A NORDIC KING

KARINA HALLE

Metal Blonde Books

Copyright © 2018 by Karina Halle

First edition published by Metal Blonde Books

September 2018

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover by: Hang Le Designs

Photography by: Wong Sim

Model: Lucas Bloms

Edited & Proofed by: Kara Malinczak & Roxane Leblanc

For Sandra (you better freaking read this one)

CONTENTS

Preface

Prologue

1. Aurora

2. Aksel

3. Aurora

4. Aurora

5. Aurora

6. Aksel

7. Aurora

8. Aurora

9. Aksel

10. Aksel

11. Aurora

12. Aurora

13. Aksel

14. Aurora

15. Aurora

16. Aksel

17. Aurora

18. Aurora

19. Aksel

20. Aurora

21. Aurora

22. Aksel

23. Aurora

24. Aksel

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Karina Halle

PREFACE

Though there is a very lovely Danish Royal Family in real life, it must be noted that I’ve taken complete liberty in this story and all characters and situations are completely fictional. With regards to the language, while I did have a native Danish speaker go over the book, any mistakes you may find in here are mine.

Also, it may help for you to know that the “J” in Danish is pronounced like a “Y.”

Ja!

Happy reading,

Karina Halle

PROLOGUE

Aksel

Two Years Ago - Madeira

Everyone remembers the moment they fall in love.

That moment where seconds seem to slow down and for the first time you realize you’re not just living life but feeling it in the biggest, grandest way possible. Like you’ve been let in on a secret that the whole world has known about but you.

Maybe it’s a look, the flirty downward cast of the eyes and a sly smile after you’ve told a painfully bad joke.

It might be the moment when you’re finally vulnerable, a gaping wound of a human being, and they take you all in with open arms and without question.

Perhaps it’s wrought from you after a couple of orgasms, all that sex and pleasure culminating into something more than just physical release but a total takeover of your soul.

There is no one way to fall in love.

It may scar you, make its mark, but that fall, that impact, is different for everyone.

Yet, despite all the various ways you fall in love, there is a distinct, singular feeling in that very moment you realize that someone you love no longer loves you back.

The moment you realize the love you had is gone, having slipped through your fingers when you weren’t looking.

It doesn’t come at you fast, with a blow to the senses. It’s not a bolt of lightning striking you, or a tidal wave crashing over you, or the rug pulled out from under you.

Instead it’s slow and insidious, slinking through you like ink through water, until it permeates every inch of your soul.

It’s a shallow wound to the gut, the kind where pain takes its sweet time to arrive, where you end up on your knees, wondering why you didn’t address it sooner.

Because you thought it would go away.

By then your ruptured heart will slowly bleed you to death.

There’s only one feeling when you know you’ve lost love.

I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Except, right now, as I sit in my chair in the sitting room, my eyes locked with the roaring fire, I do wish it on them.

My enemy right now is my wife.

The very woman I so reluctantly fell in love with years ago.

The woman that chased me and hounded me until I agreed to be hers. The woman that promised me that she would be a perfect queen, and that we would raise perfect children, and I’d have that life I thought I missed out on when I was young.

A life where you are loved.

I was wrong.

I know my place in this world. I know I became a king far too young, far before I was ready. And I know how this all works, that marriage for love rarely exists for royals like us. But that didn’t stop the disappointment when I found out about Helena’s…indiscretion.

Instead the anger got stronger. Kindling to a fire.

Disappointment fueling the flames.

I can’t ignore it anymore.

I can’t be that person, that King.

I’m supposed to lead this country and yet I can’t even face the hard truths.

My wife doesn’t love me.

And I don’t think she ever did.

It was all just part of the game, the game of bringing a man like me to my knees, head into the guillotine. She wanted the glory. She wanted to win.

I think about Clara and Freja and I wonder when they’ll realize that everything between their mother and I is a lie. I think about how old I was when I discovered my own parents hated each other. Pretty young, I’d say. It wasn’t hard to miss. You know when there’s a lack of love in the house, a fracture in the family. I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with all of that intact but I know I’ll do whatever I can to ensure my girls don’t have the same upbringing as I did.

Which is why I’m here in the royal estate on the island of Madeira.

Waiting for her.

It’s April, just after Easter, when the two of us used to come here as a kick-off to the summer season. It’s too wet in Denmark to go sailing but Madeira is just warming up. The nights can be cold where the estate is, high up on the slopes of the central mountain range, hence the roaring fire. Helena always complained that we were too far from the beaches but with most of Scandinavia spending their winters here, this site was chosen for absolute protection and privacy.

She doesn’t know I’m here.

You’d think she would but that would require her actually talking to me on a daily basis. We might share the same palace but we don’t even share a bedroom anymore.

She’s flying here, landing in about an hour.

It’s dark already, eight p.m.

If she thinks of me at all, she probably thinks that I’m in Norway still, having a meeting with King Arvid, which is where I was this morning. But in the air on the way back to Copenhagen, I told my advisor Ludwig and the pilot that I didn’t want to go back home.

I wanted to come to Madeira, to surprise my wife.

I hadn’t been with her on a proper holiday in some time, so naturally everyone thought it was a romantic gesture.

“Sir,” the voice of Ludwig breaks through my thoughts. “It’s almost time. Should I have Edward pick her up?”

Edward is the sole caretaker of the estate here, which means he doubles as a driver.

I turn in my seat to see Ludwig standing by the door, his posture rigid as always. Ludwig was my father’s advisor until he passed away, and now he’s mine. I like the old man, even if he seems too formal at times. I’ve always been taught to never treat your staff like friends, but it would be nice to have a friend sometimes.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “I’ll drive.”

“Sir?” Ludwig says, somehow standing even taller.

I ease myself up off the chair. “It would be a better surprise, don’t you think, for her to see me at the airstrip?”

“Your Majesty, it’s dark and it’s a terrible road, you know this.”

“And you know that I’m a more than capable driver.”

I’m not being modest. Back in the wild child days of my twenties, I was one of the top rally drivers in Denmark. Then I suffered a terrible crash and at the demands of my parents and the public, I switched from cars to boats. Less collisions on the water, less chance of losing the heir to the throne.

“It really isn’t right to let you drive. The risks…”

“But I’m the King,” I point out as I stride toward him.

He sighs, looking down at his feet. “Precisely.”

“You can’t stop me, Luddie.”

“I won’t, sir,” he says. He gives me a wary glance. “Just … you’re the only king we have. Promise me that you’ll let Nicklas drive the way back.”

Nicklas.

I can’t help the sour smile on my face. I pat Ludwig on the back and move past him.

No one has any idea, do they?

Or if they do, they’re incredibly good at keeping Helena’s secrets.

I ought to have a secret of my own one day, one that’s better than faking a loveless marriage.

Because that’s the truth now. She may have fallen out of love with me but I was soon to follow. How can you let your heart beat for someone when they’ve already torn it in two?

I grab a light jacket from the hall and head out towards the black SUV. Normally Helena insists on riding in a Rolls Royce or Town Cars but with the rugged terrain here on the island, a Land Rover is better.

I get in and start heading down the long winding driveway past the dormant rows of our own on-site winery and out the gates.

I’m struck by a vague memory, of being a child when we used to come here as a family. Running through the vineyards with my sister Stella, hiding from my nanny when it was bedtime. I was so young and so free, only because I didn’t know any better. I didn’t realize the trap of royalty, that having money and privilege came at a terrible price that you could never ignore.

I was groomed to be a king from the day I was born.

I just never knew what that meant.

I never knew what it would take from me.

My hands tighten on the wheel as I drive through the dark, under old oak trees. The road twists and turns like an artery.

I’m trying to think about what I’m going to say to them.

But whenever I form words in my head, rage takes over.

So I let my mind go blank for the rest of the drive until I’m pulling up just outside the airstrip, thirty minutes later. Normally I wouldn’t go anywhere without Ludwig, or a royal attendant such as Edward, but as King, I can make my own rules and tonight I needed to be alone. Besides, no one would even suspect that it’s me behind the wheel at this tiny private airstrip at the base of the mountains.

I keep the car running, peering over the steering wheel to see one of our small private jets. Helena and Nicklas are walking away from the plane. She’s a little ahead of him, keeping up appearances. For now.

They walk through the gate in the chain-link fence, Helena spotting the car.

But as they get closer, her gait slows, her brow is furrowed as much as the Botox will allow. Rain has started to fall, blurring her image through the windshield. She knows it’s me.

I get out of the car and nod to her and Nicklas.

The look on her face is priceless. I wish I were a bigger man than to relish such petty desires but it’s the truth. She’s looking at me with pure disappointment, realizing now that she can’t spend her trip fucking Nicklas. Followed by fear. Fear that she’ll be found out, fear that I know something—why else would I be here?

“Did you have a nice flight?” I ask them, keeping my voice steady and light. It’s amazing how well I can do that. My features rarely betray the inferno inside.

“What are you doing here?” Helena asks, her voice coming out in a breathless hiss.

I keep the fake smile on my lips and gesture to the car. “I wanted it to be a surprise. We so rarely get to spend time together. I can’t remember the last time we were here. Usually it’s just you and Nicklas, just the two of you, isn’t that right?”

As I say his name, my eyes are fixed on his and I have to control the rage inside me as much as I can. Even looking at him makes my blood boil. He’s a lot younger than me, early thirties, with these blank eyes and a perpetual sneer to his lips. On first appearances, he doesn’t talk much and seems to be there strictly to obey. But I know better. He may act like a dutiful butler but he’ll be the first one to throw you to the sharks. For helvede, he is the shark.

Helena just nods. She can’t even smile. She gets in the back seat and tells Nicklas to drive.

“I’m driving,” I tell her. “Nicklas is tired from traveling, I’m sure.”

“It’s not a problem,” he says but I wave him off and get back in the driver’s seat, letting them figure out where they want to sit.

Outside a breeze is picking up, and bigger drops of rain are starting to pool on the windshield, illuminated by the dull glow of the airplane hangar. The blood in my ears is a steady whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

Finally, Helena gets in the backseat, with Nicklas in the passenger seat. Either she’s so used to being driven around that sitting in the front seems uncouth, or she can’t stand me that much. I’m guessing it’s a bit of both.

The drive is silent. I have to force the conversation at the start, asking about the children, asking about the weather. I know for a fact that my aunt Maja is taking care of Clara and Freja right now but it’s funny how little Helena seems to know. Or maybe it’s not funny at all. Perhaps it’s just sad.

My heart clenches at the thought of what I’m about to do.

How I’m about to ruin it all.

I know what my father would say.

I know that he’d tell me that love was never part of the deal. Fuck, he’s the one who warned me from the start about Helena and how her school-girl crush was never quite what it seemed. That’s the one reason I was so hesitant about her to begin with. But she was beautiful and so devoted and made me feel like a king well before I ever became one.

This is my role, to pretend. This is the throne I sit on, one carved from lies, old as the ages.

But not anymore.

The last reasonable thought I have is of my children and how their world would be infinitely happier if I just pretended and pretended and pretended.

I should do it for them.

Everything for them.

Yet it doesn’t stop the words that grind out of my mouth.

“I know about the two of you,” I say.

We’re about halfway to the palace, the road climbing, the rain falling wildly in front of the headlights.

I’d think that neither of them heard me, judging by their lack of reaction, but Nicklas stiffens up just a bit. I eye Helena in the rearview mirror but can barely make out her profile. She seems to be staring out at the passing dark.

I can’t say I’m surprised. Denial is her favorite word.

“You heard me,” I say again. “I know.”

Finally, Nicklas says something. “Know what, sir?”

I let out a caustic laugh. “Sir? Really? You pretend to revere me as your King and yet insult me at the same time by fucking my wife.”

“Aksel!” Helena cries out. “Stop this nonsense. You’re crazy!”

“Crazy? I’m not fucking crazy. I’m not fucking stupid either. Everyone knows, Helena. Everyone. I suppose I was the last, and maybe that makes me crazy in your eyes, but everyone knows you’ve been a lying whore.”

“How dare you,” she seethes. “You crazy, jealous fool.”

My smile feels like acid. “I dare. I dare because I’m no longer the fool. I finally know the truth and I can’t ignore it anymore. I can’t pretend anymore.” Then something inside me feels like it’s breaking. The betrayal. The destruction of my heart that I know will never recover. “Don’t you feel the same?”

“I’m not discussing this,” Helena says, looking away, arms crossed in a huff. “And if that’s why you bothered to pick me up, then you’ve started the wrong war because I will fucking destroy you. You hear me? I will destroy you and take everything you love. Even the girls.”

“Motherfucker!” I yell, pounding my fists on the steering wheel, the car nearly going off the road. “You don’t give a shit about anything, do you? Just your image! Just what you can take! All you’ve ever done is take, take, take!”

“Aksel, please,” Nicklas says, his voice growing louder, nervous.

“Please?” My eyes bore into him just as I correct the car back onto the road. “Please? Your manners forsake you. You don’t give a shit about any of this. You’re only fucking her because you think it will spite me, that you’ll take my place. Guess what? She’ll ditch you as quickly as she ditched me! You think I’m some one-off victim, a fool she gets to blind? She went after me from the start! She pretended to want me, pretended to love me, all to get the crown. Now she has it. Now she has the crown and she’s pretending to want you, only to flaunt what a shallow, lying bitch she is!”

“The fuck you’ll talk to her that way!” Nicklas yells, punching me in the arm, trying to go for my face. It’s now that I know for sure that I’ve hit a nerve. You can’t hide love when it’s been insulted, threatened. He thinks what they have is genuine and real. Who’s the fucking fool now?

“Nicklas!” Helena yells, unbuckling her seatbelt and coming forward between the seats, trying to break us apart. “Stop it!”

“Oh, he knows, Helena!” Nicklas says, voice in anguish. “He knows, everyone knows. This is it for us. This is the end.”

“It’s not the end,” she snipes, and I can hear the panic in her voice as her hands slap against the side of my arm. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” I yell. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been betraying me? Betraying the family?”

“You’re full of shit,” she hisses. “I haven’t betrayed you. We both know you never loved me. You only married me because you had to.”

“I loved you!” I roar. I squeeze the steering wheel so tight I swear I could break it in half. “I loved you so much that I thought my world would end if our love ended. And our love did end and everything else kept on going. I learned it was all a lie.”

“Fuck you,” she says, sitting back. “As if I haven’t given you what you wanted, children, as if I haven’t been the perfect future queen. I’ve given you all you wished for.”

“You wanted that too! That throne, that crown, that’s the only thing that’s mattered to you from the start. And now you have it. Now you’re queen and I’m tossed aside for some fucking butler. A man who is supposed to shine your shoes, not fuck you out of them. But we both know your standards are pretty fucking low.”

“You fuck!” Nicklas says, lunging, trying to punch me again.

He’s hitting me and I’m ducking, and the road sweeps to the left in a tight curve and I hit the brakes, whipping the wheel around like the pro I used to be. But even though this sort of turn isn’t a concern to me, the wetness of the road, especially after weeks of drought, means that the rain hasn’t sunken into the asphalt.

It’s slick and the car starts to spin out.

In a moment I forget why we’re even fighting.

I forget about the betrayal.

I forget that I’ve never hated two people so much in my life.

All I know is that we’re sliding out.

All I know is that if I can’t correct this vehicle, we’ll all go over the edge of the road and down into the valley below.

So I tap the brakes and I correct and I do everything that racing has taught me and I keep my head level, like this is just another bend in the course.

But the SUV does not behave like a rally car.

And the road does not behave like a rally track.

And my passengers aren’t navigators.

Everyone screams as the SUV speeds forward, spinning out of control as it bursts over the side of the road that barely had a shoulder to begin with.

We’re airborne for a moment.

Then we crash.

We implode. It feels like thousands of pounds of steel are warping around me.

Then we flip.

Over and over.

Again.

Bam.

And again.

Bam.

And again.

I don’t know what’s up or down.

The seatbelt digs at my windpipe, carving into my waist, just as Helena’s figure moves past me.

I reach out for her, to grab her, and I graze the length of her leg, my fingers trying in vain to grasp her.

But it’s too late.

She’s going through the windshield.

Glass shatters like rain and then everything is black.

It’s a blackness I can sink into. A void. A place where my sins live, waiting for me in its depths.

Then, after eons, centuries, years, minutes…

There’s rain on my face.

My head wants to explode.

Everything comes back to me.

I gasp for air, feeling trapped like a wild animal.

I fumble for my seatbelt and unclick it. My body drops, freefalls, slams against the car’s ceiling that’s now the floor and nearly knocks me out again. The SUV landed upside down.

Helena.

That image of her moving past me, like a darkened ghost in the night, a spirit trying to flee the world I live in for another. That was no dream. This is no nightmare.

I raise my head, glancing up to see Nicklas unconscious and upside down.

I should check on him. I will check on him, even though I want to do anything but.

But first I have to find Helena.

Helena.

I crawl out of the SUV, the broken windows cutting my arms and legs.

We’ve landed on a slope, far beneath the road. My flashlight is swallowed by oak trees that surround us on either side, the car nestled in a patch of low foliage and rock.

“Helena?” I cry out, stumbling through the rocks, trying not to fall. It feels like my knees will give out at any second. “Helena!”

There is nothing. There is nothing here except the rain and soft warmth running down my arms and legs and head. Blood, maybe.

I hear a groan and try to run, nearly falling a few times. I see her, about twenty feet from the SUV. She’s lying on her stomach, pressed up against a rock. Her face is covered in blood, she wears it like a veil.

“Helena,” I cry out, dropping to my knees, ignoring the pain that rips through me. “I’m here.”

“Nicklas,” she manages to say, her eye fixed on me with such intensity that I know not to doubt what she’s saying. “Where is Nicklas?”

I swallow but it’s impossible. There are rocks in my throat. “I’m here,” I say again. “Aksel. I am here.”

But that is no comfort to her gaze. If anything, she shrinks from fear.

And then she shrinks from life.

I’m on my knees beside my wife, bleeding, maybe dying, and in the end just asking her to still see me for who I am, see me for me.

But she only sees him.

She only wants him.

And I can’t even fault her for it anymore. Because she should have whatever she deserves.

Because you don’t realize how precious and fickle life is until you see it drain right before your eyes. You don’t know how petty and trivial your stupid feelings are until someone is gone.

In the moments before, I wanted nothing but revenge and love and a million things that Helena could never give me.

Now, as she dies in front of me, I want nothing more than for her to be happy.

I want nothing more than for her to live.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, holding her hand tight, so tight, as the tears start to roll down my face.

They mingle with the rain.

Soaking my heart.

She dies.

I die.

I live and yet I die with the last breath she takes.

Once my lover. Once my wife.

My world has changed forever.

CHAPTER 1

AURORA

PRESENT DAY - SEPTEMBER

When I first applied for the job I didn’t think much of it. If anything, I hesitated to fill out the application to begin with. I’d just come off being a nanny for Etienne Beauregard for two years and after that little French tyrant did everything in his power to defeat me, I started to think that maybe I ought to give being a nanny a break. I’d been an au pair, then a nanny, for various families across Europe for the last seven years. Even someone as optimistic and resilient as I can get a little burned out, and yearning for something new was what led me overseas to begin with.

But even though I gave myself permission to look at other options I could do instead (Teaching English? Being a private tutor? Busking on a street corner dressed as Marie Antoinette?), the moment I went into my recruitment agency to tell them I needed a change of pace, my advisor, Amelie, promptly told me about the position.

“It’s in Copenhagen,” she said with a waggle of her brows, as if Copenhagen was more alluring than the fact that we were currently in Paris.

“Listen, Amelie,” I told her, switching from my still rusty (by their standards) French to English. I blame it on my Australian accent. “I was actually thinking we could try something else.”

She stared at me blankly.

I went on. “Not being a nanny. Or a governess. Or anything like that.”

She chewed on her lip for a moment, brows furrowed. “Pourquoi?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Etienne was…”

“Yes, he was a brat and his father was a creep. But you did well and left when you could. They aren’t all like him. You know this.”

“I know, but maybe I could do something … different.”

She shook her head and put her attention back to her computer screen. “No. You can’t. You came here asking for work and we’ve placed you with four families since then. This is what’s allowed you to stay and work in the EU. You’re a good nanny, Aurora. Your energy is how you say, infectious. And that’s why this position is so appealing.” She punctuated her sentence by clicking on her mouse.

Suddenly all the different new directions and all the little lives I could have had disappeared from my head in a poof of dust. “Okay,” I said with a sigh and pasted on a smile. “What is it?”

“Alors.” She shot me a cunning smile. “It’s for a prominent family in Denmark. One-year term to start. Two girls, ages five and six. The father is, uh, single.”

Single dad? That was a new one. “Where is the mother?”

“Dead,” she said. I remember the look on her face, like she knew her personally. “Such a shame. So, yes, obviously the father needs some help.”

She went on with more details but not too much. Not enough to give it all away. After all, Amelie knew me and liked me and knew I was a good match with certain families. That infectious energy or whatever she was talking about. But there was no doubt she had to keep these cards close to her chest until the very end.

The first round of interviews took place in a nondescript café beside the Peninsula Hotel. The interviewer had been Maja, a very refined woman in her late seventies with enviously smooth skin and ash blonde hair pulled back into a long braid. I had been surprised that she came—normally it was the parents who interviewed me and I figured in this case at least the father would have. She wasn’t even a former nanny.

While her role in the family escaped me, her questions were odd as well. I learned nothing about the girls except their names—Freja and Clara—and instead was asked a lot about how I behave. My decorum. My beliefs. It was an interview but it felt less like it was for a job and more for if I was a decent human being. Maybe better than decent.

I couldn’t be sure that I passed.

I don’t come from a line of decency.

Then two days later, Amelie called. She wanted to meet me outside the Chloe boutique on Rue Honore, which I thought was an odd location considering it’s an expensive part of Paris and far from her office.

I found her there, smoking a cigarette.

“What’s going on?” I asked her.

Her eyes darted from side to side, as if she was afraid she was being followed. Then she nodded. “Come with me.”

Bewildered, I went down a side street until she stopped against a wall. Her eyes were still roaming around and I was about to ask if she was okay until she said, “You need to fly to Copenhagen tomorrow.”

“What?” Until that morning, Amelie hadn’t said anything about the position. I started to assume I didn’t get it.

She took a quick drag of her cigarette. “Short notice. But they want to introduce you to the children. If it works out, then you have the job. Maja seemed impressed. Either that or she had something in her eye.”

“You met with her in person?”

“Earlier today. We had lunch up the street.”

“Why was she still in Paris?”

“You don’t think you were the only candidate, do you?”

I hadn’t thought of that.

She gave me an amused smile. “You were my only candidate. But she’d seen a few from other places in Europe. They all met her here as a central location. At least that’s what she said. Germany, Austria, Belgium. She’d already been through England. And Denmark, of course.”

“It can’t be that hard to find a nanny. Why is she searching half the continent?”

Amelie’s smile widened. “Because it’s not easy to find someone fit for royalty.”

And that’s when I finally knew the whole truth about the position.

I wouldn’t be a nanny for just any wealthy or prestigious family.

I would be a nanny for fucking royalty.

And that’s why I’m currently on a plane to Copenhagen, trying my best to keep calm. Doesn’t help that we keep hitting pockets of turbulence and the woman next to me is clutching her rosary and muttering a fevered prayer in Italian.

I try and distract myself from the rollercoaster in my stomach by going over all the last minute research I did on both Denmark and the Danish royal family. I only had twenty-four hours to cram before I got on the airplane and I wasn’t about to show up at the bloody royal palace without being prepared.

Denmark was always a place I wanted to visit and I love doing research for fun, so luckily I already know a bit about the country, but I knew nothing about their royal family.

Now that I do, well, the history of the royal family is a rather messy one.

King Aksel is forty years old and one of the youngest kings in recent history.

He was the oldest child of King Felix and Queen Liva, with a younger sister Princess Stella. He inherited the throne after his father died of a heart attack four years ago. The dowager queen hasn’t been the same since and has spent most of her years hospitalized for various things that the internet can’t quite agree upon.

The tragedy in King Aksel’s life didn’t stop there.

Two years ago, his wife, Queen Helena, died in a car accident on the island of Madeira where the King and Queen were vacationing, thus leaving Aksel as the single father to their daughters, Clara and Freja. Ever since the very public funeral, the kids have been barely seen and Aksel’s own public appearances have been limited.

The King is said to be grief-stricken, which is understandable. More than that, the entire country is still in mourning. You see, the minute she became a princess, Queen Helena was often compared to Princess Diana. Not so much in that she was the people’s princess. If anything, Queen Helena was elite, coming from a line of Danish and Swedish nobility. But she was beyond charitable, gorgeous, stylish and witty, and the public absolutely adored her. I may have not known that much about the Danish royal family but I did recall headlines about Princess Helena.

So yeah. Not only am I heading to the bloody royal palace to meet them all but I have to be mindful of what this family has gone through. The kids I’ve watched over in the past have all had varying degrees of difficulties and problems (don’t get me started on Etienne), but none of them have had to deal with grief other than the death of a goldfish.

Me, on the other hand? Well, let’s just say I know it in many forms.

The harsh jolt of the plane’s landing literally snaps me out of my thoughts.

The woman next to me stops her praying and I peek out the window at the runways of Copenhagen airport.

I’m here.

Nausea rolls through me as if we’re back in the air again.

The funny thing is that though days ago I had been considering a change of pace, doing anything but this, ready for a new direction in my life, now I’m counting on getting this job above all others.

I am not refined. I have zero interest in royalty.

There’s absolutely nothing that makes me think I would even be a good fit for this position. I’d always assumed that people who worked for a royal family—especially a nanny—would have to come from a line of nobility themselves. Lord, I hope I don’t have to open up about my own background because I’m pretty sure I’d be shown the door in a hot second.

And yet, if I did happen to get the job, I can see the doors opening from it, my future expanding, and a purpose that’s always eluded me might finally be in my reach.

If I get the job, of course.

Big, fat if.

Once we’re at the gate, I grab my small carry-on from the overhead compartment and shuffle down the aisle. The royal family paid for the flight, which was nice of them. I’ve been saving up over the years so I could swing it but even so, I’m careful with my money.

At the arrivals area I see Maja again plus a man who must be the driver, standing at attention beside her. Like before, her hair is back in a braid and she’s dressed plainly in dark colors.

Here I go.

“Hello again,” I say to her, holding out my hand. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Maja’s hand shake is firm, her smile tight. “Come this way,” she says in her heavy accent before turning and walking off, the driver beside her.

Okay. So she may have called me back for a second interview but we’re definitely not best buds yet. That’s fine. I can win her over with time.

If you have time, I remind myself. Think before you speak.

I follow the two of them out to a waiting black Town Car where the driver takes my bag and puts it in the trunk and then opens the back door. Maja nods at me to get inside and I feel a thrill run through me. Not that I haven’t been in such a car before but I am a little suspicious these two are going to dump my body in the castle moat. With all my research I hadn’t found any information on Maja.

The urge to ask her about herself is strong, especially as neither she nor the driver talk at all during the drive. I like to talk, mainly because I’m curious and also because I can’t stand awkward silences.

I stare at Maja, trying to figure out her game.

She stares right back at me, one eyebrow raised.

Shit, I’m already blowing it. I do tend to stare at people a lot but I do it out of curiosity, not to be rude. There’s a lot you can learn about people just by staying silent and watching them.

Unfortunately, I sometimes have problems with the staying silent part.

“I take it you might have some questions for me,” she says after a beat.

“I do,” I say. “I mean, I never really got to hear what your role in all of this is.”

“My role?”

I bite my lip, wondering if I’m being nosy. “Yes. Are you … working for the royal family?”

“I’m the queen’s sister,” she says stiffly. “The dowager queen.”

Which I now know means the title is by marriage and not by birthright, so that makes Maja the sister of Queen Liva—therefore she’s King Aksel’s aunt. “I’m handling these affairs for His Majesty.”

I nod. “I bet it can’t be easy. Finding someone.”

“No,” she says. “It’s not. We’ve had a nanny or two since Helena died but they weren’t quite right.”

“Is it bold if I asked what went wrong?”

She purses her lips together as she eyes me. “It is bold,” she says after a moment of scrutiny. “But I’ll allow it.” She sighs, looking out the window and I can tell she’s trying to find the right words. “As you well know, the family has gone through a lot in the last four years. First with the King, Aksel’s father, passing away. Then with my dear sister Liva … she’s not been the same since. Aksel was thrust into the role of king far before he was ready and more or less lost both parents at once. Then with the car accident and Helena … you can understand he can be quite disagreeable at times.”

I have a feeling that ladies like Maja use the term “disagreeable” to mean raging asshole, but time will tell.

“I’ve worked well with a variety of personalities,” I assure her. Including Etienne’s father who hit on me non-stop. That tosser was just part of the reason I quit that last job. “Nothing phases me.”

Except, you know, sexual harassment and brats that try to set your hair on fire.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Which is one of the reasons why I called you back. The last two nannies were too soft, too sensitive, too reactive to stress. What the King needs, what the girls need, is someone who can weather any storm. Water off a duck’s back, is the English term, is it not?”

“It is.”

“And you can handle all that?”

“Most definitely.”

“Godt,” she says, clasping her hands in her lap. “Good,” she then clarifies, which makes me realize I have to start picking up some Danish.

We don’t talk for the rest of the drive but that’s fine with me as my attention is completely stolen by the streets of Copenhagen. I hadn’t made it up to northern Europe yet, so this is my first glimpse of everything Viking and Hygge.

So far, Copenhagen is living up to all my Scandinavian dreams. It’s absolutely charming, with cobblestone streets between colorful buildings done up in yellows and corals and greens, and I swear, the hottest people I’ve ever seen. The majority of them are tall and blonde with cheekbones that can cut glass. Most seem to have an ice cream cone in their hand, biking past breezily. All seem exceptionally smiley and happy. I guess I’d be that happy too if I was eating ice cream and looked like a supermodel.

“And here is the palace,” Maja says suddenly, which snaps my attention forward again. I had no idea how close the palace was to the city center. For some reason I expected the royal palace to be on the outskirts, not right beside the harbor.

But there it is.

“This is Amalienborg Palace,” Maja says as the driver takes us down a side street past an imposing domed church and a large square full of photo-happy tourists. At all four points of the square there are palaces. “There are four palaces but only the fourth one, Christian IX’s Palace, is where we take up residence.”

“It’s so close to … everything,” I say, gawking out the window at the four matching palaces dotted with grand windows and stone columns. I can’t believe they all face a public square like that. “How do you get any privacy? Where do the kids play?”

“There is a small yard in the back. It is enough. And as it is, we’ve only just come back last month. We use this as a residence for autumn and winter. We spend the summer elsewhere.”

All I know is that if I were royalty, I wouldn’t be in a palace surrounded by tourists peering up at all the windows. I’d be holed up in a castle somewhere. Preferably on a beach. With a margarita in hand. And a shirtless butler that looks like Jason Momoa.

“Here we are,” Maja says as the car stops in a small lot behind the palace, a heavily guarded gate closing behind us.

Okay, enough crazy daydreams. I’m here. And I’m bloody nervous.

I get out of the car and Maja escorts me in through a large wooden door.

We step inside a small foyer and I’m led along intricately designed Baroque floors toward a grand room.

“Have a seat,” Maja says as we step inside, gesturing to a teal velvet chair beside an antique desk.

I do as she asks and look around. The room is long and filled floor-to-ceiling with books between fancy moldings, with a comfy looking couch down toward one end.

“Is this the library?” I ask, itching to take a look at all the spines. They’re probably all written in Danish but I don’t care. Books are one of my addictions.

“This is just a study,” she says, waving her hand at the room like it’s a linen closet.

Oh. Just a study.

“I’ll go and get the girls.”

“The girls?”

“You’ll be meeting with Clara and Freja first,” she says, and I swear I see a smile crack on her face. “They can be a better judge of character than the King.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

Great. Maja seems to think well of me, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But now my job rests in the hands of two little girls. In general, girls tend to like me better than boys, and most kids warm up to me right away. But there are always a few outliers who need a lot of convincing. Candy usually works in those situations but I’m not sure if bribery is within royal palace protocols.

Just as I’m mulling over what kind of lollies the Danes might have, the door opens and Maja appears with a girl on each side of her, holding their hands.

I’m not sure what the etiquette is around princesses but I err on the side of caution and get to my feet, then immediately curtsey. Makes me wish I was wearing a pretty dress like they are instead of my black dress pants and navy wrap shirt. Makes me wish I knew exactly what I was doing. My version of a curtsey makes me nearly fall over.

One girl looks amused by it, the slightly taller one. The other girl stays closer to Maja’s side, avoiding eye contact.

“Miss Aurora, may I present to you Her Highness Princess Clara and Her Highness Princess Freja of House Eriksen,” she says.

“Pleased to meet you,” I tell them, trying not to let my voice shake, to show fear. I have no experience with legit princesses and even though these girls are young, it’s oddly terrifying. “I am Miss Aurora of House James.”

“You have an accent,” the taller one, Clara, says in perfect English.

“So do you,” I point out with a smile.

“We do?” she asks and looks up at Maja for confirmation.

Maja gives a slight nod. “Miss Aurora is from Australia.”

“Like with the kangaroos?” Freja asks quietly. She’s the spitting image of her sister except a bit paler and with blonder hair.

“Oh yes, I have many stories about them,” I reply, and I realize I’m talking in the same tone as Mary Poppins. Where did that come from?

“You’ve come such a long way,” Clara says. “That’s the other side of the world, in the other hemisphere.”

“You’re right,” I tell her. “But I was already here in France. I’ve been in Europe for seven years looking after many boys and girls just like yourself.”

“Oh,” Clara says with a raise of her brow. “And what royal house did they belong to?”

I exchange a glance with Maja and she suppresses a smile. This girl is a clever one.

“I’ll let you three get to know each other,” she says, going for the door. “I will be back shortly.” Then she says something to Clara and Freja in Danish and they both nod obediently.

The door shuts and now I’m alone with them.

I take in a deep breath and keep smiling.

Since Clara has been doing a lot of the talking I thought she would be chatting away and asking me questions, but the two of them just stare at me, rather expectantly. Like I’m supposed to do tricks or something.

Luckily I’m good at icebreakers.

“So your name is Clara,” I say to her, then look to her sister. “And your name is Freja.”

They nod in unison.

“Did you know you’re a goddess, Freja?”

Freja just blinks.

“A goddess?” Clara repeats. She looks her sister up and down discerningly.

“Freyja, of course. She’s the Norse god of love and beauty.”

“Ew,” Clara remarks, wrinkling her nose.

I’m glad I didn’t mention the part about sex and fertility.

“As well as gold,” I add. And war. And death. “And she drives a chariot pulled by cats.”

“Cool,” Freja says in a hush.

Clara seems to think that over. “If Freja is named after a goddess then I must be too. Mama would have named us both after goddesses.”

Hmmm. There are no goddesses named Clara, and if I don’t give her something she’s going to feel inferior or worse, be angry at her deceased mother.

I’m going to have to pull a lie out of my Mary Poppins bag.

“Clara means bright,” I tell her, which actually is true. “Among the Greek gods, Helios was the god of the sun, very powerful.” Also true. “The Goddess Clara was one of his daughters. You are a sun child.” Not true.

Clara beams and looks at Freja proudly. “I am a child of the sun, you are a child of gold.” She squints at me. “But you must be a goddess too. Aurora sounds like a goddess name.”

“She’s a princess,” Freja whispers. “Sleeping Beauty. Princess Aurora.”

“The only princesses here are you two beauties,” I say. I give them a saucy smile. “But if you want to call me a goddess, I won’t object. I can be an honorary one.”

“Want to come see our room?” Clara asks. Her green eyes are getting bigger with excitement.

“Yes, I want to show you my dollies,” Freja says. “I got a new one last week.”

“We both got new ones,” Clara points out, hand on her hip.

“Well, you know I would love to see your dollies and everything else in your room but I think I have to stay here.”

“Why?” Clara asks, looking around her. “This room is boring. No one ever comes in here.”

I raise my brow. How could anyone say a room full of books is boring?

Oh wait. Most people. And definitely not five and six-year-old girls. No, princesses.

I quell the urge to tell them that when I was their age all I ever wanted was books. I wanted to learn. Instead I was in the middle of the bloody outback of Queensland and I had to ride my own rickety bike for an hour every day to get to my school and back. It was even further to the library, and that’s the one place I spent all my free time, soaking up everything about the world that I could. Knowledge was everything. Still is.

“I’m sure you’d find it less boring if you got to read some of the titles,” I say.

Clara flounces across the room, her pale plaid green dress flowing around her. With her tongue stuck outside the side of her mouth in total concentration, she takes a book off the shelf.

“Careful,” I call after her. “Should you be manhandling your father’s books?”

“Manhandling?” she repeats as she flips the heavy, leather-bound book around in her hands. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Now that I think about it, it’s a dumb word, don’t worry about it.”

She shows me the book. “See, this is about law in…” She peers closer at the title. “The early 1800s in Germany. That sounds boring to me.”

Okay, so she’s right. These books have probably been a part of the royal palace since it was first built. Still, I’m impressed that she can read with such confidence.

“Let’s go see my dollies,” Freja says, coming over to Clara. “Come on Miss Aurora.”

I walk over and take the book from Clara’s hands and put it back on the shelf, just in case. Maybe this is a test and the kids have been instructed to pull priceless books from shelves. Maybe there are cameras set up around us and the King is watching from some master control room.

“We do have to stay here,” I tell them again.

“Why?” asks Clara.

“Because this is part of the interview. You know, so your father can decide who will be your nanny.”

“Interview? I thought you were our nanny now.”

“No,” I say carefully. “I’m sure you’ve had a few nannies or potential nannies at this point? Did you not meet them and talk to them just like we are now?”

“Yes, but we didn’t like them,” Clara says, plopping herself down on the couch. Freja goes and joins her. “They were too old and boring, just like these books. One even looked like a witch.”

“She was a witch,” Freja says in a small voice.

“And she smelled,” Clara points out. “Father didn’t like any of them either. But we like you so now you’re our nanny.”

I give her a lopsided smile. If only it were that easy. “Let’s see what your father says.”

“Okay,” Clara says brightly and then runs to the door. She puts both her tiny hands around the knob and pulls it open and yells, “Maja! Father! Come meet the new nanny!”

Oh dear.

Maja appears in the doorway, obviously having waited just outside. “No need to yell, Clara,” she chastises and then adds a few words in Danish. She looks to me expectantly, her hands clasped in front of her. “I take it everything went well? Normally the nannies are sent out in a matter of minutes.”

I glance down at the girls. “I hope so.”

“Okay girls,” Maja says to them. “Run along to your rooms.”

“Can we bring Miss Aurora?” Freja asks.

“No, she has to stay here so she can meet your father. Now go.”

The girls scamper off down the hallway.

Gulp.

I had gotten so wrapped up in getting along with the girls that I forgot there was one more, very important piece to the puzzle.

Their father.

The King.

My body seems to erupt into pins and needles. I take a deep breath through my nose as Maja tells me that she’s fetching the King. She disappears and now I only have a few moments to compose myself before they return.

Now what do I do?

Do I sit back down on the chair so that I can rise again when he comes in?

Do I curtsey?

Do I bow?

Do I fall to one knee?

I know I just spent the last twenty-four hours researching it but all that information has currently vacated my brain.

Shit. Well, I guess I’ll sit down and then I can kind of do a curtsey as I get up and also maybe it looks like I’m going down on one knee. Wait, isn’t a curtsey a combination of that and a bow? I…

The sharp step of insoles in the hallway outside the door makes me freeze.

Oh god.

I quickly sit down on the chair, remembering that I’m supposed to tilt my legs to the side and cross them at the ankles, a la Kate Middleton, just as Maja appears.

“Miss Aurora may I present to you His Majesty, King Aksel of House Eriksen.”

She steps to the side.

The King walks in.

It feels like it happens frame by frame.

I’d looked at his picture dozens of times before I came here so I shouldn’t be taken aback, but I am.

I’m nearly speechless.

It’s not just that he’s severely handsome with his cut-glass features, his tall and imposing presence. It’s the haughty tilt of his chin, the cold downward cast of his eyes. It’s the way he changes the energy in the room, both demanding that you look at him and chastising you for it.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Gaping at him like I’m a bloody fool.

“How do you do?” I manage to say to him as I get to my feet and offer a weak half-bow, half curtsey. I’m not sure what the hand shaking protocol is here either but I’m definitely not going to offer mine until he does.

He stops in front of me and stares down at me like I’m some strange creature he’s stumbled across on his morning walk. His eyes lock on mine and I feel my breath being stolen, as if his glacial blue irises are steeped in Norse magic.

Then his lips curl into what can only be considered a sneer.

“No, not her. She won’t do at all,” he says in crisp English. Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s abruptly turning around and striding past Maja. “Who else do you have? Bring me someone else.”

My mouth drops, cheeks going red, and Maja glances at me warily before turning to him as he leaves the room. “Sir?”

“Someone else,” I hear him snap at her as he heads down the hall.

Maja slowly faces me again, offering a deeply sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing, Miss Aurora.” She sighs and then straightens her back. “I’ll give you a few moments to compose yourself before I take you back to the airport.”

And then she’s gone too, and I’m alone in this room which feels a million degrees colder, while my skin is on fire, and my heart is beating so fast I need to sit down.

I flop back onto the seat. This is beyond feeling small. This is about feeling worthless.

I feel like whatever creature I was to King Aksel, it was something that needed to be stepped on and scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

CHAPTER 2

AKSEL

“No,” I tell Maja, my voice booming. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“But Aksel,” she says. “She’s one of the best candidates.”

I shake my head, my hands clasped behind my back as I stare out the window down at the gardens. I hate this. I hate that I have to pick out a nanny, a substitute mother for my children. It shouldn’t be this way.

It’s your fault it’s this way.

I can’t seem to get through an hour of the day without reminding myself of that.

I clear my throat. “What about the one you brought from Germany? The one with the mole between her eyes and the, uh, ear hair.”

Maja scoffs. “Aksel. The children were terrified of her. They called her a witch.”

“Terror is good for children.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Both Clara and Freja seem to absolutely adore Miss Aurora.”

“She’s Australian.”

“So?”

“You said she was French.”

“I didn’t. I said she was in France and has been an au pair and a nanny there for seven years.”

“I don’t like her.”

“You barely met her,” Maja goes on. “You took one look at her and dismissed her. Rather rudely, I might say,” she adds under her breath.

“I heard that.”

“Well, it’s what your mother would tell you.”

“As if she was Miss Sunshine.”

“Aksel.” She admonishes me in a hush.

I turn around to face her. “She’s not dead. I can speak freely of her. And if she were all there upstairs, she would be the first to agree with my assessment.”

She sighs and rubs her weathered hand across her brow. Both my Aunt Maja and my mother were raised to be proper and rigid and eternally elitist. Maja has a heart of gold underneath her frosty façade and my mother very much does not. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of her considering she’s permanently hospitalized and heavily medicated, but it is the way she taught me.

“Then give me a good reason why you’re saying no.”

“I’m your King. I don’t need a reason.”

She narrows her eyes. Unfortunately, this kind of talk doesn’t ever work on her like it works on the rest of the nation.

“I have to tell her something,” she says.

“Then tell her I don’t like her face.”

Her eyes bug out. “My god. What’s wrong with you? I can’t say that.”

I shrug. “It’s the truth.”

“Have you gone mad? Blind? That woman out there is quite beautiful.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

Or, it will be a problem. I don’t need any distractions in my life and I certainly don’t need a repeat of whatever twist I got in my chest when I looked into her big brown eyes. It hurt like hell.

