gregarious, if not a little loopy, my mother says what she wants, when she wants. She’s fearless.

At least she normally is. As sharp as her gaze is tonight as it cuts into me, I can see the sparks of fear behind her eyes, which in turn brings out the fear in me.