The Wild Heir(58)

“It’s true,” Viktor says dryly. “Only Norwegians would come up with a derogatory slur toward Swedes. We, on the other hand, would never stoop to that level.”

“Maybe you should,” I tell him. “It’s more fun down here.”

After Ella is thoroughly embarrassed, we don’t have much time to stand around. We’ve already packed, so we grab our backpacks that I found in one of the storage rooms and get in the car.

It’s a three-hour drive to the ski resort town of Geilo, with the trail to the cabin located about thirty minutes past that. It’s already dark by the time Einar swings the car into the parking spot at the end of a deserted road, and I know Ella is getting nervous.

“Shouldn’t we stay in a hotel?” she asks as we stand outside the car, putting on our hats, gloves, and backpacks. Einar is lighting up everything with a lantern.

“We’ll be seen in a hotel,” I tell her and reach over to tighten the straps around her chest. A grin spreads across my face which in turn makes her laugh.

“You know I can do that myself,” she says.

“I know,” I tell her. “Any excuse to touch you.”

“Besides, hotels aren’t fun,” Viktor speaks up. “They’re boring. Unless you’re alone with someone…” He trails off and in the white light I can tell he’s thinking of Maggie.

Damn Swede.

I look at Ella. “What Viktor is trying to say is that this is what we always do. Hike up in the dark or around sunset. Makes it more exciting and makes it so you won’t run across any hikers on the way up because, believe me, if people catch wind that we’re there, the cabin will be surrounded before you know it.”

Ella still doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t blame her. But she straightens the backpack on her shoulders, puts her chin up, and puts on a brave face.

Which, of course, only makes me admire her more.

And I wasn’t lying either when I said the hike wasn’t hard. The first quarter is up an old logging road with a fuckton of switchbacks, then the road peters out into a path through a bog, and then the path ends, and you have to just guess your way. The sky opens as the pine trees start to become sparse, and we’re surrounded by rocks and moss and low cloudberry and blueberry bushes that will gleam golden under sunlight. At night everything is dark and haunting.

Aside from a soaking foot rom stepping in the boggy ground, everyone handles the hike with relative ease, even as Ella huffs and puffs.

“I’m so not in shape,” she whines as she hikes ahead of me.

“Well, you certainly look it. Do you want to take a breather? Need some water? A beer? Viktor’s already drinking a beer.”

“Skal,” comes Viktor’s voice in the dark.

“I’m fine,” she says and keeps walking.

The last part of the climb is the steepest, and of course, the higher we go, the colder it gets. As far as I can tell though there’s been no recent snowfall. It’s mid-October and anything goes at this time of year.

Luckily, we’re over the bare face of rock and back into the treeline again where it’s easy to grab tree trunks to keep ourselves on the path.

Then the cabin rises out of the forest like a ghost.

“This is it,” I tell Ella as we all stop in front of it, catching our breath. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” she says after a moment. “I guess I was expecting something more…”

“Royal? No. This is barely maintained, barely used, and barely functioning, and that’s just the way we like it.”

Originally the cabin was built by my mother’s grandfather way back when, and it wasn’t until she became queen that it came into the royal family’s hands. It really is small, as is the custom for these types of places in the mountains. There’s a little shelter to the side where firewood is stacked, as well as skis and snow boots.

Inside there’s a fireplace, a tiny couch and chairs which have been the setting for many drinking games, a tinier kitchen, a bedroom and a loft upstairs, to which you have to take a long ladder. Family heirlooms and old knickknacks clutter up the rest of the space. The cabin is like a time warp to the 1940s.

It’s cold as balls though, so we all rush about trying to get things heated up. Viktor starts bringing in the wood while Einar starts lighting all the candles.

“Where do I sleep?” Ella asks fretfully.

“Anywhere you want,” I tell her.

Though, god, I’d so rather sleep with you than Viktor. Or Einar.

And those are my choices. I hope I’m conveying that with my eyes.

I must be, because she looks up the ladder. “There’s a bed up there?”

“All yours if you want it.”

She scrunches up her nose. “I’ll have to pee in the night. That ladder will be the death of me. Where is the bathroom anyway?” She pokes her head around the corner into the kitchen as if she expects to see a toilet.

I jab my thumb to the door. “There’s an outhouse.”

A look of pure horror comes across her face.

“If it’s fit for a prince, it’s fit for a princess,” I tell her.

“I’d rather go pee on a reindeer,” she says.

I laugh. God, I could fucking kiss her right now. Why the hell did I agree to share my time with her with Viktor and Einar?