“Aksel, I haven’t seen you look twice at a woman ever since…”

“This is not about me,” I tell her hastily. “A woman like that, young, attractive, she won’t last long. Some man will sweep her off her feet if they haven’t already and she’ll leave us.”

“I do believe she’s single.”

“Right. Which makes this worse. Find someone who is more…”

I raise my brows, expecting her to fill in the blanks without me having to say it.

“You want to hire someone less attractive, is that it?”

“I just don’t want to hire her.”

“That’s discrimination.”

I let out a dry laugh. “What isn’t these days? Listen, I’ve made up my mind. A nanny like that is probably flighty and unreliable, and she’s just going to up and leave and we’re going to start this process all over again.”

“But sir, she—”

I sit down at my desk and busy myself with papers, waving her away with my hand. “Send her back to the airport and on her merry way. That’s final.”

I hear Maja sigh. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The door closes behind her.

Finally, space to breathe.

I put my head down on the desk and close my eyes, letting my thoughts run rampant for a minute before I rein them in.

That was bizarre, to say the least, and I have no idea what came over me out there. I took one look at the Australian and it was like something pierced my heart. In a terrible way.

There was nothing familiar about her. In fact, everything about her seemed wholly unique, from the paleness of her skin against her mahogany hair to the pouting curve of her lips to those eyes. Damn those eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any so big and brown before, like she was a fucking cartoon. They completely caught me off-guard.

I don’t like being caught off my guard.

My guard is up for a reason.

And as a result, she has to go.

I have to say, I do feel better after making that decision. I abhor complications and especially when it involves feelings. There is no place for them in my position—you’d think I would have learned that enough while growing up. I certainly learned that with Helena. And after she died, I might as well be branded with it. Feelings don’t just complicate things, they kill.

God, how they kill.

Luckily my phone rings, distracting me from my thoughts. It’s a call from one of Helena’s various charities. That was her real passion in life, not me, and her charity work did come from a very genuine place. She was often called the next Princess Diana—funny how that turned into a prophecy—for her generous nature toward the people, toward animals, and it was never a stretch. As twisted as our relationship was and how damn cruel she could be at times, the public only sees her in a radiant light. No matter what, I’ll never tamper with her reputation.

There’s a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I say, wondering who it is now.

Maja pokes her head in.

“Tell me you have another nanny candidate with you,” I say gruffly.

“I have your children,” she says, pushing the door wider so that Clara and Freja appear. “And they’d like to have a word with you.”

Even if I’m in a mood, my girls always bring a softness to my heart, a smile to my face.

“Girls,” I say to them. “What do you have to say?” I quickly glance up at Maja. “Don’t you have someone to accompany back to the airport?”

Maja just nods and closes the door, leaving me with Clara and Freja.

Both of whom look upset.

“Come over here. What happened?” I ask.

Clara takes Freja’s hand and leads her over to the side of my desk. Though just a year older than Freja, she’s always been the bossy one and the sweet girl has really stepped up ever since the accident, taking her sister under her wing.

“Freja won’t stop crying,” Clara says, putting her sister on the spot.

I peer at Freja and her red nose and watery eyes. She won’t meet my eye, won’t say anything either. I can’t stand to see either one upset and sometimes I feel like being a father is akin to constantly having your heart broken.

“What is it?” I ask Freja, leaning in close. “Why are you crying?”

She doesn’t say anything, just bites her lip. Freja is quiet and emotional so I’m used to having to wring things out of her. Clara, on the other hand, is loud and bossy and really doesn’t seem to be affected by anything. Sometimes I worry about that, but then again, when am I not worrying about them?

I put my hand on her warm cheek. “Freja? Tell me.”

“It’s the nanny,” Clara says, as if it was obvious.

I look at her sharply. “The one who was just here? What about her?”

All the more reason I was smart to get rid of her.

“You sent her away,” Clara says crossly.

“You mean the one from earlier, with the accent and…” Those eyes.

“The Goddess,” Clara clarifies.

“What?” Now I’m confused.

“She’s a goddess,” she repeats, lifting her chin. So much defiance. “We’re goddesses too. She taught us all about them. Not just our boring ones but the Greek ones. I’m a child of the sun god, Helios.”

Pretty sure that’s not true, I want to point out. Now she’s filling their heads with false information? I shake my head, sitting back up. “Why would she be talking to you about that? Wait. It doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

Freja bursts into tears.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I say to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Did she scare you with that accent of hers and tales of gods?”

“Father,” Clara says impatiently. “Freja loves her. She’s the first pretty, kind, and smart lady you’ve brought here and we don’t want her to go.”

Oh, fucking hell. That’s what this is about?

“I’m sorry,” I say carefully. “She just didn’t seem like she was right for us. You understand?”

“No,” Freja eventually mumbles, snot blowing out of her nose, her face all red. “She told us she wanted to be our nanny and we want her to be our nanny and then Auntie Maja said she had to go.”

“Freja,” I try and explain.

“She was like Mama.”

Another hit to my heart, this time deeper, with a jagged instrument.

I can feel my face pale in front of them.

I look at Clara. “She reminded you of your mother?”

Clara shrugs. “Not me. Mama was prettier. But we really, really like her and we want her to be our nanny. Can you go send for her?”

This is not working out the way I wanted.

At all.

I hate disobeying my daughters.

“Clara, Freja, listen to me. The nanny, the prospective nanny—”

“Aurora,” Freja whispers.

“Yes.”

“The Goddess,” Clara chimes in.

I try not to roll my eyes. “Yes. Her. I really do think she’s better for someone else. Another family. Not ours. We’re so … special, you understand? We need someone just as special to take care of my princesses. Don’t worry though, we’ll find someone.”

Freja bursts into tears again. “That’s what you always say and I hate them all.”

For helvede.

“Father,” Clara says, “don’t make Freja cry. Don’t you think we’ve been through enough?”

I watch her little face in amazement. She has her mother’s features, that’s for sure, green eyes, golden hair, olive skin. Inherited her mother’s cleverness as well. She knows exactly how to get her way.

I’m not sure I have a choice in this matter.

Imagine a king being ruled by his princesses.

I let out a long sigh, closing my eyes.

I can’t believe I’m going to have to do this.

Maja will have to bring her back.

She may not even want the job after the way I treated her.

I may have to grovel.

I do not grovel.

When I open my eyes again, both girls are looking at me expectantly.

“Oh, fine,” I mumble.

“Yay!” they both cry out, jumping up and down and clapping their hands together excitedly.

Hmmmm. Were they really that upset to begin with? Or was this just another example of getting their way? That “mama” card seemed to come out of left field.

It doesn’t matter though. I’m their father. I’m the reason they need a nanny to begin with, the reason they don’t have a mother anymore. Giving them everything they want is the very least I can do.

And I know it will never, ever be enough.

Exhaling heavily, I pick up my phone and call Maja.

“Sir?” she answers.

“Are you still in the house?”

“I’m with Miss Aurora, on the way to the airport,” she answers rather tersely.

“Tell the driver to turn the car around and bring her back.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But, sir, why? You said…” I can tell that Maja is probably eyeing the Aussie right now, trying to keep her from listening.

“I know what I said,” I snap. I let out a sigh. “Just bring her back. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

That last part sounded sarcastic.

“Is she coming?” Freja asks with big eyes. “Is she going to be our new nanny?”

I run my hand down my face.

Anything to keep them happy like this, I remind myself.

I just hope they don’t start making all my hiring decisions from here on out.

It’s a slippery slope.

CHAPTER 3

AURORA

Maja hangs up the phone and presses her lips together, staring at the blank screen in her hands.

“Everything alright?” I ask. I’m currently nursing the biggest wound of rejection and disappointment imaginable after being dismissed by King Asshole but that doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned about her. I rather like Maja and I have no idea how she can deal with a man like that. Though I guess being part of the royal family helps.

Maja looks at me with a tight, wincing smile. “Miss Aurora, there’s been a change of plans.”

“Change of plans?” Am I going to a different airport now or a later flight or …?

“Yes. You see, the King has made a mistake. He’d like you to come back.”

I stare at her blankly. Speechless.

She goes on, “He apologizes for it but I suppose he dismissed you too hastily. Or something to that effect. I confess, I’m not really sure what’s going on but he ordered me to do so.”

“And you do everything he says, is that it?” I question.

She gives me an odd look. “He is my King, as well as my nephew.”

“Well, he’s not my King. We don’t have a king in Australia, we have a prime minister, and frankly I wouldn’t listen to him either.”

One of her brows slowly raises. “You don’t have to take the job. But I think what this means is that it’s yours if you want it.”

Her words aren’t making the embarrassment I felt back there fade away. “I mean this with no disrespect, but I’m not exactly as, well, eager, for the position as I was before. King or not, I don’t like feeling small and that’s what he made me feel.”

“I did tell you he was disagreeable. You’ll get used to it.”

Right. Disagreeable.

“Henrik,” she says to the driver. “Tilbage til slotted.”

The driver nods, and suddenly we’re making a left and turning around.

So I guess we’re heading back to the palace.

I’m not sure how it’s possible but I’m even more nervous now than I was before.

I swear it has everything to do with the way he treated me and nothing to do with how deadly handsome he was. I say deadly because there was something about his manner and his face that almost dared you to compliment him, as if calling him handsome would get you beheaded. It was a tense, cold kind of attractiveness, like his face and body and spirit were forged in steel and you might turn to stone if you looked at him too long.

King Medusa.

Just like before, we go back to the castle, driving past the crowds who have gathered in the square, but now I’m staring up at the imposing windows knowing they keep a cruel king behind the panes. I know the proper thing would be to just gratefully accept the job but it’s rare that I’ve been able to do the proper thing. I have to remind myself to keep my anger in check. If anything, maybe I’ll try the cold and indifferent approach, much like the same approach he used on me.

Cold and indifferent, cold and indifferent, I repeat to myself as the driver parks behind the gates again and I walk with Maja back into the building.

But instead of taking me back to the room I was in before, she leads me down the gilded halls lined with statues and velvety oil paintings of important people, everything looking more French than Scandinavian, and then up a massive staircase to the second floor.

“Where are we going?” I ask quietly, feeling the need to whisper in the cavernous hallways.

“To his office,” she says, which lights my nerves on fire. “The first floor is primarily for guests and visitors, waiting rooms and dining rooms and the like. This floor is for the staff and any offices. The third is the residential floor.”

But all of that floats over my head because, damn, she’s taking me to his bloody office? Why do I feel like I’m back in high school and being dragged yet again to the principal?

I don’t have too much time to dwell on it because we’ve stopped in front of a pair of large double doors.

Maja gives me a small smile that offers no hope and then quickly raps with her knuckles on it. “Sir?” she calls out loudly.

There is a pause and then his deep voice booms, “Show her inside.”

Oh jeez.

Maja opens the door and leads me in.

My eyes quickly flit over to King Asshole sitting at his desk and then take in the rest of the room. Like I’m sure most rooms are in this palace, it’s large and impersonal. In fact, other than the desk with a phone and stacks of folders, plus some books on the shelves, there isn’t anything about this room that screams “Office of the King.”

Also, I think I was expecting him to be wearing a crown while he sits at his desk.

The only thing he’s wearing is a grimace.

I thought he would be the groveling type, but I guess not.

King Aksel barely looks at me, instead focusing on the papers in his hand. “Thank you, Maja. I’ll need a few moments alone with her.”

Her. Not even my name yet. Does he even know my name?

“Very well, Your Majesty,” Maja says and leaves, shutting me in the office with the King.

It feels like I’m being locked in a jail cell.

I clear my throat out of habit and stare down at him, waiting for him to address me personally, all while trying to appear cold and indifferent.

I’m just about to open my mouth and ruin my resolve when he taps his long index finger along the top of the paper he’s looking at, the paper which I’m now recognizing as my resume.

“It says here that you’ve worked in France for quite a few families,” he says, his voice gruff.

“Yes, sir,” I say. Since he’s still staring at my resume as if it’s some sort of treasure map, I’m staring at the top of his head. His hair is light brown, thick and shiny. Slightly longer on the top than the sides, but short overall. A somewhat hip haircut for a king.

“I take it you must speak some French?” he asks.

“Un peu,” I say carefully.

Finally he looks up at me, and it takes a lot of willpower to meet his eyes and not look away. Have I turned to stone yet?

“C’est tout?”

I nod. That’s it. Just a bit. I mean, I know I’m almost fluent but I have a feeling if I admit to that he’s going to start testing me.

“And I take it you don’t speak Danish?”

I shake my head. “No, sir. Never thought I would need to.”

He seems to consider that for a moment, wiggling his lower jaw slightly, then looks back to the resume. My stomach flutters with relief at the break in his gaze. Fuck, this man is intense.

“And so what made you apply for this position?” he asks, voice sounding a bit tired now. He leans back in his chair, casual yet alert, finger tapping along the edge of his armrest as he stares at me.

“The placement agency thought I would be a good match.”

“I’m not too interested in what they think. They never seem to know their clients. Can you tell me why you think you’re a good match?”

A million things go through my head at once. I could tell him that I’ve done this job for various rich and important families, that I have great references, that I’m up for the challenge, that I’m smart and independent and hardworking. I could tell him a million things.

And yet the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “Because I know what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age.”

He blinks at me. I can’t tell if he’s caught off-guard by my comment or not.

I go on, pleased that my voice is remaining steady. Not that it shouldn’t but when I get nervous I can never predict how my body will react. “I know what the girls need right now.”

“And what is that?”

“Love,” I say, and now when I swallow, my throat feels thick. “They need discipline and guidance, but they also need compassion, kindness, stability, and above all, they need love.”

He frowns, his jaw getting that tense tremor to it. I don’t know why I thought telling him this would soften him up, but then again, I didn’t really think about it at all.

“And so you think it’s that easy,” he says.

“I never said it would be easy.” I try not to narrow my eyes at him, try not raise my voice. “But since it won’t be easy for any nanny, it might as well be someone who understands. Who doesn’t quit when it gets tough.”

“But you have quit before,” he says, eyes drifting briefly to the resume and back to me, brows raised in challenge. “All these families, you haven’t stayed on for more than a few years.”

I ignore that. “I understood this was a year-long placement.”

“It is,” he says. He gets out of his chair with grace, putting his hands behind his back as he strolls over to the side of the desk, closer to me.

I can’t help but take a step back.

He stops, his head tilted to the side, chin up, observing me. “But who is to say you won’t quit before a year is up? This job is hard, and it’s not like any other nanny position you’ve had. We are a royal family, we’re on another…level, which means you have to rise to that level.” He sighs, almost sounding bored. “Frankly, I stand by what I originally said.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t think you’re fit for the job.”

I try not to flinch. “Then why am I here?”

Another quirk of his brow, his mouth firm for a moment. “Because of my daughters. They like you. And when it comes to them, it usually doesn’t matter how I think.”

“What makes you think I can’t handle it? You don’t even know me. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He looks me up and down, completely unimpressed, and yet I can feel every icy drag of his gaze over my skin. “I know that you’re uneducated. That you’re full of false confidence and silly bravado. And that you have no idea how to behave in front of a king.”

I straighten my shoulders, finding my backbone. “You’re right. I never went to university and sometimes it may seem like I have confidence when I shouldn’t. But let me get one thing straight. I respect that you’re doing this for your daughters and I respect your crown and title. But I won’t be talked down to like I’m some lesser being, the gum beneath your shoe. If you want me to treat you with respect, you have to offer that same respect to me. I don’t care who you are.”

My heart is pounding so loud in my ears at this point that I can barely realize what I just said. Holy shit, I think I totally just blew this whole job.

King Aksel’s hands unfold from behind his back and he moves in front of me, to sit on the edge of his desk. His long fingers wrap around the edge, tapping, his jaw muscles tense. Yet there’s no anger in his eyes, not that I can tell anyway. Just a cool curiosity.

“Did you talk to all your past employers this way?” he eventually asks.

“I would have if they were as rude as you.”

Both of his brows shoot up and I’m prepared for him to start shouting to his secret service and have me dragged off to the guillotines.

Instead, he gives me a tight smile. “I’ll be paying your salary. That doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

“And I’ll be earning that salary. That doesn’t mean I have to like you, either.”

“So then, Aurora, tell me why you still want this job since you’d be working for such a rude man as me? Surely there are other jobs that are easier and that pay well? I see that you used to work for CEOs of wineries and software companies. Why not go back to them?”

This is a good question. Why am I here? Why put up with this when it’s already put a bad taste in my mouth?

“Do you want the truth?” I ask him.

“Are you even capable of lying?”

Oh yes.

“Because, now I feel like I have something to prove.” I pause, aware that our gaze is locked together. “I’m sure you can imagine what that’s like. People telling you that you can’t do something, that you’re unfit for it, that you’re not ready for it. For me, it just makes me want to rise to the occasion and do everything I can to prove them wrong. Plus, I really like Clara and Freja.”

He looks away first and I feel like I’ve won some sort of victory, even though I’ve been anything but cold and indifferent.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to make my life harder, not easier,” he says, almost to himself.

“Does this mean I have the job?”

He taps his fingers along the desk and stares off into the distance, lost in thought. Then he nods. “Yes.” He glances at me. “But please don’t make me regret this. I’m doing this for them. I do everything I can for them. They will always come first, do you understand?”

I nod, feeling hope and excitement prickle through me. “I do.”

He exhales and then stands up. “There will be many forms to fill out. A background check done by police.” I try not to stiffen at that. “Health checks. Special insurance. You’ll have to sign confidentiality agreements, take an oath to uphold the royal house, take defensive driving lessons and escape tactics in the event of kidnapping.” He holds out his hand. “But for now, this should make it official.”

I breathe in deeply through my nose and give him a small smile as I place my hand in his. His grip is warm and very firm. I do my best to give a confident shake right back at him. “I accept.” I pause. “Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t smile at that but gives my hand a quick squeeze before dropping it. He walks back around the desk. “You start tomorrow, by the way.”

“Tomorrow!” I exclaim. “On a Saturday? I can’t start tomorrow.”

“Why not?” He looks annoyed again.

“Because this job interview was so last minute and I didn’t assume I’d get it. I still have to pack everything up in Paris and—”

He sits back down and starts going through the rest of the papers on his desk, setting my resume aside. “Then go and pack everything up. You’ve been jumping around France for seven years, I’m pretty sure everything you possess can fit in a suitcase.”

He’s right but screw him for being so presumptuous.

“And since you’re in-between jobs,” he continues, “I’m betting you’ve been staying at a short-term rental or Air B&B, and whatever it is, I assure you any money you lose will be properly compensated by us.” He glances up at me, forehead wrinkled. “Maja will handle all the logistics, don’t worry.”

I know I’m currently in an Air B&B that I’ve already paid the rest of the month for, and I don’t have anyone to say goodbye to except for Amelie, but this weekend will be my last weekend of freedom before everything in my life changes. I need to hold on to that.

I swear I see him roll his eyes. “Fine,” he says, as if he can hear my thoughts. “Be here Sunday night then. That will give us enough time to sign everything and then you can start Monday by taking Clara to school.”

“Deal,” I manage to say. Then I stand there for a moment, wondering if there’s something else I should say or that we need to discuss.

He slowly glances up at me, and after a furtive look, says dismissively, “You may go.”

I nod. “See you Sunday night.”

“You may want to brush up on your royal protocol while you’re at it,” he calls after me as I head to the door. “Picking up some basic Danish phrases won’t hurt either.”

“Yes sir,” I say to him before opening the heavy door and stepping out into the hall.

Maja is standing there patiently, hands folded in front of her, a slight wince to her expression. “And how did it go?” she asks carefully.

I attempt to play it cool with a shrug before I break out into a grin. “I got the job!”

Her smile is small but it’s good enough. “That’s wonderful. He wasn’t too hard on you?”

“Oh, he was hard on me,” I tell her. “I believe he called me uneducated and silly at one point. But I’ll manage. I always do.”

She presses her palms together. “I’m so glad. The girls will be delighted.”

“And it’s a lot of weight off your shoulders too. You don’t have to search anymore.”

She nods primly. “Yes, well, hopefully you’ll last the full year.”

Damn, that took the wind out of my sails. I brush it off.

“I have no doubt I will,” I tell her.

Of course, on the other hand, I have no idea what I’m getting into.

And as I follow Maja down the hallway as she gives a quick tour past gilded paintings and marble statues and large, velvet-accented rooms with Baroque floors, rattling off a million different things before she takes me back to the airport, I realize how in over my head I really am.

Even though I haven’t signed anything yet, I feel like when I shook the King’s hand I was agreeing to something beyond my wildest dreams or nightmares.

I hope I didn’t just make a deal with the devil.

A handsome devil, of course.

They usually are.

CHAPTER 4

AURORA

“Salud,” Amelie says, raising her glass of champagne to me. “Or what do they say in Denmark again?”

I grin and tap my glass against hers before taking a sip, the bubbles tickling my nose. “I believe they say skål.”

“Skål. Why not?” she says with a dainty shrug. She takes a large gulp of her drink but manages to make it look elegant. Even when she’s plastered she appears completely refined. Must be the French way, je ne sais quoi.

“So,” she says, brushing imaginary lint from her shoulders. “I know we do this every time you start another job but this time it feels different. You won’t be in France anymore. I’ll feel so far away from you.” She sticks her precisely-lined red bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“I know.” Even though I got to know Amelie through work and we have a mostly professional relationship, she’s probably the closest friend I have. I’m sure that’s considered pathetic to a lot of people but I don’t mind being a loner. Sometimes I think I prefer it that way. Ever since I left Australia, my relationships with people have been shallow and fleeting. They’ve been safe.

But I do like Amelie a lot and I’ve known her for so long at this point, which is why I wanted to have one last drink with her tonight before I leave for Copenhagen tomorrow. And something tells me I’m going to need someone to vent to in the future.

“Hey,” I say to her, looking around the bar to make sure no one is listening. “If I call or email you, you know, just to talk and vent about the job, that won’t be, like, recorded will it?”

She gives me a wry look as she takes a sip. “You mean, like if you’re being sexually harassed at your job, will I keep it a secret? No.”

That’s the thing about my last position. I had been planning on quitting anyway but it was opening up to Amelie about why that set the whole thing in motion.

“You know it’s our duty to protect our clients on both sides,” she goes on.

“I know that, and again, I’m glad for the way that everything worked out, but I’m talking about just … venting.” Then again, if I need to complain about my job, perhaps I’d better just keep it to myself.

“You mean like telling me you think your new boss is an asshole?” she asks, a twinkle in her eyes.

That might have been the first thing I said when she asked me to fill her in.

“Yeah. That.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make a record of it. You’re the first person I know who will be working for actual royalty. I know in my heart you’re right for the job and that you’re going to do fine, but I also know it’s not going to be easy. Of course you can vent to me. Talk to me. Anytime you want.”

I raise my glass to hers again. “Merci.”

“He is a handsome asshole, though,” she muses after a moment. The door to the bar opens and a couple walks in, bringing with them the brisk autumn air and the sounds of evening traffic in the Marais.

“I can’t deny that.”

I also can’t deny that when I haven’t been packing up my life over the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been stalking the King online. I keep telling myself it’s just so I know what I’m up against, you know, other than a royal dick, and I’m trying to learn as much as possible.

But the truth is, I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flamethrower.

Not that his good looks save his bad attitude. They don’t. I think they make him worse. But I can definitely appreciate how well he’s put together while abhorring his manners.

“I admire you, you know,” she says, eyeing me slyly.

“Oh?” Color me surprised.

“The way you’re always able to just uproot yourself and go. Place to place, family to family. You’re so free, like a bird, doing whatever you please. No wonder you’re obsessed with Holly Golightly. You and her are the same.”

I give her a tight smile. I do love Breakfast at Tiffany’s and I used to think that being free-spirited and independent was the only way to be. I thought if you stayed in one place too long, it would hold you back, and if you got to know people too well, they’d push you down, rubbing your face into the mud.

But Amelie has a boyfriend she loves, a job she’s good at, friends, family, the amazing city of Paris. She’s got a whole life here and it’s a good one. There’s no reason for her to take off. She doesn’t have to live out of a suitcase.

I clear my throat. “You know you can visit me at any time. Or I’ll come see you.”

“Are you sure about that? I’ve seen your contract. You only get one day off a week, Sundays. And you know from personal experience, that you’re rarely going to get that day off. Plus I don’t think they’ll let just any person meet up with you. I’d have to go through many security checks I’m sure.”

I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose to anyone else it could put a real dent in their social life. Luckily I don’t have one.

“You can always say you’re there on behalf of the company. You know, making sure everything is up to code.”

“Exposing the wrongdoings of the Danish royal family.” She laughs, getting out of her chair as she grabs her pack of cigarettes from the table. “I’m going out for a smoke, I’ll be back.”

I watch as she goes, standing out under the lights of the bar as people walk to and fro, darkness falling fast, the lights of the passing cars lighting the stone buildings in a dreamy way. My heart pinches, just a bit, and I don’t even know why. I feel like I’m missing some piece of me and this job is going to either move me further away from it.

Or closer to it.

“Aurora, welcome,” Maja says as I enter through the side palace doors and into the foyer. “How was your flight? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you, there’s been so much to do today. I hope it wasn’t any trouble finding Henrik.”

I glance up at Henrik, the driver, as he walks past me with my giant suitcase and duffle bag in tow and give him a grateful smile. “No, he was waiting for me at arrivals. I recognized him right away.”

I didn’t think much of Henrik the first time I met him. I expected he wouldn’t speak English and that the ride from the airport would be filled with silence. But the guy talks almost as much as I do. He mainly talked about his family (he’s thirty-two, has a wife and kid, wants to go back to university) but I have a feeling he’s a gossip. He already gave me the low-down about the King’s driver and I know in time I’ll be able to get all the dirty details about the King himself. I can be very persuasive.

“Good,” Maja says, and if I’m not mistaken she seems a little jumpy and nervous. She quickly pivots toward Henrik and calls after him in Danish. Then she gives me a quick smile. “I must remember to speak English more around you, otherwise it might be seen as rude. I was just telling him to put your items away in your room.”

“No worries,” I tell her. “I’m the one who needs to be picking up Danish, and fast. It’s only luck that so far everyone has been fluent in English.”

“Aside from the older generation, you’ll find most people here in Copenhagen speak English, and certainly in the palace. They might be a little, how do you say, self-conscious about it, but they will understand you very well.” She presses her palms together and nods toward the hall. “I know I gave you a quick tour last time but I doubt you were able to take any of it in. Perhaps I should show you around and make introductions to the staff, and then we can get started on the paperwork.”

It feels like the first day of school already and instead of telling myself to be cold and indifferent like I was with King Aksel, I tell myself to be warm and respectful to everyone I meet.

It’s not so hard when I’m introduced, yet again, to Henrik, or to Karla, a cook, or Agnes, the head housekeeper. They’re effortlessly polite and welcoming, reminding me a bit of the animated staff in Beauty and the Beast. But you know, actual people.

Then I’m brought upstairs to the second level to meet Johan, King Aksel’s driver, the one Henrik told me about. According to Henrik, Johan is a sleepwalker that I’ll probably see roaming about the palace in the middle of the night. He also looks—and speaks—an awful lot like Lurch from the Addams Family. I make a mental note not to scream my head off if I run into him walking around like Frankenstein at one a.m., though I won’t make any promises.

Finally, Maja takes me to the administrative offices down at the end, near the King’s office. She knocks on his door and I try and prepare myself to see him again, only there’s no answer. Can’t say I’m not relieved.

Then the door across the hall opens and a tall, skinny man with a deep-set brow and pale blonde hair strolls out, dressed in a sharp suit. He looks vaguely familiar so I figure I must have seen his picture somewhere during my spying spree.

“Nicklas,” Maja says to him and says a few words in Danish before she switches to English. “Do you know where he is?” She gestures to me with a firm nod. “She has papers to sign.”

The man, Nicklas, glances at me, and if I thought Aksel’s eyes were cold, whoo boy, one glance at this guy is like staring right at a White Walker. “Han er gået i seng,” he says firmly before he turns on his heel and stalks off.

I glance at Maja, my lips pursed in surprise. “Did he just tell you off?”

She manages a smile and sighs. “No. Well, perhaps. That’s Nicklas. I would have introduced you but he’s…”

“Disagreeable?” I tease.

She nods. “Yes. He’s … well, I’m sure you’ll hear about him in due time. He’s the King’s secretary, however, so you’ll be around him quite a bit. Try to stay on his good side.”

Now I’m totally intrigued. I’ll be juggling two assholes with this job?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she adds. “The thing is, he’s been through a lot and maybe because of that the King keeps him close to his side. You see,” she says, lowering her voice and leaning in, “Nicklas used to be Helena’s butler.”

I gasp softly. But of course! That’s why he looked familiar to me. “Oh my god, he was the one who was driving when she died? He drove them off the cliff.”

Maja nods furtively and motions for me to keep my voice down. I do have a habit of getting a little too animated. “It was ruled an accident.”

“I know, but still. How can he still employ him? I don’t even think I could handle being in the same city as someone like that, let alone the same palace, knowing that it was this guy’s fault my wife died. Bloody hell.”

“Aksel can be strangely forgiving,” Maja admits. “And honestly, I don’t always get it myself. Perhaps it’s one way of keeping Helena close to him still. Perhaps they share memories of her and it eases the pain.”

Huh. I never thought of Aksel being in pain. I feel a little bad for referring to him as King Asshole now considering all he’s been through. I remind myself that he only lost his wife two years ago.

“He must have loved her very much,” I offer.

“Of course. Everyone loved her.” She pauses thoughtfully. “She was very beautiful, very special. Did a lot of good in this world. The poor man’s heart is still broken by this tragedy. Most of all, it’s the girls that suffer.” She gives me a tight smile. “That’s one reason why I brought you back here for the job, hoping Aksel would see you the way that I do. You’re full of light and energy and this house has been ensconced in darkness ever since the queen died. You’ll do us all some good, I should think.”

Even though everything Maja just said is great for my ego, I can do without the added pressure. I can only hope I’ll be some sort of light for them.

“Since he’s retired to his room, I’m sure we can get the papers signed so he can deal with it in the morning,” she says as she opens the door to his office and flicks on the light. She motions for me to come in. “It’s quite all right, I do this often to help him out. It’s been an uphill battle for him the moment he took over the throne, and even though it’s been a few years, it rarely gets easier.”

I step inside. The office looks different during the night. Or maybe it’s that the King isn’t in here with us, so I actually have more time to take in the surroundings.

“Of course, you’re not to come in here otherwise,” she says. “In fact, I’d avoid most of the rooms on this floor, just to be safe.”

“No worries,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Here, take a seat,” she says, motioning to his chair.

“You want me to sit in his chair?” Because I’m pretty sure that’s totally stepping on his toes.

“Of course. You have a lot to sign.”

So I sit down in the King’s leather chair, and while it’s not a throne, it sure feels like it.

It feels wrong.

And yet powerful.

I could get used to it.

“Off with his head,” I announce dramatically, pounding my fist onto the desk.

Maja’s forehead wrinkles. I’m forever making this woman wince.

“Just kidding,” I quickly say. Serious. One must be serious in this chair. “So what do you want me to sign?”

She takes a folder from the corner of the desk filled with a stack of papers and plops it in front of me, along with a thick book that says in English “Norland College Handbook.”

“What’s this?” I say, picking it up and turning it over. It’s heavy. Like, the Bible kind of heavy.

“Normally the best nannies, the ones who go on to serve the British Royal Family, and celebrities, go to Norland College in England. We don’t have time for that so I’ve procured you their textbook. From avoiding the paparazzi in a car, to anti-terrorism training, it’s all in there. I think it would be wise if you were to read the whole thing.”

The whole thing? It’s huge. Luckily I have an appetite for learning. I glance at her. “Will there be a quiz?”

“If you wish,” she says, then hands me a pen. “Shall we get started on the documents?”

And so we get started on the documents. Maja is patient with me, making sure I understand each one. I have a feeling if it were Aksel here running me through it, he wouldn’t be so indulgent.

By the time I’m done, it’s getting late. Maja sends me off to my room with the heavy handbook in my arms and I’m feeling both exhausted and wired.

My room is on the third floor, and from the brief tour I was given the other day, I remember that it’s two doors down from the girls (who share a giant room and yet sleep in bunkbeds, which is really cute), and at the opposite end of the hall from the King’s room.

My room is quite large but still homey thanks to the thick Scandinavian rugs that cover most of the hardwood flooring. Of course, there’s still something so grandiose about it all, with a dark wood four-poster bed with a teal velvet awning, old antiquey-looking armoires, vanities, and wardrobes, as well as a sprawling bathroom complete with blue and white tile and a claw-foot tub.

I definitely lucked out in terms of my living quarters and what I should probably do before I go to bed is unpack my suitcase and duffel bag and put everything away, so I don’t have to rip through my luggage in the morning before I take Clara to school.

But the bed is more persuasive than anything else, and after I wash up and slip on the first item of clothing I find, a long-sleeved shirt that says “Dogs <3 Me,” I climb under the thick covers. The nights are chillier here than in Paris and the palace itself seems a little drafty. Then again, what palace isn’t drafty when you have rooms the size of apartments and ceilings that are fifteen feet high.

I lie there, thinking of how drastically my life has changed. Never in a million years did I think that a girl growing up in a shack outside the “town” of Windorah, Australia, surrounded by red dust and futility, going to bed hungry every night, wearing clothes donated from neighbors, wondering if she’d ever see her father again, could end up sleeping in a royal palace. Even as a child, I never even let myself dream about a better world for myself.

The sad thing is … I still don’t let myself dream, even when I’m supposed to be living it.

CHAPTER 5

AURORA

Despite being tired, I don’t sleep very well.

I never do in general and I especially don’t the first night in a strange place, whether it be in a hotel or my new room at my new job. I’m always too aware of how unfamiliar my surroundings are. I’m always planning my escape route in case something goes wrong—I’m always distrustful of the shadows.

In this case, my room is huge and the shadows are deep and long and everywhere. Plus, in the back of my mind I think I hear someone walking up and down the hall. It might be Sleepwalking Johan and I start to wonder if I locked my door or not.

When the sky begins to lighten from black to purple-grey, I’m already awake and getting out of bed. Maja had told me that Clara’s school starts at eight-thirty and is about a twenty-minute drive, so we should be out of the house—erm, out of the palace—no later than eight.

I’m nervous as I usually am on my first day on the job. I don’t know the area (and in this case, the country), I don’t know the children or the adults. I have no idea what to expect and that’s not even factoring in the whole royal thing. Having a shitty sleep on top of it all doesn’t help my nerves either. The best I can do is just ignore the whole royal thing for now, and the fact that my new home is a castle, and I’m caring for two bloody princesses, and just pretend that this is nothing new.

Though a vat load of coffee wouldn’t hurt. I flick on the lights and look around the room. I wonder if they’d mind if I got a kettle for the room along with some tea and instant coffee. I can’t see myself trudging down to the cavernous kitchen at all hours of the day and night for my fix.

You’ll get some caffeine in you later, I tell myself. Just focus on the day. You know everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.

The first step is to figure out what to wear. I’m a bit of a tomboy-ish dresser and you can usually find me more on the side of casual than not, favoring shorts and singlets in the summer and skinny pants and fitted tees and jumpers in the winter. But this being a royal palace and all and the fact that my two charges seem awfully fond of pretty little dresses, I wonder if I need to step it up a notch. Even the nannies from the Norwood handbook stuck to a Mary Poppins-esque uniform at school (Complete with hat!) and a working uniform of navy blue skirts and blouses.

I dig through my luggage some more, putting half my stuff away, until I come across the only skirt I have, which is a black wool A-line skirt. In fact, I don’t think I’ve worn it since I came to Europe—it was part of my waitressing uniform back in Brisbane before I scrounged up enough money to escape.

I squeeze it on, feeling like I’m going to have an aneurysm doing so, and can’t even get it zipped all the way up the back. Well, if there was any doubt that I’ve gained weight since moving to Europe, here’s the proof. Not that I’ve been lazy (I like my walks, and running after kids is brilliant cardio) or eating crap (the food here is amazingly fresh and whole compared to back in Oz), but I was painfully thin back then. In fact, this skirt used to be huge on me to begin with.

I shudder at the memory and figure I should probably take it off lest it remind me of my past all day. Only I can’t. The zipper is stuck halfway.

“Oh for crying out loud,” I grumble, twisting and trying to fiddle with it.

Someone knocks at the door. “Aurora,” Maja calls out. “Just making sure you’re up.”

“I’m good, just getting dressed!” I yell back, frantically trying to get the zipper unstuck.

“Breakfast will be served in the dining room in five minutes,” she says, and then I hear her footsteps go down the hall and knock on another door. She must be waking up the girls.

I sigh and look at myself in the mirror with my rumpled “Dogs Love Me” sweatshirt I slept in and an ill-fitting mini-skirt. I need to make the best of this. I mean, the skirt is probably too short but maybe if I pair it with tights and knee-high boots and a blouse it will be okay.

But of course the only pair of tights I have are snagged. So I put on thick knee-high socks to go with my boots and a white V-neck t-shirt underneath a light grey cardigan—the “grandpa” kind which is long enough to cover the fact that my skirt is only zipped halfway up—and quickly pull my long hair back into a ponytail, heading out into the hallway. I probably should bother with a bit of makeup but I’d rather be bare-faced than late.

It takes longer than anticipated to finally find the dining room since there are so many freaking dining rooms in this palace and by the time I get there, Clara, Freja and Maja are all sitting at the table and eating what looks like muesli and yogurt. There are two extra empty placements and I’m assuming one of them is mine.

“Hello Nanny,” Clara says cheerfully.

“Honorary Goddess,” Freja says under her breath, giving Clara a contemptuous look.

Meanwhile Maja has one brow raised as she glances at my skirt. She doesn’t say anything though I can practically hear the tsk-tsk in her head. What’s Danish for hussy?

I clear my throat, fighting back the urge to cover my thighs. “Sorry I’m late. I got lost.”

Clara giggles. “I must play hide and seek with you later. There are so many hiding spots, you’ll never ever find me.”

“Clara,” Maja chides her quietly. “You know what happened last time.”

“What happened last time?” I ask, sitting down at my spot and eyeing the empty bowl. Maybe I’m supposed to go into the kitchen and fix up my own stuff?

“I hid so well, it took them days to find me,” Clara says proudly.

“It was a few hours,” Maja corrects her with a shake of her head. “And it was enough to make the old nanny cry when she couldn’t find you. You must promise you won’t do that to Miss Aurora here.”

All I can concentrate on is getting coffee into my veins and I’m about to ask where I can get some when Karla, the cook, enters.

“Good morning, miss,” she says to me. With her blunt-cut blonde bangs, squinty eyes and round cheeks, Karla looks like she’s perpetually cheerful. “What would you like for your breakfast? Waffles? Cereal? An omelet? Cold cuts and cheese?”

I don’t want to be a pain in the ass so I just say, “I’ll have what they’re having. Plus as much coffee as you can give me. Cream and sugar, please.”

“Of course,” she says, and then eyes the empty plate at the head of the table. “Is he not coming again?”

Maja shakes her head. “He’s very busy today.”

Karla nods and heads out of the room while I turn to Maja. “Does Aksel normally eat breakfast with you?”

“Papa used to,” Clara speaks up and seems to stab her muesli with her spoon. “Every morning it was him and me and Freja … and Mama.”

A heavy hush seems to come over the table. This is the first time I’ve seen the girls mention their mother and I have no idea how they’re going to handle it.

Though Clara seems to handle it by being violent with her breakfast and Freja shrinks in her seat like she wishes the room would swallow her whole.

“I’m sure he will soon,” I say, trying to be positive even though I honestly have no clue at this point how anything in this place works.

“You girls know he’s been so busy lately,” Maja explains but even that sounds a bit weak.

It makes me sad to imagine how this family was before Queen Helena died. It must feel like a ghost dines with them every day.

After I mainline a pot of coffee and pick at some muesli, Clara and I pile into the waiting car at the back, Henrik behind the wheel. Freja stays behind with Maja though Maja notes she’ll probably start coming along for the ride if she’s not available. Maja acts as the girls’ grandmother but in the end, she’s not their nanny.

“Good morning, Miss Aurora,” Henrik says cheerfully as he twists in his seat to nod at me and Clara. “Godmorgen, Deres Kongelige højhed.”

“You can speak English to me, Henrik,” Clara says as she shuffles along the back seat of the car. “I’m fluent, you know.”

“Yes, of course, Your Royal Highness,” Henrik says as he starts the car.

Clara looks at me with a big smile. “I am fluent, correct? Am I not the best English speaker you’ve ever met?” She’s impossibly cute in yet another dress, this one a blue print that matches the blue headband in her long straight blonde hair, with coral-colored sandals. A backpack that seems to dwarf her occupies the space between us.

“Definitely one of the best,” I tell her and catch Henrik’s expression in the rearview mirror, trying not to laugh. “I’m surprised you don’t have to wear a uniform at school.” I’m also surprised that she started school back in the middle of August.

“It’s public school, we can wear whatever we want,” she says.

Public school? That’s a new one. I would have thought the girls would be locked up in some ultra-private, ultra-exclusive, ultra-expensive academy for royals.

“I’m sure you’ll discover the royal family here is quite casual compared to England,” Henrik says, reading my expression. “They always believed in being as down to earth as possible. Aksel even used to ride his bike around the city all the time, with security and minders following him, of course.”

I laugh. I don’t know what’s funnier, the thought of Aksel on a bike or the fact that at any given time you might be strolling around Copenhagen and see the King whiz past you on two wheels. “I can’t picture it,” I admit.

“His Majesty used to do many things,” he says. “Risky things.”

Again, Aksel doesn’t seem like a risk-taker or rule-breaker. If anything, he’s the guy who makes the rules just to piss other people off. “Like what?”

“Ask him why he took up sailing,” he says with a laugh.

I recall seeing pictures of him on a boat though I didn’t think he was an actual sailor. Usually rich dudes just sit on boats and drink and look pretty while someone else does all the hard work. Still, I make a note to ask Aksel one day, hopefully when he’s in a good mood.

If that’s even possible.

The drive to the school is fairly short and Clara seems pretty excited to go, which I take as a good sign.

“So you like your classmates?” I ask her as the car slows down. I can see the school in the distance, which is a rather non-descript building in a quaint, leafy residential area.

“Not really,” she says with a shrug.

She says this in such a casual way that I blink at her for a moment. “What? Why? Are they mean?”

She seems to consider this as she stares out the window at the passing schoolkids. It’s hard not to notice that every single parent and child is staring at the Town Car, either with disdain, apprehension, or envy.

“No,” she says slowly. “They just don’t want to be my friend. That’s okay.”

“Here we are,” Henrik says as he pulls up to the curb.

They don’t want to be her friend? Well that’s definitely a conversation for another time.

“Thank you Henrik,” Clara says politely, opening the door herself.

I get out of the car and quickly run—which is hard in this skirt—over to the other side to help her out, taking her backpack out. I close the door and go to grab her hand but she subtly pulls it back.

“You don’t have to hold my hand,” she says, taking the backpack from my hands and swinging it over her shoulder. “None of the other nannies did.” She looks over her shoulder at the school entrance where kids are filing in. “You don’t have to walk me over either.”

It seems like most parents are walking their kids to the door but…

“Okay,” I tell her. I know at her age the school dynamics can be tricky enough and that’s without factoring in the whole princess thing. “I’ll be here after school, though.”

