I shoot him an annoyed glance. “I’m just expression my feelings, Erik. You may be hot, but you are essentially a walking suit. Just… there’s no substance to you except doing what you’re told and minding your p’s and q’s.”
He rolls his eyes, looking at his watch. “I suppose you dream of falling in love with a man every bit as dramatic and shallow as you are. Maybe an actor, hmm?”
I scoff. “You don’t get to tell me who to date, thank you very much.”
He smiles and stretches out, dominating the space in the back of the limo. “We should talk about your next engagement, shouldn’t we?”
I scrunch up my face, still annoyed with him. “The press office lies about how soon I need to be there, remember? It’s so hopelessly stupid. How long of a gap is there on the schedule for today?”
He gives me a measured look then pulls his phone out and scrolls for a second. “Three hours.”
Throwing my hands up, I pull a face. “There’s no telling how long of a gap there actually is between events. Everything gets very distorted very quickly.”
He considers that for a moment. “I can try to talk to someone in the press office about it, if that would please her highness.”
I look at him sharply. What he said sounded sarcastic, but his words were meant to be helpful… at least, I think so.
“I thought you told Momse that the press office has blacklisted you.”
He looks startled for a second. “Oh. Well… I did, but I can still see if I have any pull.” His eyes narrow. “How did you know that?”
Blushing, I turn my head away and look out the window. “You mentioned it in passing two months ago. I remember everything. It’s…” I think for a moment. “It’s just something that I do.”
I notice and memorize insignificant details of everyone else’s lives. Well, actually… only the people who really matter to me.
Does my subconscious believe that Erik is somehow important?
“I see,” Erik says. He seems to get lost in thought.
Sinking down a couple more inches, I shade my eyes and pray for our car ride to end.
8
Erik
“Is this a rare glimpse into the master working in his studio?”
I glance up from a stack of tedious papers to find Stellan leaning in the doorway. Throwing my pen down, I lean back in my chair with a grin.
“You surfaced for air! Tell me, how is it being suctioned to Margot’s side?”
His lips twitch. He strolls over and plops down in one of my chairs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Not as tough as being king, it turns out. Especially when my best friend and right-hand man vanishes on some mundane task.”
I roll my eyes and fold my hands behind my head. “Hey, don’t complain to me about it. Complain to your grandmother. She’s the one that thought that Annika needed such close supervision.”
Stellan sighs, looking around my tiny office. “We should really get you a better place to work, Erik. This place is too dark and too small for someone of your stature.”
He’s referring to the fact that I’m taller than everyone I meet, himself included. I shrug.
“It works for me. I don’t need anything grand. It’s sort of apt, don’t you think?” I glance around my cramped office.
Stellan squints. “It’s okay for now. But you are going to be titled gentry soon. Isn’t that what my grandmother offered you for dealing with Annika?”
I stare at Stellan for few moments, studying his face for a hint at what he could possibly mean. He gives me nothing, his face a perfectly blank slate. Finally, I just shrug.
“Yes, she did offer that. But that’s not the reason I’m minding Annika. Or at least not the only reason. I consider it to be a personal favor to you, Stellan.”
His brows rise. “Oh?”
“Your royal highness! There you are.” A red headed young man appears in the doorway, flustered and overexcited. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Stellan gives me a look. “Erik, this is Thor. He’s your replacement until after my wedding.”
Thor raises his head a little. “Your royal highness, you are going to be quite late— “
“Oh, god. Do calm down, Thor.” Stellan rises, giving me another look. “I’d best be on my way. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t just languishing down here.”
I give him a tight smile. “Not too much, no.”
Stellan smirks. “All right, then. I’ll see you soon. Next week, I think we have some sort of family dinner or something?”
I nod. “You know where to find me in the meantime.”
Stellan looks around my office once more. “That I do.”
He heads out of my office, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he rushes off toward his next engagement. After he’s gone, I try to focus on the papers in front of me again.
But it’s no use. Glancing at my watch, I wonder what my father is doing. It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen him. And Annika is locked in her rooms with her friend Kalindi, whispering and giggling like a couple of little girls.
With a sigh, I rise. If there is a better time to go visit my father, I don’t know of it.
It’s the work of a couple of minutes to exit the palace through the gardens. I roll up my sleeves and shove my hands through my hair as I walk. It feels silly but if I walk into my father’s house looking like I have my shit together, my father will lose his temper.
And he will undoubtedly aim his anger at me.
The stables are only a few minutes further travel down a narrow, paved path. The birds are chirping in the trees, the sun is high in a perpetually blue sky, it’s about as nice as Denmark can get.
But as I skirt the stables and head to my father’s cottage, my mood darkens with every step. Bracing myself, I knock on the door of the charming, well-maintained little cottage.
I hear my father cough first, long and ragged. “Who is it?” he calls out.
I close my eyes briefly. “It’s Erik.”
The door swings open and I look into a very real image of my future. My father is my height, thin as a whip, with his hair gone completely gray. He’s dressed in a pair of fresh khaki overalls and a button up shirt with the cuffs rolled and shot up as far as they will go.
He doesn’t look happy to see me. “Haj, son.”
He backs up and lumbers back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the heavy old table. Before him are a bunch of horse bits, a bucket of soapy water, and a rag. And the ever-present schnapps bottle, of course.
Blanking my expression, I close the door and circle the table, taking a seat at the long bench.
My father takes a quick nip from the bottle of schnapps, wincing. Then he picks up a bit and the rag and starts cleaning.
I try not to look around too much; there are memories in this cottage, and not pleasant ones. Memories of my beautiful blonde mom. Memories of my father, drunkenly screaming at her. A memory of her crying and wishing me goodbye, then slamming the front door one last time.
“Well?” my father demands. “What are you here for, Erik?”
Blowing out a breath, I eye him. “How are you?”