“Cool,” she says, giving me a thumbs up as she turns and walks off. Everyone looks at her as she goes but she walks with her head held high. That attitude probably only makes things worse for her at this age with the whole “princess” title, but believe it or not, I can relate. I grew up with people whispering about me or my parents in one way or another and the only thing you can do is just smile and pretend it doesn’t bother you, no matter how much you’re breaking on the inside.

After she disappears into the building, I get back in the car and Henrik drives me back to the palace, back to casual chit-chat along the way. There’s a lot I want to ask—about everything—but I have to remind myself it’s only the first day. God willing, they’ll be plenty of time to learn things on my own.

When I get back, Maja passes Freja off to me and leaves, telling me to call for Agnes, the head housekeeper, if I need anything, and I suddenly feel bereft. The truth is, compared to most of the places I’ve been a nanny, I’ve never had this level of guidance before and I’m eternally grateful that Maja has been here to show me the ropes, even if she’s a bit stuffy at times. But now with her gone, the panic and fear is starting to set in. I feel like all my years of experience have just disintegrated in my hands and I have no clue what I’m doing.

Freja is especially quiet and I’m still not sure if that’s how she always is or if she’s just that way around me. I ask her what she wants to do and she has zero suggestions, so, considering her interest in all things “Gods,” I take out my iPad and start telling her stories about the Goddess Freya before going into the Greek gods route which I know well. For a moment I think that maybe this is considered paganism or something and Aksel would blow a gasket if he knew, but she’s so enthralled by my every word, that I know it’s worth it.

The rest of the day goes by fairly quickly, just Freja and I roaming around the palace halls or playing with her “dolly” collection in her room, which is actually a hodgepodge of plush animals, American Girl dolls and Barbies. Both girls have enough to open up their own toy store but I guess I can’t fault them for being a bit spoiled. Their tragedy and princess title aside, they’re both so darling that it would be hard to say no to them.

But even after I pick up Clara from school, I don’t see Aksel or Maja anywhere. I know it’s dangerous to ask the girls what they normally do before dinner, lest they suggest they play the infamous game of hide and seek or ride mattresses down the grand staircases, so I catch Clara up on some of the Norse and Greek gods stuff she missed and then ask if she has any homework she wants me to go over with her.

Of course, everything is in Danish but at least I can help with math problems. We’re just finishing up in their room, seated at a low play desk in the middle while Freja plays with her dolls, idly glancing at us from time to time, when there’s a knock at the door.

Agnes pokes her head in. “Undskyld mig,” she says. “Dinner will be served in five minutes.”

Then she leaves down the hall.

I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous, but I am. “Okay girls, better wash up.”

Clara squints at me. “A bath?”

“No, come on, wash your hands,” I say, helping them both to their feet. “You can’t eat dinner with dirty hands.” They begrudgingly head over to their large bathroom. “And straighten out your dresses and run a brush through your hair.”

“Mama always brushed our hair,” Clara says when she comes back out. She doesn’t seem upset, she’s just stating it as a fact.

“Would you like me to brush it?”

Clara nods. “Yes. And I want braids.”

“Me too,” Freja speaks up.

I sigh. “Okay, braids it is. But I have to be quick, I don’t want to be late for dinner on my first day.”

“No one will notice,” Clara says as I grab their brush from their pink vanity counter and a couple of scrunchies. “We’re usually eating alone.”

“Or with Tante Maja,” Freja says.

“Not with your father?”

Clara shrugs. “Sometimes he does.”

This shouldn’t surprise me. In the past, it was rare that the family would ever sit down together and I can’t imagine a king having a load of free time on his hands. As a nanny, it was usually just me and my charges every night, only I was the one preparing the meals as well. But even so, this bothers me. I guess because Aksel told me he’d do anything for his girls and yet they eat without him. They aren’t a family. He probably doesn’t realize how much they’d appreciate it.

I do know he wouldn’t appreciate me telling him this so early in the game, so I decide to just keep it to myself. For now.

Once the girls are all set, we head downstairs to the dining room. I probably should have cleaned myself up a bit, at least attempted to get out of this bloody skirt or put on some makeup but I’ll have to do as I am.

Maja is already at the table and giving me a tepid smile. “I was just about to come find you,” she says as Karla comes out, placing oil and vinegar beside the giant bowl of salad in the middle of the table.

“Sorry,” I apologize, not about to throw the girls and their hairdo requests under the bus. “I lost track of time. Wow, this salad looks amazing.” And it does—crisp romaine, tomatoes, bacon, the whole lot.

“I should probably print out the schedule for you, so that you can refer to it,” Maja says as I take my seat beside her, the girls on the opposite side of the table. “Dinner is always at six. It’s good for the girls to have routine, you know.”

“And is Aksel joining us?” I ask. The girls look at Maja hopefully.

“Probably not but Karla always sets a place for him and puts food aside, just in case,” she says as she dishes salad onto the girl’s plates.

The girls look absolutely crestfallen. I wish there was something I could do or say.

“Eat your salad,” Maja tells them. Talk about tough love.

Clara folds her arms in defiance, shaking her head. “No.”

“Clara,” Maja says. “Must we do this?”

Clara lets out rapid-fire Danish which makes Maja sigh.

“What did she say?” I whisper to her.

“She won’t eat bacon,” she says. “She has an obsession with pigs at the moment.”

Actually, that’s kind of admirable. I don’t mean to undermine Maja but I tell Clara, “Pigs are very smart, very loyal animals. Almost like dogs. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. You don’t have to eat any animal if you don’t want to.”

I can feel Maja’s eyes boring into my head. Whoops. Totally stepping on everyone’s toes here.

“Really?” Clara says brightly. “Because Papa said that I need to eat meat or else I’m going to stay this size for the rest of my life.”

I cock my brow. “Did he now?”

“I don’t want to eat bacon either,” Freja says in solidarity, pushing her plate away. “I don’t care if I’m small forever.”

Now I know for sure that Maja is giving me the stink eye.

“How about you pick around the bacon and just eat the rest of the salad,” I say quickly. “A compromise, okay? That way you’ll still grow.”

The girls exchange a look with each other and then shrug in unison. “Okay.”

While they pick out the bacon and start munching on the greens, Maja says to me under her breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing. We eat meat at every meal and if this gets back to Aksel…”

Ah shit. I give her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I’ll be sure to explain to him.”

Maja gives me a loaded look that says I can explain all I want but it’s not going to help me.

I also hope that Clara will forget what I said but the moment the main course comes out—some kind of lamb casserole—Clara full-on refuses. Karla has to go back into the kitchen and whip up macaroni and cheese instead. Thankfully Karla doesn’t seem to mind as much as Maja does.

I’m in the middle of helping Karla clean up the table—much to Maja’s protest—and running empty plates between the kitchen and the dining room when I hear the deep, low voice of Aksel speaking Danish. “Godaften.”

I poke my head into the dining room and see him come in from the hallway. The girls immediately squeal “Papa!” and clamor out of their chairs, running over to him.

He smiles—the first time I’ve ever seen him fully smile—and scoops them both up into his arms. “Hvordan har mine små engle det?”

The girls both start talking excitedly all at once, and while they have his rapt attention, I linger back in the doorframe to the kitchen, watching him.

Even though he’s still an imposing figure with his large, tall frame in a sharp grey suit with a white dress shirt underneath (no tie), and his hair perfectly arranged, there’s something about him that seems more real. His features seem less sharp and when his eyes are focused on his daughters, all the ice and chill seems to drain from them, becoming something warm and bright. I didn’t think it was possible for him to get more handsome, but there you have it.

And seeing him doting on his girls might be setting my ovaries on fire.

Then Clara says my name, and his gaze goes across the table over to me in the doorway and the fire is quickly put out. His eyes freeze over in total disapproval. Perhaps for a moment there he forgot I existed and now I’m just harsh reality.

“Good evening, sir,” I say to him, offering a quick curtsey, which I know is totally not necessary at this point. “How was your day?”

He frowns as if I shouldn’t be speaking at all. Maybe I shouldn’t be. Too late.

“Just fine,” he says, clearing his throat, and then his gaze drops from my face down to my legs, with a brief, confused in-between stop at my boyfriend cardigan. I’m not sure he likes what he sees or … no … no wait, that’s definitely a look of disdain for my short skirt.

“Aurora did very well with the girls,” Maja says, helping Clara and Freja down from his arms.

He makes a dismissive sound and manages to tear his eyes away from my legs to look at Maja. There’s something about the arrogant set of his jaw that makes him look like he’s perpetually seething. “Where’s Karla?”

Maja nods at the kitchen. “In there. There are a lot of leftovers,” she adds, then gives me a knowing look. I suppose that’s my fault.

Aksel walks toward me and I quickly step out of the way as he brushes past me to the kitchen and starts talking to Karla in Danish. I can’t help but breathe in deep through my nose. He smells like salt air and pine and things that are bracing and invigorating, and my god, I need to stop this right now.

“I’ll take the girls upstairs,” Maja says, and for a moment I feel like she’s trying to leave me alone with King Aksel. Then she adds, “I’ll be sure to print out the schedule for you. After dinner, you get some private time of your own. It’s very important to reflect on the day and recharge, at least in the beginning.”

Right. Why do I feel like the “reflecting” thing is akin to sitting in the corner and thinking about what I’ve done, AKA turning the children into vegetarians? I watch as they leave the dining room and figure I should probably head out into the streets of Copenhagen to see the city and get my bearings before it gets too dark. Or maybe just go upstairs, read the nanny handbook, and get my room properly organized.

“Where did they go?” Aksel says from behind me, and I whirl around to see him standing there and eating cranberry apple pie from a plate in his hand, leaning against the doorframe. Again, I’m struck by how casual this seems. He keeps vacillating between being an all-powerful king and a regular guy. One that eats pie for dinner.

“She’s taking them upstairs. Apparently, I get private time right now.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, just calmly forks a piece of pie into his mouth and chews, his eyes never leaving my face.

I swallow, feeling extra awkward. “So, uh, I think I’ll go to my room and get myself organized.”

He nods and I turn to leave, not wanting to get trapped in his vibe, when he says, “Perhaps you should think of having a uniform.”

I stop and look at him over my shoulder. “A uniform?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes dropping to my legs again and back up. “I’ll have Maja give you some money—we’ll cover the expense. I know the nannies from Norwood wear a uniform, you know, the book you’re reading.” His voice drops as he spears his pie again. “And hopefully learning from.”

I ignore that last remark. “What sort of uniform?”

“Something … tasteful. At least so there’s consistency. We do have a reputation to uphold here at the palace and a nanny in uniform would help.”

I try not to narrow my eyes at him. I know what he’s saying. That I look tawdry in my short skirt. If he were anyone else I would have told him about my stuck zipper and that I was wearing the skirt by mistake. But he’s King Asshole and now? Now I’m going to do the opposite.

“Of course,” I say, a wicked smile spreading across my face. “Something consistent. Got it.”

I know he doesn’t quite trust my expression, nor should he. But I walk away, calling out to him, “Good night, Your Majesty,” before I disappear from his view, leaving him alone with his pie.

CHAPTER 6

AKSEL

That short fucking skirt.

It’s been a week since the nanny’s first day on the job, when she wore that ridiculously short black skirt, and I absolutely hate the fact that I still can’t get the image of her in it out of my head. It should have helped that the skirt in question was paired with the kind of coarse, itchy sweater my father used to wear, but it didn’t.

Now I think she’s trying to kill me.

In fact, I know she is. That woman has spite coming out of her pores. When I saw her the next day after her shopping spree on Copenhagen’s Strøget, she proudly showed me her array of solid-colored miniskirts and patterned blouses. “The skirt and the top may change color,” she’d said with a bright smile, “but the overall look will be consistent.”

And of course I couldn’t quite come out and tell her that her legs were distracting. So now, I’m just trying to deal with it the best way I can. By completely avoiding her.

“And how was the Prime Minister?” Nicklas asks from the front seat where he sits beside Johan, my driver. I’d just come out of the weekly meeting I have with the prime minister, and while there’s been nothing new or substantial about our meetings lately, Nicklas always has to know. I’ve brought it up a few times that some things are none of his business, especially when he meddles too much, but he always plays up the part of being the dutiful assistant, always trying to help.

I don’t buy it for a second. But there’s nothing I can really do about it. Keep your enemies close is something I’ve taken to heart. It’s something I’ll have to take to my grave.

“Same old,” I tell him, hoping I sound dismissive enough.

“And so how is the nanny working out?” he asks after a pause.

I glance up, and he’s eyeing me in the mirror. I swear he’s smirking.

“She’s fine.” And that’s all I want to say on that subject.

More silence. Then, “I can see why you chose her.”

I look at him sharply. “How do you mean?”

He raises his pale brows in overblown innocence. “All I mean is, she’s a breath of fresh air.”

I grunt in response and go back to flipping through the newspaper, even though I read all these headlines this morning. She’s fresh air all right, the kind that seeps in through the cracks and into your bones until you’ve caught a damn cold.

“The girls seem to be livelier with her here,” he says, and then he catches himself because he has no fucking business ever commenting on the girls. It’s the one thing he’s not allowed to discuss with me.

I eye him sharply until he looks away, his attention back to the window.

He’s not wrong, of course. The girls do seem happier. It’s only been a week but I’ve been checking in on them when I can, together and individually, and both Clara and Freja are all smiles, always talking excitedly about what Aurora taught them that day or what game they played. Some of that sadness I’ve seen in their eyes has been pushed aside for now. I’m sure time will tell if this is just a matter of the nanny being shiny and new or if this is something positive that will last, but for now I’ll take what I can get. Anything to let the tragedy of losing their mother take a back seat, to let them be kids again.

Maja, too, seems pleased with the progress, if not a little vague about it all. I have a feeling there are some things she’s not telling me and I gladly file those away under things I don’t want to know. But overall she says she’s happy with her, even if Aurora is a little green when it comes to being a royal nanny.

Where Maja sees green, however, I see defiance. There’s something about her that gets under my skin in ways I can’t articulate. Maybe it’s her effortlessly cheery disposition or the way she antagonizes me at every chance. Okay, perhaps antagonize is a strong word. Tease might be better. Or aggravate. Annoy. In all my years of growing up heir to the throne of Denmark and then King, I’ve never had anyone talk to me the way that she does, not even my own children when they’re acting out. It’s like she’s testing me to see how far she can take it, the fact that I’m only the person who pays her salary, nothing more.

Which, I hate to admit, irks me. The last thing I want to be is pompous and arrogant but there is a certain level of respect that she’s not giving me. The few times I’ve voiced this to Maja, she’s just given me a wry little smile of sorts, either because it’s all in my head or because I deserve it.

Perhaps it’s both.

When I get back to the palace, everything is silent and calm. Eerily calm. I call out and hear nothing. I go to the third floor and peek in the girl’s room but it’s empty. I knock on Aurora’s door but there’s no answer.

I open it anyway. I actually haven’t been in here since she moved in and I’m surprised to see how clean and well-organized it is. There’s something about Aurora that makes me think she’ll just make a mess of her surroundings, and that chaos follows her everywhere. Maybe it’s because when she wears her long brown hair down it seems to have a wild life of its own. Maybe it’s the mischievous glint in her dark eyes or the fact I rarely see her serious. Her smile is something else, charming, wide and uninhibited, and she must be told often how disarming it is, so that’s why she uses it like a weapon.

Thankfully, it doesn’t work on me.

I walk over to her desk and am surprised to see the Norwood handbook open with passages highlighted. Beside it is a notebook where she’s scribbled down to-do lists and made points from chapters from the book, as if this is homework for school.

I have to say I’m impressed. I didn’t think she was taking this position as seriously as she should, but perhaps the only thing she doesn’t take seriously is me. I flip through the rest of the handbook and see she’s highlighted almost every page she’s read, with more notes made in the margins.

I then go through some of her notebook, wondering what else she might have written down. I can’t say that snooping is a habit of mine, and I certainly don’t think I’m allowed to go through her stuff just because I’m her boss but I can’t help but be a little more curious about her now.

Only there doesn’t seem to be anything else but notes on how to be a better nanny. I don’t know if I was expecting a whole dear diary session entitled “Why I Hate Aksel” or something to that like.

Laughter takes my focus away from the books, reminding me that I probably shouldn’t be in here, and I cautiously step toward the window and peek outside. Her room faces the back and the triangle of a yard below. It’s mostly grass with a small playhouse in the corner, a trampoline, outdoor seating, and a large privacy hedge and security fence along one side, keeping it protected from the street.

Aurora and the girls are sitting at a small wooden table in the middle of the yard, all three of them too big for the plastic chairs that I bought for them when they were younger. That hasn’t stopped them from having what looks like a tea party of sorts, with stuffed animals having joined the fun. The girls and Aurora are all dressed up in fancy hats and cloaks, and even Karla, who is carrying out a tray of cookies, has been forced to wear a unicorn horn on her head.

I can’t help but smile at the sight and something in my chest pinches. It’s the kind of joy that hurts, just a bit. That feeling of warmth on your skin after a long, cold, dark winter. I can’t remember the last time I saw them playing like this and I know that no nanny—hell, not even Helena—ever indulged them in this way. Just let them be little girls having a tea party.

For helvede. Maybe I should go a little easier on her.

Not wanting to see my girls from afar when they’re like this, I head downstairs all the way to the French doors that lead out onto the lawn.

“Papa!” Clara yells with a mouthful of food as she waves at me frantically from the table. “Come join our party.”

I saunter on over, squinting into the sun. Autumn has settled on us over the last few days, the sun lower in the sky now and perpetually in your eyes, the air growing crisp at night. Right now it’s still sunny and warm—tea party perfect—but soon the sun will be traded in for rain.

I stop in front of them and look over the table. There are finger-sized sandwiches, cookies and scones on Helena’s good china, plus cups of tea and pots of jam and cream. Both the jam and cream are all over Clara and Freja’s smiling faces and all the way down their napkins tucked into the front of their dresses.

“I hope you don’t mind me wearing this,” Aurora says carefully, and I shift my attention over to her. For once she’s not in her blouse and that terrible mini-skirt but rather a long green satiny gown with billowy sleeves and a corset body, a matching hat set at an angle on her head. “I found it in a closet full of clothes in one of the empty bedrooms.”

“I told her she had to wear it,” Clara says before trying to serve a cookie to the teddy bear beside her.

I raise my brow at Aurora. “I’m fairly certain that gown is from the late 1800s. Belonging to my great-grandmother.”

Her face falls, that bright smile wiped off her face. “I’m so sorry. I can get changed and put it back.”

I raise my hand, remembering that she’s trying. And if she’s also making my children smile, then it’s worth it. “Don’t worry about it. I suppose it’s better on you than being kept in a closet. I was thinking of donating all of it to a museum or something but I just don’t have the time to go through it. Perhaps when you’re done playing dress up, that’s something you can tackle.”

Aurora nods, a hint of smile back, her eyes still wide and warm. “Absolutely.”

The truth is, I don’t even know what’s in half the rooms in this place. After my father died and Helena and I moved in here, we didn’t have the luxury of time to go through everything. This palace is just hoard of family history that I haven’t even begun to explore.

“Oh listen, now that you’re here,” Aurora says and she tries to get to her feet, only getting off the tiny chair is a challenge in itself. Soon she’s stepping on the end of the dress and falling forward.

I stick my arm out and catch her before she face-plants into the grass. She looks up at me, her hat now falling over the front of her face. “Thanks, I almost ate sh—” She glances over her shoulder at the girls who are staring at her. “Grass there. Almost ate grass.”

She adjusts her hat and then the front of her dress, which, to my dismay, is on the low-cut side, showing off the full, pale swells of her breasts. I avert my eyes and take in a deep breath through my nose. What is wrong with me? First Aurora wears a sweater that reminds me of my father, then she wears my great-grandmother’s dress, and yet somehow I’m still turned on.

No, I remind myself. You’re not turned on. Get your head on straight and listen to what she has to say.

I take a step back from her, which makes her frown, and then ask, “What is it you want to talk to me about?” I clear my throat, making sure my voice sounds distant.

“Oh, you see…” she says and then she quickly glances at the girls before taking a step toward me.

I take another step back.

She scoffs, making a face. “Do you think I bite or something?”

I suppose I am being rather ridiculous. “What is it?”

She takes another step and my shoulders stiffen, making a point not to move an inch. I can’t say why having her so close to me makes me uncomfortable but it might be both the fact that her breasts are nearly pressed up against me and that she smells like sunshine.

“I wanted to talk to you about the girls,” she says, lowering her voice and looking up at me through her long eyelashes. Dear lord, does she know how she both looks and sounds right now?

Aksel, focus.

“What about them? Are they alright?” I look over her shoulder at them and they’re back to feeding treats to their teddy bears and giggling happily.

“They’re great,” she says. “But every night at dinner they’re upset that you aren’t there. Maja tells them you’re busy and they understand but I really think it would mean a lot to them if you started eating with us.”

Oh.

I swallow, feeling like a dirty dishcloth. “I see. I didn’t realize that.”

“Maybe just a few times a week?” she suggests hopefully, gnawing on her full bottom lip for a moment. I’m just now noticing that she rarely wears any makeup, nor does she need to. The natural color of her lips is this rich, deep pink. “Your Highness?” she prompts.

“Huh?” I say, blinking, and then realize I must have been lost there. “Yes. No.”

“Yes no what?”

“I agree.” I raise my chin, clearing my throat. “I should be there. I’ve been busy with paperwork and some events, but I don’t have to attend every dinner I’m invited to and I can always do my work later.”

Aurora breaks into a smile. Jesus, why can’t I breathe?

I look away, focusing on the girls. “Hey girls, would you like that?”

I brush past Aurora, and the strange hold she has on me, and walk back over to the table.

“Like what, Papa?” Freja asks in her small voice.

“If I started having dinner with you more. I realize I should be there and I’m going to do what I can to make it happen more often.”

“Yay!” Clara exclaims while Freja gives me a deep, adorable smile.

“I’ll start tonight. Maybe it’s not too late to have Karla whip up your favorite dish.”

Clara frowns. “What’s our favorite dish? Macaroni and cheese?”

“No,” I tell her, and I can hear Helena’s voice in my head admonishing them for even knowing what mac and cheese is. “Roast chicken with cloudberries, bacon mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“No way,” says Clara while Freja wrinkles her nose.

“But you love that meal,” I tell them, confused.

“No. No chicken, no bacon.”

“No meat,” Freja says. “We’re veterinarians.”

“You’re what?”

“It’s vegetarians,” Clara corrects her sister and then lifts her chin at me defiantly. “We’re vegetarians now, Papa.”

“Since when?” I cry out. I glance over at Aurora hoping she’s got the same “they’re crazy” look on her face, but she’s looking down at the grass and biting her lip. The fuck?

“Since Aurora told us we could be,” Clara says. “And that is that.”

“That is that?” I repeat sharply. I grab Aurora by the arm and pull her away from the girl’s earshot. “What the hell is going on? My daughters are vegetarian now?”

She gives me a helpless look. “I’m sorry. It just came up.”

“It came up?”

“Well, it’s not like they’re vegans. Though there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that either.”

Fucking hell, what is wrong with this woman? I let go of her arm before I can grip it any tighter. “For helvede,” I swear. “You are not turning them vegan. They eat fish. We eat fish in this country and you aren’t taking that away from them!”

Aurora gives me a sympathetic smile, the kind of smile that makes me want to yell at her more. “It can’t do any harm.”

“Harm? Now Karla has to make two separate meals.”

“Or you could eat vegetarian,” she says.

“Are you even a vegetarian?” I cry out.

“No. But it doesn’t bother me that other people are.”

I shake my head, my jaw clenched. “Let me get one thing straight here, okay?” I growl, leaning into her so that the girls don’t hear. “You are their nanny. You are not their mother. Got that? You don’t get to make decisions like that. Those are my decisions to make.”

Anger sparks in her eyes, and I know she hates that I’m talking to her this way but frankly I don’t care. “You have to learn your place here in this palace,” I remind her. “You’re not part of the family. You’re just the help. You’re an employee of mine. And those girls there, those girls are not your sisters and they aren’t your friend. So, if you want to keep being paid to live in this house and do this job, you’re not to make any decisions like that without consulting me first. Got it?”

She presses her lips together and looks away.

“Do you want me to repeat that in Danish because I’m pretty sure you understand English,” I tell her.

“Yes,” she mumbles, and a bit of pink creeps up on her cheeks, her neck growing flushed as well. “I’m sorry I said it was okay. I should have deferred and then asked you to make the final decision.”

I watch her closely, trying to see if she’s lying, watching to see if she’s going to slip up and roll her eyes at me because I swear to god, if she does, she’s out of here. But she’s avoiding my gaze and she’s grown silent, which is a whole new thing for us. It’s scary, if anything.

“Look,” I say quickly, aware that the girls are still staring at us and picking up on our rigid, hostile body language. “I know you’re trying. I know you’re studying that handbook and highlighting important things. It’s just that—”

“How do you know that?” she says sharply, her eyes narrowing at me.

Ah. Right.

“I, uh, was in your room.”

“When?” she cries out.

“Just now.”

“Why?” She steps away from me, her eyes so full of vehemence that I shrink a little. “Why would you do that?”

“I wasn’t snooping,” I tell her, my attitude automatically getting haughty. “I was looking for you and I happened to see your handbook and notebook out on the desk.”

“You looked through my notebook?”

I swallow and glance at the girls again. This time, Clara’s brows are halfway up her forehead, staring at me expectantly. “All I saw were notes that you jotted down from the handbook. That’s all. Nanny things.”

“And what if that had been a diary? What if I’d written down my personal thoughts and feelings in there? Does that mean nothing to you?”

I raise my hands in surrender, aware that her voice is cracking and I’m not sure what she’s going to do next. Would she hit me right here in front of the girls, in my own palace? “I meant no harm.”

“No harm?” she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know what, Your Majesty? You expect me to treat you with respect but you give me none in return. We can keep dancing back and forth like this but the truth is, this won’t work until you and I are equals. I know where I stand with your family, don’t think I’ve forgotten my role, but my place in their lives isn’t as cut and dry as you think it is. Now I’m sorry that your daughters have decided to be vegetarians, but in the end it’s their choice what they decide to put into their bodies. In the end, it’s them who makes these decisions, not me, not you.”

“And now, if you’ll excuse me.” She clears her throat loudly, and with one hand makes a sharp adjustment of her hat. “I have a tea party I need to get back to.”

She turns on her heel, holding the rest of her long dress in her hands, and walks as gracefully as she can back to the table.

I swear Freja gives me the stink eye.

With a heavy sigh, I leave them and head back into the palace.

CHAPTER 7

AURORA

OCTOBER

“Tivoli! Tivoooooooooli!”

The sound of Clara’s yelling breaks through my dreams. What’s going on and what the hell is Tivoli? I quickly try and remember my dream and I’m pretty sure Jason Momoa was in it again, wearing a crown, and so whatever interrupted that better be damn good.

I roll over in bed and blindly reach for my phone to check the time. Then I remember it’s Saturday and there’s no reason Clara should be up at 8 am and yelling for whoever or whatever Tivoli is.

Bang, bang, bang.

My door practically comes off the hinges thanks to someone pounding incessantly at it. Come to think of it, it sounds like two people are pounding at it. Little people.

“What is it?” I cry out, and even in my annoyance at the wake-up call, I manage to switch to Danish. “Hvad er det?”

Even though I’ve only been living in Denmark for three weeks now, I’ve managed to pick up a handful of phrases, most of them via the girls. I can also say “Jeg orker det simpelthen ikke” which means “I simply can’t be bothered” which is what Clara often says, accompanied by her dramatically falling on her bed, when I ask her to help clean up their room.

“Tivoli!” they yell in unison and so I’m up in just my sleepshirt and boxers, padding across the dimly lit room to open the door.

Both girls are somehow dressed, though I think Freja’s dress is inside out.

“What are you girls doing?” I say, bleary-eyed, and then repeat my “Hvad er det?” for good measure.

“Hvad er det,” Clara corrects me, and her version sounds exactly the same as what I just said. “We’re going to Tivoli today, don’t you remember?”

I can barely remember yesterday as it is. Each day is getting busier and busier the more I fall into the groove of things. My schedule is pretty packed and even though I go over it often, the whole foreign language thing means that half the stuff isn’t sinking into my brain.

Blinking at them, I nod. “Sure. Tivoli.”

“And the autumn fair,” Freja says quietly. “I want to see the animals.”

“Okay,” I say. “But you know I have to get my coffee in me first before we do any of these things.”

“You and your coffee,” Clara says. “Sometimes I think maybe you’re named after the Goddess of the coffee bean.”

“You might be right about that,” I tell her. “Give me thirty minutes and we’ll be on our way.”

This pleases the girls enough so that they go skipping off to their room. I call after them, “And Freja, your dress is on backwards!”

“I know!” she yells back.

Kids.

I get dressed quickly. With it being the start of October, the weather has changed dramatically compared to France. While the days are still warm and somewhat dry, it’s the light that I’m missing the most. While I’m sure I’ll be able to handle the cold, especially as they say Copenhagen doesn’t get as frigid as people think, I don’t know how I’ll be when it’s pitch dark at 3 p.m. My sunny Aussie roots will shrivel.

But because mornings are cold and I don’t know what to expect with Tivoli or the fair, I slip on thick leggings, socks, boots, and of course my uniform of a grey mini-skirt and navy blouse. This one has ¾ length sleeves and a Peter Pan collar, which I think is pretty whimsical.

Honestly, I didn’t think I would but I actually like having a uniform. It makes getting ready in the morning super easy when you only have a few varieties to choose from, plus I think it drives Aksel nuts that I wear these skirts. I know that when he asked me to get a uniform he was probably thinking something more classy and modest but hey, I think I look pretty good myself.

Not that I’ve seen him all that often. He’s kept his word to the girls and has been showing up for dinner on most nights. He doesn’t even say anything when Karla brings out two different dishes for the main course, although I can feel the resentment roll off of him like incoming waves. But other than that, he’s stayed clear of me.

Which I don’t mind, per se.

I mean, I do wish we had a different kind of relationship. Not like the relationship I had with my last “father of the house” since that went awry with inappropriate touching and come-ons. I think one of the reasons I even like Aksel is because he’s the opposite of that, like it disgusts him to even be in the same vicinity as me. He’s forever taking a step away from me like I have the bloody plague and yet it’s kind of nice to not be leered at.

But I wouldn’t mind it if I felt like I could approach him and talk to him about the girls and have a real heart-to-heart without all these stiff formalities in the way. Get to know the real him.

If there’s even a real him. At times he’s so larger than life, even when he’s right in my face. At others, he almost fools me into thinking he’s not a king of a prosperous country at all. That he’s just a normal single father, trying to take care of his daughters in a big, empty, lonely house.

That’s something that I don’t think they realize. How lonely the place is. Even with the staff living here as well, the halls seem to echo with memories. I may have not known Helena when she was alive but I feel her around us. Nothing vengeful or mournful, just ever-present in everyone’s minds. That loss of her, the lack of a mother figure, makes everything emptier.

So I’ve been doing what I can to fill that void. Aksel’s words still ring through my head from time to time, when he told me that I’m not the girl’s mother and they aren’t my friends and that I’m not part of the family. I mean, I know all that. I only just started working here, only just begun to scratch beneath the gilded façade of this family. I know my place very well—or, at least, I’m trying to.

But my place doesn’t have to be stagnant. I don’t have to fit into the slot that was carved out for me by the nanny before me. I don’t want to just be a Band-Aid to this family—I want to help them heal. Maybe that’s naïve of me, and maybe I should be a little more grounded with my goals, but that doesn’t change the feeling of why I’m here.

Before I got this job, I’d been feeling stuck in my own life. I’d done so much running and escaping, gone through so much tragedy and horror, that I just wanted something simple and stable. It worked, too. I was a nanny because it gave me the safety and structure I didn’t have back in Australia. But you can only run, only pretend, for so long.

Now that I have this job, however, I feel like I’m in it for the long haul. Sure, it might just be a year. It could be less, depending on how long Aksel can stand me. It could be more. But while I’m here, I don’t want to just be a nanny. I want to help them all get better, anyway that I can. I want to actually be useful for once.

“Well, you can start by getting these girls to whatever Tivoli is,” I say to myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. I’ve stopped thinking that talking to myself is odd a long time ago.

After I braid my crazy hair back, knowing it’s going to frizz out on me later, I put on a touch of mascara and blush and then head down to the kitchen. Karla has the weekends off—lucky duck—and so Bjørn, the secondary cook, is in charge of breakfast, and he already knows how much coffee I require.

I quickly grab a scone and tuck it into my leather messenger bag for later (it joins my notebook, a wad of euros, some Danish kroner, a million hair ties, a compact, nude lipstick, gum, these salty licorice candies I’m currently addicted to, Band-Aids, antibiotic cream, gummy children’s vitamins and a tube of this strange mustard paste that Clara insists on putting on everything), then sit down at the table with a giant mug (in European standards) of coffee and wait for the girls.

Naturally, I barely finish mine before they’re running over to me excitedly, Clara with her backpack on like she’s going to school, yelling “Tivoli!” and a bunch of other Danish words, and I know they’re going to be a handful today.

It turns out Tivoli is Tivoli Gardens, a famous amusement park and the second oldest in the world, located in Copenhagen. And, oh my god, it’s like Disneyland. By the time Henrik drops us off at the front entrance, I’m just as giddy and excited as the girls.

“Are you going to be okay, Miss Aurora?” Henrik asks warmly as we clamor out of the car.

I stick my head back in through the open door. “I should be. Right?”

He nods. “I can come in with you if you want. There shouldn’t be any problems, but if there is, I can always look intimidating.” He makes a faux angry face and pretends to flex a muscle.

“What problems?” I ask, feeling nervous now. “Oh my god. Like kidnapping? I didn’t get that far in the handbook yet!”

He gives me a wan smile. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you won’t be all alone in the park.”

I look around the busy parking lot. That’s true but…

“Meaning,” he goes on, “there will be people, royal staff, watching you. Bodyguards.”

I look around again, brows raised. “Oh. Where are they?”

“They’ll be around,” he says. “When it comes to the girls, King Aksel wants them to feel as normal as possible. That means keeping the guards and attendants at a distance. But don’t worry, they’ll always be watching.”

I’m not worrying at all but it is kind of unnerving. “So what problems did you mean, then?”

“Paparazzi,” he says. “You know, taking pictures. Aksel wants that at a minimum. But if it’s too much of a problem, you can always alert the staff and they can kick them out and escort you as well.”

Oh. That. I haven’t had to deal with the paparazzi yet. I mean, I’ve taken the girls for walks along the water and the parks a few times now (trailed by bodyguards, I’m now realizing) and maybe there’s been a person or two taking pictures of us with a big camera, but they were always so far away that it never bothered me.

Then again, I don’t read the Danish tabloids so I have no idea if we’re even featured in them or not. I can’t imagine why. There’s nothing exciting about two little girls and their nanny, princesses or not.

Now, if Aksel were here, well then I could see that being a different story. In fact, that’s one reason why I don’t pick up the tabloids if he’s being featured. I may not understand Danish, but I don’t think what they’re saying is always nice. It must be so hard to not only be a king at such a young (relatively) age but to lose your beloved queen as well. Aksel seems to be fodder for them and is never held in the same regard as Helena was.

Still, I assure Henrik that I’ll be fine and I grab the girls both by the hand and lead them into the park.

“So what are your favorite rides?” I ask them as we approach the ticket booth.

“Dragebådene,” says Freja.

“Minen!” shouts Clara.

“Ballongyngen.”

“Den Flyvende Kuffert!”

I don’t understand what any of those are but I’m sure I’ll find out soon.

We pay for our tickets—the girl working the booth immediately recognizing the princesses—and we step inside the chaos of the park. Actually, it’s not that bad. Maybe because it’s getting late in the season but it’s definitely not as crazy crowded as Disneyland Paris.

The girls immediately start dragging me in different directions, past loop-de-loop coasters and Japanese pagodas and Arabian palaces and giant pirate ships. My stomach growls at the sights and smells of all the tasty treats but I manage to eat my scone to keep it in check.

First we go on the “Ballongyngen” which is just a fancy word for ferris wheel. Usually I hate ferris wheels because they’re claustrophobic and boring, but this is in an open hot air balloon, and it doesn’t go very high. After that we work our way to the Karavanen, a little roller coaster that’s a surprising amount of fun. The girls sit together in the compartment in front of me, and the attendant, recognizing who I am, I guess, lets me sit by myself behind them.

But this is the beginning of a problem I didn’t see coming.

Going to an amusement park with an odd number is difficult when most rides only let two sit together. We go to the “Dragebådene” which are self-piloted dragon boats, and I can’t drive one around while leaving the other child on shore and they both can’t do it themselves. The same goes for some of the bigger rides and roller coasters. The only rides the two of them can go on by themselves are the kiddie ones and that’s starting to piss Clara off more and more by the minute.

“But I’m not a little baby,” she cries out to me, stamping her foot as we watch people get on her favorite rollercoaster. “When we were here last, we were able to go on all the rides!”

Freja says something to her in Danish in a low voice, her lower lip pouting.

“What was that?” I ask, leaning in.

“She said it was because Papa and Mama were here with us!” Clara practically yells, her face growing red. “Now she’s gone and he won’t come and we have nothing!”

Oh my god. Is she about to have a public meltdown?

I put my hands on Clara’s shoulders. “Listen, we’re still having a good time. We still went on the flying trunk ride and the mine ride that you like and the Viking carousel and—”

“No!” she cries out, ripping away from me and running to the front of the line, starting to yell at the ride operator. “Jeg er prinsessen, jeg skal med på turen!”

Everyone in line is both wide-eyed and submissive, immediately stepping back and out of the way to let her go in front.

I grab Clara’s arm as gently as I can and try to pull her away. “You see the sign, you can’t go by yourself, and I can’t leave Freja behind.” I’m pleading with her now not to make a scene but I know it’s too late. She’s making one. Everyone can hear what she’s saying and, worse, I see cameras and phones out, snapping her picture, probably even recording it.

“Do you mind?” I turn around and yell at the crowd. “This little girl might be a princess but she’s still a little girl who lost her mother. If you post any of that, we will sue you!”

“Yeah, sue you,” Freja interjects, pointing her finger at them.

Finally, Clara gives in and lets me drag her away. I manage to get her around the corner from the crowd and then drop to my knees to look at her, my hands on her shoulders keeping her in place. “Clara, please, you know you can’t act like this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” she sniffs, wiping the lone tear that’s falling from her eye. “I’m a princess and I’m going to be a queen someday.”

I can’t really argue with that one.

“Then you must learn how queens behave themselves. You’re a queen-in-training, Clara.”

“And a goddess,” Freja speaks up.

I give Freja a grateful smile. “Yes, and a goddess.” I pull Clara in for a light hug. I’m a hugger but I understand people who aren’t and with Clara she’s either into it or making a fuss.

Clara pulls back and nods, looking away. She seems ashamed and suddenly aware of the scene she caused. “I just miss Mama,” she admits.

“Oh sweetheart, I know you do. Everyone does. Everyone loved her.”

“But she was only our mother, no one else’s. And now she’s gone. And we can’t even come here like we used to.”

My heart is waterlogged. I sigh and brush her hair over her shoulder. “I wish I had magic to bring your mother back and have everything the way it was. I wish life worked that way.”

“When I’m queen, I’m going to find that magic. I’ll be able to turn back time.”

“Well, let me know when you do, because I’ve got a few mistakes in my past I wouldn’t mind redoing.”

That got her attention, distracting her from her own sadness. “Really? Like what?”

I smile. “That’s a conversation for another time. For now though, all we have is the present so we better make the most of it. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” Freja says, coming over and leaning against her sister in support.

“Can we go to the autumn fair now?” Clara asks quietly, staring at her shoes.

“Yes, of course,” I tell them. “Let’s go.” I take both their hands and all three of us raise our chins, heads held high, and walk out of the park.

The autumn fair is further outside of the city, which is a nice little drive through lanes lined with red and golden-leafed trees and misty fields of wheat. I roll down the window and take in a deep breath, slowly feeling my head start to clear. I’d spent most of the ride totally foggy-headed and drained after Clara’s breakdown in Tivoli.

I don’t blame her—at all. This is the first time I’ve seen Clara give any sign of trauma, that something is wrong. Normally quiet Freja is the sensitive one, wearing her heart on her sleeve and Clara is just so happy-go-lucky through life. In fact, she reminds me a lot of me. For her to get emotional like this, it’s healthy and long overdue.

But I fear what might get printed in the tabloids or put online. The stuff they might say about her. I don’t give a rat’s ass what they’ll say about me because I’m pretty sure me yelling at people isn’t going to paint me in the best “Mary Poppins” light and they’ll probably post unflattering pictures of me in my skirt, call me a hussy or something, and then say I was totally incompetent. But I want to protect Clara and Freja from as much of this as I can.

Thankfully the fair isn’t nearly as busy as Tivoli, and as far as I can tell, there aren’t any paparazzi around. It’s mostly apple orchards, pens of prized farm animals, and endless stalls selling harvest vegetables and crafts and food, set on a sprawling, picturesque farm.

Freja is insistent on carrying Clara’s big backpack this time around and I don’t want another fuss on my hands so I let her, even though it dwarfs her tiny frame. We visit the farm animals which the girls are all taken with, especially the sheep and tiny pigs, and then I grab a bag of apples and some root vegetables for Karla since the Danes are so crazy for them and incorporate them into every dish (along with rugbrød, which is a tasty dark rye bread that I can never pronounce right).

We’re settled down at a picnic table and eating late lunch of open-faced sandwiches (no meat, naturally) when a couple walks past and sits down at the table across from us. They both seem to be about my age, late twenties, and unlike some of the other folk here, they don’t pay us any attention at all. In fact, they’re so completely smitten with each other, I’m not even sure they realize where they are.

Freja is watching them with a scrunched-up nose that gets more and more exaggerated as the couple continues with their smooching and pet names, while Clara eyes them curiously.

Then Clara looks at me, lips pursed in thought.

“What?” I ask her. “Do you want that mustard paste of yours?”

“Yes,” she says, holding out her hand.

“Yes, please,” I tell her, rummaging through my bag and handing it to her.

“Yes, please and thank you,” she says, taking the paste and squirting some onto her bread and then kindly does the same on Freja’s. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

The lettuce nearly falls out of my mouth. “What?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” she repeats. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be an insult but it sure feels like one.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re always with us.”

That’s true. “I could have a boyfriend.” That I’d meet during my hour or two of free time in the evenings. Lord knows I’ve actually not had a Sunday off yet. I’m supposed to but as Amelie had hinted at, something always comes up.

“But you don’t. Why is that? No boyfriend. No husband.”

“Jeez, Clara,” I tell her, frowning as I munch on my pickle. “Haven’t you ever heard of an independent woman before?”

“No I have not,” she says earnestly. “But the nanny before you, she had a boyfriend. We saw him once. He had candy in his pockets but he was old.”

“Well, I have mustard in my purse, so there. And I’m sure everyone is old compared to you.”

“I’m not old,” Freja says.

“Everyone else, Freja,” I say.

“Did you ever have a boyfriend?” Clara is really pushing the subject. If my mother were still around, I’d say she sounded like her.

“Yeah, did you kiss him?” Freja asks in a low voice, as if she’s daring me to say yes.

“I had a boyfriend in France,” I tell them. “And yes, I kissed him.” Freja looks disgusted. “I kissed him a lot,” I add, for effect. She nearly turns green.

“What was his name?” Clara asks. “Was he nice?”

“His name was Luc and he was very nice,” I tell her. Very French, too. He wasn’t my only boyfriend, either. I’ve had a few but none of them were anything special, just guys to have fun with. When you’re living in certain places for only a year or two, you don’t form any kind of commitments with people. And that’s the way I like it.

“What about in Australia?”

I swallow, staring down at the remains of my sandwich. I decide lying would be easier. “No. No boyfriends. I waited until I was old enough for boys, I waited until I moved to Europe.”

Clara thinks that over, has a bite of her sandwich, then says, “Maybe you’ll get married. One day. To a prince.”

“Or a king,” Freja says excitedly. “Oh, maybe you’ll get married to Papa!”

I’m in the middle of drinking sparkling apple juice when she says this and I completely spit it out in a spray across the table, narrowly missing the girls.

“Wow, that was cool,” Clara says, wiping away some of my juice spit from the table. “You’re like a statue in a juice fountain.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, frantically grabbing a napkin and wiping my mouth and hand and the table. I’m still trying not to laugh at what Freja proposed.

“Believe me,” I say when I’ve composed myself, “I am not marrying your papa. I’m not marrying anyone. I’m very happy just being me, with you girls.”

“But if you married him, you wouldn’t have to move and you could be with us always.”

“Freja,” Clara says sharply, glaring at her. “Papa isn’t going to marry anyone. Ever. Okay? Mama is our mother, no one else is and no one else will be.”

Oh boy. Now, I have no idea what Aksel’s personal life is and I’m going to assume that if he was wildly in love with his wife, he won’t be moving on from her anytime soon. But if the day does come that he starts to date someone and eventually marry her, well, let’s just hope Clara has some time to come to terms with it.

I wonder what kind of woman Aksel would date. Even though he’s so grumpy and cold and exacting, there might be a side of him I never get to see. Well, there is a side of him that I do see, when he’s with his girls. That’s when the ice melts and he becomes something else.

“I’m done,” Freja says, pushing back her plate. “Can I go look at the pigs?”

I sigh, not ready to get up. “Sure.”

“I’ll go with her. You stay here,” Clara says quickly as she gets out of her seat.

I glance over at the section with the pigs and animals, just beyond the kissing couple. “Okay, but hold her hand and come right back and stay where I can see you.”

“Yes, Miss Aurora,” they chime in unison.

I watch as they go over to the pigpen, but as soon as the kissing couple starts distracting me with their tonsil hockey, I avert my eyes, lest it looks like I’m being a perv, just glancing every now and then as the girls are now chatting up a farmer.

My thoughts go back to Aksel.

What kind of woman would Aksel even be interested in? Obviously, she would have to have royal blood. I believe Helena did in some way or another. She would have to be as beautiful as she was, too. In her pictures she looks a bit like a modern Grace Kelly. Sleek blonde hair, sparkling eyes, elegant swan-like neck, slim limbs that looked good in any clothing. In the news clips I’ve seen, she moved like a dancer and was always so charming and witty.

I can see why he fell for her. Whoever he ends up with will have to be just like her, or better, if that’s even possible. Basically, she’ll have to be the opposite of me. I’m not selling myself short, it’s just a fact. I know my limitations.

Why are you even entertaining this thought? You and Aksel? Your boss? A bloody king?

I rub my forehead, trying to get sense into my head. Perhaps this day has messed me up more than I thought. All Freja had to say was that I should marry her father—a man that detests me above all else—and suddenly my thoughts are becoming warped. How ridiculous. Not just the whole boss and king part, but that it’s Aksel.

I sigh, grabbing my messenger bag and getting up. “Come on girls,” I call over to them as they’re still talking excitedly with the farmer. I start gathering up our plates and throw them in the trash bin just as they saunter over to me with big smiles on their faces.

“We should go home now,” Clara says in a tone I can’t quite place. “Right now.”

“Fine with me,” I tell them. I could sleep for weeks.

We approach the car, them trailing behind me, and I say to them in a low voice, “Let’s not tell your father what happened today. I think it would only worry him.”

“We won’t,” they both say at the same time, though they sound distracted.

I feel bad that I’m asking them to keep something secret from their father but honestly the last thing I need right now is for Aksel to lose his mind. Unless something pops up online or in the tabloids—and I pray it doesn’t—it’s best if all three of us just move on.

My nanny life doesn’t need any extra complications.

CHAPTER 8

AURORA

I must have looked like a wreck the moment we got back to the palace because Maja took one look at me and told me I could have the rest of the night off. I didn’t even have to eat dinner with them if I didn’t want to—instead I could have Henrik drive me wherever I wanted to go in the city.

But while all of that sounded nice, and I’d been itching to get away from the palace for a night and have some me time, to act like a twentysomething, maybe even flirt with a hot Danish guy since the girls reminded me of my lack of love life, I was so tired that I went straight up to my room and didn’t come down for the rest of the night, not even for food.

I mean, I have a small fridge now in my bedroom where I have some yogurt and craft beer, and I’ve got my kettle for instant coffee and tea, so I’m all set. I could hermit up in this place for eternity if need be.

I probably fell asleep pretty early because when a strange noise pulls me out of my dreams, I open my eyes to see that the lights in my room are on.

I stare at the ceiling, blinking and listening.

There it is again.

It’s like … a squealing. Not one of the girls, I don’t think. Maybe it’s Johan, sleepwalking. I’ve already had the privilege of running into his scary ass in the middle of the night.

I sit up slowly and strain my ears, trying to pick it up again. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s only 11:30 p.m.

Then I hear the squeal again, followed by giggles and a mini stampede of bare feet against the wood floors.

This can’t be good.

I get up, slip on a robe, and cautiously open my door, peering out into the hall. I manage to see Clara’s hair flying behind her as she runs into their room and shuts the door.

I look back down the hall toward Aksel’s, but aside from the girls’ giggling, there are no other sounds, no one else around.

I sigh and make my way to their door, knocking quietly. “Girls. What’s going on?”

I hear them both shushing each other, then something falling over, and then a door slamming.

“Clara, Freja,” I hiss. “I’m coming in there.”

I open the door expecting to see that their room has imploded or is perhaps on fire, but instead both girls are standing in the middle of the room in their nightgowns, smiling at me.

Something is so wrong.

“What’s going on? I heard a noise.” I look around suspiciously. The room is messy but no more so than usual.

“Nothing. Go back to bed,” Clara says.

I frown and step inside, shutting the door behind me. I fold my arms. “What’s going on?” I say again. Suddenly there’s that squeal again, followed by a snort. I jump and look around me wildly.

“What was that?” I cry out, hand to my chest. It sounded like a demon creature.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Snarf Snarf,” Freja says.

I stare at her with wide eyes. “What the hell is a Snarf Snarf?”

Is it Danish for Demon Creature?

“Don’t swear,” Clara chides me.

There’s no time to watch my mouth. “Freja, what is Snarf Snarf?”

Suddenly the door to their closet starts to rattle with a thud and there’s another high-pitched squeal.

“Oh my god,” I say. “Oh my god, what is that? What’s in your closet?”

Please don’t say it’s a demon creature.

“Snarf Snarf,” Freja repeats herself, exasperated, and she runs over to the closet to open the door.

For a second I can’t see anything and then a fucking PIG starts running out of the closet and booking it straight for me, squealing wildly as it goes.

“Oh my god!” I yelp, jumping. “It’s a pig!”

Freja laughs and tries to catch it, but the pig darts straight between me and Clara, zipping to the other side of the room like he’s running laps.

“How is there a pig? Where did you get a pig? Why is there a pig?” I cry out as the pig comes back toward us, it’s little pink legs moving in a rapid blur. “Ahhhhh!”

Freja lunges for it again and face-plants into the carpet, then picks herself up and runs after it, grinning like a lunatic as she goes. Since she’s no help, I grab Clara and make her pay attention to me.

“Clara. Tell me. Why is there a pig here and where did it come from?”

She grins at me. “I’ve always wanted a pig. You know this. We got it from the farm.”

“Clara! You’re in big, big trouble!” I turn to look at Freja as she chases the pig under her bed. “You’re in trouble too! You can’t steal a pig!”

“We didn’t steal Snarf Snarf!” Freja yells back, her voice muffled as she’s now halfway under the bed with only her legs sticking out.

“Yeah, the farmer gave him to us,” Clara says, putting her hands on her hips. “He said it was a gift to the princesses of his fair country.”

“Oh, he did not say that.”

“He did too! He wanted us to have Snarf Snarf. He said he’ll always stay this size. They’re called teacup pigs.”

“There’s no such thing. He’s already bigger than a teacup and they all grow bigger, much bigger than this. Clara, Freja, you know that you can’t keep him.”

“Yes we can!” Clara yells, running over to Freja and joining her under the bed. “Come on Snarf Snarf, we’re your friends, we’ll protect you from her.”

“From me?” I exclaim. “It’s your father you have to worry about.”

There’s another squeal and then the girls yell and the pig manages to squeeze between them and goes back to running around the room. I put my head in my hands and sigh. For crying out loud. “I don’t even know how your father’s not hearing this right now,” I mumble.

“He’s drunk,” Clara says matter-of-factly. I look at her in surprise as she extricates herself from under the bed and straightens out her nightgown.

“Drunk?”

She nods. “He was acting weird at dinner and I heard Maja tell him he was drunk and he should go to his room. It was kind of funny, it was like he was in trouble.”

“Does this happen often?” I ask, not wanting to pry but also … wanting to pry.

She shrugs. “Sometimes. Don’t worry, he’ll let us keep Snarf Snarf.”

I watch as Freja continues to run around the room. I know Aksel says he’ll do anything for them but I’m pretty sure this is drawing the line. First they become vegetarians, then they guilt a farmer into giving them a pig. Pretty sure I’m going to get the blame for this.

Unfortunately, if Aksel is drunk, then he’s sleeping right now, and even if I woke him, I don’t want to deal with a drunk king and a pig situation. I have to wonder though, what he’d even be like if he was drunk. I have a hard time imagining him unbuttoned and unhinged in any way.

No, I’m sure he’s just a mean drunk since he’s a fairly mean person in general. Best I stay away from that scenario.

Which means, of course, that we’re going to have to deal with Snarf Snarf until the morning.

God, I’m already calling the pig by its name.

“Okay, well you girls can’t sleep if there’s a pig in your room,” I tell them. “Maybe we can put him in the bathroom, that way if he makes a mess, it’s easy to clean up.”

“He’s already had a huge crap in the closet,” Clara says helpfully, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. It’s not funny because I know someone has to clean it up but it’s still a hell of a sentence.

“Okay, well,” I say, trying not to giggle still. “Come on. Let’s try and herd him into your bathroom. Then I’ll get some water for him.”

“And some stuffed animals to cuddle,” Freja says as she zooms past us on Snarf Snarf’s trail.

“Sure. And then you girls sleep in my room with me, okay? That way I don’t have to worry about you.”

“Really?” Clara asks. “Is there room?”

“It’s a big bed,” I tell them. “Now come on, let’s work as a team.”

It ends up taking us about half an hour to actually herd Snarf Snarf into the bathroom, then I ask Clara to run down to the kitchen to get a bowl for him that we can fill with water. There’s no way I’m leaving those two up here alone, they’d probably let him back out in a hot minute.

As per Freja’s request, I also put in her teddy bear (which I’m sure will never be the same come morning) and some towels in case the pig wants to sleep.

I have to admit, the pig is incredibly cute. It’s about the size of a puppy and a smooth, pale pink, with deep curious eyes. Except I also know pigs are smart and so the curiosity in his eyes will turn to mayhem pretty quickly.

“How did you even get the pig in the house without me noticing?” I ask them after I’ve closed the door on the snorting Snarf Snarf.

“We smuggled him in my backpack,” Clara says cheerfully. “The farmer said he’ll go to sleep if he’s in a small, dark place. That’s why we put him in the closet.”

“We only opened the door once to say hi and that’s when he escaped,” Freja explains.

“Initially,” Clara says, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first time she’s used this word in English.

I shake my head as I lead them over to my room. The fact that I didn’t notice a fucking pig in the car with us means I’ve reached a new low in my nanny skills.

Maybe if you hadn’t been daydreaming about their father, that annoying voice in my head pipes up.

I ignore it. It’s wrong. I wasn’t daydreaming, I was just … thinking. And it doesn’t matter about what.

“All right girls, it’s past midnight now so we’re going straight to sleep, okay?” I tell them as I pull back the covers and get in.

They crawl in next to me on either side. “Tell us a story,” Clara says.

“About a pig named Snarf Snarf,” Freja adds.

Oh brother.

I take in a deep breath and start telling them about a mischievous royal pig named Snarf Snarf who stole the king’s crown. By the time I get a few minutes into it, the girls are cuddled into me, fast asleep.

Despite the day I’ve had, and the fact that I’m going to be in so much trouble tomorrow, the sight of them sleeping next to me puts a peaceful feeling in my heart. I think I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

I wake up with a start to loud pounding on the door.

I immediately sit up and then remember Clara and Freja are on either side of me.

“What is it?” Clara asks through a yawn and squints at the morning sun already coming in through the curtains. We must have slept in, even for a Sunday.

“Aurora!” Aksel’s voice booms from the other side of the door as he knocks on it again. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

“He’s found Snarf Snarf,” Freja says quietly, fear in her eyes as she climbs out of bed. As much as the girls said he’ll let them have their way, I think they also know that having a pet pig isn’t meant to be.

“Just a minute!” I call out, getting out of bed alongside the girls. I pull on my robe and give them both a pained look. “This is it, girls. Say goodbye to Snarf Snarf.”

I go over to the door and open it.

Aksel’s eyes are like sharpened ice as he stares at me, a cold rage building behind them. Then he sees the girls on either side of me, and his expression instantly changes to one of confusion. “Why are you girls in here?”

“We slept with Aurora last night,” Clara says.

“Why?” He glances at me, the line deepening between his brows.

“Because…” Freja begins.

“The girls wanted a slumber party,” I fill in quickly. I’m not bringing up Snarf Snarf until I have to and it’s possible he wants to yell at me over something else entirely.

“I see,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, you better run along to your room. I need to speak to your nanny in private.”

Clara and Freja exchange a look, brows raised, and then quickly scamper off down the hall, shooting me one last wary look before they go in their room. So I’m guessing this isn’t about the kidnapped pig at all.

“What, uh, is it?” I ask as he pushes past me, striding into the middle of the room while he takes out his phone.

I slowly close the door behind me and turn to face him. I’m not going any closer.

“This,” he says emphatically, holding the phone out for me to see, his arm stiff. I have no choice but to come forward until I see the screen.

It’s a picture of me.

No.

A breathless gasp falls from my lips as I take the phone from him.

I have no idea what it says but it’s obviously some Danish tabloid or gossip site and there’s a whole slew of pictures of me and the girls from yesterday. Of course, they’re all terribly unflattering and you can almost see up my skirt from the picture where I’m crouching down and trying to console Clara.

“You have two seconds to explain yourself,” he says.

“That’s hardly enough time,” I say weakly, because fuck, it’s worse than I imagined. Why are there so many pictures? Oh shit, there’s even a video! Some wanker was videoing us at the part when I told them I’d sue them!

I give the phone back to Aksel and put my face in my hands, trying to breathe. I didn’t think this invasion of privacy would bother me like this but it’s so much worse than I imagined. I feel absolutely violated, and more than that, I feel like I failed as a nanny. My job was to take care of Clara and Freja and this feels like I flat-out failed. This didn’t protect them at all, and now they’re tabloid fodder all because of me.

“You fucked up,” Aksel says, and his words are knives into my heart, only adding to the pain. “Part of your job description is to keep these girls away from the paparazzi and to keep them calm and orderly. They aren’t some daughters of a CEO in France, they are heirs to the throne of Denmark!”

I turn and glare at him, feeling heat rising up my throat, spreading across my face. “They’re still girls, and girls are going to have breakdowns and temper tantrums every now and then.” I don’t know where I find the nerve to argue back but I feel like I’m at a breaking point.

His jaw clenches as he angrily shoves the phone back in his robe. It’s only now that I’m realizing he’s just in pajamas underneath. He must have woken up and seen this first thing. “Your job, Aurora, is to make sure these temper tantrums are managed. Your job isn’t to make it worse. Yelling at the public like that? Threatening to sue? Do you know how that looks? Do you know what you’ve done?”

God, he’s mean. So handsome and so mean.

“Well, they shouldn’t be filming us!” I yell. “If it were anyone else they wouldn’t dare!”

“That’s because we’re not anyone else! I don’t care who you worked for before, none of it counts. I don’t think you’ve gotten it through your thick skull yet that this is a royal fucking family.”

Whoa. Whoa. “Thick skull?” I repeat, and now I feel hot tears prickling behind my eyes.

Oh my god. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry here!

“Yes,” he says, though he hesitates slightly. “Because you don’t act like you get it. I haven’t changed my opinion about you. You’re just not fit for this job, you’re not cut out for it. If you were, then this wouldn’t happen.”

Holy fuck. This hurts. I mean, this hurts. I knew he was an asshole but his words never hurt me until now. Jesus, why am I even letting him get to me?

Maybe because I believe it myself.

Maybe because he’s right.

Maybe because it’s been nearly a month and I still feel like I’ve barely got my head above water. I’ve been trying so hard to persevere and stay positive and go with the flow but … but …

The tears start to spill.

Shit. I can’t cry in front of him. He’ll probably fire me for crying if he hasn’t fired me already.

I turn away from him, choking on a sob, and head for the bathroom.

He grabs my arm and pulls me toward him before I even get two steps.

His palm is warm against my forearm, his grip strong. I keep my eyes closed, my face turned from his, trying to breathe through it.

Don’t cry, don’t cry. Suck it up.

“Hey,” he says to me, his accent deepening. “What’s this?”

What’s this? Despite myself, I look up at him through blurry eyes. “I have a hard time believing you’ve never made anyone cry before.”

Then I pull my arm out of his grip and wipe away my tears with the heel of my palm, taking a few more deep breaths until I know the tears are at bay.

“Look,” he says. His voice is quiet, his stance unsure. He doesn’t know what to do with me now. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

He frowns. “For … making you cry.”

I sniffle and tighten the sash around my robe. “I’m not crying over you, so don’t flatter yourself. I’m crying because … because you’re right. Because maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’m trying but … it’s hard. It’s really hard. And yesterday was horrible.”

He exhales through his nose, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I should have given you more warning about the paparazzi. I know they can be hard to avoid, I just … I’m trying to protect my little girls. I don’t want intimate moments like this to end up as gossip for the masses. Do you understand?”

“I understand. Of course I understand. I want the same things for them as you do. But you knew that we were going to this theme park.”

He runs a hand down his face in frustration. “I know. That’s the problem. I also want them to be little girls. I don’t know what the happy medium is. Before … there was Helena.”

“And she took care of them.”

“No,” he says quickly, something flashing in his eyes. Then he relaxes slightly. “No, we both did. It was just that she planned it all. She handled it, for lack of a better word. I should have done more but … those were our roles. And now I’m a single father and honestly … I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how I’ll be able to raise them without her.”

Oh my god. He’s being honest. And real. And his eyes aren’t this cutting glare anymore but there’s a softness to them, to his face. It makes me want to keep staring at him, to keep pulling back that hard exterior, to see what he’s really like. If he has a heart that beats.

“I know you’ve lost a lot,” I tell him, and he automatically stiffens. I’ve said the wrong thing. “But the girls have too. I couldn’t have avoided that tantrum, no one could have, because Clara is a girl who lost her mother and misses her very much.”

“She knows better than to break down like that, especially in public. Freja, perhaps…”

“No. Both of them lost the biggest part of their lives. I don’t care if Clara pretends to have it all together, she’s allowed to break, over and over again. They both are. They’re not as good at pretending as you are and they don’t have to be.”

“Pretending?” he says harshly.

I shrug, knowing I’m back to pushing his buttons again. “When you wear a crown, you wear a mask.”

His eyes narrow again, the softness gone. “You don’t know me enough to make that presumption.”

“That’s not my fault,” I tell him. “We could get to know each other better. I’ve told you this time and time again.”

“You’re forgetting your role, your place. It’s a very distinctive one.”

I can’t help but shake my head. Talking to him makes me feel so fucking small.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I whisper.

“What?” he says, taken aback, like this actually shocks him. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you so bloody mean to me?”

His brows raise, mouth dropping just a bit. “I don’t … I don’t mean to be. I guess you just frustrate me.”

“Frustrate you? Why?”

He stares at me for a beat, and though I can see so much in his eyes, I can’t read any of it. “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

“Probably because you’re not used to dealing with normal people. Only the upper class, the aristocrats, the ones with blue blood. Royals. I’m the opposite of all of that. Always have been.”

I watch as he swallows, his eyes still locked on mine. If only I could read them, if only I could understand what he was thinking.

But why would I? It would just be something cruel.

“Probably,” he says after a pause.

Tension seems to fill the air between us, followed by palpable silence.

I clear my throat and take in a big breath, squaring my shoulders, wanting everything to be right again. “I just want you to know, that I did what I could with the girls and that’s the best I can do. After Clara melted down, we left. I saw people taking photos, and I know I should have behaved with more decorum than I did, but it is what it is. I can … I can work on being proper. You just have to give me time. Hell, give me a chance. I’m not sure that you have yet.”

He wiggles his jaw for a moment, then nods. I wonder if the bastard has any idea of how handsome he is. Probably.

“Okay.”

“So we’re cool?” I ask him, holding out my hand for him to shake.

And by cool I mean, not fired?

He glances at it, and I swear I see a smile flash for a second. It’s like trying to photograph lightning. “Yes, we’re cool,” he says, grabbing my hand. But he doesn’t shake it. He just gives it a long squeeze, the kind that makes that same lightning carry up through my veins, setting my heart on fire.

Then he lets go of my hand and turns toward the door.

“Aksel?” I call after him, thinking I might get flack for not addressing him as a king.

He stops and looks at me curiously.

“About the girls,” I say cautiously. “The reason why Clara was having problems. It’s because the last time they were at Tivoli, you were there as a family. It was awkward with just the three of us, with rides and everything. Anyway … I know it’s my habit to step on your toes and everything, but if I can make a suggestion?” He looks at me expectantly, to keep going. “I think they want to feel like a family again. Maybe there’s an outing we can do, the four of us. Maja too, if you want. And before you say anything, I know I’m not Helena, I’m the nanny. I am so very aware of that. I just think it would be good for them.”

He seems to consider that. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

I can’t help the grin on my face, knowing how happy the girls are going to be.

It fades quickly when a very loud squeal sounds out from the hallway, followed by shouts and a stampede of both human and pig feet.

“What the hell was that?” Aksel cries out wildly.

Oh right. Snarf Snarf.

I give him a sheepish smile. “Okay, promise me you won’t get mad…”

CHAPTER 9

AKSEL

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Stella, is here,” Agnes announces from the doorway to my office.

I glance up at her from my desk, putting my paperwork aside. “You can just call her my sister, you know.”

Agnes does not look amused. “Regardless, she’s here.” Then she turns and leaves.

I sigh. Seems like Aurora’s no respect for authority attitude is infectious among the staff.

I get up and start to head down the stairs to the first floor where the greeting room is when I run into Aurora herself on the staircase, who seems to be in a hurry, taking the steps two at a time.

Is it sad that I’ve really taken a shine to that uniform of hers? Lord help me if she ever finds out.

“Where are you going?” I ask her, grabbing her lightly by the arm.

“Aren’t we leaving now?” she says with those big eyes of hers. “I think your sister is here, I need to get the girls’ things.”

“Let Agnes or Johan do that,” I tell her, pulling her back down. “Come with me, you need to meet Stella and Anya.”

Aurora seems to hesitate, and then lets me lead her down the stairs. I don’t let go of her arm until I’m confident she won’t run away. Plus, her skin is horribly soft and silky. Distracting.

“I hope you warned your sister about Snarf Snarf,” she says.

“I didn’t. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “You know how to have fun? Wow.”

I’m still in disbelief that this Snarf Snarf has been part of our family for three weeks now. When I first discovered that the girls had a goddamn pig in the house, it came right on the heels of the tabloid article of them at Tivoli. I think I about had a heart attack and lost my temper at Aurora, again.

For once, though, she was on my side and wanted the pig gone, back to the farm it was unscrupulously taken from. I just didn’t plan for the tears and guilt trip from Clara and Freja, who seemed to have a whole performance and speech planned out for that very instant. In fact, I’m starting to think their whole idea to go to the farm after Tivoli was part of some elaborate pig heist.

They talked about how they never had a pet even though they’d always asked for dogs and kittens and ponies (it was actually Helena that was adamant there be no animals in the house), that they had a void they needed filled, that they had all this love to give, that it would teach them responsibility and be a learning experience for them. They went full out. Then it was topped off with, “And we’re princesses. A princess should be able to have a pig if she wants.”

Maybe it was because of Clara’s public meltdown and the realization that the girls aren’t as strong as I thought, maybe it was because Aurora looked at me differently when I started to cave in. Either way, I said they could keep the pig on two conditions. One, that I never smell it. Two, that I never see it. If either of those conditions were to be broken, that pig would end up on the plate at Christmas dinner and, yes, I would force the girls to eat him.

Naturally, both those conditions have already been broken because, have you ever had a pig in your house? Damn impossible to ignore.

Aurora has been walking by my side as she usually does but just before I go through the doors into the greeting room, she hangs back, as if remembering proper protocol. I glance at her over my shoulder in surprise and she just gives me a meek smile, keeping her head down.

I have to say, for the first time, it feels wrong to see her like that.

She’s just being a nanny, I remind myself. The role you always remind her of.

“Stella,” I say to my sister as I step into the room, and as I expected she comes straight over to me and pulls me into a tight hug.

“Good to see you, Brother,” she says to me, kissing me on the cheek. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” I tell her, smiling at her warmly. My sister is about eight years younger than me and went through a bitter divorce earlier this year which had her and her young daughter, Anya, moving from Denmark to England. When Aurora brought up the idea of us all having an outing as a family, I thought I should invite Stella as well. Anya is a year older than Clara and they all get along really well, so it would be nice for them to have that family connection again.

“And Anya,” I say to her as she shyly plays with her pigtails. “You must be excited for our trip to Legoland.”

Anya nods. She’s slow to warm up to me sometimes but she’ll come around.

“Oh,” I say, switching to English and putting my arm out in a gesture for Aurora to come forward. “This is Clara and Freja’s new nanny, Aurora.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Aurora says, doing a modest curtsey.

“If you’re working for my brother then no formalities are needed,” Stella says, coming over to shake her hand. “Besides, I’m barely a royal. I’m the black sheep of the family. Getting a divorce and all that.”

Aurora smiles at her. “I’ve only heard great things about you from Aksel.”

I stare at Aurora for a moment since I’ve barely ever mentioned Stella to her before. But here she is, trying to talk me up for some reason.

Stella playfully nudges me. “Great things? That surprises me.”

I murmur in agreement, wondering what Aurora’s game is. Surely she wouldn’t be nice to me for the sake of being nice, would she?

A horrendous high-pitched squeal interrupts us, which makes Stella gasp.

I glare at Aurora. “Remember condition number one?”

“That was that you didn’t smell him.”

“For helvede,” Stella says, eyes bugging out of her head. “What was that?”

“That was Snarf Snarf,” Aurora explains.

“Snarf Snarf?”

“Yes, because apparently that’s what a pig sounds like in Danish,” she says. “I always thought it was a Thundercats reference, but no.”

“Aksel?” Stella looks at me in disbelief.

“A pig!?” Anya exclaims.

“The girls have a pet now,” I say dryly, refusing to find any humor in the situation. I glance at Aurora. “Perhaps you should go check on them. We need to go soon anyway.”

Aurora nods and quickly leaves the room.

“She’s pretty,” Stella remarks as she watches her go, seemingly impressed. “I can see why you hired her.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “No. That’s exactly why I didn’t want to hire her.”

“Because she’s pretty?”

“Because people like you would make assumptions like you just did, thinking I’m some lecherous old man.”

She laughs. “Oh, Aksel. You can hardly be called lecherous, or old, for that matter.”

“Can I go play with the pig?” Anya asks politely. I glance at her and she’s obviously been dying to go out there and join her cousins.

I shrug and look at Stella. “If your mother says it’s alright. But we need to leave in five minutes.”

Anya runs off and Stella smirks, shaking her head.

“What?” I ask. Stella always has some opinion about something.

“I just never thought you’d have a pet pig running around the palace, that’s all. If our parents could see you now...”

I clear my throat, feeling guilt and unease creep up again. Always happens at the strangest times, just little jabs to knock me off balance.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, putting her hand on my arm. “I know it’s hard without Helena.”

“Yes, well. It is hard without her. It’s hard without Father and Mother, too.”

She nods slowly, looking around her. The greeting room is one of the more opulent rooms in the palace, with chandeliers and oil paintings and gilded furnishings, meant for impressing guests. “You know, it sure looks different when you’re older. Coming back here like this … it’s like I never grew up here at all and my childhood belonged to someone else.”

“Because it did,” I tell her.

“How so?”

I gnaw on my lip for a moment, wondering if Stella would understand things the way that I do. We had almost the same childhood, except I was groomed to be a future king and she wasn’t.

“I just feel like … childhood is where our true selves lie. Because we were given freedom to think and explore and be what we wanted, no matter what restrictions were placed on us. And as we got older, we lost that freedom. We had to become other people.”

She nods, frowning. “Maybe you’re right. But I think you feel that more than I do. Then again, I think any adult probably feels that way. Adulthood is a cage, the restrictions are slowly layered through the years, like bars. Family, jobs, spouses, children, expectations. It all adds up. It all changes us to become people that society wants us to be.”

“Look at us, examining the human condition on a fine Saturday morning.”

She lets out a soft laugh, then her expression fades. She says, “I really should be here for you more often.” Her voice is quiet.

I glance at her. “I should say the same about you.”

She waves at me dismissively. “No. We’re good. Really. Anya loves England and she gets to ride horses all day. She’s living the dream.”

“And you?”

“Me? I get to watch her live the dream,” she says brightly. “Isn’t that what every parent wants?”

I can’t disagree with her. “That’s most likely why I have a pet pig now. My girls are living the dream.”

She laughs. “I can see that.” She then looks me up and down with a discerning gaze. “You’ve looked better, though.”

My brows shoot up. “Ouch.”

“You’re too thin,” she says, poking me in the side.

I move my torso out of the way. “Thin? I’ll have you know I work out in the gym every morning for an hour.”

Stella only grins. “Better make it two hours then.”

“You’re a brat.”

“I’m just teasing. It’s what Mother would say to you. You need to eat more meat.”

“Right. Well the children are vegetarian now so I think we can blame them—and Aurora—for that.”

“It sounds like she’s made some positive changes.”

“The girls love her,” I admit. “And they’re happy. I can’t ask for much more than that.”

I’m surprised at the words coming out of my mouth. Three weeks ago, I doubt I would have said the same thing. I’m not even sure what changed.

“Vegetarians, pigs,” Stella remarks. “It sounds like your new nanny is turning this palace upside down.”

“Tell me about it.”

More like turning my life upside down.

Funny how I’m getting used to it.

CHAPTER 10

AKSEL

Legoland is a Danish institution and a mecca for kids young and old from all around the world who love those irritating blocks of plastic that feel like murder when you step on them.

We haven’t been here since the girls were quite young and when we did go it was always more for publicity than for them. Helena was very conscious about being seen with them often, otherwise she said people would say she was a bad mother. So, when we went, we went during public hours, with a whole entourage of security with us. Helena always said that this would make us look more down to earth but there was no way the kids properly enjoyed it when they were being hounded and photographed all day long.

That was the thing about Helena. She only wanted the public to see us as down-to-earth—making sure they went to a public school, taking the kids to the park with “zero makeup” on, doing things for charity, but inside the walls of our palace, she was obsessed with our position, our status, our blood. She would sometimes drill that into the girls’ heads, which is probably why Clara can be a little snobby sometimes. She was always taught she was better than everyone.

It’s one reason why I thought Aurora could take them to Tivoli and have the security agents in the background. Give the kids a chance to be kids. Let them actually feel what it’s like to be “common,” for lack of a better word.

Didn’t quite work out as I’d thought.

This time, however, we’re taking no chances. Screw looking down to earth. We’re the royal family and I want my daughters to have an amazing time—in private. The park is closed to the public for two days, open only for us, and we’re even staying at the new Lego Castle Hotel next door which won’t officially be open until next year.

Darling Freja had been crying during the entire drive to Legoland, missing her Snarf Snarf whom Maja is stuck with back at the palace, but those tears dried up pretty fast once she saw where we were staying. Walking into the hotel is like walking into a castle … albeit one made out of Lego. It’s a bizarre, gaudy combination of medieval wooden accents and iron, then plastic stone walls and tapestries featuring Lego knights.

The room I got for us was, naturally, “The Princess Room,” with Stella and Anya staying at another Princess Room across the hall. Beside us, Aurora has a whole room to herself. She insisted on staying in a wizard themed one. Our royal guards are staying in a dragon room down the hall.

I wish we’d gotten dragons or wizards because this room is a bit … much. I’m currently perched in a velvet pink chair in the corner of the main bedroom, wishing I had something to drink. I can feel the blank smiling face of the Lego princess on the wall staring at me, perhaps judging me. We had basically been in the park since the moment we arrived, going on ride after ride, and we have another day of it tomorrow, but even so, it wouldn’t hurt to unwind with a glass of something.

At the other end of the room is a separate alcove with two bunk beds where the girls are currently fighting against sleep. Aurora has promised to tell them a story about Snarf Snarf and though I can’t see them from where I am, I can hear her every word.

“And then, sneaky little Snarf Snarf decided to hide behind the curtain until everyone in the house was asleep.” Aurora talks with such animation, her accent really coming alive. It’s become endearing to me now, like music. “It was only then that he dared show himself. Luckily, his little pink body was completely done up in camouflage gear, so no one would see him anyway. Armed with only an axe, he went to steal the King’s magical crown.”

What the hell kind of a story is this?

“Only the magical crown was no longer in the case. Do we know what happened to it?” She pauses, and there’s silence. The girls must have fallen asleep.

I hear her kiss them and then whisper, “Goodnight, little princesses.”

And then I’m hit, no, sideswiped by a feeling I’ve never had before, that I can’t even begin to process. All I know is that my throat is growing choked and my heart is twisting and turning into a million pieces, something warm and hot and beautiful spilling out inside me.

I can’t breathe. I’m hostage to it, to this moment.

Fucking shit, this is terrifying.

Then I hear Aurora walking down the short hall that connects this room to that one and she pauses by the wall, giving me a quick smile as she brushes her hair behind her ear.

“I guess you heard all that,” she says softly, still smiling, still … glowing. How have I never noticed how she glows like that before?

You’ve noticed. You’ve always noticed.

I clear my throat, trying to compose myself. She’s right that when you wear a crown, you wear a mask. I can’t let mine slip one inch.

“So how does the story end?” I manage to say, my words coming out thick.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It ends differently every time.”

“You make it up as you go?”

“Yup,” she says, then looks around the room. “Boy, am I sure glad I got the Wizard room. I have magic wands and spell books and you have, uh” —she gestures to above the bed— “a fake stained glass window of a creepy Lego princess. And so much pink.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m not afraid of pink,” I tell her.

She snorts. “Right. That would explain why I’ve only seen you in dark colors.”

“I could do a pink tie one day,” I say, getting defensive.

“You don’t even wear ties,” she says. “I doubt you know how to put one on.”

She’s teasing me, hands behind her back, leaning against the wall while a piece of hair falls in her face again. She’s almost coquettish. Or maybe she’s always this way and that’s why it gets under my skin so badly.

Because I don’t need to feel anything right now. I shouldn’t be feeling anything at this moment but wanting to be alone.

“Well, I better go back to my room,” she says, as if picking up on my thoughts. “Rest up for another big day. As much as I love rides, if the girls make me go on that Pirate Ship again, I’m going to be sick.”

“You don’t have any scotch, do you? Or aquavit?” I suddenly blurt out.

What am I doing?

She raises her brows. “Really?”

I shrug half-heartedly. “You seem like you would.”

“I’m more of a beer or wine gal,” she says. “What about Stella?”

“She’s sleeping. She’s always gone to bed early.”

“I can get it from the front desk,” she says helpfully.

“This hotel is barely even open. They’re not going to have anything.”

She slowly shakes her head at me, like I’m not getting something. “You, sir, are the bloody King of this entire country. You just closed down Legoland. I’m pretty sure that if you want the booze, you’re going to get the booze. Now sit tight, Your Majesty, and I’ll be right back.”

She turns and walks down the hall to the door, and I call out to her. “You know I love it when you call me that.” I can tell she’s hesitating, mulling over what I said. Maybe I caught her off-guard. Maybe she’s trying to think of some smart comeback.

The door clicks shut.

Curiously, I get up and go check on the girls in their room. They’re both sleeping soundly, cuddled up with plush Lego dragons and horses. The same feeling that hit me earlier comes back, slowly this time, curling around me like smoke.

Complicated as ever.

I’ve taken so much from my daughters. It was my actions that night that killed my wife. It was because of me that they suffer from their grief, that they’ll grow up like this, without a mother.

I can’t ever forget that.

Even if I were to try, I couldn’t.

It’s a part of me now.

The guilt.

The yearning for mercy that I’m too proud to ask for.

I wear it like my crown.

Deep down, I know I don’t deserve to feel happiness. Perhaps I never did. Maybe that’s why it eluded me for so long. Maybe it’s why my own parents were so cold and cruel in their own challenging ways. Because they knew.

Helena knew too. That’s why she went for me, hounded me, pretended to throw herself at me. She knew what I lacked. She knew what I was eager to have, sucking it in like oxygen.

I was told to never believe it. And like a fool, I did.

Fate has made me the lost King, encased in cheap armor that only keeps up appearances, forever fighting a battle he will never win.

And yet, looking at Clara and Freja, sleeping soundly, I feel that happiness snake around me. I am both happy when I am with them and devastated in my guilt, and I don’t know how to live with both feelings at once. Yet I keep on doing it. Because my love for them can’t be contained, even if grief comes along for the ride.

But then there is Aurora and … I don’t know where she fits in all of this. The only guilt I feel when I look at her is knowing that I shouldn’t be looking at her to begin with. I’ve spent the last month managing to keep my distance from her and putting up barriers and walls, to keep things strictly professional. She’s an employee, I’m her boss. She’s not even a friend.

And yet, back when Ludwig worked for me, I lamented that he wasn’t a friend either. Just an indifferent staff member. I had wanted, needed, someone to turn to.

Yes, I have my aunt and my sister and I’m grateful for them. But I’ve never had someone that wasn’t obligated to me by blood. Someone who would choose to be by my side.

But to consider Aurora a friend would be ridiculous. I hardly know her. She’s a paid subordinate. Her loyalty, if there is any, is bought.

Yet, the more I’m around her and the more I see her like she was tonight with the girls, caring for them as she does with her big, persistent heart…

Is it fucked up to want that?

Is it even more fucked up to want that from her?

It is fucked up, I tell myself. You think you’re deserving?

There’s a light rap at the door.

I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, mind spiraling into the abyss. I open the door and see Aurora on the other side, holding up a bottle of aquavit. She’s smiling at me like she’s fucking won the world and it makes me feel the same. She’s infectious with her joy and I’ve been resisting feeling it for so long.

“Where did you get that?” I manage to say.

“I have ways,” she says slyly, and I know I should tell her I’ve changed my mind, that I’m just going to bed, that she can keep the bottle, when she sashays her way into the room.

And I move out of the way to let her.

I close the door behind her, softly, and follow her.

She pops into the bathroom and comes out holding two glasses and then goes over to the bed with the princess pink covers on it and sits down. She takes off her boots until she’s in her grey tights and then sits with her legs together and tucked to the side.

For a moment I can’t breathe again and there’s a foreign heat building in my limbs.

I say foreign because I can’t remember the last time I felt it.

This.

Good old-fashioned lust.

I immediately sit down in the pink chair, needing to compose myself, needing to douse any feeling that isn’t indifference.

It’s another battle that I have to win.

“Here,” she says, having poured me a glass. She’s on her knees now on the bed and leans forward as she hands me the glass, and her blouse is dipping low enough that I can see her breasts and the lace of her bra and her hair is falling over her face and…

I train my eyes on hers, hoping she can’t read what’s burning inside me.

I put my hand around the glass, and her fingers brush against mine and she doesn’t let go.

“You’re not a mean drunk, are you?” she asks, scrunching up her nose warily as she pulls the drink slightly away from me.

“A mean drunk? No. I don’t think so.”

She releases her grip on the glass. “Good. Because I can handle your mean ass when you’re sober. I don’t think I could do it if you were drunk.” She raises her glass. “Here. Cheers. Or skål, right?”

“Skål,” I say absently as I clink my glass against hers. I take a sip of the liquor, letting the warmth swirl around my tongue with just a touch of guilt over her comment. “You know, I think I need to apologize to you.”

She swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and trying not to wince. “God this stuff is bloody awful.”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

She makes a face, her eyes pinched closed, her tongue out. “Blah! Jeez.” Then she has another sip. “Hmmm. It’s getting better. Kind of.” She looks at me, wincing. “Sorry, what are you trying to apologize for?”

“For making you cry.”

“When? A few weeks ago?”

“Have I made you cry since then?”

“I may have shed a tear or two since then but that’s because of my period, not you.”

I cock my brow at her lack of filter.

“Sorry,” she says, cheeks flushing. “But you should probably know that about me. I become an emotional beast when it’s that time of the month.”

Her frankness makes me smile. “I suppose I should be ready for that with two daughters.”

“Oh yes.” She laughs. Soft and yet somehow wicked. “You’re in for a hell of a ride.”

“Not if you’re here to help me,” I say, and the moment the words leave my mouth I realize how foolish that was to say.

“You’d have to extend my contract by about, oh six years or so.” She smiles into her drink. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised to last past New Year’s.”

I feel like she’s punched me in the gut. “Why would you say that?” I can barely hide the panic from my voice. She can’t leave me. She especially can’t leave the girls.

She rolls her eyes and leans away from me, back onto her elbows. “You have met you, right? If you really want to bring up the past, well then let’s say three weeks ago I was certain you were going to fire me. The tabloids, then the pig...”

“I know. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

The truth is, I keep replaying that scene over and over. I know it sorted itself out after but it felt like there was no closure. The moment I saw those tears fall from her normally cheerful face, I felt like a villain. And when she said she thought I hated her, I swear it put a crack right through my heart. A stark reminder that I still have one.

“Sometimes I lose my temper,” I add. I don’t know why it’s so painful to admit.

“You don’t say? You know, on that first day, Maja described you as merely disagreeable.”

“She’s known for her diplomacy.”

“You and I haven’t been on the same page since the start. That’s disagreeable. But you’re just outright hostile to me sometimes. I’ve only now figured out how to deal with it, but still, I never really know what you’re going to do or say next. Hell, I’m still in shock that we’re here right now.”

She certainly has a way of making me feel bad.

Which you deserve.

“But,” she goes on, “I know that you’re trying to make an effort to be nicer to me. And I appreciate it.” She finishes the rest of her drink like she’s a pro and then pours herself another glass.

“And yet I’m still driving you to drink,” I remark. I finish my glass and stick it out for her as she pours it to the rim.

She shrugs. “No. I just feel like letting my hair down, you know? I deal with your daughters all day long, it’s a nice change to talk to an adult. Even if it’s you.”

“Hey,” I say, giving her a mocking glare. “I’ll have you know I’m excellent company.”

A wide grin breaks across her face, showing off her perfect white teeth. If she could bottle that smile and sell it, she’d make a million dollars.

“You haven’t proved anything yet,” she teases. Then her expression grows wistful. “It’s just nice to get out of the palace for once. Doesn’t it feel … lonely, sometimes? It’s so big and drafty and cold and … haunted.”

“Haunted?” I wonder if she’s talking about Johan and his sleepwalking. The man can look like a ghost sometimes.

“Not in the literal sense,” she says, licking her lips in thought. “Just … Helena.”

I stiffen.

“I feel the memories of her, or something,” she goes on. She sighs, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I know I must sound daft. I swear I’m not normally this kooky.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“I think the walls just hold so much sadness, you know? And everyone inside is doing their best to pretend it’s not there.”

Fucking hell. She may even be right about that.

And I’m the biggest liar of them all.

“Since we’re getting all personal,” she says, coming to the edge of the bed and swinging her legs around. She leans on her thighs, her face closer to me now, her eyes searching my face. “There’s something I’ve been wondering.”

I hear her words but they don’t sink in. There’s something about the warmth and depth of her eyes that makes it impossible to think. It’s like slipping into a warm bath until you’re so enthralled you wouldn’t even notice if you drowned.

“What?” I finally ask, and the word comes out in a rough whisper.

“Nicklas,” she says, and it’s like she’s thrown ice water in my face. “Your secretary. He was…” She lowers her voice, looking briefly toward the girls’ room. “He was Helena’s butler.”

“I know.”

“But he was the one driving the car that killed her. Almost killed you, too.”

I swallow thickly, my gaze dropping to the glass in my hands. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know. They said the roads were slippery.”

“I said the roads were slippery,” I tell her, looking at her sharply. “I was there, Aurora. It wasn’t his fault.”

“But why keep him working for you, after all that?”

Guilt. It’s guilt.

It’s the lie.

It’s the fact that Nicklas was never driving at all. That it was me behind the wheel. That it was me who drove off the road. That it was me that killed my wife.

It was never him.

And yet his own guilt over his affair with Helena, his guilt over the fact that his actions caused me to lose control, and the fact that no one would ever believe him over me, made him take the blame.

So my guilt is two-fold.

One, for killing my wife.

Two, for making Nicklas a villain in the public eye.

And he was a villain. Perhaps he still is. He’s threatened many times to ruin me, to write a book, to tell the truth. But he also knows that in order to protect my family, I will lie until the bitter end, and my lies are stronger than his truth ever will be.

Because in order to tell his truth, he has to tell all of it.

He’ll have to throw Helena under the bus.

It’s not something I’m willing to do.

And I can only hope the same stays true for him.

So I keep Nicklas employed because if I didn’t, he would have nothing. He would have no job, no future. It’s all part of the bargain. He’s universally hated as the man who killed Helena, and it’s true, it doesn’t matter how many times I tell the world that it was an accident, they still blame him. Just as they would blame me, if they knew the truth.

I glance up from my glass at Aurora’s searching face. There’s nothing but curiosity and concern in her eyes. Something tells me that of all the people in the world, my secret would be safe with her.

But I can never test that theory.

I clear my throat and give her a tight smile. “Let’s just say I believe in second chances.”

For anyone else but me.

She frowns at that. “It’s just weird.”

“Why?”

Her eyes roam around the room as she thinks. “I guess … because I see him with you and it’s apparent that he despises you.”

“Despises me?”

“A lot. And it’s also apparent you don’t care for him either. That, I totally understand. I don’t like him either. He’s rude. Ruder than you are, I should say. I don’t know, it’s just a bizarre relationship to me but obviously none of my business, so...”

I sit back in the chair and tap my fingers along the glass. “I’m sure it looks that way. I’m sure a lot of things look a certain way when you have no idea what’s happening underneath.”

“Kind of like you,” she remarks, taking a large swallow of her drink.

“What does that mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She gives me a steady look. “This is the first time I’ve been able to talk to you like this. To get even a hint of the man you are inside. Who you really are.”

I bristle at that. One moment I’m being blinded by her smile, the next she’s pissing me off by prying and overstepping her boundaries. “I think you’re assuming too much. Again. And anyway, what about you? At this point you know more about me than I do about you. I have a resume to go on, but that’s it. I can’t find any other information on one Miss Aurora James.”

I’m watching her carefully so I notice that the spark in her eyes falters just a little and that she’s calculating something, trying to figure out what to say. It’s curious, considering how regularly she just blurts out what she’s feeling.

“Not everyone can be found on social media,” she says, looking down at the ridiculously pink bedspread.

“I can see that. So then tell me. Where did you grow up?”

“A town you’ve never heard of.”

“Try me.”

“It’s barely even a town.”

“Just tell me the name. You have something to hide?”

She glances up at me, her eyes sharp. “No.”

“Then tell me.”

“Fine. It’s Windorah. In Queensland.” And her accent magically becomes extra Australian. She snarls. “Hey. Don’t make fun of my accent.”

“I didn’t say a word,” I say in protest, raising my palm.

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

“Figures the only time I make you smile is when I’m talking full-on Aussie,” she says, shaking her head.

“Back to the questions. You never went to school. Or if you did, it’s not on your resume.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t think school was for me.”

“But you’re terribly bright.”

She bites her tongue. The pink sliver of it peeking through her teeth makes a hot chill run over my skin. “I guess I should take whatever compliment I can get, huh?”

“I just think you would have been a natural teacher. Or at least a history major or archeologist with your love of Greek gods. You’re always teaching the girls something, your brain is like a library.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says with a twitch of her shoulder.

She’s being purposely obtuse. “And your mother? Your father? What did they do? Did you have any siblings?”

The corner of her mouth quirks like she’s just eaten something sour. “Well, my mother was a whore and my father was a drunk. That’s who they were, that’s what they did. And thank god I had no siblings because I barely survived myself, just by the skin of my teeth. I’d hate to think what would have happened if I had a sibling to take care of.”

I’m stunned. Sure, Aurora is a little rough around the edges when it comes to decorum and she definitely lacks a filter. But she seems so worldly. Put together.

Happy.

Are we both wearing masks?

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, feeling horrible that she had to admit that to me.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says with a sigh, picking at the lint on her tights. “It is what it is. Life hands you lemons, you make lemonade, yadda yadda, right? My father did love me, so I knew that much. I had that much. But he died when I was ten. Then my mother was left to raise me and I rarely saw her because she honestly wanted nothing to do with me. So it was just me in that shanty with the leaking tin roof, in the middle of the fucking outback. Thank god it hardly ever rained.”

She glances up at me, raising her chin, as if I’m pitying her. “To answer your question more fully, I didn’t go to school because I dropped out of the last year of high school. I didn’t have any fucking money for university anyway. But it’s fine. There are books and online classes. I learn what I can when I can. Just for fun. And when I did save up enough money, it was to get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Dodge? Is that a town?”

“It’s a saying. I was in Brisbane for a while, which yes, is a town, and I was waitressing and after that I came straight to Paris.”

I stare at her. I stare at her because I can. I stare at her because I’m putting puzzle pieces together in my head.

I stare at her because she’s beautiful.

“Anyway,” she says, finishing her glass and placing it on the bedside table beside the unicorn clock. “I think it’s best I go to bed before I really start telling you my life story.”

She gets to her feet and instinctively I reach out to grab her hand. She stares down at it but I can’t tell if she’s disturbed or not. But I don’t let go. I should. I really should. But I don’t.

“I’d like to hear your life story one day,” I say, my voice coming out in a harsh murmur, as if part of me wished I didn’t say it.

She stares at me a moment, her gaze lingering on mine. Warm and melancholy at the same time.

“I’d like to hear yours, too,” she says.

Then she gives my hand a squeeze and walks out of the room.

The room grows cold without her in it.

CHAPTER 11

AURORA

DECEMBER

December has always been a curious time for me.

That lead-up towards Christmas and the holidays that you can’t ignore, even if you try. And, god, how you try.

For the last seven years I’ve spent it with families that aren’t my own.

Before then, I said fuck you to the holiday. I said fuck you to a lot of things.

And then before that, I was just hoping my father would be sober enough to come home. I’d hoped my mother would be kind enough to wish me a Merry Christmas. In the end, I was often alone, staring out the window at the baking desert and listening to Christmas songs on the crackly radio, dreaming of snow and trees and presents and places that seemed so impossible.

I should be happy that I have a job that I love, with kids that I love (because, let’s face it, it’s impossible not to), in a charming country that’s slowly growing on me.

And I am happy, don’t get me wrong.

But there’s something about the holiday season that creeps in like the cold through cracks in the floor. It turns you inward until you’re lost in your own introspection. It unearths the past before it buries it again in snow. It makes you feel things you don’t want to feel, like all your nerve endings are exposed.

Loss. If you’ve lost anyone or anything, then you’ll feel that loss most of all.

I feel the absence of so much that it’s hard not to fall deeper into the void that’s growing inside me.

There’s loss.

And then there’s love.

Love that I don’t have, that I’ve never had.

Why do I feel this loss inside me will always be solved with love?

“Aurora?” Clara says to me, and by the way she says it I think she may have been calling me for a while.

“Yes?” I look at her, blinking. The smile goes up on my face. I must have looked like a miserable Grinch sitting here with glittering Christmas ornaments at my feet.

“Can you pass me the reindeer?” She holds her hand out. “Please.”

I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, sorting through the piles of ornaments that have been stored at this palace year after year. Clara is putting the ornaments up on what I think is the world’s largest Christmas tree while Freja is in charge of the tinsel. So far, they’ve done a pretty good job in decorating—but only the first four feet of it since that’s all they can reach.

I find an old gold reindeer with a chipped nose and hand it to her. She considers me for a second. “You look sad.”

I shrug. “We all get the blues sometimes.”

“But you have nothing to be sad about,” she says matter-of-factly.

Knowing that the girls do have plenty to be sad about, I have to tread carefully. “It can be a difficult, sad time of the year for a lot of people. Everything is so happy on the outside but…”

“Do you miss your family and Australia?” Freja asks.

“I do,” I tell her. And I’m lying.

Because there’s absolutely nothing about that place that I miss.

They’re both looking at me to go on so I scrounge for some truth.

“I miss my father. You would have liked him.” When he was sober.

“Is he … dead?” Clara asks.

I nod. “Yeah. He died when I was ten.”

“How?”

I rub my lips together. “Hmmm. He had a disease.”

“Like cancer?” Freja asks in a hush, as if she said a bad word.

“Yeah. Like that.” Like a cancer of the soul and a disease of the mind as you medicate yourself from your demons.

“Maybe your father and our mother know each other in heaven,” Clara says softly, turning the gold reindeer over in her hands.

“Maybe,” I say, giving them a soft smile.

“Varm kakao,” Karla announces cheerfully as she enters the room holding a tray of piping hot cocoa. “Oh, the tree looks so wonderful, girls,” she says, putting the tray down on the ornate coffee table behind us.

“Thank you, Karla,” Clara says. “This year it will be the best tree ever. Especially since Aurora is helping us.”

“Hey!” Freja yells excitedly from the window. “Det sne!”

I know enough Danish words by now to know that sne means snow, because they’ve warned of a lot of sner come February.

Clara gasps and immediately runs over to the window. I get up, and Karla and I join them.

The room faces out onto the square, which even at eight at night in the dark, has people still milling about. Faintly falling snow is illuminated by the lampposts.

“Oh, it’s so pretty,” Clara gushes. “Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas. Oh, maybe I won’t have to go to school tomorrow!”

Now, I don’t know this for a fact but I’m pretty sure that schools in Denmark don’t close because of a little bit of snow.

“Wishful thinking,” I tell her. “Actually, it’s getting late. Both of you need to go to bed.”

“But the tree isn’t finished,” Freja says.

“You can finish it tomorrow.”

“Can we say goodnight to Snarf Snarf?” Clara asks.

“Okay, but be quick about it.” They scamper off.

Snarf Snarf has taken up nightly residence in the palace’s “mud room” on the first floor. That was another one of Aksel’s conditions—that he not sleep with the girls—and frankly I couldn’t blame him. I thought for sure Snarf Snarf would have been history but the girls really went after their father with their guilt trip, totally tag-teaming him. I was impressed and it never fails to amuse me when they twist him around their pinkies.

The thing is, Aksel is learning. He’s learning his role all over again just as I’m learning mine. Whatever father he was when he was with Helena isn’t the father he needs to be now. He has to take on both roles and I can see he’s struggling. He’ll do anything for them, I know that much. But there’s still a steep learning curve as he figures out how to do it all.

We’ve grown closer over the last month, ever since our trip to Legoland. Something changed for us then. Changed in such a way that I’m thinking in terms of us. In terms of having a relationship with him.

Of course, we’re not in any kind of relationship, and on the surface everything is the same. I’m sure to him everything is the same. He’s the King. I’m the nanny. But sometimes I wonder if I am still just the nanny. While he’s still annoyed at half the shit that comes out of my mouth, I also know that he looks at me differently. That glacial gaze of his has started to melt, just a bit. From time to time I see warmth in his eyes. I’m starting to make him smile more. I haven’t really made him laugh yet, but there’s still time.

Now he seeks me out to talk to me, and I’m no longer afraid to talk to him. Not that I ever was afraid, per se. I still spoke my mind, I just always expected him to bite my head off (which he usually did). But now it’s like I can approach him and he’s not going to recoil at my presence. He actually looks happy to see me, even if his disparaging remarks say otherwise.

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.”

His eyes rake over me appraisingly, like he’s sizing me up. “Hmmm. Perhaps you can take my place on the throne. I might want a day off.”

I hate the little thrill that runs through me because what he said is such a throwaway line. But for a split second, I imagine what that would be like. To be a queen. Even the fact that he said that with such ease.

“I don’t think that’s part of my job description,” I tease him. “You might have to pay me extra.”

“How about we start with the glass of port and see where it goes from there,” he says to me just as Karla comes out with the two small glasses, each with a generous pour.

She hands them to us and then leaves, shooting me a curious look before she goes. I wonder what that look meant. Probably the fact that Aksel isn’t one to share his time like this with anyone but the girls.

“Skål,” I say, tipping my glass at him before I take a delicate sip. It tastes expensive as hell.

He opens his mouth to say something just as we hear Clara yelling from downstairs. I turn to see Freja in the doorway to the room, tears running down her face.

“What happened?” Aksel says, quickly putting his drink down on the mantel as Freja comes running over to him. She immediately throws herself at his leg, wrapping her arms around him.

“Snarf Snarf, han er væk,” she cries.

“Han er væk?” I repeat.

“He’s gone,” Aksel says, frowning, glancing up at me.

I shake my head. “I told the girls they could say goodnight to him.” It’s then when I hear Clara yelling again and I realize she’s calling for the pig.

“Clara åbnede døren,” she says, wiping her face on Aksel’s pajama pants. “She opened the front door. He ran outside into the snow. He’s going to be cold.”

Oh shit. Snarf Snarf escaped. It’s late and it’s snowing and he could be anywhere in the city by now, perhaps getting hit by a car. My mind goes to the worst scenario.

“I’m on it,” I tell Aksel, downing the rest of the port for courage and running out of the room.

“Aurora, wait!” I hear him say, but it doesn’t matter. I have to find that damn pig or the girls are going to be crushed, and the last thing they need is to lose something else they love.

I’m dressed only in my uniform, albeit with a light cardigan, so I slip on a pair of rubber boots from the downstairs closet and run to the front door. Clara is outside on the steps, yelling into the night, and of course to the people milling about in the square. They’re all looking at her, some even taking pictures. It’s so rare that any member of the royal family would use this door.

“Clara,” I tell her, pulling her back inside. “Stay inside.”

“But Snarf Snarf,” she says, and as I pull her into the light of the foyer, I can see the pure fear on her face. “I didn’t mean to do it. I thought it would be fun to see him in the snow and there wasn’t as much snow in the back and…” She trails off into a slew of mumbled Danish that I don’t understand.

“I’ll get him back. Just stay inside, okay? Go find your father.” I usher her further in before I step out and close the door.

Even though I probably should head over to the curious onlookers and ask them if they’ve seen a pig, I know that will get reported to the tabloids (“Hog Wild: Nanny Loses Royal Pig in Snowstorm”) so instead I just follow the tiny little tracks in the snow that his hooves have made.

The sight makes me feel sick to my stomach. I barely feel the cold itself, but as the wind and snow are starting to pick up, I just know that Snarf Snarf will get hypothermic fast, if I even find him at all. He may have grown a lot in the last month or so but he’s still a small pig with delicate skin. The more that I follow the prints, leading away from the square and toward Amalie Garden, the more I’m starting to panic. The snow is starting to cover his tracks and the garden is fairly large.

“Snarf Snarf!” I call out as I cross the street to the garden, the wind whipping snowflakes in my hair. I gather my cardigan close to my neck as the air starts to freeze over my skin, following his faint tracks until they stop altogether before a giant hedge. I don’t even know why I’m calling for him. The girls have been teaching him tricks but I’ve yet to see him respond to his name.

Still, it can’t hurt.

“Snarf Snarf!” I yell again in a high voice.

I listen. I don’t hear anything but the snow and wind and the occasional car driving past.

I shiver, my nose and ears now officially frozen and continue walking into the park. I don’t even have my phone on me to use as a light, and in the darkness the lampposts seem few and far between. I head toward the fountain in the middle, thinking maybe he went there to get a drink, but I only see a couple, hand in hand, taking an evening stroll.

They give me a funny look as I pass them since I’m obviously not dressed for the weather in my woolen mini-skirt. “You haven’t seen a pig, have you?” I say, teeth chattering.

They glance at each other and keep walking. Proof right there that not everyone in this city speaks English. Or maybe they do and the fact that I’m barely dressed in a snowstorm and searching for a bloody pig means I have a screw loose or two.

I can’t deny that either. I shouldn’t be out here. I’m getting colder by the minute, and the longer I look, the more my heart starts to break. I just know I can’t go back without the pig. I just can’t. To give up now means he’ll die and I…

I’m not sure what comes over me.

Panic has me by the throat.

Tears start to blur my vision.

Aksel will be so angry, anger that will get directed at me for not supervising them. But more than that, the girls will be crushed and he will drown with guilt. None of this is his fault but I’ve seen how protective he is over them, I’ve seen how he harbors this sadness over Helena. I know he was in the car with her when she died—maybe he feels responsible.

Either way, I can’t fail. I can’t let them down. I can’t fuck up again. I’m so invested in him, so invested in the girls, I can’t lose them. And if I lose him, I feel like I’ll lose everything.

For the first time in my twenty-six years, I feel like I’m actually living a life I love. For the first time, I have everything to lose.

“Snarf Snarf!” I yell, my tears freezing on my face. I’m fully aware of how ridiculous I sound yelling that name into the wind but I can’t help it. I continue to stumble along in the slippery snow, now running out of the park and to the promenade along the waterfront. The opera house is shining across the water, probably filled with music and joy and tuxedos and all I can feel is the kind of terror that makes your heart sink so low in your chest you don’t think it will ever rise again.

Please let me find him, please let him be okay.

“Aurora!”

Aksel’s voice booms across the park and I turn to see him jogging toward me.

“I can’t find him,” I cry out. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He stops in front of me, skidding in the snow. He’s wearing pajama pants tucked into boots, and a coat, with another coat in his arms. His eyes are wild, shining in the waning light of the lampposts.

“For helvede,” he swears, putting the coat over my shoulders. “Aurora, what are you doing? You’ve gone mad.”

His hand goes to my cheek and he winces. I barely feel it. You’d think that for the first time he’s touched me in such an intimate way that my body would be dancing with fire, but I can’t feel anything at all. “You’re frozen,” he practically growls at me. “I’m getting you inside.”

“No,” I cry out. “I have to find him.”

“Aurora, I need to get you inside.”

His arms go around my shoulders and he tries to push me toward the palace.

“The girls…” I sob, looking around me, trying in vain to spot him. “They’ll die if he dies. I can’t see them like that. I can’t have them go through that.”

“They’ll understand.”

“They won’t!” I yell at him. “And you’ll blame me!”

He flinches like I’ve slapped him across the face. “Blame you?”

I take the moment to rip out of his grasp and start running along the water, calling for Snarf Snarf over and over again.

Then my foot hits an icy patch of snow and I go sliding forward, trying to catch my balance and falling anyway. My knees crash into the pavement and I yelp, pain shooting through me, making me crumble until my cheek is pressed into the snow.

I’m full-on crying now, everything coming out of me, things that were lying dormant, things I didn’t know still existed. I’m in pain and I’m cold and I feel like I’ve finally found my place in the world, only to realize how temporary it really is.

I finally have a family and they aren’t mine to keep.

I’m crying so hard I barely realize that Aksel is behind me, his warmth coating me like a shroud, pulling me to my feet. I’m both aware that he’s a king and he’s out in public like this and at the same time I’m torn by grief I’d never recognized. Grieving for a loss that hasn’t happened yet.

And just like that, all the energy is drained out of me, like rapidly thawing snow. I collapse back against Aksel and he scoops me up into his arms. I have just enough strength to bury my face into the crook of his neck, trying to hide from everything, trying to breathe.

I hear his heartbeat.

I feel his hot breath on my skin.

I feel the strength of his muscles as they hold me up, protecting me.

It’s the only time I’ve felt protected before. The only time I’ve ever felt safe.

I try and hang onto that feeling as the cold comes for me, again and again, tempered by numbness.

Then the snow stops hitting my cheek and there are bright lights and squeaking floors.

We go up the stairs and Aksel is barking at someone to move the chair to the fireplace.

He gently places me in the chair and I’m swaddled with blanket upon blanket, the fire roaring in front of me.

Then he leaves.

I see Karla’s face peering at me as she tucks the blanket in around my chin, my world slowly rocking back into place. I want to run after him, I want to help, I don’t want to be here, numb and useless. But I have no energy to move. I feel like everything I have is going toward keeping me alive, even though I’d give it all to run out the door and back into the snow.

“Go to your room,” Maja’s voice comes through, dancing with the flames. I manage to raise my head to see her standing behind Clara and Freja who are off to the side of me, looking stunned.

Karla says something about warm soup and disappears.

My eyes meet Clara’s and I wish I could tell her how sorry I am that I came back empty-handed. But she looks more concerned for me than anything else.

“You’re so cold,” she says, putting her hand on my hand, and from that alone I’m melting in my heart. I’ve been so deprived of touch, I’ve had to grow numb to finally feel it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She frowns, not understanding. Or perhaps my voice was too shaky, too low, to hear.

“Clara, lad os gå,” Maja says, holding out her hand for her.

I can tell Clara doesn’t want to leave my side. She’s staring at me, torn, filled with sorrow. She’s lost so much at her age.

Then her attention is stolen.

“Papa!” she cries out, and I manage to look over my shoulder to see Aksel enter the room, striding toward us. Snowflakes rest in his hair, on his shoulders, his coat held tight across his chest. His eyes still have that edge, that wildness, as they rake over me, assessing the damage. Then he opens his coat and a little pink snout pops out.

“Snarf Snarf!” Clara cries out as Freja rips out of Maja’s grasp and comes running over to him.

“Where did you find him?” I ask, immediately offering one of my blankets. The numbness is starting to fade, my nerves are prickling as they grow warmer and warmer. My heart is the warmest of all, seeing Aksel take the blanket and wrap the little pig up in it, placing him in front of the fire, crouching beside him. Snarf Snarf’s snout twitches, his eyes curious. He’s alive, he’s safe. We’re both safe.

“He was curled up inside one of the guard booths,” he says. “He was shivering but he didn’t seem as bad off as you were.” He glances at me sharply. “You shouldn’t have run off like that. What were you thinking?”

Oh god. Here comes the lecture.

Maja clears her throat loudly. “Clara, Freja, kom nu.”

Though they’re petting Snarf Snarf and loving on the bundled-up pig, I can tell they’re a bit uncomfortable with the way Aksel is speaking to me, so they immediately go over to Maja who takes them both by the hand.

“Godnat Snarf Snarf,” Freja says.

“Goodnight Papa and Aurora,” Clara says.

“Goodnight girls,” I tell them as Aksel says the same in Danish.

Then Karla appears, dropping off two mugs of fragrant bone broth for us before scurrying away, and then it’s just me and Aksel and the pig. His sharp words still hang in the air and his intense gaze has lifted off my face.

“Well?” he prods me. “You could have died out there.”

“It’s just a little snow.” My voice is weak but I’m stubborn.

He stares at me like I’m an idiot. “A little snow? How long would you have gone running for if I hadn’t found you?”

“I wasn’t running,” I tell him. Doesn’t he get it? “I was looking for Snarf Snarf.”

There’s a small shake of his head, the melted snow dripping off his hair and onto the floor. “I know what it looks like to run. You were running. From what? From me? From this?”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. “I just wanted him back. I couldn’t bear for the girls to lose him, for you to lose the girls’ happiness. Why would I run from this? I work here. I went out there so I could continue to work here.”

“You think I’d let you go otherwise?”

I press my lips together and look down at the pig. He seems to be sleeping now despite our conversation which is getting louder by the minute.

“You’d said I’d blame you,” he goes on. “Do you really think that?”

I glance at him warily. For the first time ever, he actually looks hurt. I didn’t think it was possible to hurt him, especially from something like this.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess … I got afraid. I wasn’t sure what you’d do. And I realized how important this job is to me.”

He stares at me for a long, heavy moment. The fire roars, the pig is snoring lightly, the grandfather clock ticks on. The loudest sound of all is my heart.

“Is that the only thing that’s important to you?” he asks, his voice low and rough. “The job?”

“No. The girls are everything to me.” I take in a deep breath. “As are you.”

There. I said it. Part of my truth.

I’m scared to watch his expression but I can’t read it at all. He just stares at me. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.

Or that he doesn’t really care.

Probably the latter.

I look away and start to peel away the blankets, growing hotter now. My clothes underneath are soaked from the melted snow.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” Aksel says, straightening up and walking past me. “Stay there. Drink your broth.”

Yes sir, I think but don’t dare say it. Not now.

Still, I do as he told me, the broth reviving me a little. I’ve drunk half the mug when he returns with one of his flannel pajama sets. He places it on the arm of my chair and then crouches down in front of me and starts unbuttoning my wet cardigan.

I’m breathless. He’s so close to me and he’s taking off my damn clothes. He smells like snow and cardamom, his presence feels as warm as the fire. I can only swallow loudly, my heart beating against my ribcage, powerless to him, to this moment.

“You know my father wore cardigans just like this,” he says quietly as his fingers slowly unbutton just below my breasts.

Oh good. I remind him of his dad.

“Your father must have good taste,” I manage to say, and my voice comes out all squeaky.

“Mmm,” he grunts in reply and continues to work his way to the bottom, frowning as if in deep concentration.

“Do you ever stop frowning?” I ask him softly, and without thinking I reach up and slide my thumb between his brows, smoothing over the deep line. He closes his eyes to my touch, as if surrendering to me. It makes me think he might be as deprived of touch, of connection, as I am.

I should take my hand away, but I don’t. Instead I gently trail my fingers up and over his tense brow, feeling the cold of his skin beneath my fingertips. I bring them down over the dip of his temple, coasting the tips of his wet hair, dusting over his high cheekbones.

His inhales through his nose sharply, eyes pinched shut, letting go of the end of my cardigan. He places his hand over mine, holding it to his cheek, warm fingers wrapping over the edge of my palm.

For a moment it seems like he might move my hand to his mouth and kiss my palm.

For a moment, this is all I can hope for.

For a moment, this is all I’ve ever wanted.

But he doesn’t. His eyes open and they flash with something I can’t figure out, something raw and dangerous, and that frown returns. He removes my hand from his cheek and gets up to his feet.

“I think you can handle the rest,” he says, gesturing to the last two buttons. He clears his throat and bends down to scoop up Snarf Snarf. It would be the cutest thing in the world if I still wasn’t reeling over what happened. We were so close there, just for one moment, but a moment was all there really was.

“You must really love that pig,” I comment, trying to cover up how awkward I feel. “To go after him like that.”

He cocks his head. “I went after you, didn’t I?”

That’s true. And he obviously doesn’t love me. He’s just a good man, even if I get the feeling he doesn’t believe it himself.

He stares at me for another beat and then turns around. “I’m going to put him back in his room, make sure he’s okay,” he says over his shoulder. “Get dressed, stay warm. I’ll be right back.”

I watch as his tall figure disappears.

Then I get up.

I take his pajamas and head up to my room. I know he told me to stay where I was but honestly, I don’t trust myself. I’m at the point where I’m involuntarily touching him, feeling his damn face like he’s braille, not to mention that I ran out into the snow and nearly got hypothermia, which seemed to really piss him off.

No, this is an evening that needs to be put to bed.

But that doesn’t stop me from slipping into his pajamas anyway.

Just to fall asleep to the smell of him.

CHAPTER 12

AURORA

The rest of the weeks leading up to Christmas fly by. After the Snarf Snarf incident (and, believe me, there always seems to be a Snarf Snarf incident), Aksel and I went from one step forward to two steps back. Though he sometimes took part in the girls’ Christmas activities, such as candle lighting and wreath decorating, most of the time he’s been gone.

It’s not his fault. It turns out that Christmas is the busiest time of the year for a king, with an endless stream of public duties, such as parties for Helena’s various charities, taking part in annual ceremonies and attending numerous galas and dinners around Denmark, and even abroad. We even had a dinner at the palace for the Crown Prince of Norway, but according to Maja, my job was to keep the girls out of sight.

When I did happen to see Aksel, he was back to keeping his distance from me, much like he did at the very beginning of this job. He’s not as grumpy or cantankerous. He’s not even that cold. It’s more like he’s wary of me and unsure. He treats me like I’m a wild deer, permanently ready to bolt. No sudden movements around the nanny.

I’m going to assume that he thinks I’m an unstable nutcase since he found me running around in the snow and doesn’t quite know how to handle me anymore. And that really sucks because December was already a tough month for me to begin with. I hate having this space between us, especially since I still feel this pull to him, like one magnet to another, that only increases with each and every day.

It’s foolish. So foolish. And it hurts my heart.

But hearts are made to hold you hostage and I’m captive against my will.

Now, it’s Christmas Eve, the main event, and he’s here, sitting across from me at the lavishly decorated dinner table, looking too handsome for his own good. There’s a half-eaten Christmas goose between us, surrounded by leftover plates of herring, dill and potatoes, dark breads, fried fish, shrimp, meatballs, cabbage, and shot glasses of aquavit and bitter Schnaps. The girls are still devout vegetarians (well, Clara is. I saw Freja sneak a bit of goose when her sister wasn’t looking) but at least they were satisfied with the ample amount of potatoes and root vegetables.

At the moment, everyone is eating a traditional Danish dessert called ris á l’amande (which is French but actually doesn’t exist in France), which is rice pudding, whipped cream, cherry sauce, and cut almonds. It’s delicious and we’re all stuffed but those aren’t the reasons why we’re eating it so slowly. It’s that one of the bowls has an uncut whole almond in it, and apparently whoever discovers the almond in their bowl wins a present.

I’m not sure if I’m fond of this tradition. I’ve devoured nearly the whole bowl, even though I’m bursting out of my seams at this point and I don’t have the damn almond.

“Okay, I’m out,” I say, leaning back in my chair and pushing my bowl away. “I got nothing. And now I’m so full I might die.”

Princess Anya, Aksel’s niece, giggles from across the table, looking awfully suspicious.

Her mother, Princess Stella, finishes the spoonful of dessert and looks over at her daughter’s bowl. “Din lille snydepels,” she admonishes her, pointing at it.

“What?” I ask.

Now Clara is laughing. “I think Anya has the almond.”

“That figures,” Aksel mutters.

“What?” I ask again.

He looks at me, and the bright clarity of his gaze makes me realize we haven’t really looked at each other in a long time. It’s arresting, to put it mildly. “Sometimes, if one has discovered the almond early on, they’ll hoard it until the very end.”

“Forcing everyone else to finish their bowls,” Stella says with a sigh, patting her stomach. “This child of mine. So devious.”

“At least it’s delicious,” Maja says pragmatically. “And I guess this means you get the prize, Anya.”

Her prize ends up being a marzipan pig, which apparently is also tradition. Anya calls her pig treat Snarf Snarf, of course, before she gleefully bites the pig’s head off, making Clara and Freja squeal with horror.

When dinner is over, we take everything into the kitchen and wash up. Because Karla and a few other cooks slaved over this food all day, Aksel made sure to give them the rest of the holiday off, which means we’re all on wash-up duty.

It’s actually kind of fun to watch Aksel wearing an apron at the sink, scrubbing the roasting pans and pots, his sister teasing him, the girls occasionally spraying him with water. This is probably the most relaxed I’ve seen him all month, maybe even since I first started working.

I know I’m watching a bit too much because at one point Stella gives me a curious look and I quickly avert my eyes, as if I’ve been staring at the sun. The last thing I need is for her to tell her brother she thinks the nanny has a full-blown crush on him.

Because that’s the only name I have for this … affliction. It’s a crush. And yet, that word doesn’t seem enough. God, if only I could just stop these feelings growing inside of me. I’m afraid of what might happen if they don’t go away. Will it just bubble up and rise until they’re bursting out, like water spilling from a boiling pot? Or can I just keep trying to bury it, deep, deep down, without being driven insane?

The funny thing is, I don’t even know what I’m feeling most of the time, just that it’s there and it’s deep and raw and persistent and centered around him. It’s like everything now is centering around him. He’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. He haunts my dreams, my thoughts, and the more I deny it, the more it hurts like salt in a wound. Being obsessed with a man you share a house with is a recipe for disaster.

I’m in the living room, setting out hot cocoa for the girls while they play downstairs with Snarf Snarf, when Stella comes out with a glass of wine for me.

“Aksel tells me you decorated the tree,” she says, nodding at the tree in front of us, mounds of presents piled underneath it. “You did a good job.”

“Well, technically the girls did the first four feet and I did the other ten,” I admit, taking the glass from her. “Tak.”

“And he also says your Danish is coming along nicely.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” I wonder how much Aksel has told her about me—and when. So, of course, I ask, “What else did he say?”

She smiles, and her smile matches Aksel’s on the rare occasions he uses it. “Only good things.”

I take a sip of my wine. “I have a hard time believing that. Has he always been so …?”

“Serious?” she provides. “Moody? Brooding?”

“Yeah, all those.”

She nods and sighs. “When we were little he was a lot … looser. He smiled and laughed more. He was certainly more adventurous.”

“He used to race cars in his twenties.”

“As a rally driver, yes. Then he raced boats. I’m sure he’ll take you out on his yacht come summertime. But to answer your question, that’s just the way he is.” She looks furtively toward the doorway as if to check if anyone is listening but we’re alone in the room.

“Our parents weren’t the best,” she admits in a low voice. “I know it’s terrible to speak of them this way, especially with how our mother is, but it’s the truth. For some reason, they were kinder to me. At least our mother was more loving. They were both cold with Aksel. Harsh. They were like teachers rather than parents. I think they were just trying to prepare him to be King one day. They knew I’d never take over the throne so they treated me more like a daughter than an heir, if that makes any sense.”

It makes perfect sense. Definitely explains why Aksel is so closed-off.

“Then of course he became King before he was ready, he lost our father, our mother, there was the accident and Helena and … he got worse.” I nod, my heart pinching every time I think of him suffering. “But then he got better.”

I glance at her, swallowing my wine. “Got better?”

A knowing smile stretches across her lips, and she nods. “Mm-hmm. He’s so much better now. Ever since you showed up.”

“Me?” I almost laugh. “I don’t think so. I think I’ve probably only made things worse. He treats me like I have the plague.”

She studies me for a moment. “Listen, I know my brother. Maybe it looks that way to you. But you’ve brought light into this house. You make him happy.”

Don’t let it go to your head, it means nothing, it means nothing.

“I’m sure he’s just happy that the girls are doing better.”

“Yes. That’s true.” But still, she has this impish look on her face, like she knows something I don’t.

Naturally I want to take this feeling and run. Create a world of possibilities in my head. I make him happy. Me. But what good would that do me?

Suddenly the girls come barreling into the room yelling about it being present time, followed by Aksel and Maja who are in a conversation about something, glasses of brandy in their hands.

In Denmark the presents are opened on Christmas Eve, and I was told by Maja the other day that it’s quite an event. There is no frantic tearing like the kids do in America. Instead it’s done one by one, slow and thoughtful. Knowing this, I went out of my way to buy everyone something special, or I at least hope they’ll think it’s special.

We all gather in spots around the tree, Stella and I on the velvet couch, Maja and Aksel in the armchairs, the kids on big pillows on the floor. Each girl is in charge of being a Christmas “elf” and handing out the presents, which is great because it means I can just sit back and drink.

Luckily the presents I picked out for everyone are well-received, which isn’t an easy feat when you’re dealing with a royal family, AKA the family that already has everything. So I went for more unusual gifts instead.

I got a couple jars of Vegemite that I ordered from Australia for Maja since she recently discovered she loves it on her rye bread in the mornings. Though I don’t know Stella well, she seemed to like the leather planner I got for her with her initials on it. Anya, I got her a book about horses. Freja is going through a “big girl” phase right now which means an obsession with jewelry, so I got her a silver necklace with her Norse goddess namesake on it. And for Clara with her love of reading and everything Snarf Snarf, I compiled all the photos I’ve taken so far into one of those photobooks you can make online, only this one also has one of the many versions of The Magical Tale of Snarf Snarf that I tell the girls at bedtime.

Clara is so happy about it, she nearly starts crying. She drops the book and comes right over to me, enveloping me in a tight hug that lasts for several seconds.

I glance over her shoulder at Aksel who is watching us closely. Something deep and real dances in his blue eyes. You make them happy, I remind myself, therefore you make him happy.

But before I can give Aksel his present, Anya hands me his present to me.

“It’s from Uncle Aksel,” Anya says, and I can’t help but smile at his name.

It’s in a large box, professionally wrapped in shiny gold paper.

I smile curiously and lift it up to shake it but Aksel leans forward in his chair and says, “It’s fragile. Very fragile.”

Fragile? I’m not exactly the type of person who should receive, like, a crystal duck or something.

I slowly, carefully unwrap it, every now and then looking around the room to pick up on any clues of what it could be. As far as I can tell, they’re all as intrigued and clueless as I am. But Aksel seems … nervous? He’s tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair and there is this glittering intensity in his eyes as he looks from the box to me and then around the room.

The paper covers a plain brown box, and I carefully lift up the top lid to see a bunch of bubble wrap covering something.

“Careful,” Aksel says.

“You don’t say?” I tease him considering how well protected this thing is.

It’s large too, hence the size of the box. I stick both my hands inside and gently pull it out. I still can’t tell what it is.

“Can I play with the bubble stuff after?” Clara asks hopefully as I pull loose the stick of tape and start slowly unraveling the wrap.

“Typical,” Maja says. “You give them all the toys in the world and they still want to play with the packaging it came in.”

Finally, it’s nearly unwrapped and I’m starting to figure out it’s some sort of pottery or dish.

And then … my heart stops.

This can’t be what I think it is.

“What is that?” Clara asks, reaching for the bubble wrap. “It looks boring.”

But it’s not boring. It might be the most magical, priceless thing I’ve ever held in my hands.

It’s a black vase or pot with handles, with a gold painting that stretches all around it depicting a few scenes. Greek scenes. It’s ancient as all hell, and as far as I can tell, absolutely real.

Aksel clears his throat and gestures to it. “It’s a red-figure bell krater,” he says. “Made from terracotta. I’m sure you know what it was used for.”

I nod slowly, having trouble finding the words. “It was a vase used in ancient Greece, to mix water and wine in.”

“Like an ancient punchbowl,” Stella remarks in awe. “Aksel, where did you get this? Please don’t tell me you bribed a museum. Indiana Jones would be very upset.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says dismissively. “It was obtained legally at auction.”

Auction. He bought it. I can’t imagine what it would cost. This vase is older than I can wrap my head around.

“It’s from 430 B.C.,” he says to me. “And the painting is supposed to depict Zeus, Apollo, Athena, and some other Greek gods that I can’t remember. It’s an origins story, so they said.”

“430 B.C.,” Maja says, whistling. “That’s 2,400 years old.”

“Whoa,” Clara says. “No wonder it looks like that.”

Actually, the vase is in remarkably great condition. I just … I don’t understand why he gave this to me. This is history. This is something bigger, more expensive, more important than anything in my life. It doesn’t even belong in my life. I grew up in a shack in the outback.

My hands are actually starting to tremble so I put the vase on the floor and glance up at him. “Aksel. Thank you but … I can’t keep this. This belongs in a museum.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t. It belongs to you.”

“It’s too much.”

“It’s yours. I went to the auction house specifically to get it for you. I know your love of history and ancient Greece.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“But you will.”

Meanwhile, everyone else’s eyes are volleying back and forth between us like they’re watching a tennis match.

“Aksel…”

“It’s yours,” he says emphatically. “Just tell me that you like it.”

My eyes widen. “Like it? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s … everything.”

He looks relieved, his brow smoothing, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Good. Then you’re keeping it. That’s an order.”

“But.”

“But nothing,” he says, waving his hand. “It’s a remarkable piece of history, but it’s a dime a dozen in the world of cultural artifacts. It belongs to Aurora James now and no one else. I know you’re the best person to keep it safe.”

“Yeah, you’re a goddess,” Clara says. “You get to keep it.”

I look at everyone with my chin up, trying to keep tears from rushing to my eyes. I breathe in deep through my nose, feeling it burn, then manage a smile. I can’t believe he did this for me.

Why would he have done this?

Of course, now my present to Aksel looks lame as fuck compared to a vase that was made before Jesus was around. I mean, he’s a bloody king, he has everything he could ever want or buy. So I made Maja dig through old photos and find the picture of him posing beside his wrecked Datsun rally car, the last rally car he ever drove. Then I superimposed “Why I Took Up Sailing” on top of it, had it blown up, printed out, and professionally framed. I figured he could hang it up in his office.

But even though it’s not an ancient heirloom, I at least made him laugh when he saw the photo. And honestly, making Aksel laugh, seeing his wide smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, is just as meaningful as the vase and just as rare.

After the presents are all done, we ignore the mess of discarded wrapping papers and play another tradition, which is to each light a candle and stick it on the tree in a special holder. This game should be called “Fire Hazard” but the point of the game is to stay up and see whose candle burns out last.

Maja is the first to call it quits, heading up to her room. Then the girls fall asleep, curled up with their new plush toys at the foot of the tree.

“I’ll take them up to bed,” I say, about to get to my feet and rouse them.

“You will not,” Aksel commands. “You’re off duty right now.”

“I’m going to go to bed anyway,” Stella says tiredly as she gets up. “You both stay. Just make sure the palace doesn’t burn down.”

She gets Anya and Clara up, who give us a bleary-eyed goodbye, then she scoops up a sleeping Freja into her arms as they leave the room.

All at once I’m aware that it’s Aksel and I, alone. Even the copious amounts of sweet cider and wine I’ve been drinking all night aren’t enough to temper the nerves that are beginning to dance inside me, like a live wire on the ground. I’m painfully aware that the last time I was alone with him was in this very room and things got weird.

“How did you enjoy your first Danish Christmas?” he asks idly. He’s sitting back in his chair, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingers. Half his face is lit by the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes, highlighting his high cheekbones and the hollows underneath. I’ve felt those cheekbones under my fingertips once.

“Better than Australian ones,” I tell him, giving him a quick smile.

“Ah yes. I’m sure eating shrimp on the barbie and going to the beach makes for a rotten Christmas.”

I roll my eyes at him. “No one says shrimp on the barbie.”

“I’ve heard you say a few odd things,” he muses. “Once you said that the square out front was choc a bloc when it was crowded. You called Clara a bludger, was it? When she wouldn’t get out of bed one morning? And another time you said I was wearing daks when I was going to the gym in my sweatpants. I had to Google everything to figure it out.”

“Welcome to my world,” I say with a laugh. “I’m still trying to figure out every second word spoken here. Lord knows what I’ve been agreeing to half the time.”

“Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully between sips of his drink. “Had I known that, I would have spoken Danish more. See what you’d agree to.”

Butterflies burn in my stomach from that comment. There’s something teasing and light about him right now. Dare I say it’s sexual innuendo.

I raise a brow at him. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Because Christmas can be depressing sometimes and, well, you’re never in a good mood.”

“You think so highly of me, even after that gift.”

I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to conjure up the right words. “You really shouldn’t have given that to me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t … I’m not deserving of it.”

His brows knit together and he leans forward in his chair to look at me closer. “Why would you ever believe that?”

I shrug. Because it’s true. I try not to dwell on it, but it’s true.

“Aurora,” he says, his voice so low and velvety that I feel it under my skin, “you deserve that vase and more. You have no idea what you’ve done for this family. No idea at all.”

Another shrug. “I do what any nanny would do.”

“Not even close. You don’t even do what some mothers would do. You are always going above and beyond for them. More than that, you let them be who they need to be without trying to contain them, without putting them in a box. They’ve never had that before, and it’s what I’ve always wanted for them. It’s what I never had growing up. You have such a big, beating heart and you love them and they feel that. You have no idea how invaluable that is. It’s worth more than a vase. It’s worth more than I can ever give you.”

I glance at him, lost in his eyes, in his words. He has no idea that he’s wrong. That there is more that he can give me.

His heart. He can give me his heart.

I’ve never wanted anything more.

But of course I can’t say that, so I don’t say anything. I press my lips together and keep all those secret wants and fears and desires locked in.

Bloody hell.

I think I’m in love with my boss.

A king.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“Are you alright?” he asks me.

I blink, trying to clear my head so I can deal with this realization, this blow, another time.

That I love him.

“I’m fine,” I say quietly, avoiding his probing eyes, ignoring the concern in his rich voice. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

I get to my feet just as he gets to his feet and reaches out, grabbing my arm.

“I haven’t dismissed you,” he says, and though I know he’s joking, his eyes are dead serious. Maybe they’re more than serious. They’re wild again, searching my face with quiet desperation.

I err on the side of caution and take the playful route, very aware that he’s still grasping my arm, standing close. His cheeks are a little flushed, from the fire and the brandy. This could all go a million ways but it most likely won’t go the way I want it.

“Permission to be dismissed,” I say with a small smile. “Your Majesty.”

His grip on my arm tightens. “Permission denied.”

“Then you better start paying me overtime,” I say, and he takes a step toward me, until there’s barely any space between my chest and his. The energy radiating from him is overwhelming, enveloping me like a black hole until I’m sure there’s no escape.

He gazes down at me, lost in thought. His lower jaw is tense, as if he’s holding something back. He’s so restrained. What would he be like if he let loose? What would he say?

What does he want from me right now?

Is it possible that he wants the same thing that I do?

I want to stop hiding how I feel. I want it all to be allowed, to be okay.

I want him with a need so deep that I feel ravenous to the bottom of my core.

Just as I’m thinking he might kiss me, just as I’m thinking I might do something stupid like kiss him, or worse, blurt out that I love him, he takes his other hand and ever so gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes absently gliding over my face as he does so.

“Merry Christmas, Aurora,” he says softly, his fingers running down my neck, my shoulder, my arm. “Goddess.”

My heart flips.

Goddess.

I manage to swallow, even though my throat and mouth have dried up and every inch of my body feels like it’s coming alive.

“Merry Christmas, Aksel.” I pause. “King.”

His touch falls away from my skin, and I’m free to go.

But even as I turn and walk away from him, I’m not free at all.

My heart belongs to him now.

Even if he doesn’t know it.

CHAPTER 13

AKSEL

JANUARY

“That was one hell of a present, Aksel,” Stella says to me as she sips her coffee.

Considering it’s been a week since Christmas, it takes me a moment to figure out what she’s alluding to.

But it’s Aurora. Of course, it’s Aurora. I knew the moment I bought that vase for her that everyone else would be giving me side-eye, making assumptions on why I would buy a 300,000 euro vase from a Christie’s auction and give it to a nanny. In some ways I wish I could have given it to her in private, but at the same time, I want everyone to know what she means to the family, what she means to me.

In a strictly professional way, of course.

“She deserves it,” I say simply, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

“I know she does,” she says. “I’m just saying, that cost you a fortune.”

I shrug with one shoulder. “We have the money. I had the means to get it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” I look at her mildly. “Hmm?”

“The point is … well, you better hang on to her for as long as you can.”

Her comment shouldn’t fill me with dread but it does.

In one way, I can’t imagine not having Aurora around. She’s part of this family now, beyond just being the help. Whether she knows it or not, she’s the thread that holds this palace together.

In another way, I can’t imagine how I’ll even fucking handle the future.

The truth is, I can’t. I’ve been barely hanging on this last month.

She’s started to become a full-blown obsession, one that I can’t shake, one that I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.

And I do try. I avoid her when I can, put up my walls again and again, keep my distance. I do everything I can to keep her in her place as the nanny. She isn’t supposed to be anything more than that, and I certainly am not supposed to think of her more than that.

But Aurora is a force of nature. She’s sunshine and fresh air and the northern lights. She’s a goddess, through and through with playful eyes and a smile that will knock you flat on your back. She came into our lives like the first rays of the morning and she won’t be shuttered out or dimmed.

Even when I do my best to ignore her, she has this way of pulling me back into her orbit, wrapped up in her very being.

I always thought I was stronger than most people because I had lost so much. I thought that my upbringing, being groomed for the throne, would have made me hard and impenetrable. And it did. I prided myself for being the sort of man that nothing would get to. Even when Helena managed to penetrate my defenses, I was quick to put them up again. Stronger. Better.

But the truth is, Aurora, this living goddess in my home, is making me weak, and for the first time ever, I have something to lose.

Her.

I can’t lose her.

And I can’t keep her.

I don’t know what to do.

“Aksel,” Stella says gently, putting her hand over mine. “You know it’s okay for you to move on.”

I eye her sharply. “What do you mean?”

She levels me with a disbelieving look over her coffee. “Come on. You know what I’m talking about. It’s been two years since Helena and…”

I shake my head. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

“I’m your sister.”

“I know you are. But there’s nothing to even say.”

She frowns, and in that moment looks so much like my mother that I feel yet another pang of guilt for not going to see her recently. “I have a hard time believing that. Look, I know what you and Helena had in the public eye was not what you had in private.”

My heart lurches. Our loveless marriage was something I’ve strived to cover up, no matter the cost.

You’re so good at covering things up, I tell myself.

I’ve been silent for a few seconds so I finally manage to say, “What makes you say that?”

“You think I don’t know what a loveless marriage looks like?” she says. “Come on, Aksel. My divorce was just finalized. I know that Egil was only interested in my money and status, just as I know Helena was only interested in yours. She wanted that throne and she got it.”

I have trouble swallowing, my heart wrapped in layers and layers of hardened guilt. “She did a lot of good.”

“I know. Everyone knows. You can still do a lot of good for the world and generally be a good person all while doing the wrong things. People aren’t just black and white. We’re not even grey. We’re all the colors, mixed into one muddy mess. Maybe Helena just wanted to be a queen so she could make a difference in the world with her charities. That’s a noble cause but it doesn’t erase the fact that she was cheating on you.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. “How did you know that?” My words come out ragged.

Her eyes grow soft. “Because I saw her and Nicklas once when they thought I wasn’t there. If they were that sloppy around me, they’d be that way around you. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t assume you already knew.”

She’s right. They were sloppy. It’s like Helena wanted me to know, knowing full well that I’d never divorce her. The thing is, she was right. I wouldn’t have divorced her—that’s not why I confronted them in Madeira. I just wanted the charade to be over. I needed to say my piece.

And I said it. It was the last thing Helena heard.

“Why on earth did you keep Nicklas working for you?” she whispers. We’re in the dining room. Everyone else is outside taking part in a snowball fight that Aurora orchestrated.

“It’s complicated,” I tell her.

“It wasn’t your fault that Helena died.”

I give her a wry smile. “As much as I love it when you visit, I don’t like talk of death with my morning coffee.”

“Fine.” She sighs, annoyed with how obtuse I’m being. “Shut me out. I’m used to it. But don’t do the same with her.”

“Her?”

“Aurora.”

“My nanny?”

“Yes. The nanny you bought a priceless heirloom for. Stop pretending she’s just your nanny. I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before.”

I get up abruptly, the scrape of my chair echoing in the room. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there, Stella. You’ve always done that, since you were little. Your imagination gets the best of you. She’s just a nanny. End of story.”

“She isn’t,” she says, staring up at me, pressing her fingers into the table. “And if you don’t figure out your shit, you’re going to lose her one way or another.”

The thought of that, hearing those words, is another punch to the gut, this one more subtle, like the cool slip of a sharpened knife right into the spine. “There’s nothing there,” I tell her gruffly. “We have a professional relationship, that’s it, and we both know she’s only here for a year contract.”

“You should tell her,” she says, and it’s like she doesn’t even hear me. “She might just feel the same way.”

I don’t let her words in. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Even if she thinks she sees something between us, she of all people should know that I can never ever act on it. Helena was a saint, loved around the world. For me to start up with my children’s nanny would be a scandal neither I or this family would ever live down. I could never do that to them. I could never let what I feel for her become anything at all.

I can’t even say anything to Stella. All my protests fall on deaf ears. I just turn and head into the kitchen.

“I’m just looking out for you, Brother,” I hear her call softly after me. “You deserve to be happy.”

But she should know how much that’s not true.

I can’t stop thinking about what Stella said. Specifically, the “she might just feel the same way.”

But I certainly can’t take her advice and just tell Aurora.

First of all, I’m not even sure what I’d say because I don’t know what I feel, just that I feel it. Second of all, I’m her boss. Aurora trusts me. When I first hired her, I’d spoken to her contact at the placement agency in Paris and asked her why Aurora had left her previous jobs. Apparently at her last one, the father was a complete bastard. Sleazy, inappropriate, manipulative. The last thing I would ever want is for Aurora to think that about me, and if I do as Stella suggests, that’s exactly what she’s going to think.

No, I can’t break Aurora’s trust. I can’t act on whatever impulses I have, no matter how feverish they are. I wouldn’t ever put her in a position where she might give in to me out of duty.

But the thought alone makes me hard. The idea of her giving in to me.

That I could finally do all the dirty, wild things I’ve been dreaming of doing to her.

That I could finally unleash everything I’ve tried so hard to bury.

Then there’s the fact that she’d actually never do anything out of duty. There would be no “giving in” to me. If she didn’t want me, she’d be the first to vocalize it with no fear. That woman has a backbone made of steel.

“Sir,” Nicklas calls to me from the doorway to my office.

I look up from my paperwork, the endless paperwork of being a king. I really had no idea when I was younger that this would make up the bulk of my days. The reality of a monarchy can be tedious at times.

“I placed a call at the hospital for you,” he says. “They said she’s having a good day if you wanted to visit.”

The other day when I was talking to Stella I was reminded that I hadn’t seen my mother in a while. I had wanted to go while Stella was still here on holiday, so that we could do it together, but she and Anya have already returned back to England.

“Thank you, Nicklas,” I tell him. At least he makes the hard calls for me, but it’s not like he could go in my place. Not that I’d want someone like him to deal with my mother.

He nods, emotionless as ever, and I call to him before he leaves. “Do you know where Aurora is?”

“I believe she’s with the girls in the backyard. Playing in the snow and that sort of thing.” He says thing like it’s something distasteful.

“And is Maja here?”

“She’s with them as well.” Poor Maja. One of the reasons why we even got a nanny was so she didn’t have to be with them all the time, but she and Aurora get along so well, it’s like she’s an honorary nanny, just as the girls call Aurora an honorary goddess.

To me, of course, she’s a full-fledged goddess.

I get out of my chair and walk around the desk. “Thank you. Make sure there’s a car that can take us in a half hour. Find Johan.”

“A car for you and Maja,” he says, following me as I stride out into the hall.

“For me and Aurora.”

“Her? Why?”

The tone of his voice makes me stop in my tracks. It’s almost accusatory.

“Maja was just with her sister the other day,” I explain carefully as I look over at him. And it’s true. While I don’t see my mother that often, Maja visits her once a week.

He gives me an odd look. “It’s rather strange to bring your nanny, don’t you think? You’re bringing the girls, too?”

“It’s not really any of your business what I do, is it?” I tell him, unable to hide the sneer in my voice.

“It kind of is, sir,” he says. “It’s my job. It’s why you employ me. Isn’t it?”

We both well know why he’s employed here. It’s because I have no choice.

“Aurora has a way with people,” I tell him, and that’s all I’ll say. “Maja can look after the girls here.” I start off down the hall again.

“I saw what you gave her for Christmas,” he says.

Once again, I stop. Slowly turn around to face him. “Excuse me?”

“The vase that’s worth over a quarter of a million euros,” he says. “I was wondering why you didn’t have me procure it for you.”

Because I didn’t want him to even touch anything that Aurora might have in her possession.

“How did you see it?” I slowly walk toward him. Nicklas was away at Christmas, and the next morning Aurora had stashed it safely in her room.

“It was in her room,” he says simply.

My breath halts. “And why were you in her room?”

He smirks. “I just was.”

I explode. In a flash I’m at his throat, shoving him back into the wall, hard enough to shake the paintings. “Why the fuck were you in her room?” I growl, my forearm pressed against his windpipe.

He gives me no reaction, even as I’m cutting off his air. In fact, I think he might like this. Like the fact that I’m losing my temper over her.

And just like that, I realize that I’ve betrayed myself. He tricked me into reacting, and for a moment everything I tried so hard to restrain came loose.

I immediately step back and away from him, and he drops to the floor, bent over, holding his throat.

“You know that’s her room and it’s private,” I snap at him. “You have no right to be in there just as she has no right to do the same to you.” For fuck’s sake. Why was he in there? The one time I went in there and Aurora knew, she was hurt and disgusted at the invasion of privacy. Now I’m disgusted on her behalf, especially as I know what a snake Nicklas is.

“Lesson learned,” he says, coughing as he straightens up. “I was merely looking for her, that’s all. Her door was open. I spotted it.” His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “I think you may have overreacted there.”

I don’t say anything to that. There’s nothing else to say. It takes everything I have not to spit in his face. Some days I can go on pretending that Nicklas is someone else. Other days it’s a stark reminder of what happened.

It’s torture, is what it is.

And he wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I deserved it.

The irony is, if he wasn’t here, well, things would be a whole lot worse.

I can’t fire him and he knows it.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” I tell him, walking away. “Stay away from all of my staff.”

I go down the stairs, leaving him on the upper floor. My head is pounding with rage, my heart racing in sharp thumps against my chest. I’m in a rotten, foul mood now, which is probably not the best time to pay my ailing mother a visit, but I can’t stay here either.

I slip on my winter coat and head into the backyard where the girls are making snowmen with Maja and Aurora. There’s even a little snow pig, which normally would warm my heart but now there’s nothing but shards of glass inside it.

“Hej Papa!” Clara says, waving at me beside the snow pig. “Come see our Sner Sner!”

I nod. “Very nice.”

“You could also say, very ice,” Freja speaks up, proud of herself for that pun.

I glance at Aurora, her nose and cheeks pink from the cold, contrasting with her pale skin. She looks like a snow goddess. “Aurora, come with me.” I look to Maja. “Can you watch the girls for a few hours?”

“Of course,” Maja says, looking at me oddly.

Aurora looks to Maja in surprise who merely shrugs and gives her the nod to follow me.

We head toward the side gate that leads to the parking area.

“What’s going on?” she asks, following me through the gate.

“We’re getting out of here.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll see.” I wave at Johan who pulls the car over to us.

“Do I need anything?” She looks down at her puffy coat. “I don’t have my phone or purse.”

“You have me, you don’t need anything else.”

I motion for Johan to stay in the car, then I open the back door for her, gesturing for her to get in.

I can tell she’s confused by this all, but honestly, so am I.

“Where to, sir?” Johan asks.

“I don’t know. Just drive somewhere. Outside of the city.”

Johan nods, frowning at me in the rearview mirror. “Should I get a guard for you?”

I shake my head. “We won’t go where there’s people. Just drive.”

I sit back in my seat and I don’t let out a sigh of relief until we’re pulling out of the palace.

Meanwhile, Aurora is staring at me, worried. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Don’t ask any more questions.”

“So you’re being mysterious and rude,” she says dryly. “Classic Aksel.”

I glance at her. She’s staring out the window watching the snow-covered streets pass us by. It’s the day after New Year’s Day and everyone is back at work. The streets are busy. There should be something comforting about that but all it does is add to my stress, knowing that all these people look to me as their king. No one should look to me for anything.

And yet, that’s what I want, what I need, from her.

To look to me for everything.

Johan’s seen my moods before, when I’ve had enough and I snap, so it’s not surprising that he ends up taking us to Marielyst, a wide expanse of beach an hour and a half south of the city.

“Are we here?” Aurora yawns. “Wherever we are?”

She was asleep for most of the drive, and I didn’t dare wake her. At one point her head fell onto my shoulder and I was able to breathe in deep, the sweet smell of her shampoo.

“I hope this is okay,” Johan says as he twists around in his seat to look at us. “This is Marielyst. It’s a beach. Very popular in the summer. Deserted now.”

“Probably because it’s minus a million degrees and snowing,” Aurora says, peering out the window at the light flakes that are falling from a grey sky. She looks at me. “I’m not one to ask questions.” I cock my brow at that. “But why are we here?”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” I tell her.

I get out of the car and take her hand, helping her out beside me. There’s a chilled breeze but it’s not as cold as I thought it would be. Maybe just below zero. More than that, it’s fresh. It’s freeing.

I want to keep holding her hand but she lets go to start slipping her gloves back on. So instead I just nod past the empty parking lot and toward the sea. “It’s just over there.”

The beach is white and beautiful in its cold desolation. In the summer it would be, as Aurora sometimes says, choc a bloc, but now it’s empty. It’s just us and the dark grey waves that pound the shore. Snow covers the beach in places, blending in with the white sand while tufts of grass stick out from the dunes. Above us, seagulls wheel and dive in the falling flakes.

“It’s cold,” she says, rubbing her arms.

“Do you want my coat?” I ask her, ready to take mine off.

Her brows go to the heavens. “No. Keep it.”

“Don’t like gentlemen, do you?”

“Phhffft. I don’t like it when a bloody king catches hypothermia on account of me having Australian blood. Everything is cold.” Her expression turns sheepish. “Besides, you nearly caught hypothermia once because of me. I think that’s enough.” She clears her throat and kicks a patch of snow at her boot. “So, why are we here?”

I shrug and stick my hands in my coat pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Because in the winter, I can just come here with my thoughts, my grievances, and deal with it in private. You’re right about that palace. Even when you’re alone, it’s like you’re not alone.” I close my eyes and take in a deep breath through my nose, the smell of salt and the sea and the snow like a tonic. “Here, my head can clear. I feel free.”

I open my eyes and stare at her. She’s looking off into the distance at the faint shape of land beyond the sea. “What’s that?”

“Germany,” I tell her and then point to our far left. “And on a clear day you can see Sweden in that direction.” I lick my lips, tasting salt. “You were asleep in the car for almost the whole drive.”

She smiles shyly. “Sorry.” She gestures quickly to me. “I woke up and my head was on your shoulder. I hope I didn’t drool.”

I smile. “I didn’t mind.”

“Did I drool?” Now she looks mildly horrified.

I laugh. “No. But I didn’t mind your head on my shoulder.”

Our eyes lock and that tension and heat I’m always trying to ignore crackles between us.

She’s going to ruin me, I’m sure.

For once I might not mind.

“Anyway,” I say quickly, “it did make me realize that you haven’t had any time off since you’ve started work here. Not even for Christmas.”

She shrugs, raising her hands. “Where would I go? I have no family.”

“You could go anywhere. Somewhere warm and sunny. I don’t mind paying for it.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Never.”

“Yeah right. I’ll come back and I’ll have no job.”

“You’ve been working hard, Aurora. You need this break. I think it would be good for you.”

And maybe it does sound like I’m trying to get rid of her. I don’t want her to go, though I know Maja wouldn’t mind watching the girls. I just want to be a good boss, because in the end, that’s all I might be to her.

No, that ever-present voice pops up in my head. That’s all you can be.

I swear she looks a little hurt but she nods. “Okay. I’ll think about it.” She glances around her, at the beach. “As pretty as it is here, I’ve got a chill. Do you mind if we go back to the car?”

“Not at all.”

We head back to the car, and with Johan having the heat on full blast, it feels delightful.

“One more stop on the way home,” I tell Johan as we pull back onto the motorway. “To see my mother.”

“Your mother?” Aurora asks. “The Queen?”

“Dowager Queen,” I correct her. “And yes. I haven’t been for a long time and … this is hard for me to admit but, I don’t want to go alone.”

“Oh,” she says softly. “I totally get it. I’d be happy to go with you. Moral support, right?”

Something like that.

But when we go to see her, the nurses almost don’t let me in. Visiting hours are over and she’s fast asleep. Of course they let me in because I’m the king, but they still tell us we shouldn’t stay long.

“What happened to her?” Aurora asks quietly. We’re standing side by side at the end of her bed. My mother has her own private ward at a hospital for the elderly but most of the time she doesn’t know where or who she is. Despite the way it’s decorated with rugs and woolen quilts and fresh flowers Maja brings in once a week, it’s a sad sickly place that only reminds me of my guilt, that I’m not here when I should be.

“She had a stroke, soon after my father died,” I tell her. “She hasn’t been the same since. She’s got dementia, fairly severe, but that didn’t come until later.”

“She must have loved your father very much,” she comments wistfully. “A stroke brought on by grief and loss.”

I glance at her. Aurora’s eyes are kind and beautiful and full of romantic notions about love. I don’t want to dismiss any of that, even though I know my parents didn’t love each other.

“I don’t think she knew how to be a queen without a king,” I explain.

“That sounds like love to me.”

I let out a dry huff of air, staring at her in awe. “How is it that you are the way you are?”

She fixes her big eyes on me and the rest of the air leaves my lungs. I’m breathless.

“What way am I?”

“You’re good,” I say, and the words come out rough and low. She’s unwaveringly good. And beautiful. And sexy and magnetic and enchanting and rare. So rare.

She winces and then shakes her head. “No. I’m not good. I’m just me. I’m just trying to be a better person every day, better than the person I was yesterday.”

“Your childhood was horrible, Aurora. The fact that you’re even trying to be better says a lot. Look at me. My parents were cold. Harsh. They didn’t love me, and if they did, they didn’t act like it. Ever. And I’ve taken that and I’ve worn it like a crown, the very crown they gave me to wear. I’ve let that experience mold me to every dark and desolate corner that I have. I barely see my own mother here, not because she doesn’t remember who I am, but on the off-chance that she does.”

My eloquence escapes me. I should have shut up a long time ago but the words kept coming and coming and now I’ve said too much. I don’t think I’ve even admitted any of that to myself.

I think Aurora knows it too, because her forehead is creased as she stares at me, speechless.

“Why did you tell me all of that?” she whispers after a beat.

I grab her hand and squeeze it, and I feel like I’m holding the universe. “Because I trust you more than I trust anyone.”

Because I need to know who I am to you.

Because I need to know how you feel.

But in the end, I’m a coward. And though I feel like I’ve said too much, I won’t say another word more. I feel like I’ve been flayed open for her to see, those very dark and desolate parts I mentioned in plain view. But to take that extra step is a line I don’t dare cross. Not yet. Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

I’ll slowly torture myself instead.

I start by letting go of her hand and heading toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go back home.”

She hesitates behind me, as if there was more to say.

Then she follows.

CHAPTER 14

AURORA

FEBRUARY

“Alors, tell me how the trip was,” Amelie says over the phone.

She’s one of those people who insist on actually talking over the phone instead of emails and text. I think it’s because she likes to read people and dig deeper.

I lean back against the bed and sigh, pulling the covers up to my chin to protect me from the chilled evening breeze. It turns out February in Copenhagen is the coldest month of all.

“Well, it would have been fine if I hadn’t gone by myself to Las Palmas on Valentine’s Day,” I tell her. “The whole hotel was filled with couples. Sex sounds everywhere. It was awful.”

“Ah, of course. But it was probably nice to have time off, no? You work so hard. Plus, the weather had to be warmer than in Denmark.”

“The weather was nice and I did get to read a couple of books,” I admit.

But the truth is, I didn’t even want to go. I did need a break so when Aksel suggested I go somewhere, I didn’t argue too much with him, even though I was hurt he even suggested it. I know I shouldn’t have been hurt, but I was. I can’t help how I feel anymore, just like I can’t stop my own heart from beating.

I was lonely. The entire week I was gone, I wasn’t resting, I was just lonely. I missed the girls like they were my own. I missed Maja’s stoic disposition. I missed getting rides from Henrik and coffee from Karla. I even missed walking through snow and sliding on my ass as I navigated the streets of Copenhagen.

Most of all, I missed Aksel. I missed him with some force and energy I’ve never felt before. It was a scooped out hollow feeling right in the middle of me. I ached for him, every second of the day, like I was nursing a wound that just wouldn’t heal.

It’s honestly made me so angry at myself. For getting carried away, for letting my feelings build and build, without anything solid to stand on. Now they’re off and running and I have no choice but to go along for the ride.

I’m crazy. It’s crazy. I’m the nanny, he’s the King, and even though I tell myself this over and over again like a broken record, it does nothing to stop it. I throw words and logic at my heart and it deflects them every time.

I love him and it’s killing me that I can’t have him.

It’s killing me that he sent me away, even if it was out of the goodness of his heart.

It’s killing me that I swear he wants me too, but neither of us are brave enough to act upon it.

Because that’s what it would take. Love requires bravery and I don’t have any sort of back-up plan, no way to protect myself from the blows. If anything were to happen between us, I would be his immediately and there would be no coming back from it. If it ended badly, I’d be out of a job and then I’d really know what it’s like to have a family and lose them.

There’s just no happily ever after in this situation. I’m the help. I’m nothing. He’s a handsome king who was married to a gorgeous queen whom everyone in the world loved. They had two amazing daughters together, daughters I help take care of … as the nanny.

There’s no way in the world any of this could ever work, even if he felt the same way, even if the stars aligned.

It’s fucking doomed.

“Aurora,” Amelie says. “Are you alright?”

I exhale noisily through my nose, wishing the sharp, acute pain in my chest would dissipate but it hasn’t since I got back. “I’m … fine.”

“You aren’t though. See, that’s why I call. Because then I know. Alors, tell me what’s wrong. He is back to being King Asshole, oui?”

“No, not at all,” I admit. Because Aksel has been anything but. He’s become my friend but he’s also become more than a friend. I know he sees me as something more, but I don’t know if it will ever evolve, if he’ll ever let it.

Hell, maybe all I’m picking up on is the fact that he wants to fuck me. I know that much at this point. I see him staring at me, I feel his eyes on my lips, my breasts, my legs. I know there’s something hot and raw burning in his gaze, no matter how hard he tries to slip that mask back on. I know I see it growing each day, the way he touches me, more and more, like he just can’t help it.

“Then the girls, they are good? And the woman, Maja?” Amelie goes on and I hear her puffing on her cigarette.

“Everything is fine. Really. I’m just … lonely. That trip was a slap in the face.”

“Aw. I understand now. You need a boyfriend.”

“I need to get laid at the very least.”

“So go outside and find someone.”

I let out a dry laugh. “I can’t just go outside. And it’s not like there’s a bunch of hot Danish men stacked out there like firewood, to use when needed.”

“Listen,” she says through a huff of smoke. “I’m coming to see you. End of March. Tell your handsome boss. We’re going to get you laid.”

“I don’t think I should tell my handsome boss that.”

“Tell him I’m coming to visit, d’accord?”

“We’ll see. I better go to bed,” I tell her. I’m half-asleep as it is. Traveling all day yesterday took it out of me.

“Fine. But you better call me soon.” She hangs up.

I throw my phone across the bed and curl up on my side. Funny how heartache and yearning makes your body go into the fetal position, like you’re in pain and trying to get through it.

And yet that’s what this is.

I want him.

I can’t have him.

I am in pain.

And I don’t know how I’ll ever get through it.

At least the girls are happy I’m back from my trip. They’ve been clinging to me all day long, afraid to let me out of their sight. Even Maja is glad, though probably more relieved than anything. She looks a bit worn out and I don’t blame her.

Aksel has gone back into his default mode, which is to be distant. He was warm and welcoming when he first saw me yesterday, but there was still this wariness to him, like he had to watch how he acted and what he said. Then he disappeared and I still haven’t seen him.

Perhaps the week away did more harm than good.

Or maybe he realized that we’d become too close for comfort and that he needs to drive a wedge between us.

If that’s true, it’s probably better this way. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Here you are,” Karla says to me as she shuffles into the room, handing me a glass of wine.

I’m sitting in a chair in front of the roaring fire. It’s just after dinner and Aksel had gone out somewhere for dinner this evening, so I decided to take a few moments to rest and gather my thoughts, even if my thoughts are of the brooding and depressing kind.

“What’s this for?” I ask her.

She gives me a kind smile. “You seem a little blue,” she says. “This will help.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, grateful that she noticed, if not just a little embarrassed. “Do you know when Aksel will be back from his dinner?”

“He came back about twenty minutes ago,” she tells me before going back to the kitchen.

For some reason I thought if he came back he’d come right here, to have his brandy by the fire. I am in his usual chair after all.

Maybe he saw you and decided to avoid you, I think.

I’m probably fucking right.

I sigh heavily and take a big gulp of wine, hoping that it will cure my blues a little, though at this point I think only one thing is going to cure me.

I’m almost done with the glass when Maja’s head pops in the doorway. “I’m taking the girls to see the pig. They want to say goodnight,” she says. She never calls Snarf Snarf by name, it’s always “the pig.” “Oh and Aksel would like a word with you. He’s in his office.”

“Okay,” I say, my voice faltering as she walks off down the hall with the girls. I finish the rest of the wine in one swallow and take in a deep breath. Why do I have a feeling this isn’t going to be good? That’s the problem with distance, with going away. What if everything our relationship has evolved into has been razed to the ground?

I get up and slowly make my way up the stairs to the second floor. It’s quiet and empty and cold.

I’ve been in Aksel’s office a few times for one reason or another so there’s nothing out of the ordinary about this. It’s just everything else that’s putting me on edge.

I knock on his door, my hand shaking slightly.

It’s fine. It’s just Aksel. Nothing to worry about. Probably wants to go over tomorrow or something.

“Come in,” he says. Even though the door is muffling him, he sounds rather gruff.

Mr. Fucking Moody. Can’t he just be consistent for once?

I open the door and step inside.

He’s at his desk, staring down at some papers and still in the fancy black suit I saw him leave for dinner in, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. Even though I’m the one who came back from a week in the sun and I’m still pale, his skin somehow stays this eternally bronze color.

“Shut the door, please,” he says, not looking up.

Gulp.

I shut the door quietly and stand in front of his desk, gnawing on my lip. There’s a strange energy in the air. It reminds me of the days in the desert when the storms would come after months of no rain. The air was electric and charged and promising change.

But what kind of change?

I swallow thickly, waiting for him to say something. I spot the Christmas gift I gave him hanging up on the wall and decide to comment on it. “I’m glad it found a home.”

“Hmm?” he asks, finally glancing up at me. That same electricity in the air is swirling in his eyes.

I gesture feebly to the photo. “Your gift.”

He glances at it over his shoulder but he doesn’t smile. It’s like he’s not the same person who opened it on Christmas Eve and laughed heartily, that beautiful rare grin of his cracking his face with joy.

I wish we could go back to that night.

He called me a goddess.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he said it all the same and my ego will never let me forget it.

“Listen,” he says, his eyes moving back to mine. “I need to talk to you.”

Oh god. Okay, Aurora, calm down. He can’t break up with you. You’re not going out!

“Okay. What about?” I try to keep my voice light, a smile plastered on my face.

His eyes rake over my features, as if he’s searching for something. Some truth. Something inside me I haven’t found yet.

“How would you say you’ve enjoyed working for me?”

Oh my god.

“Working for you?”

“Yes,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Have you enjoyed your job as the nanny of this household?”

What’s going on? Why is he speaking to me so formally?

“Of course I have,” I say in disbelief. “Why on earth do you ask?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth in thought. “Where do you expect to be when your year is up?”

Oh no. Are we really talking about this already? My heart is starting to pick up the pace and the light in the room seems too harsh, dizzying.

“I … I don’t know. I hoped I would stay here.”

“You want an extension to your contract?” he asks this so matter-of-factly like he couldn’t care either way and, bloody hell, this actually hurts.

“If I could.”

“Don’t you think you might be better suited elsewhere? After all, that’s kind of your style. You stay for a year or two at the most, when the children are a certain age, and as they grow, you leave.”

I start coughing, my words literally catching in my throat. “What? No. No, I was with the last family for two years.”

“The children were younger.”

“So?” I walk toward him and lean against the desk to look him dead in the eye. “What’s going on? Are we extending my contract right now? It’s February.”

“Better to make plans in advance, isn’t it?” he says, and matches my gaze. That same energy is churning in those glacial blues and for the life of me I can’t understand what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. It sounds like … it sounds like he’s trying to soften a blow. Give me an easy way out.

My breath starts getting shorter, more shallow. I’m trying not to go into panic mode but it’s not working.

Fuck. He’s not trying to fire me, is he?

“What are you doing? You’re trying to get rid of me?” I shake my head, feeling anger and sorrow and horrible, horrible grief take hold of me. “That’s why you sent me away. You made other plans.”

He raises one brow at me, his mouth open, jaw tense. He sits back in his chair, continuing his quiet appraisal.

“Oh my god,” I cry out softly. “I am fired, aren’t I? You’re letting me go. You’ve found someone else.”

He cocks his head, squinting at me. “Does that bother you?”

My mouth drops open. “Bother me? What the hell is wrong with you?” He doesn’t say anything to that, just shuts his mouth into a thin line and swallows. “This is my job. I don’t … I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. That you’re firing me.”

The room begins to spin and I stand up straight, putting my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. Why is he doing this to me?

“Give me a reason why you want to stay,” he says softly.

I drop my hands and stare at him in open shock. “A reason? I’ll give you a million fucking reasons.”

He gets out of his chair and comes around his desk. “Tell me what they are.” He leans back against the desk, his intent gaze still searching.

I blink at him, my heart so loud in my ears that I can’t even think. I just let the words spill out in a frantic river. “Reasons? Reasons? The girls. Clara, Freja. I can’t leave them. I don’t want to leave them. They’re everything to me.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all?” I repeat. “They’re your daughters and I’m their nanny. That should be more than enough. You know, I hated being away from them this last week. I missed them with all that I am. I didn’t even want to go, I just thought you were trying to get rid of me.” Tears tease my eyes and I shake my head, choked with disbelief. “Huh. I guess you were.”

His nostrils flare and his fingers tighten along the edges of the desk. “Is that it?”

What am I even hearing?

“I don’t understand.”

“You said reasons. You only named one.” He frowns, licking his lips. “What about me?”

“You?” I cry out softly.

“Am I one of your reasons for staying?”

I’m speechless, which is a good thing because I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I take in a hollow, shaking breath. “I have a great respect for you, sir.”

His mouth twitches into a sour smile. “Sir. You just called me sir. You haven’t called me that in a very long time. In your next job, I hope you remember your manners.”

Ow. Ow. The blows are harder and lower than I thought possible. This fills my lungs with pain.

I’m drowning with each breath.

I can barely speak. “Why are you doing this? Why would you try and get rid of me after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Done for me?” he asks quickly.

“Done for you. Done for the girls.”

“And you’ve done it all because you want to. Why?”

I’m ready to tear my fucking hair out. “Because I care about you! I care about them!”

I love them.

I love you.

Is that what he wants me to say?

Why?

Why?

“And?” he prods, eyes full of fire.

“I know I make you happy, even if you’ll never admit it.” I practically spit the words out, having kept them inside for far too long. “And I’ve never made anyone happy in my entire life. So, yeah. Maybe add that to one of my various reasons, if you have to know.”

“How do you know that you make me happy?”

Oh, seriously?

“What?”

“Tell me,” he says, pushing off the desk and standing right in front of me, gazing down from his height. “How do you know you make me happy?” His words are quieter now, rough and low and they make my stomach flip and my heart ache.

Hell. What do I have to lose at this point?

“Because,” I say, and my voice automatically drops to match his, my eyes focused on his chest, the slice of skin at his shirt collar. The electric storm in the room has moved between us, slowly intensifying with each breath, each heartbeat. Can he even feel it?

“Because what?” he murmurs, and his hand goes to my neck, pushing my hair back over my shoulder, and every pulse and cell in my body freezes from shock.

I blink, absolutely terrified at the power his touch has over me. The fact that my knees want to give way until I’m a puddle on the floor.

All because his fingertips are trailing gently along my neck, up my hair and back.

“Because what?” he says again. “Look at me.”

I obey. I raise my eyes from his shirt to the deep hollow of his neck, to his Adam’s apple, to that sharp jawline, ever so tense. Then his eyes. His eyes are telling me everything I’ve always wanted to hear.

“You do make me happy,” he whispers, and my heart explodes. His voice is ragged, his fingers pressing into my neck just a little more, hot and burning like stars shooting down my spine. “How do I make you feel?”

I should tell him. If he’s firing me, then nothing binds me to him anymore. I can say what I want without consequences.

But love requires that bravery I still don’t have.

His fingers disappear into my hair, making my eyes close, my breath fall from my mouth.

He leans in close, so close, his chest against mine, his forehead rests against my forehead, tip of his nose against my nose. As intimate as lovers, as intimate as we’ve ever been.

“How do I make you feel?” he says again, breathy and slow, his words making me ache. “Show me.”

Everything I’ve ever wanted is within an inch of my lips. All that I’ve dreamed about, all that I’ve rallied against. One inch that would change my life forever.

That one inch between his mouth and mine might as well be a million miles long.

And I am far too afraid to take that step and cross it.

He has all the cards here, all the power.

I won’t do it.

I glance up at him through my lashes. “Make me show you,” I whisper, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him into me. His erection presses into my hip, making me clench with want and need because of how he wants and needs me.

“I can do that,” he says gruffly.

His other hand goes to my cheek, grabbing my face, hot, wide palm against my already feverish skin.

His lips close the gap, crashing into mine.

It takes a moment for it all to sink in.

I’ve never craved something so badly only to get it in the end.

I almost don’t know what to do with it.

But that disappears a second later.

I know exactly what to do.

His lips are warm and soft, his kiss is hard.

It’s driven by pure lust and need.

By months and months of wanting and never getting.

And now I’m giving.

I make fists into his jacket as my body gives way to his, my mouth surrendering to his, his tongue rolling against mine in a feverish, driving pace.

I groan into his mouth, the taste of brandy on his lips, heat crashing over me and shooting between my thighs. My fists tighten as his grip grows harder, holding me in place as his kiss demands more and more of me, and right here, in his office, I give him more and more.

We’re both done fighting it.

We’re both finally surrendering to each other.

He makes a light fist in my hair and gives my strands a tug, making me whimper. I can’t get him closer.

With lips locked and tongues tangled, we move backward across his office until my back crashes against the wall and he presses into me, his dick so hard that I’m practically squirming.

“Oh god,” I cry out hoarsely, my hand going to the back of his head, feeling his silken hair as his mouth goes to my neck, biting and licking and sucking until my eyes roll back.

Is this really happening?

Is this really him, the man of my heart, the man I’ve dreamed of day in and day out?

Is it really his head my palm is cradling, is it his snide mouth sucking my skin between his teeth, is it really his cock that radiates heat into my hip?

“So this is how you feel,” he murmurs into my neck, pulling away enough to meet my eyes, his hands smoothing the hair off my face. My hands trail down his back, relishing the hard planes of muscles as I stare into his eyes, glazed and raw and real. “Because this is how I feel.” He’s breathing hard and so am I, and I bet his heart is beating as loudly as mine is.

I try to form words but I can’t. I already feel bereft without his mouth on mine and my hands grip his suit jacket, tugging, wishing I could rip it off.

Rip everything off of him.

The look in his eyes changes to one of awe, and a hazy smile curves his lips. “Look at you,” he whispers harshly, gaze roaming all over my face from my eyes to my nose to my temples to my lips.

“Me?” I breathe.

He gives a faint shake of his head. “What a rare and beautiful thing you are.”

I’m dying inside. His words. The way he’s gazing at me, like he’s seen something no one else will ever believe.

I’m so fucking done for.

I open my mouth to talk but only a groan comes back as his mouth envelops mine again, searing, like he’s trying to brand me as his.

Then he pulls away and flips me around so I’m facing the wall, my forearms bracing me. His fingers curl around my blouse, ripping it backward as he brushes my hair away, rough enough to tear out a few strands. The pain is sharp and sweet and makes the ache inside me grow by leaps and bounds.

I hear the fabric of my blouse tear as he pulls the collar back and then his mouth is at my bare shoulder, biting into my skin.

I cry out from the shock, a jumbled mess of feelings, bracing my hands against the wall to steady us. One of his hands slips down in front of me, sliding over my belly until it reaches the hem of my skirt and tugs it up my thighs.

His other hand goes behind me, to my ass. I feel it bump against me, then hear the buckle of his belt being undone, the sound of his pants being unzipped, the harsh, distinctive, thrilling noise filling the room.

Holy fuck.

Is he going to fuck me from behind, here against this wall?

Before I can even prepare myself, a knock on the door shoots between us like a shotgun blast, blowing the moment to smithereens.

Shit.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He stops, breathing hard, and yells, his voice coarse. “Hvem er det?”

“Det er mig.” Maja’s voice.

“Hvad vil du?” He rests his forehead against my back, trying to steady his breath.

“Jeg vil gerne tale med dig,” she says. She wants to speak with him but it doesn’t sound like there’s any trouble.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Aksel swears. He straightens up, and my back feels cold without him there. I quickly turn around until I’m leaning against the wall. If I weren’t, I’d fall to the ground. My knees are shaking.

My heart is pounding hard, my breath too flighty to catch. I stare at him with raised brows, not in just the “what were we just about to do” but in the “where the fuck should I hide?”

He nods at me, I guess to stay where I am, pressed against the wall, and quickly does up his pants before I can catch a glimpse of anything. He straightens his shirt and jacket though I’m not sure how he’s going to hide the flush on his face.

He takes in a deep breath and walks over to the door, opening it a crack and peering out. “Ja?”

I can’t see Maja, though if she stepped into his office or looked around the door, she’d see me. She tells him that Clara is requesting a bedtime story from him.

He nods, tells her he’ll be right there. Then he leaves the door open and comes over to me.

He stares down at me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I have to go do this,” he whispers. He gestures to the door. “Wait a few minutes and then sneak out. I’ll make sure no one sees you.”

Sneaking out. Oh my god, the reality of what we’d just done, what almost happened, hits me like a sledgehammer. I’m speechless, breathless, watching as he strides back toward the door.

“Wait,” I squeak.

With one hand on the door, he glances at me expectantly.

“Am I still fired?” I ask.

Another quick smile. “Fired?” he repeats. “No. You’re not fired.”

And then he’s gone.

I hear him walk down the hall.

I spend the next few minutes counting down and trying to calm my racing heart.

When I’m sure enough time has passed and that my knees aren’t shaking anymore, I check that the coast is clear. Then I head out of his office and to my room, closing the door.

I immediately go to the small bottle of medicinal Underberg Schnaps in my room and down it in one go, then sit on the edge of the bed and try to think.

What have we just done?

What does any of it mean?

And what the bloody hell happens next?

CHAPTER 15

AURORA

The next morning my alarm goes off and I feel as if I could sleep forever. It doesn’t help that it’s chilly outside the blankets, my nose practically frozen.

“Can’t you afford heat in this damn house?” I grumble to no one in particular before closing my eyes and trying to go back to sleep. For a few moments I’m lulled back into oblivion until I remember.

Aksel.

Last night.

Everything.

My eyes fly open.

Holy shit.

That actually happened.

I mean, it actually happened.

It wasn’t a dream.

Those were actually his lips against mine.

That was his cock pressed against my hip.

Those were his rough words, calling me a rare and beautiful thing.

I’m breathless all over again, my heart doing flips at the memories I still feel on my skin, forever imprinted.

I can’t go back to sleep now. Even the cold doesn’t bother me.

I get out of bed and grab my robe and shuffle into the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, to see if I look any different. I feel different in every way, like something inside me has been unlocked, a lock I’d been unsuccessfully trying to pick for a very long time.

My skin is pale, though there are more freckles because of my week in the Canary Islands, but my eyes seem brighter and darker at the same time, my hair has knots in it from when he fisted it, and my lips are this roughed, bruised pink, the kind of pink that comes from too much kissing.

I run my fingertips over them, staring at my reflection in awe, a smile slowly stretching across my face.

My heart bursts.

It happened.

I let the feeling wash over me, electric, because I know that soon reality will rear her ugly head. It will remind me that though Aksel kissed me, nothing else has really changed.

And yet everything has changed.

Still, I aim to keep that lightness in my heart. I refuse to let my thoughts get too serious, refuse to have anything diminished.

How often do people get to feel like this?

I want to hold the feeling close to my chest and never let it go.

I practically skip around the room as I get ready for the day, unable to keep from giggling and smiling and blushing at what happened.

The taste of his lips.

The feel of his back beneath my hands.

The way he went from sweet and poetic to rough and passionate.

That probably surprised me most of all, seeing that wild side of Aksel, a man I couldn’t imagine letting loose before.

But now I know better and yet I still think he was holding himself back with me.

The thought of what he could have done makes the heat flare up between my legs, makes me ache inside for him. Now that I know what it’s like to almost have him that way … I want nothing less. The bruise on my shoulder is a constant reminder that my boss actually bit me, just before he was about to fuck my brains out.

Yet, I’m still the nanny with a job to do, so I do my very best to keep the dirty thoughts at bay and just get on with the day. I take Clara to school with Freja coming along for the ride, then I play with Freja and Snarf Snarf as we teach the pig how to shake a hoof, then I read some stories to her.

I don’t see Aksel at all because he’s out on business somewhere and I don’t want to admit that every time I thought I heard him come home, my pulse skipped a few beats, only to be disappointed when I saw it wasn’t him.

But as the day wore on, I stopped being disappointed.

As the day wore on and the darkness of the never-ending winter felt too encroaching and I grew tired, my mind started to latch onto other things.

Negative things.

It’s my nature to try and push that shit out of my head.

But something was starting to bother me.

It slowly grew, bit by bit.

The fact that last night, Aksel called me into his office under the pretense of firing me.

Or perhaps it wasn’t a pretense at all. Maybe that was his plan.

Maybe I somehow won my job back and proved to him I was worth keeping.

They’re dumb thoughts to think and not in line with the Aksel that I know, but the fact is, he did try and fire me, and somehow, after we kissed, after we almost fucked, I got my job back.

I mean … what the fuck was that all about?

“Are you okay?” Freja asks me. I realize I’ve been tossing her toys into the toy box with a little too much anger.

I give her a fake, sweet smile. “I’m okay. Do you know where your father went today?”

Freja just stares at me blankly because why on earth would she know if I don’t?

“Maybe he’s buying me a present?” she asks hopefully in that small voice of hers.

Oh brother.

Later, around dinnertime when Aksel still isn’t back, I’ve let the angry thoughts morph into something made of flames and fire, just stewing over it all.

How dare you do that to me? I want to yell at him. Why did you do it? To get a reaction?

Is he that shitty and immature? He’s fourteen years older than me. Is that really a game that men like him play?

Though lord knows men don’t ever stop playing games, no matter their age.

When dinner is over I tell Maja I’m taking my break.

I also tell her I’ll be in my room and I wish to speak to Aksel in private, whenever he comes home.

Maja is no dummy, and while I don’t think she suspects anything happened with us last night, she can tell that I’ve been in a foul mood for the latter half of the day, so she agrees without asking any questions.

It’s nearly nine, past the girls’ bedtime, when I hear voices from somewhere in the palace.

I’m already lying back on the bed in my boxers and t-shirt, half-asleep, half-waiting, when there’s a knock at my door.

In a second, all the anger rushes through me, and a million rehearsed arguments I had for him in my head all start competing with each other to be the first ones out. I grab my robe, tie it up tight as if it will somehow be a force field against him, and then march on over to the door.

Aksel is on the other side, his hand raised, ready to knock again.

Stupid bastard is so handsome I nearly forget why I’m angry.

“How are you?” he asks simply. As if last night didn’t happen at all.

My eyes flare and I pinch my lips together, gesturing stiffly to the room, for him to come in.

His forehead creases in surprise, probably not getting why I’m acting like this, but he walks on in anyway, looking around him furtively as if he’s stepped into a trap.

I shut the door and turn to face him, my fists clenching and unclenching.

He sees this and then glances at my face warily. “What’s going on? Sorry I wasn’t around all day.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say. Wow. I didn’t expect that to be the first thing out of my mouth, but there you go. I never had a filter, why start now?

“Excuse me?”

I think half the fun of insulting Aksel, other than he deserves it most of the time, is that it really bugs him since no one else talks to him this way.

“You fired me last night.”

“I didn’t,” he says glibly. “Remember? I told you that you weren’t.”

“At the end!” I cry out, my arms flailing. “After we made out, after you nearly fucked me from behind!”

He frowns and places his finger to his lips. “That’s not something we should talk about too loudly.”

“Right, because god forbid you’re caught nearly screwing the nanny.”

His eyes widen. “Well, yes. That’s completely it.”

“Aksel, you called me into your office.”

He rubs his lips together, taking a moment. “Yes.”

“To fire me.”

“I didn’t exactly fire you,” he says, his hand pulling at the back of his neck and avoiding my eyes.

“Yes you did!”

“You came to that conclusion on your own.”

Oh my god. Semantics?

“You let me come to that conclusion! You didn’t correct me! You only added to it!”

“I had to.”

“Why?!” I storm on over to him and poke my finger into his chest. The damn Dane is wearing another one of his sexy suits. “Why did you do that to me? You made me bare my soul to you.”

“I had to know the truth,” he says, wrapping his fingers around mine and trying to pull them away from his chest. I won’t let him.

“The truth. So it was just a lie? Were you provoking me to get the response you wanted?”

He doesn’t say anything, his gaze going to the corner of the room as if someone there will save him.

“No one can save you from this conversation, Aksel. You’re the fucking King.”

“Sounds less like a conversation and more like hysterical yelling,” he mutters.

Oh. No he didn’t.

And I think he instantly regrets saying that because he takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Look.”

“Hey. Don’t you look me. Don’t you get what a horrible thing that was to do? To me! You made me think that I lost my job, that I lost the girls, that I lost you!”

Bloody hell. Now the damn tears from last night are coming back. I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to tilt them back into my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, reaching out for me.

I swat his hand away. “No. You can’t just play with my feelings like that. If you wanted to know what they were, you should have been a fucking man and come right up to me and asked.”

“Be a fucking man?” he repeats, his nostrils flaring. “I know what happened to you at your last job. I talked to your agency. I wasn’t about to put you in that position again. I couldn’t know for sure how you felt about me and I wasn’t going to risk losing you to find out.”

“But you did risk losing me! You fired me. Or fake fired me. I don’t know what the fuck you did but it was manipulative bullshit.”

“I had to.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl.

“Hey,” he snaps. “I said I had to. I didn’t want to but it was the only way I could be sure, and no I couldn’t just go up to you and ask if you’d ever thought about fucking me.”

“I gave you hints!”

“You’re hard to read.”

“Oh, I am not.”

“Yes you are. You’re always fucking with me. Teasing me. How am I supposed to know?”

I shake my head, still angry. “You ask. That’s what. Or hell, pick up the hint and just kiss me. You’ve had a million chances before now.”

“So have you!”

I let out a loud, caustic laugh. “Oh my god. Yeah right! Like I would just throw myself at my boss.”

“Well, you could have. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“No, it isn’t over, because you did it in such an asshole-ish way.”

He reaches out for my hand and tugs me toward him. “I did it the way I had to. Look, I know about our positions here. I know I’m your boss. A king. I’m in a position of power over you and you’re my employee. As defiant as you are, I also know you love my daughters and would do anything for them, and that might mean you would do anything to keep working here. I had no idea what you’d do if I came on to you. There was a very big chance that if I did, you would have gone with it, just for the sake of keeping your job. Do you understand me?”

I squint at him because I don’t like the fact that he’s making some sense.

He squeezes my hand. “I have always been very aware of our power dynamic and I also know that some men exploit those dynamics. The last thing I ever wanted was to have you give in to me out of duty, to kiss me back because you thought it was the only way to keep your job. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“So you fired me instead,” I say quietly.

“Yes. Not for real, never for real. But just for you to think that the power I had over you was gone and you had nothing left to lose. It was the only way I could be sure. I am really, really sorry that it was so manipulative.”

Though my heart is slowing slightly and the anger is starting to fade away, I’m still upset. “There should have been another way.”

“And maybe there was. But that was the way I chose, and believe me, if I could have done it differently I would have.” He pauses and takes a step toward me, sliding his hand over the front of my robe until it hooks around the sash. “But I don’t regret it. Because it finally brought us to this moment here.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so nervous so fast. It’s like I’ve gone from zero to sixty, anger to anticipation, and my brain doesn’t know how to catch up, even if my body does.

He stares at me, his eyes burning brightly. “Tell me you didn’t regret it either. Tell me it all meant something to you.”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself for the admission. “It meant everything to me, Aksel.”

He smiles beautifully. “Good.” With one quick motion, he undoes the sash on my robe until it falls open. “Because I’m not done with you.”

I’m wearing my nightgown underneath, and I let the robe slip to the ground, wishing I was already naked.

I really hadn’t planned ahead.

Then again, I had no idea I would get a second chance with him and so soon.

“Are you on the pill?” he asks quietly, showing so much restraint on his face. “I don’t have any condoms. It hasn’t been … needed. It’s been a long time.”

So I guess he had no idea about the second chance either.

“I’m on the pill,” I tell him. I have been for years. “And I’ve been tested,” I add.

“Sorry to get this unsexy talk out of the way,” he says with a hint of a smile. “But as a king, you can’t be too careful.”

I open my mouth to say something else, perhaps because I’m suddenly nervous, that this is really happening, when he lunges for me.

His lips are on mine, crushing and soft. Sweet lust that turns wild and frantic.

His hand is at the back of my neck, his other fingers pressing at my jaw and cheek as his tongue assaults me with such rolling passion I can feel it all the way to my toes, making them curl. Just like the last time he kissed me, he’s in complete control, and I surrender.

I surrender completely.

I want to give him everything.

I want him to take me, take me over, devour me.

Rule me.

I want every single part of him, deep inside. I want to see how much of him I can take, how he feels from the inside, what it’s like to be thoroughly fucked by the King of Denmark.

Then what? The thought slices into my head.

But it’s fleeting. For once, the guilt doesn’t stay. I don’t want to listen anymore to what’s right and what’s wrong. I don’t want to worry about the future, about my job, about what this means. I don’t want to put us into those neat and tidy roles again, each wearing a mask. Everything has been buried until now and now I just want him.

Right here, right now.

I want us to escape from these gilded walls we’ve put around ourselves.

I want us to be what we need to be for each other, what we’ve fought against.

And Aksel does just that. He’s both a royal and a wild animal, feral to the core as his mouth sinks into the valley between my neck and my shoulder, biting with hunger and lust.

I groan loudly, and one of his hands slips low along my hips, hiking up the hem of my nightgown. Every nerve ending on my body dances with anticipation.

I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe we’re doing this.

It can’t be stopped. I can’t be stopped. His hand skirts over my belly, sliding inside my underwear and down, down to where I’m absolutely soaked.

“For helvede,” he murmurs against me. “You’re too good to be true, aren’t you?”

Actually, you feel too good to be true, I think as I gasp. His thick finger slides along my clit and my body immediately melts into his hand, needing more, wanting more. I’ve never had the need to get off strike me like this before, like a match to a firework, slowly working its way up the rope.

Sizzling.

I grab hold of the back of his neck, his skin hot to the touch already, my body greedy for him. All these months of fantasy have me ready to go. His fingers play gently along my clit, teasing like fluttery wings, before the they plunge inside me.

A gasp escapes my mouth.

“Oh god,” Aksel says thickly, bringing his lips back to mine. “You sound like an angel.”

“Don’t treat me like one,” I tell him, sucking in my breath as his fingers slowly withdraw. “Just fuck the hell out of me.”

If Aksel is surprised by my dirty mouth, he doesn’t show it. He merely grins. I guess he’s used to me not having a filter.

“Just as I imagined you’d be,” he says before he's lowering his head to my breast, pulling the neckline of my nightgown to the side until my nipple is exposed and hardening in the air. His lips gently suck at the tip before he draws it into his mouth in one long, hard pull.

My back arches for more and breathless groans are coaxed out of me. We're still standing in the middle of the room, and I'm not sure how much more I can take like this. I'm getting desperate for him in a way I never thought possible, an aching need that's clawing its way up through my core, turning every part of my body into an addict, a junkie.

He pinches my nipple between his teeth and, as he does so, plunges his fingers back inside me, three of them this time. I expand around him, needing more, more. Every inch of my skin is on fire for him, ignoring the snow billowing outside.

“Fuck,” he growls as he withdraws his hand, putting his fingers into his mouth. He doesn't break eye contact as he tastes me, licking the side of his finger with his long, flat tongue.

My eyes widen.

My god.

This damn dirty Dane.

“You taste like dessert,” he says, his accent thickening, before his mouth crashes against mine again. I'm salty, musky, slightly sweet as his tongue probes further against mine, whipping up my desire to the boiling point. This is already the hottest thing I've ever experienced and I’ve been with some pretty sexy French men before.

Before I know what's happening, he's pushing me back, his large, lean body looming over me. “Get on the floor,” he commands, his voice husky and rich, screaming of sex, screaming of power.

I gladly drop down to my knees on the thick wool rug, staring up at him while he quickly removes his t-shirt and yanks down his pajama pants. Now, he’s naked.

Completely naked.

His sculpted, lean upper body leads to a six-pack, and those V dips to his hips which leads to…

Wow.

That’s one hell of a Danish dick.

I know I've felt it before, its mass crushed against me while we kissed, I know I readied myself for it the other day, but now that it's in front of me, it's fucking dangerous looking.

A royal weapon.

I can barely take my eyes away from his cock to look up at him. Of course, he looks smug—he always looks smug—but there's a sense of wonder in his eyes, like he can't believe this is happening.

That makes two of us.

This is it.

There is no going back.

Since I'm already on my knees and I'm salivating for the taste of him, I grab his firm ass with one hand, my fingernails digging in as I tug him toward me. With my other hand I grasp his cock at the base, making a ring around it. I’m bold as hell and he's so goddamn hard, it's like silky velvet steel. I can feel the hot blood rushing underneath, the way it tics with each strong beat of his heart.

I close my eyes and tentatively slide my tongue along the sensitive underside before circling his crown, dark and lush, licking at the precum. The salt hits my tongue, revving my desire for him to another level.

I think he’s going to hit all my damn levels tonight.

His hand goes into my hair, pulling lightly, and he groans as I try and take him all into my mouth.

“If you keep doing that, you’ll ruin me,” he says breathlessly. “I don’t want you to ruin me without me ruining you first.”

He pulls his wet cock away from my mouth and glances down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Turn around.”

I don’t want to stop staring at his beautiful naked body or the raw, hungry look on his face. But sacrifices must be made.

My heart is pumping hard in my head as I pivot around on the floor on all fours. He drops to his knees behind me, and I hold my breath, waiting for his touch. The bed is right there and yet I love that he’s going to fuck me on this rug, like we can’t wait, like we’re uncivilized animals in this palace of gold.

Swiftly he lifts up my nightshirt until it's bunched around my waist, then grabs my ass, squeezing hard so I stay in place. I flinch, the pressure from his fingertips firm, and yet the moment he yields, I want it even more.

He pulls me toward him as he positions himself, and with one swift jerk, shoves my underwear to the side and pushes into me. The air is expelled from my chest as he fills me, a gasp broken on my lips.

“How do you feel?” he asks, shuddering the words as he pushes himself fully inside.

How do I feel?

I can’t speak.

I can’t think.

I can only feel every single inch of his hard cock as I squeeze around him.

I try and nod, get my breath.

Oh my god.

How is he real?

His grip around my ass tightens—I feel like he might leave bruises.

“I can’t promise I’ll be refined and I can’t promise I’ll hold back,” he says through a gruff moan. “Just as long as you promise you won’t hold back either.”

Bloody hell. What am I getting into?

Everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Does that sound good, Miss Aurora?” he asks, his voice thick and brimming with lust. “Can you handle that duty?”

Oh god, yes, give me all the dirty talk, give me all the naughty boss scenarios.

He pauses, slowly pulling out in such a teasing, languid way that it’s torturous. I feel hollow, aching for him. I want him to fill me up and up and up, like a balloon ready to burst.

“Fuck me, Your Majesty,” I tell him and, to my complete surprise, his hand cracks across my ass with a loud, painful slap.

“Yes,” he hisses, and then he’s pounding into me, driving his dick in fast and deep and relentless. Over and over and over again, this breakneck pace that has me trying to hang on to the rug for dear life, my breasts jiggling with each quick, hard thrust.

“How does my cock make you feel? Dirty?” he asks through a husky groan. “How dirty do you want it?”

Oh god, I don’t even know what to say. My words fall from my mouth in a garble. All I can get out is:

Yes.

More.

Right there.

Harder, please.

Please, sir.

His pumps become quicker, deeper, and messy, like he’s losing control and going over the edge, taking me with him. I’ve never had a man in so deep like this, not just inside me but inside my head. Aksel has taken up residency there from the very first moment we met. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I shouldn’t have and he’s fucking me like we might lose everything tomorrow, like we won’t even be here tomorrow.

And maybe we won’t be.

Maybe there’s no tomorrow for us.

Just the here and now.

But right now, I have no thoughts to give.

I only have need.

A sharp, aching, timeless need.

For him.

And I need him now.

I drop onto one elbow, and with my other hand reach for my clit, the pressure building to insufferable heights as he fucks that sweet spot inside me, making me grow more swollen, more slick, more ready to let go and let my world bring us both under.

“That’s my duty, not yours,” he growls, grabbing the back of my hair until it’s gathered in his hand. He pushes forward until my cheek is pressed into the rug and he’s holding me down, grunting hard with each thrust.

I knew he was wild. I knew he could be unrefined. I have the mark on my shoulder to prove it.

But I didn’t think he’d be like this.

Whatever this is, I know it’s something I’ll never come back from. I know I’ll never want to. In my wildest, kinkiest dreams about him, it’s never been this good.

Yet, it’s Aksel.

My King.

How could I think otherwise?

While he yanks back at my hair and then holds me down in place, he slips his other hand under my stomach, his fingers finding my clit with expert ease.

I’m so wet, slick and ready for him that it doesn’t take long for him to push me to the edge. That very edge you want to run toward and then run away from, afraid to go over yet afraid to not.

He is merciless and grunting hard with each thrust, this rough, raw noise that gets louder and louder the closer he gets to coming. It’s such a beautiful noise, the noise of a man, of a king coming undone. It causes the heat in my core to turn into a raging inferno, fuel to the fire.

And then.

I’m coming.

A snap of the fingers.

“Aksel,” I cry out, a second before it happens, quick and swift, and I’m swept away, tumbling and turning, over and over as the orgasm churns through me. It’s a hurricane, and it has me in its clutches, and I never want it to let me go. My body quakes and shudders from head to toe as I pulse around him. I am light and heavy and my heart flies away. I never want to feel anything but this, never want anyone else but him.

“Aurora.” He groans out my name and then I feel him as he comes, the pressure in my hair, the slamming of his hips into my ass. The sounds coming out of his mouth are crude and I’d give anything to watch his face as he empties into me. To watch him lose control. To see what I do to him, that no one else does to him.

“My fucking goddess.”

His thrusts slow down, his hand in my hair slowly letting go, releasing the pressure from my head. He’s breathing hard, his hulking body hovering over me. Drops of sweat fall onto my neck, making me shudder.

Then, as the orgasm starts to slide away into the background, the reality of what we’ve just done hits me, like the wind from behind.

This is King Aksel of Denmark.

My boss who just fucked me on my bedroom rug.

From behind.

He fucked me like I’d never been fucked before.

And I have the rug burn to prove it.

Meanwhile, as my brain starts to come to grips with everything, Aksel is still breathing heavily and his hand slowly trails down my head, over my neck, and down my spine.

“Aurora,” he whispers, grabbing my waist.

“Yeah,” I say.

He slowly pulls out, cum dripping onto my thighs, onto the rug, and exhales loudly. “You’re...”

I can’t help but smile. “Amazing?”

“Something like that.” He sighs and runs his hand back up my spine. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

I grin happily and turn around to look at him, his eyes glazed and sated, cheeks flushed. I’ve never seen him like this before. He looks vulnerable.

My cold, lost King.

Raw and open and vulnerable.

He’s the rare and beautiful creature here.

He nods at my knees and I look down to see them all red and torn up. “Whoops.”

“Guess you’ll have to wear tights tomorrow,” he says, getting to his feet. He pulls his pants back on and then reaches down and hauls me up.

“And the skirt.”

He smirks. “Right.”

But he can’t act that annoyed, not when his face is pink, his pupils dilated, his hair messed up.

God, he looks good like this.

He reaches over and kisses me softly on the lips. He kisses me like it is second nature now.

Despite the total pounding I just took, his kiss makes butterflies emerge in my stomach.

“I better go back to my room,” he says.

“I better go put some lotion on my knees.”

He winces. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m not.”

I wink at him and then he leaves, giving me one last glance over his shoulder.

I exhale heavily, like I hadn’t breathed at all.

But, fuck, who needs breathing when you have him?

CHAPTER 16

AKSEL

I used to have nightmares frequently.

They started right after the crash, when I was still being treated in the hospital for lacerations on my legs from crawling over broken glass, for a concussion that kept teasing me. The whole country held its breath, not knowing if I would die as Helena had, while my sister was reluctantly ready to be made heir.

The nightmares broke through the morphine and became infused with the darkness that was always lurking just out of my vision, blurring the edges and perpetually luring me back in.

Helena was always in them. I feel she found a way into my brain, found a space and carved it out for herself and made it her home. She would only come out at night, when I was dead asleep, and then she’d make my world the hell that was hers.

I had nightmares nearly every day for a year.

During the next year they came at me once every few weeks.

Ever since Aurora showed up, I haven’t had a single one.

I thought, maybe, because the children were happy, that she was letting me go in peace. There was no need to terrorize me, no need to remind me that she was dead, and I wasn’t.

But now, tonight, the nightmare has come back.

I’m lying in bed in my usual suite at Drottningholm Palace in Stockholm, having spent the day with King Arvid of Sweden, and I’m nearly drenched with sweat.

The nightmare had come in swift, and it stayed for what felt like forever, combining with reality.

Helena had been here, in this very room. It’s like she’d been afraid to visit me at home and decided to haunt me in Sweden instead.

I was awake and then I was asleep and then there she was, slowly opening the creaking doors of the armoire at the end of the room and stepping out.

She walked toward me in bare feet, wearing the dress she died in, blood covering her face so that there was no bare inch of skin.

Her eyes remained fixed on mine, green and relentless as they were in real life.

I had to remind myself to not be afraid and to not hate her either.

But the former was hard.

She stopped at the foot of the bed and stared at me. It could have been minutes or hours, time has no part of dreams, it doesn’t exist in them. But it was long enough for every hair on my body to stand at attention, for my chest to have this immense pressure on it, like a pile of bricks had been placed there.

I knew I was dreaming, I was lucid. But that didn’t stop the fear that I could be having a heart attack in my sleep.

Finally, she said something.

“You don’t deserve this.”

Her voice had a hollow, metallic ring to it, like a speaker was lodged in her throat and the words were coming out that way.

What don’t I deserve? I tried to say, but I can never talk or scream in my dreams.

But she didn’t answer. She started pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed, her eyes never leaving mine. Eyes full of anguish and torment and pain.

I’m sorry.

But she can’t hear me.

She’s not even real.

It felt like ages before she finally stopped her pacing, stopped her staring.

She turned around and walked back to the closet.

Stepped inside.

Shut the door.

Then I woke up.

Thank fucking god I woke up.

My eyes flew open, and I was gasping, and my pajama shirt was sticking to me and that shift back to reality let me know that it hadn’t really happened, that it wasn’t real, that it was all in my head.

I don’t believe in ghosts, but I still think you can be haunted. By your past. By your mistakes.

By your lies.

I’m staring at the closet now, just willing for it to open again, for this ghost to prove me wrong.

But the room is empty and dark, and it feels different. There’s no malice here, no terror. There’s snow swirling outside the windows, casting in a cold, hazy light even though it’s probably the middle of the night now.

I lay my head back against the pillow and take in a deep breath, trying to pacify my racing heart.

I didn’t even want to come here.

After I slept with Aurora, after we had finally given in to each other, the last thing I wanted to do was leave her. But duty calls, often at rotten times, and I had to go early the next morning to Stockholm. I wanted to bring her. If she was anyone else in the world, I could have brought her. She could have been my date for my dinners here with the royal family, first with King Arvid, then with Prince Viktor.

It’s a stark reminder of who she is.

She’s not my date.

Not a girlfriend.

Not just a lover.

But the nanny.

I had sex with my fucking nanny.

To anyone looking in, I would look like a disgrace. I would look lecherous and bullying and a slave to desire. She would look like a victim, perhaps even the opposite. She’s fourteen years younger than me, my help, and I’m a widowed old man.

No one would understand the truth.

That she’s not just a nanny.

She’s Aurora.

She’s my reckoning and savior all at once.

She’s her namesake, those northern lights that brighten the darkest winter skies.

She’s my homecoming.

And I’m in love with her.

It’s pointless now to deny it, especially after last night, when I buried myself deep inside her and found everything I’d ever been looking for.

That woman walked into my life like the blazing sun, burning away the cobwebs and illuminating all those dark and hollow points inside me. She made me realize what it is to be happy and to have someone that makes you happy. She gave me life again when I’d stopped living mine long ago.

She’s all those things to me, she’s everything to me.

And that’s why I’m choosing to ignore reality for now.

Because I have something rare and beautiful in my hands, a precious bird, and I don’t ever want to let her go. If I did, Aurora would fly away, and I’d spend the rest of my days searching the sky.

So I’m going to do what I do best and revel in denial. I’m going to pretend that what we have is good enough for now. That we can continue being together in secret, in private. That I can hide what we are from everyone else.

To be honest, I wouldn’t want to share it anyway. It’s no one’s business but ours.

I might be a bit presumptuous, too, thinking that Aurora wants to continue this, whatever this is. Perhaps she just wanted to get it out of her system. Perhaps last night was all there was between us.

I thought the same at first. I thought maybe, if I finally gave in to this raw, powerful storm that had been building between us for months, I could get her out of my system. An exorcism.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

I sigh and try to fall back asleep, but sleep is elusive now.

My hand pushes down my briefs and wraps around the base of my cock and I’m already hard, just thinking of her. I wonder if I should call her but decide it’s too risky. Not only could someone hear us, but I don’t want to come on any stronger than I already have. She’s no wallflower and she knows exactly what she wants in bed, what makes her feel good. But jumping from sex to phone sex doesn’t seem right.

So I stroke my dick, feeling the hot, rigid length under my palm, and think of last night.

I think of her eyes, soulful and deep, right before I kissed her.

I think of the way she moaned when I pushed deep inside her, the small gasp of pain and pleasure that fell from her mouth.

And I think of how I wanted to give her more, just like that, every single day into eternity.

Though I always enjoy my time in Sweden, getting out of the palace and being around friends, people who understand what it’s like to be a person in my position, to be a royal, I couldn’t get back to Copenhagen fast enough.

Thankfully the flight is very short, and I was back at the palace by noon.

“How was your trip, sir?” Nicklas asks me as soon as I step inside, stomping the snow off my boots.

I side-eye him. “It was good.”

Nicklas is smarting a little. Normally he goes with me when I travel but because this was just a social visit to Sweden, I decided against it. When he was with Helena, he went absolutely everywhere, social visit or not, but that’s because he was fucking her. And if he dares to ever press the issue, that’s exactly what I’ll tell him.

To be honest, I didn’t feel all that comfortable leaving him in the palace. After I discovered he had gone into Aurora’s room that one time, my guard around him has been up, much higher than usual. Every single day I berate myself for keeping him in this house and every single day I come to the same conclusion; That I have no choice.

That said, I made sure Maja was here the whole time I was gone, and I know Aurora doesn’t like Nicklas and avoids him at all costs. Hopefully this wasn’t an issue.

A high-pitched squeal comes from upstairs, followed by the sound of stampeding feet. You’d think a palace would have better soundproofing, but I guess my royal relatives never had to worry about pigs on the loose.

I brush past Nicklas, nearly hip-checking him out of the way, and head up the stairs.

“Papa!” Clara yells excitedly, holding up a tennis ball. She’s at one end of the hall with Freja and Aurora, Snarf Snarf running around in circles.

“We’re teaching him how to play fetch,” Freja says and both girls start running toward me. The pig follows them, ears flapping as he runs, shaking the floor. Aurora had warned me that “teacup” pigs rarely stay “teacup” sized and now Snarf Snarf is the size of a cocker spaniel and about five times as heavy.

I crouch down and hold my arms out and the girls run right into them. I lift them up, smiling at their joyous faces and my heart starts to bleed. My love for them is unshakeable, indescribable, and to see how happy they’ve become makes all that we’ve gone through worth it.

“What am I going to do when you’re too big to lift up?” I ask them, kissing Freja on her nose, which she immediately scrunches, and then Clara on her cheek.

“We’ll use a ladder,” Clara says, wrapping her hands around my neck and grinning at me. “Or Aurora can lift us up.”

Aurora is slowly walking toward me, a slight downward cast to her face, a shy smile on her lips. I don’t always see her so demure. Usually she’s yelling at me for one reason or another. But now it’s apparent how everything has changed between us.

I can’t help but smile at her, unable to rein it in.

Just the fact that I don’t have to pretend with her anymore makes my smile stretch wider, my heart in my chest buoyant and light and warm.

Though she’s at the end of the hall, distance doesn’t matter anymore. I’m able to look into her deep brown doe eyes and know that she’s mine. I’m a king with a palace full of treasures and yet she is my greatest possession.

I put the girls back down on the ground and they go running after Snarf Snarf, throwing the ball past Aurora and scrambling after it.

While they go, she comes over to me and gives me a small, hopeful smile.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I say back, still grinning. It takes every ounce of restraint to stop myself from kissing her right here, to not take her hand, to not touch her. We’ve gone from holding ourselves back for months to giving in wildly then back to being in control. It doesn’t feel right but it’s all we have to work with.

She feels this too because she steps forward and then back, as if she’s not sure where she stands. She clasps her hands together at her waist and asks, “How was your trip?”

“It was fine. Would have been better if you were there.”

“Me? With a stuffy bunch of royals? I don’t think so.”

“They aren’t so bad.”

“Are they anything like you?”

“Hey,” I admonish her, poking her in the side. “Be nice to your boss.”

She giggles and moves out of the way. “Why should I start now?”

Good lord. Her eyes are getting that devious glint to them and she’s starting to gnaw on her lip. I want to do the same, suck it between my teeth for a moment before holding her face between my hands and kissing her until she’s breathless.

My cock is already hard, straining against my fly, not caring that we’re in public, that my children are at the other end of the hall. What an inconsiderate dick.

Her tongue touches the tip of her teeth and she smiles, her brows raised. “Careful, Your Majesty,” she whispers.

And that’s when I realize how fucking hard this is going to be. For some reason I thought that this would be the easy part, where we didn’t have to pretend with each other anymore. It’s only easy when we’re behind closed doors—it’s the rest of the day that’s painful.

It doesn’t help that she’s wearing her uniform. I mean, she always wears it but now the sight of her in that miniskirt is painful, knowing what her smooth and shapely legs feel like under my grip.

I reach out and tug at her waistband. “I fucking hate this skirt,” I practically growl. “Since day one.”

She grins at me. “Oh, I know. Why do you think I made it my uniform?”

“Aurora!” Clara yells. “Come play.”

I hold Aurora’s eyes for a moment before she breaks the gaze and says to Clara, “I’ll be right there.”

“So today,” I tell her.

“Today?” She looks back to me.

“What’s your availability like?”

“Oh, I see. Well, it’s Sunday and it’s supposed to be my day off,” she tells me. “But my boss is a jerk and pretty much keeps me as his prisoner in this place.”

“He sounds awful.”

“He can be,” she muses. “He can be pretty sweet too.”

“Sweet? I don’t know about that.” I fold my arms.

“Maybe sweet is the wrong word. What’s the opposite of being an asshole?”

“You keep talking about your employer that way, you might end up getting punished.”

She bats her lashes at me. “A little spanking never hurt anyone. Remember?”

For helvede. She’s a firecracker. How did I expect any less from her?

“Aurora!” Clara shrieks.

“I’m coming!” she yells and turns to walk away.

I reach out and grab her hand instinctively. Sometimes I had done it before but now it means something different.

“You don’t need to work. It’s your day off. Let Maja take care of them.”

“Maja went to church this morning and I think she’s having brunch with a group of ladies for someone’s birthday, that’s why I said I’d work,” Aurora explains. “It’s not a problem. I’ll just…see you later.”

Later. When the hell is later? Why isn’t later now?

But I’m more than appreciative for Aurora’s devotion to the girls, and so I let them play fetch with Snarf Snarf and head to my room to unpack and get my head on straight.

I don’t get alone time with her for the rest of the day. It isn’t until about an hour before dinner that I pass by her in the hall as I’m heading to my office and she’s coming out of her room.

“Hey,” I whisper to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into an alcove.

“What are you doing?” she whispers fearfully as I press her back against the wall.

“Everyone is downstairs,” I tell her, my lips going to her neck, licking up toward her ear. I take her lobe between my teeth and tug.

Like I suspected, she moans, breathless, grabbing the back of my head.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” I manage to say, as my hands cup her full breasts, my mouth trailing to hers. She opens her lips to mine like an offering and my tongue plunges inside, snaking beside hers. I’m so fucking hard and I won’t last long. I’ve wanted this too much.

I run my other hand up her thighs, bunching her skirt up around her hips, my fingers sliding across her underwear. I push it aside and drag my fingers along her fold, feeling how wet she is. “God, I fucking love this skirt,” I gasp into her mouth as I start to unbuckle my belt.

“I thought you hated this skirt.”

“We have a complicated relationship.” I reach down and grab the backs of her thighs, pulling her up until her legs wrap around my waist. I pull out my cock and position it against her, doing everything I can to take this slow, while taking a moment to drag my knuckle, then my finger, over her shiny cunt.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, her voice ragged and dripping with want and she’s saying exactly what I’m thinking. I quickly withdraw my fingers, rubbing them along my lips briefly, savoring her taste, as I hold my shaft, rigid and heavy in my hand and angle it into her. I try to go slow, rubbing my head around her soft opening, getting my tip wet before pushing in just a few inches.

But a few inches are enough to make my jaw clench, and I’m trying so hard to keep myself in control. She’s hot and slippery, even here, and tight as a fucking fist. I want to slam myself inside of her, bury myself balls deep. It takes all of me to try and keep on breathing, my fingers digging into her sides, wanting to be as gentle and quiet with her as I possibly can, considering the wall behind her, how tight her legs are around me.

On the rug in her bedroom was one thing, but here, in this hidden corner of the hallway, this is something else. I hope I have what it takes to bide my time and enjoy every second, but since I’m already struggling to keep it together, I doubt I’ll last long. And, I suppose, for the sake of our privacy, I should be quick.

But she’s coming first.

She’s going to come first and she’s going to come hard.

I want her to bite back her screams.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” I tell her, my voice guttural as I push in deeper, watching as my dick disappears into her, her resistance deliciously tight. “You’re drenching me, my goddess.”

I pull out in a slow slide and she shudders beneath me before I push back into her, staying cautious, my palm leaning flat against the wall.

“Fuck me,” she moans, her eyes fluttering as she stares up at me. “Harder, Aksel.”

I look down to where the thickest part of my cock is still showing. “Are you sure?” I ask her, grinding the words out as I clench my jaw. My body is burning, my muscles tightly coiled as I try to stay still. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to break the wall down either. You’re tighter than a fist, and my cock can barely fit as it is.”

“Please,” she cries out softly. Her brow is furrowed with wild impatience, her mouth wet and gaping.

Has she been thinking of me like this while I’ve been gone?

Has she wanted me as badly as I’ve wanted her?

I think yes.

“Your Majesty,” I murmur, reminding her.

She wraps her legs around me tighter and I slip myself deeper inside her, almost to the hilt. She stretches around me with a loud gasp, her cunt so snug and wet as I roll my hips against her. I’m lightheaded, breathless, and the flames inside me build, licking me until I’m lost in this decadent haze. The walls of the palace are gone and it’s just her. It’s me. Nothing can touch us.

“Harder. Fucking harder.”

A growl escapes my lips and I slam myself into her until she’s hugging every throbbing inch. She’s biting her lip to keep from yelping, and I hear nothing but my blood rushing through my head as I bury myself deep inside. My hips thrust, hammering in this driving rhythm as her nails are digging into the shoulders of my dress shirt and her quiet cries are getting more and more desperate, turning into throaty little whimpers.

I reach down and stroke the slickness of her clit, but I’m pumping so hard into her that it’s nearly impossible.

I lean forward, sweat dripping off my brow and onto her chest. “I want you to come.”

But she’s coming before I get to the end of my sentence. She’s moaning, then biting back her cries, trying to stay quiet. Her face is contorted with the effort of keeping it all inside, all while exploding outward.

I don’t hold back. With a low guttural groan, I come, the pleasure ripping through me, turning me inside out. I swear harshly, quiet as possible, as I pour myself into her, going into a mindless, primal state of being.

In this moment, I’m without thought or care—I’m just an animal let loose in the palace.

I come back down to earth slowly. I pull out carefully, loving how my cum drips down her legs like white rain, proof I’ve left my mark, then hold her, gently placing her on the floor.

She looks up at me through the dark strands of damp hair, her face red and beaded with sweat, her eyes heavy-lidded and completely sated.

“Where am I and what just happened?” she jokes, hand to her forehead.

I grin at her, biting my lip, and tuck my half-hard cock back into my pants, zipping them up.

“We have a saying here in Denmark,” I tell her. “Den der kommer først til mølle, får

først malet.”

“What does that mean?”

I look around to make sure no one is about before I start walking down the hallway. “First come, first served,” I say over my shoulder.

CHAPTER 17

AURORA

When I was a teenager, the only thing I ever dreamed about was getting out of Windorah. It was leaving the shack and my meager belongings and my growling stomach behind and finding a better place in the world. I’d never looked for anything beyond what was possible. I knew that it would be a hard road and that I’d start with nothing. But anything was better than this.

Then, a new boy came to town.

Or should I say, a man.

Five years older than me.

When you’re sixteen, it’s a pretty big deal.

He bought the pub in town and no one ever questioned where he got his money from—they were just happy that the pub was open again.

He brought with him his own pain and his own ambitions and his own ways of dealing with things. He opened my eyes to a new world, one that we could escape to.

One I would end up escaping from.

Dan ruined my life. I’ve spent so many years drowning in that hate for him, for what he did to me. Who he made me become.

So many years being afraid and ashamed and trying so damn hard to make up for all those mistakes.

Because that’s really what he was. A mistake.

And it took me ages to realize that it wasn’t my fault.

I was so young.

I had no one else in my life.

I left school.

I was at his mercy.

Under his influence.

I did bad, bad things.

Things I don’t even remember.

Things that haunt my dreams at night.

Things that made me cry for the lost girl that I was.

Things I don’t ever dare talk about.

And when I finally left Australia behind, I vowed to never make that mistake again, because I would know better.

I’d never let a man have power over me again.

Until now.

Because Aksel has complete power over me and for the first time, I’m completely surrendering.

And…I’m not sure that I should.

All I know is that, like it was with Dan, I can’t help it, and I probably should know better.

There are details, so many details, that I willfully overlook when I’m with him, because when I’m with him, the details, the doubts, the world—none of those things matter.

Love makes you naïve, razes your defenses to the ground, and pumps hope through your veins, sticky and sweet and utterly intoxicating.

I’m drunk on my need for him.

I’ve had sex with him twice now.

I’ve had blisteringly wild orgasms around his cock.

I’ve felt his body under my hands and seen his eyes roll back into his head as he’s come inside me.

I’ve had him in a way I never dreamed possible.

Something beyond my reach is now in my hands, and I don’t ever want to let it go.

He’s rich, powerful, privileged. The King of a prosperous nation.

I’m just a girl. A nanny. Australian trailer trash.

There are a million reasons why we shouldn’t work.

Why we shouldn’t do what we’ve been doing.

But in my heart, I know it doesn’t matter. In my heart, I know what I have with him, whatever this is, is right.

You will never be his queen, the voice in my head says.

But to that I answer—it doesn’t matter right now.

The only thing that does matter is right now.

So I get up out of bed. It’s past midnight and I’ve been lying awake for a few hours, my body aching and squirming for him, touching myself and pretending it’s Aksel’s lips. To tell you the truth, I’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting for a knock at my door, for him to come by.

Waiting sucks.

I’ve gone from craving him with mind and heart to craving him with my body and now I want all of him. I want him with a crazy, obsessive, primal need, like I’ll stop breathing without him.

I head toward the door and open it slowly.

The hall is dark. Quiet.

His room seems so far away, down the opposite end of the hall.

What if someone were to catch me going there?

Why can’t there be some little secret passage from my room to his?

I look both ways again and then quietly shut my door and slowly sneak down the hallway, making sure I’m absolutely silent.

I pause outside his door and take in a deep breath.

Despite being with him already, this is all so new. It’s fragile and growing, and I’m a little nervous. I don’t want to push him, I don’t want to ruin anything.

Butterflies dance in my stomach, adding to the jitters.

I don’t knock though, I don’t want the sound to wake anyone up, especially Maja who is a few rooms down. Despite her age, she’s a light sleeper.

So I put my hand on the knob and very slowly open the door.

The room is dark.

Shit. Maybe Aksel is sleeping.

I shouldn’t wake him up.

He’s a bloody king and he’s busy and the last thing he needs is for me to interrupt him and ruin his morning.

I’m about to close the door when I hear. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” I whisper, stepping inside. I close the door behind me and now I’m in darkness too.

The light beside his bed flicks on and he’s lying under the covers, staring at me in awe.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” he says, blinking.

I shake my head and anxiously walk over to the bed. “I don’t think so.”

He stares up at me. “You came.”

A smile tugs at my lips while my eyes coast over his bare chest. “You were waiting for me?”

“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “Hoping, is perhaps the right word.”

It’s so strange now that I can just pull back those covers and climb in bed with him, that I can just come into his room late at night and be with him. Strange and undeniably thrilling.

Suddenly I feel shy. I’m hardly ever shy. But all of this is happening so fast and yet not fast enough and I’m blushing, unsteady on my feet.

“What is it?” he asks, sitting up and reaching for my hand. “Come here.”

He tugs at me, but I keep standing. “I want to take things slow,” I tell him, and I’m shocked that the words just came out of my mouth.

“Whatever you want,” he says. “Just come here. I want to hold you.”

My heart skips at that and he lifts the covers.

He’s completely, beautifully naked with a half-hard cock at the ready, and I’m only in my flimsy night shirt, so I know this is a recipe for disaster in the whole “I want to take things slow” suggestion.

But I get in bed anyway, curling up against his chest as his arm goes around my shoulder, holding me tight to him.

I close my eyes, hearing his heart beat beneath my ear. It’s going fast and strong and I’m sure he’s having to hold himself back. I feel like a total tease coming in here like this and then saying I want it slow.

“I know you just fucked me in the hallway earlier today,” I say to him, glancing up at his eyes. “But I just want to…”

“Aurora,” he says as he holds me closer to him, kissing the top of my head. “You never have to explain anything. I’m just glad you’re here. I thought about going to your room, but I didn’t want to be pushy.”

“I usually like it when you’re pushy.”

“Mmmm. I suppose I still owe you another spanking.”

I grin against his chest. “Yes, you do. Something tells me that there is plenty of time to make up for it.”

“There is. We have a lot to make up for.”

We do. Months of dancing around each other, circling like wolves, too afraid to make the first move. Which is why I don’t mind waiting tonight and just being with him this way, absorbing his words and his touch and his smell and his steady heartbeat. I know we’re going to fuck like rabbits for the next foreseeable future.

I trace my fingers in figure eights along his chest, lost in thought about so many things. The one thing I want to talk about the most is the one thing we shouldn’t. What’s next. The knowledge that we could never really become anything beyond this moment. That was one of the reasons why it took me so long to even admit how I felt about him. It was futile.

“You know, the other night,” I say in such a way that he knows which night I’m talking about. “You’d said to me it had been a long time. How long had it been?”

He stiffens, and I look up to see him frowning at me. “Why do you want to know that?”

I shrug with one shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

“Always curious.” He sighs. “Well, it’s not really a secret. I haven’t been with anyone since Helena.”

Oh. Wow. And of course, it doesn’t surprise me that much, considering I have cyber-stalked the fuck out of this man and I could never dig up any dirt or info on who he might have dated since his wife. It’s because he wasn’t with anyone at all.

Fuck. That puts a bit of pressure on me. I’m his first lay since he lost her? Am I the sign that his mourning period is over? Or is that presumptuous of me, too?

“You’re speechless?” he asks. “I guess I should take that as a compliment.”

“I just…I’m just so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just my dick.”

“I mean that as in, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry it’s taken you this long to get over her.”

He looks at me sharply. There I go, saying the wrong thing again.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “That sounded callous. What I meant was…I’m just sorry you had to go through that. And even if you’re not over her, well, I mean, I don’t blame you.”

Though, god, I hope he’s over her. I hope I’m not just a bandage, salve on a wound.

Oh shit. What if I am?

“Aurora…” he says slowly, licking his lips. He sighs and lets his head flop back into the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “We didn’t love each other.”

I stare at him, stunned.

What?

“What?”

He runs his hand over his face and blinks. “It’s true. We didn’t love each other. At least, she never loved me. She pretended to, to win me over, to get the crown. And I was a dumb fool, eager for anything she could give me. Eager for someone to love me, as pathetic as that sounds. So, I fell in love with her and we got married and we had two beautiful children and then the truth became my reality.”

Holy moly. This is the absolute last thing I ever expected him to say. They were the star couple of the royal families, so handsome and beautiful and good. She with her charities, he with his rally driving and sailing. They were so damn perfect.

And it had been a lie.

“She never loved me,” he goes on. “And eventually, because you can only give as much as you get, I stopped loving her. We became two people who lived in the same house and that was it. We weren’t friends. We weren’t business partners. We weren’t even parents. We both just sort of managed the girls without consulting each other about it. I feared I screwed them up for life.”

“You didn’t,” I tell him, reaching up and running my fingers over his strong face. He kisses the palm of my hand and I melt. “You didn’t screw them up at all. Those girls are smart and lovely and kind.”

“Because you are smart and lovely and kind. You’ve done a better job raising them than she ever did.”

I shrink a little, not feeling comfortable with the way the conversation is going. “I don’t want to diminish the fact that she’s their mother and I’m not.”

“I’m being honest. As I always am. I don’t mince words and you know it all yourself at this point. You’ve seen the signs.”

He’s right but as a nanny I’ve tried to train myself to not ever undermine the mother, dead or alive. The truth is though, sometimes when Clara is talking about their mother, Freja looks completely confused. Freja was only three when her mother died. She doesn’t remember her the way that Clara seems to.

“It’s not a sin to realize the impact you’ve had on them, to know that you’ve turned them around for the better. There’s no shame in that. Helena tried her best, but her focus was elsewhere, on other things, on other…people, even. She wanted children for the wrong reasons, mainly because it was expected, mainly because it solidified her place in my family. In this day and age, you might say she wanted to become a mother for the likes.”

I wrinkle my nose.

“But that doesn’t make her a bad person. She was good in other ways. And I don’t fault her at all for wanting Clara and Freja, no matter her reasons, because without those reasons I wouldn’t have them. And they’re my world.” He places his fingers under my chin and tips up my jaw to meet his gaze. “Just as you’re my world now.”

I shift slightly so I can kiss him, softly on his lips, and there’s a moment where I know if I pull back and put my head on his chest again, that I will fall asleep and that will be that.

But I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he is right now, never had someone hold me with such confidence and security. I’ve never had anyone tell me that I’m their world.

I fucking love this man.

My king.

So I kiss him harder, my nails digging into his chest. His mouth opens against mine, slow at first, tentative, then grows more and more ravenous.

“Aurora,” he whispers against my mouth. “How can I keep you forever?”

And I’m melting.

“Just be with me,” I tell him, whispering, before I add, “And make me come. A lot.”

He half laughs, half growls, and his smile is entirely wolfish right before he grabs me and flips me over so he’s on top.

At first I think I’m going to be crushed, then instantly devoured, but he pulls back and moves slowly, deliberately. He positions himself so he’s lying on top of me, his warm chest pressed against mine, his elbows planted on either side of my head. He peers down at me in such a way it unnerves me, hitting me to the marrow of my bones. His eyes are both hazy with lust and startlingly clear, filled with a deep longing I can feel pull at me.

But there’s something new to them I’ve never seen before. A flash of fear.

“What is it?” I whisper while he runs his finger down the side of my face, over my cheekbone, down to my lips.

Then a faint smile crosses his lips, and though the fear in his eyes doesn’t waver, it softens. “Goddess.” His voice is rough, low, coarse. It brings out a flurry of goose bumps all over my skin.

He doesn’t say anything else.

And because his gaze is so disarming, I can’t think of anything to say either. We just stare at each other, connected on all levels. It’s a feeling bigger than the both of us.

And then I understand it.

The fear.

He just opened up his heart to me.

He opened up his secrets.

He let that mask drop for a moment until I saw his soul.

He let me in.

Aksel keeps his eyes on mine, burning with lust and I’m so turned on already, that I’m drenched between my thighs.

The man just has to look at me and I’m a mess.

“Aurora” he groans as his fingers find my clit, teasing it, his eyes never breaking from mine. “You’re so wet for me.”

I give him a broad smile. “And only you, sir.”

“I love it when you talk nanny to me,” he says gruffly as he grabs my hips and pulls me closer. “Waiting and ready to do my bidding.” I bring my leg up, hooking it around his waist, keeping him against my hips, while I pull my night shirt over my head and toss it aside. I’m starting to get impatient, the ache inside me increasing with each slick stroke of his finger.

“I’ll only do your bidding in the bedroom,” I remind him as I let a groan slip from my mouth.

“I can live with that,” he whispers to me as he reaches for his cock and runs the crown of it up and down my clit, pausing to dip it briefly inside before bringing it back up. The sound is so loud in his cavernous room, it’s obscene.

And, it’s more than apparent, that he wants to take it torturously slow tonight.

I don’t mind.

My eyes close, surrendering myself to this intense teasing. He’s not pushing in, it’s just a lazy slide, back and forth, but I feel myself opening for him anyway, my body starving for more.

Hungry.

Always.

“You like that?” he murmurs, his voice so thick with need that I can’t even answer him. I nod, relaxing back into his pillow. I’m beyond ready for him, surrendering and spurring him on as he rubs against me, over and over again.

This is so fucking rich.

Royal.

I swallow hard, and a begging noise escapes my lips.

He likes that. I can tell by the way his muscles tense. My heart is starting to pound in my head, my skin is hot and tight, my nipples are hardened pebbles in the cool air as his skin brushes against them.

With a slow exhale, he grips my hip as he pushes himself inside me from the side. He’s bare and thick and long as he sinks in, this slow, decadent thrust.

“So good,” he murmurs, his voice throaty with need. “So beautiful.”

I take in a deep breath and try to focus on every single thing that’s happening, from head to toe, just letting it all sink in.

Like the times we’ve had sex before, I’m hit with the sad, urgent feeling that it might not happen again.

Because it feels right. It feels good, then it feels too much, then I don’t even know what I feel because all I feel is Aksel.

He’s taken over my whole world.

He’s my ruler.

I’m his subject.

I groan, stretching around his thick cock, loving how hard I can clench him. He loves it too. His breath is getting shorter, more labored, which makes me grip him even harder. I love these little sounds he makes; how undone he becomes. He goes from a man in a sharp suit to a wolf in the wild.

“Want me to go faster?’ he asks, groaning as he speaks.

“No,” I say, licking my lips. I look at him. “This is good.”

It’s better than good but other words are escaping me right now.

He nods and watches me intently as he pushes in further. His lips part as he sucks in his breath and his forehead creases in lust and awe, like he can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how good it feels.

“Oh god,” he moans, his grip tightening on my hips, sliding up to my waist, to my breasts where he pinches my nipples. “Aurora. Fuck me. You’re so fucking perfect. You’re a dream.”

I might feel perfect right now while his cock is sliding deep within me, but I’m not a dream. I’m one hundred per cent real. I’m here. I’m living this, I’m feeling this, I’m loving this.

This is happening.

He’s watching me, watching himself, watching us, where his cock sinks into me, his shaft wet with my desire. He’s entranced by the sight, the slow push in, the slow pull out.

Look at what we do to each other.

Each rock of my hips, each thrust of his, pushes him in deeper, makes us connect like magnets. The way his abs clench as he pushes inside, the tiny beads of sweat that gather over his tanned skin, the dampness on his brow. I reach around and pull his ass toward me, wanting more, and he drives in so deep that the air leaves my lungs.

God, yes.

My head goes back again and I’m surrendering to him. He’s in me, in so deep, and I don’t ever want him to leave. This feels beyond right.

This might be the calm before the storm. This might be the storm, too. He can be both those things for me, the peace and the chaos. He can be my everything if he wants to. Even if he doesn’t.

I don’t want this to ever stop.

Something goes off inside me, a spiral in my core that’s slowly increasing, spreading, heating up. It’s going to take over me, it’s going to pull me under, and I’ve never wanted to come so badly in my life.

“Almost,” I whisper, my voice choked with my sudden hunger for him. “God, Aksel, I’m almost…”

He responds instantly.

With a throaty growl he starts pumping faster, one hand at my back to hold me in place, the other in my hair, making a fist. He’s sliding in deeper than ever, hitting me where my body is dying for release.

He brings my head forward and kisses me, quick and hot, tasting like sweat. My mouth is ravenous against his, messy, the need inside me building and building.

Please, please, please.

I want this forever.

This has always been about more than just sex.

I just can’t deny it anymore.

And then we find our rhythm, our bodies coming together in a dance. I wouldn’t say it’s effortless because he’s pounding and pounding me, working me in fevered intensity, because it is work to fuck like this. And yet there’s a sense of ease with each other, with our bodies, that I can’t describe.

Like my body was his from the start.

The bed slams back against the wall, the sheets are pulled loose, my breasts are jostling, and I hope we’re not waking the palace, but fuck it, I don’t care. Not now. Not when I’m this close.

“I’m coming,” I start to cry out but he’s quick and places the pillow over my face, muffling my ragged voice.

I bite into it, feeling the feathers between my teeth.

Then I’m twisted and crushed as the orgasm washes over me like a rogue wave, tearing me into a million directions of starlight and bliss. An explosion of floating feathers in my chest.

Sir, yes, sir.

“Fuck,” Aksel grunts as the release claims him. His rough, frantic noises, the slap of his sweat-soaked skin against mine, the creak of the bed, all fills my ears.

The pillow slips away from my face.

He lets out a low, barely-restrained moan, shoulders shaking as he comes.

I’ll never get tired of this sight.

This king brought to his knees.

The pumping slows. His grip loosens.

He collapses against the pillow, his hair damp and sticking to his brow. His eyes take me in, his breath heavy and hard.

“Give me five minutes,” he says, gasping. “And then we’ll do that again.”

CHAPTER 18

AURORA

MARCH

Amelie is coming today.

I’ve been so wrapped up in Aksel over the last two weeks—literally and figuratively—that I’d completely forgotten. It wasn’t until she called me and told me her flight details a few days before that I remembered what she’d promised.

One was to come here and check on me.

Two was to get me laid.

I can’t possibly tell her that she doesn’t need to worry about that last one anymore because I’ve been having sex with Aksel as often as I can. It’s literally the best part of my day (or night, as it is), sneaking around the palace and trying to find alone time with each other. Some days it just doesn’t work out, but most days it does. We make it work, no matter how little sleep we get, no matter if it’s just a quickie in the shower or a hidden corner of the palace.

“She’s here,” Maja says from the open doorway to my bedroom. “I’ll show her to your room.”

We had Henrik go and pick her up from the airport. I probably should have gone with a sign that said Amelie on it, but the fact is, the public knows who I am now. I’m certainly not harassed when I’m out and about—Danes are far more polite than that. But they do love their royal family and I guess I’ve been accepted as one of them.

More or less.

I mean, I have seen some tabloids about me. Usually I’m just in a picture with the kids and get a one-liner about being the nanny. The more Danish that I know, the more I understand what they’re talking about and I’m not really that interesting to anyone.

But then, sometimes, there’s a strange expose on me. That’s more from the British tabloids and those Royal Rags, as they call them, media that’s completely devoted to reporting on all the juicy gossip and public events of royal families around the world.

They can be pretty merciless. I’ve seen them basically crucify Prince Viktor of Sweden and his American fiancée, and they love to hate on Prince Magnus of Norway and his old partying ways, even though he’s now married.

They have tried to go after me, just a little. They talk about the other families I’ve been a nanny for in France, they talk about how pretty I am (thank you very much), but they also talk about my slutty uniform (urgh) and how it must be hard for King Aksel to work around me. That shit bugs me the most of all. They go on to say how if Queen Helena was alive, she would have never allowed me to be hired.

That’s probably true, the more I hear about her, the real her. Aksel is still very careful when he talks about her and goes out of his way to not blame her for anything, as if her ghost is going to appear at any moment and hit him upside the head, but as I first suspected when I met him, Henrik spills the beans. Since he was her driver, he knew her pretty well and that public persona rarely matched her private one.

But it’s the public one that counts when it comes to royalty and the public still thinks she’s an angel. And since she did do a lot of good, some of it even for altruistic purposes, there’s no tarnishing her reputation.

So it’s Aksel who gets shit on and speculated on and sometimes I’m thrown into the mix. Mind you, it’s not the Danish media who is unfair to him in that way, but still.

I’m just really lucky that they haven’t been able to dig up any dirt on my end of things.

If they found out the truth about me.

If they discovered who Rory Jameson is, all of this would be over.

I really should come clean to Aksel. I should at least come clean to Amelie and start from there. But revisiting my past and the terrible horrors of who I was doesn’t seem worth it.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

Everyone deserves a fresh start.

Otherwise we’re forever shackled to the people we used to be.

Amelie herself snaps me out of my torrid thoughts.

“Bonjour!” she cries out from the door, shuffling toward me with her arms out.

“Bonjour!” I exclaim, getting out of my seat and going over to her. We embrace, bisous on each cheek.

“You look fantastic,” she says to me, motioning to my plaid skirt. “I like this whole schoolgirl thing. Very, how do you say, kinky?”

I laugh. “That’s probably not a good thing when you’re visiting a client.”

“Ah, but he is a king and you are doing so very well. You should have no trouble getting laid at all.”

I roll my eyes, stifling a guffaw. “Is that seriously why you came here?”

“No,” she says bluntly with a mild shrug. “I also came to spy. This is my first time in a royal palace, I could not pass it up.” She reaches down and tugs at my skirt in the same way that Aksel does. I raise my brow. “Now, tell me you’ll wear this out tonight.”

“If you insist.”

But, of course, before we go anywhere, I give her the informal palace tour, starting with the girl’s and Snarf Snarf, with Maja entertaining them as I enjoy a legitimate day off, then the rest of the rooms in the palace. We even pass by Nicklas in the hall, who gives me a cold nod.

“Who was that? He’s scary,” she whispers to me as he goes around the corner. Then before I have a chance to respond, she goes, “Mon dieu, that was him! The Queen’s butler.”

“He’s Aksel’s secretary now.”

“Oh, so strange. Why would he do that? He killed his wife.”

I shrug and let out a sigh. “Well, it was an accident. But I don’t know. I would say that guy is the only downfall of working here. I’ve asked Aksel more than a few times on why he’s here, but I get what I think is a whole bunch of bullshit instead. Who knows.”

“He’s not creepy to you, though? This butler.”

“Not at all. I mean, I don’t like him, but he stays away from me for the most part.”

Although the few times when Nicklas has approached me and Aksel was nearby, Aksel practically chased him away. This happened even before Aksel and I were together.

And Aksel happens to be our last stop on the tour.

Because it’s Sunday and it’s the evening, I know just where to find him.

He’s in the living room, in his usual chair, drinking brandy. I had told him twice already that Amelie was coming, hence why I was actually using my day off. I normally would just march right over to him, but since I’m supposed to be the mere nanny and he is a King and this is my supervisor of sorts, formality rules.

I clear my throat loud enough for Aksel to hear it.

“Pardon me, sir,” I say, and he turns in his seat to look at me, brows raised. “But I have a guest here to meet you.” I look to Amelie but her cool French façade is cracking and she’s frozen in her tracks. “Amelie, this is His Majesty, King Aksel of Denmark.”

Now, I have to admit, it never stops being fucking cool that I get to introduce him this way, even if I am just one of his staff members.

And it definitely doesn’t stop being amazing that at night, I’m the one who gets to share his bed.

Of course, I can’t tell her that.

Aksel gets to his feet, even though I know he’d rather stay in his chair by the fire, nursing his drink. Past a certain hour, he says he really likes to ignore the whole “king” part of his life, like he’s off-duty with unionized breaks.

Amelie is still a statue of herself, so I grab her hand and lead her over, like I would Clara or Freja.

He shoots me a bemused look, the kind of look that makes him look younger, carefree. I’m seeing that look from him more and more often.

I like to think it has something to do with me.

He sticks out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Amelie.”

When Amelie still doesn’t do anything but gawk, I take her hand and put it in Aksel’s.

He shakes it and only then does she kind of respond.

“Oh, hello. Oh, oui, Your Majesty. Désolée! I am so sorry, I do not know what happened there. Perhaps I lost my mind.”

“It’s quite alright,” Aksel says and then looks to me. “I completely forgot that she was coming today.”

“That’s because your brain has been elsewhere these days,” I say.

And that’s because all the blood that normally goes to his brain has been redirected to his Danish dick. Not that I’m complaining.

He nods at the chairs. “Do you girls want to join me?”

“Phhfff,” I say. “Girls? Ladies you mean.”

Now it’s Aksel’s time to scoff. “If you say so. The French one seems all right, but I’m still not sold on you.”

“You are sold on me,” I remind him. “You pay my salary.”

It’s then that I realize Amelie’s gaze is ping-ponging between us. “I don’t mind staying here,” she says. “We don’t have to go out.”

“Yes,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from Aksel. “Because you’ve made such a big deal about it, we do.”

“You can find men another day, no?” she asks.

Shit. My eyes laser onto hers. She wasn’t supposed to mention that, and she especially wasn’t supposed to make it look like it was my idea.

“Find men?” Aksel repeats, voice hard.

I glance at him warily, trying to give him the she’s crazy look with my eyes, but I’m not sure he’s picking up on it.

“Oui,” Amelie says. “Men. Like yourself, or perhaps less royal. Single, though. You don’t expect Aurora to become an old maid working for you, do you?”

Aksel’s gaze is as sharp as an icepick. “No,” he says after a moment. “I wouldn’t.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

“We’re just going out for a drink,” I assure him. “I’ll be home before you know it.”

“But it’s your day off, no?” Amelie says, tilting her head. “You’re allowed to stay out as long as you want. He isn’t the boss of you.”

“Technically I am,” he says gruffly, back into full-frowning mode. Yeesh. I’m going to have to spend a lot of time untangling this mess.

“Yes, but it’s her day off, and according to the Danish labor laws, you have no say over it,” she says.

“But I make the Danish labor laws,” he argues, narrowing his eyes.

Amelie doesn’t care. She shrugs. Whatever effect on her he had has worn off and she’s back to being blasé. “Hmm, no, that would be the prime minister. Sorry, Your Majesty, but I look out for my client first and the King of Denmark second.”

She grabs my hand. “Come now, darling, let’s go paint the town rouge.”

She drags me to the door and I look at Aksel over my shoulder.

He’s fucking pissed.

Is it wrong that it makes me feel a bit giddy inside?

We get in the car and Henrik drives us to the Ruby bar nearby, which I’ve always wanted to go to because it’s supposed to be hip and cool and all the things a normal twenty-six-year-old should be seeking out.

“Okay, so which Dane in here do you want to screw?” Amelie asks me.

We only got to the bar a few minutes ago and we’re sitting on a couch in the corner with a full view of the patrons. Only I’m just idly looking. I’m thinking of Aksel this whole time.

“Um, no one yet,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. It’s called a Nuda Veritas and it’s supposed to make me tell the truth. God, I hope not.

“No one? They’re all Nordic Gods. Dirty Danes. You know, if I didn’t have my boyfriend…” she glances at me. “You’re not even trying.”

I both sigh and swallow at the same time and nearly choke on the drink. “I don’t want to,” I say, coughing. “I’m fine.”

She squints at me. “Mmhmm. Yes. I can see that. Is that anything to do with your boss?”

I give her a steady look. “No.”

“He seemed rather concerned that you were going out. Is he always this controlling?”

Now, I can’t tell if she’s asking me this on a professional level or a friendly level, but even so, there’s only one answer. “He’s not controlling. I mean, he is a king and all and I’m his employee but if you’re asking me if it’s a problem, no. It’s not.”

He can be extra controlling in the bedroom, but I know that’s not what she’s asking.

Or, I hope that’s not.

“You do have a special…bond with him, no?”

I shake my head. “No. Not really.”

She leans forward, brushing her bangs out of her eyes to get a better look at my face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I tell her, pasting on a smile. “It’s all fine. I love this job.”

She studies me for a few moments and then leans back in the couch, taking a long sip of her drink. “D’accord. Then all is well.”

I just nod.

All is well.

Until the night is over, and Henrik has taken us back to the palace.

It’s much later than I thought it would be, nearly 1 a.m., when we stumble up the stairs to our rooms. Amelie is in one of the guest suites which is near Aksel’s room and I figure that there’s no way he wants to see me tonight anyway. He’s either waiting up for me, seething, or he fell asleep.

I say goodnight to her and go to my own room.

I remove my clothes, step into a nightshirt and head to the bathroom, only then noticing a note on my desk.

I’m in your bathroom.

What the fuck?

The note has been torn from my day planner, which I don’t appreciate, and scribbled with a Sharpie. Only I don’t know if it’s Aksel or not since I don’t ever recall seeing his handwriting.

“Aksel?” I call out quietly.

I head to the bathroom door—which is closed when I know I left it open—and slowly open it, reaching in to flick on the lights.

Aksel is standing right by the door and I almost scream, jumping up and down in fright.

“I left you a note,” he whispers harshly.

“I know!” I cry out as softly as I can, my heart racing. “That didn’t make this any less scary! Why are you in my bathroom?”

“I needed to see you.”

“In my bathroom?”

“In your room.”

“So wait in the room.”

“I didn’t know if you were coming home alone.”

I nearly bite my tongue. “Seriously? You really thought I was going out to pick up guys?”

“Well why did you go out?” He comes out of the bathroom and I notice how wild his eyes are, the firm clench of his jaw. He’s mad. For no reason.

“I went out because I’ve been living in this city for half a year and I’ve never gone to a bar. That’s why.”

He mumbles something in Danish at that and I don’t care to know what it is. “Well, you could have told me that.”

“I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t really matter in the long run. I did it because Amelie came here, and she wanted to. And I haven’t had a girl’s night in a long time.” I pause. “Still doesn’t explain why you were hiding in my bathroom.”

“It’s hardly called hiding when you leave a note.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t whatever me. Never whatever me.”

“Oh, sorry, whatever, Your Majesty.” I add under my breath, “Fucking opposite of majestic right now.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He grabs my arm. “It’s not nothing,” he says and beyond his frown and the sharp intensity of his eyes, I see the fear. “And nothing is whatever between us, do you understand? That’s not how we talk, that’s not how we work. We don’t just roll our eyes and ignore shit. We deal with shit. And that’s why I’m in your fucking bedroom right now because I couldn’t go to sleep with this weight in my heart.”

Oh. Damn.

I didn’t know it was like that.

His words almost have a calming effect on me. “Well what are you so worried about?” I manage to say.

“You,” he whispers, closing the gap between us and cradling my face in his hands. “I worry about you. I worry about losing you.”

“Why would you think that? I’m all yours, Aksel.”

“How do I know? How do I know you’re not after something else?”

I think anyone else might be insulted, but I know what Helena did to him, I know how distrustful of intentions he can be. I place my hands on top of his hands and gaze up at him with all the truth that I can muster, hoping he can read in my eyes before he hears it from my lips.

Falling for Aksel was a step off into the unknown, a leap off the highest cliff, with clouds obscuring the view below. You don’t know what lies below you, you don’t know how far you’ll fall or if you’ll even land at all. You don’t know anything because no one knows anything.

And it doesn’t even matter. Life is nothing without risk.

I closed my eyes, took that leap, and fell in love.

I’m still falling.

“Jeg elsker dig,” I tell him, willing my voice not to shake. “I love you.”

I said it in English after I said it in Danish, just in case he didn’t understand me and yet he’s still staring at me like I spoke a foreign language. His brows come together, almost in pain, his mouth dropping open slightly.

His hands press harder onto my face and I start biting my lip, unsure what’s going to happen next. That’s the problem with the leap when you can’t see the bottom. You don’t know where you’re going to end up.

Or if someone will catch you in the end.

I open my mouth, unsure of what else to say, maybe to explain myself.

But his lips press flush with mine and there’s a breathless gasp.

He pulls away just enough, his forehead pressed against mine, gazing wildly into my eyes. “Did you mean that?”

I nod, swallowing hard because I’m getting choked up and I can’t say much more without babbling. “I meant it. I meant it. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, it’s just taken this long to find the courage to tell you. And I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know that I love you.”

“You love me,” he whispers, closing his eyes and rocking back and forth slightly on his feet. “You love me. I am home.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “Home?”

He nods, just an inch, brow forever furrowed. “I’ve waited forty years for my heart to have a home,” he says softly. “I’ve waited for you.”

Sweet Jesus.

Is this man for real?

My heart is so damn full, I don’t think my chest can contain it anymore.

If that isn’t the most raw, honest thing that anyone has ever said, I don’t know what is.

And more than that, I relate. I know. I know what it’s like to search for something, not knowing what it is, feeling restless and unrooted and wondering if you’ll ever find your place in the world.

I’ve found my place. It’s in his arms.

My place in this world is with him.

He kisses me again and it’s like everything dissolves into stars.

Then he pulls back and grins. “You do know I love you, right?”

I smile right back. “Well, now I do.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “I love you.” He kisses my nose. “Jeg elsker dig.” My cheek. The corner of my mouth. “I love you, Aurora, and there’s no escaping it anymore.”

“You tried to escape?”

He shakes his head, kisses my temple. “It was hopeless. I thought I could get you out of my system. But you’re in my system. You’re in my blood, in my veins. I feel you with every pulse and every heartbeat that I have. I feel you, always”

This man, this man.

How can I be this lucky?

How can we be this lucky to find each other?

All these souls in all this world and I end up at his door.

I pull back slightly to look him in the eye. “You keep talking like that and you’re going to get it.”

He pauses, cocks a brow playfully. “Get what, exactly?”

“Anything you want,” I tell him.

“Oh really,” he muses, then his expression turns serious. “First I want you to promise me that you’re not looking for someone else.”

Bloody hell, this again?

Gently, I tease, “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Of some other man taking you away from me? Fearful is more like it,” he says. “But jealous works too. I’m not above admitting it. I love you and I can’t share you with anyone else. I won’t.” His voice cracks just a little which makes me think this is a little more than just plain old jealousy or insecurity. “You belong to me. I belong to you.”

It makes me wonder about Helena. About some of the things Henrik alluded to, that perhaps she had someone else, that she wasn’t faithful.

Shit, if that was the case, Aksel really got handed the shit end of the stick.

“Aksel,” I tell him, running my hands around to the small of his back. “If your heart has a home, mine does too. We can make a home together.”

He seems appeased by that, the creases in his brow smoothing.

“You really are a goddess,” he murmurs, kissing me again.

“And yet, I’m at your beck and call,” I say against his mouth. “You tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

That got his attention, like I knew it would.

He cranes his neck back to get a better look at me, dubious. “There you go again.”

“Tell me what you want,” I say again, teasing him. I take a step back out of his grasp, biting my lip coquettishly. “Perhaps you think I need another spanking.”

“Where on earth did you come from?” he says breathlessly.

“Australia.” I grin at him and start to undo the drawstring to his pajama pants. “So what will it be, sir?”

Now I have him.

A sly, hungry smile graces his lips.

“Get on your knees and call me Your Majesty.”

That I can do.

CHAPTER 19

AKSEL

APRIL

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

I look over at Aurora who is holding onto the railing and leaning over, looking positively green.

“Hang in there,” I tell her. “If you keep going below like that, you’ll only make it worse. Stay up on deck with me.”

“But it’s cold and wet up here,” she says. “And it’s warm and dry downstairs.”

Her words are punctuated by a slap of water to her face as the hull dips against a whitecap.

It’s the first sailing trip of the year, which means it’s late April and the waters around the Øresund Strait are rough thanks to the winds and the endless traffic of schooners, ferries and cruise ships that ply the waters nonstop.

We’re heading down away from the city and toward the Baltic Sea where we’re going to find anchorage for the night.

My sailboat is the same one that I race, locally made and sixty-feet long and recognizable to most of the Danish public, yet everyone gives me wide berth as I tack the boat back and forth down the strait. Of course, I’m also closely followed by a motorboat that contains my royal attendants and I also have my driver, Johan, on board with us, just in case.

Johan actually loves sailing, so he doesn’t mind taking over the wheel from time to time. Right now he’s down below with Clara and Freja who are on their iPads playing games. They’re used to sailing too.

But for Aurora, it’s her first time on a sailboat and I don’t think she’s handling it all that well. I felt a little wary to begin with when I invited her to come, but the girls were insistent that she do the trip.

I’m glad she’s here, even if it means we get no privacy together for the next twenty-four hours. We’ve come into a habit with each other that we at least spend half the night in each other’s beds, even if it means we have to do a secret walk of shame at four in the morning back to our own room.

I really wish it wasn’t this way. She seems okay with the sneaking around, but it gets under my skin like nothing else. I don’t want to have to hide her. I’m proud of her. I want the world to see what I see in her, what everyone else sees in her. She’s charming and genuine, kind and smart, unfiltered and compassionate, part book nerd, part goddess, and all mine. She’s a goofball with big eyes and a big heart and every single morning I get up wondering how I can make her happy, over and over again.

Suffice to say, I’m failing at the moment.

“Come over here,” I tell her, holding out my arm.

“I might chunder on you,” she says.

“I don’t know what chunder means, and therefore, I don’t care. Now, come here. That’s a royal order.”

That manages to get a weak smirk out of her. I’ll take what I can get.

“Remember when you said you would never abuse your power.” She unwraps her hands from around the railing and stumbles toward me, leaning on the ropes and winches until she’s at the wheel.

I put my arms around her, hugging her from behind. “Put your hands on the wheel.”

She does so, and I put my hands on top of hers.

This is the most intimate we’ve been in public.

To Johan or the girls below or the royal attendants on the other boat, it looks like I’m giving her a sailing lesson.

They don’t know that I’m kissing the top of her head, salt spray on my lips.

They don’t know that I’m pressing an erection into the curves of her ass.

They don’t know that I’m whispering in her ear.

“Jeg elsker dig.”

I love you.

Though I can’t see her face, I can feel her smile. She hooks her thumb onto the side of my hand and squeezes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” she whispers back, but I barely hear it, her words caught by the wind.

I’ve never felt so much in my element before, I’ve never felt so alive. Here, on the boat with her protected between me and the wheel, I feel pure happiness rise out of me, like a phoenix from the ashes of the person I once was.

Nothing can take this moment away from me, I think. Not even death will erase this from my mind.

I’m not sure if Aurora is picking up on how I’m feeling or if she’s just doing better, but she doesn’t go back inside. She stays at the wheel, even as I’m pulling ropes and letting out sails.

She’s made of hardy stock, that’s for sure. When she first took the job, I thought that her “roughness” would be a detriment to the position. After all, it was all about poise and grace and raising two princesses. But instead of poise and grace, she brought grit and guts. She rose to every challenge that the girls and I threw her way, and more than that, she rose up against me. She did it for the things she believed in and if it didn’t go her way, she’d argue her way out.

In other words, she’s the perfect woman to take sailing, because even with feeling seasick, she’s still toughing it out, because that’s what she does.

She’s the perfect woman period.

And now I’m tasked with figuring out how to make her stay.

Forever.

With me.

Naturally the biggest issue so far is that I haven’t been entirely honest with her and I know that day of reckoning is coming. I just pray that what we have is strong enough to survive it.

“Hey!” she says excitedly, pointing in the distance where the strait opens up and the Baltic Sea spreads before us. “A rainbow!”

I’m currently bringing in the main sail to adapt to the changing wind and look around it to see a defined rainbow in the distance where the clouds are parting and the sun is coming in.

“The wind should be dropping soon as it comes around Sweden,” I tell her. “The seas should calm.”

She gives me her happy grin. Her mouth has always been wide for her face, her smile so beguiling, but when she’s really, really happy, that’s when you see her incisors. I call them her glade tænder or “happy teeth.” She becomes a sexy adorable vampire.

“It’s smooth sailing from here on out,” she starts singing a Queens of the Stone Age song, doing a goofy little dance at the wheel.

I laugh, wanting to join in but don’t.

“Oh, you’re too cool to dance with me,” she says with a scoff.

“I’m not the best dancer,” I admit, quickly tucking the ropes away and coming over to her.

“I don’t believe it,” she says. “You’re way too good at f….” she trails off and laughs loudly, covering her mouth. Dear god, she almost didn’t stop that admission. Neither my daughters or Johan need to know how good I am in bed.

“I’m good at footless, yes,” I say, as way of a cover-up. “But not proper dancing.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re good at slow dancing if anything. Kings have to know all that shit, don’t they?”

“Yes, we have to know all that shit.”

“Then perhaps one day you’ll ask me to dance.”

She’s still smiling as she says this, but there’s something heartbreaking about it. Like we both know the only dancing we’ll ever do is in our bedrooms.

I hate this. I love this so much and I hate it at the same time.

I hate that we’re trying to stifle whatever this is meant to be.

A muzzle on a dog that was never given the chance.

“It’s sunny!” Clara exclaims as her head pops out of the hatch and looks around. “Can we come up, Papa?”

“Of course,” I tell her. “Mind the deck, it’s a bit wet and slippery and stay down in the cockpit by Aurora.”

The girls climb out and go over to her, seemingly impressed that she’s steering the boat. I put on my sunglasses and scan the water in front of us, looking for any driftwood that sometimes blows out along here.

“Are those, like, X-ray vision?” Aurora asks.

I come over to the wheel and hand them to her. “They’re just polarized. It cuts out the glare so it’s easier to see into the water.”

She lets go of the wheel as I grab on to it and puts the sunglasses on her face.

“Wow,” she says softly, looking around her. Her smile is so bright, and I can see my reflection in the glasses. I’m smiling too. “It’s like a whole new world.”

“A whole new world,” Clara starts to sing dramatically. “A new fantastic point of view.”

I shake my head at her. She loves her Disney cartoons, but she didn’t quite inherit her mother’s singing voice.

Aurora is still looking around, then she takes them off and puts them back on again. “It’s hard to tell what’s reality now.”

“It’s all the same, it’s just you’re seeing it through a different filter,” I tell her. “It makes everything you’ve known seem brand new again.”

“It’s like another dimension.”

I chuckle at how enthralled she is and carefully remove the sunglasses from her face, staring at her. “Well this is the dimension you live in. It’s still beautiful.”

But love, I guess that’s the difference. Love is like looking at the world through polarized glasses. Every single thing has changed for the better. Everything murky becomes clear again.

“Papa,” Clara says, tugging at my jacket. “When do we get to the anchor place?”

“Soon,” I reassure her.

Though some of the best anchorages are on the Swedish side across the strait, we head down the Danish coast until we get to a little cove framed by a white sand beach. Much like the beach I took Aurora to around New Year’s, it’s deserted and won’t start filling up for another month.

Which is great because we have full privacy here.

We put the anchor down and then the royal attendants’ boat does the same right next to us and then we get started on dinner.

I hate to admit it, but I’m not much of a cook. Call me spoiled or having grown up a prince with countless cooks, but I certainly lack the culinary talent.

Aurora, on the other hand, takes charge. Down in the galley, she whips up a Spanish paella that rivals even the greatest chefs at my disposal. She even makes enough to give to the RAs and Johan rows over to deliver it.

“Another hidden talent,” I tell her after a few bites. We’re all sitting around the table, digging in, a nice bottle of Bordeaux between us. Johan can’t drink it because he’s officially on duty, so it’s just between Aurora and me.

“Believe me, this was easy,” she says. “I’ve made so many meals for so many families, this is the first time I’ve been able to show off for you guys.”

“How many families did you cook for?” Freja asks.

“Oh, I wasn’t a cook. I was just the nanny. But in those houses, they didn’t have a cook, so I did that as well. I was also the driver. I did everything.”

“Was their mother dead too?” Clara asks.

I nearly drop my fork, but Aurora handles it all in stride. “No, their mothers were alive. They just needed the extra help because they worked too much.”

“Like Papa,” Freja says quietly.

Ouch. I hate having that reminder.

“Everyone has to work,” Aurora says gently. “If I had children of my own, well I’m sure they’d be upset with me for spending all my days with you.”

“Why don’t you have children?” Clara asks.

“Clara,” I hiss at her. “That’s not an appropriate question.”

“Why not?”

“It’s fine,” Aurora says, giving me a sweet smile. She looks at Clara with kind eyes. “You only have children with people you love. Or, at least, you hope it ends up that way. But as you know, and often remind me, I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband. So, for now, you’re all I’ve got.”

I know she’s saying this in a glib sort of way, just trying to move past the conversation and go back to eating but I definitely catch the strain in her voice.

“For now,” Clara repeats. “What family are you going to go to after?”

“Where are you going?” Freja practically yells in horror.

“Nowhere,” Aurora says quickly, wiping her lips with a napkin. “Absolutely nowhere.”

Clara looks at me closely, like I’m going to tell a lie. “Aurora is staying with us forever, right?”

I meet Aurora’s eyes. “I hope so,” I say gravely.

Aurora nods. “I hope so too.”

Thankfully, after that the subject is dropped, the girls start talking on and on about the Minecraft game they like to play, which normally would bore me to tears but I’m just thankful they’re not grilling Aurora with the hard questions anymore.

If one of the advantages of being on the boat is that you get to get out of the palace and go on a vacation of sorts, the downside is that there really is no privacy.

Even with a yacht of this size, there are only so many cabins to sleep in. Johan gets one at the stern and Aurora gets the other one. The girls get a bunk cabin along the side, just above the salon, and I get the V-berth at the bow.

There’s no way that Aurora and I can sneak into each other’s rooms, we’d be walking past the girls each time and I know for a fact that they don’t sleep well on the boat because one of them always has nightmares about mermen, for some reason.

But that doesn’t stop me from going up to the cockpit after dessert is done, and the bottle of wine is gone, and the girls have been put to bed. I bundle up in my Helly Hansen jacket with a highball glass of scotch and a cigar and sit beside the wheel, taking in the night.

The skies have cleared above, and the stars are out like a shimmering velvet blanket. I take in a deep breath and try to light my cigar.

“Mind if I join you?” Aurora asks softly as she climbs up. She’s wearing one of my fleece jackets from one of the races I did, which is completely oversized on her. Looks like the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen.

I pat the space next to me and go back to lighting the cigar until I’m satisfied it’s lit.

She sits down beside me, her hips pressed against mine, maybe a little too close for some but still nothing people could get upset about.

Not that there’s anyone around to see us. The motorboat of royal attendants is dark and silent, and though I know that there is someone on the deck all night, they aren’t focused on me.

Still, I remind myself to not get carried away, not with wine and scotch and the bracing sea air running through my veins.

“The girls fall asleep with no problems?” I ask her.

She tilts her head back and forth, considering. “Maybe. You were right, Clara really is afraid of mermen for some reason.”

“Well, it would be a hell of a thing to see one.” I puff on the cigar and let the smoke fall out of my mouth before offering it to her. “Cigar?”

I didn’t expect her to take it, but she does, sticking it between her lips with ease.

Fuck, that’s sexy.

Then again, what about her isn’t?

“It’s nice out here,” she says, tilting her head back to look at the endless starry sky as the smoke leaves her mouth. “It reminds me of home.” She pauses and then says quietly, “Huh. I so rarely refer to it as home.”

“I suppose you must have a completely different sky.”

“It was a completely different world. I was a completely different person.” She hands the cigar back to me.

I want to know more. She’s so guarded about her past, even now. I know it’s because she had a terrible childhood of neglect and it’s hard to talk about it. But I want her to share everything with me, the good and the bad. I want to know what her dreams are, as well as her nightmares.

“So you dropped out of school when you were a teenager,” I mention.

She sighs. “Yeah. When I was sixteen. I was dumb. I mean, I made some really dumb mistakes.”

“Why did you drop out?”

She looks off into the distance. The water has calmed quite a bit in this bay, enough to reflect some of the stars back. “Because I met a man and I fell in love.”

This is a surprise. “At sixteen?”

“Puppy love,” she says with a shrug. “Puppy love that morphed into something beastly.” Her voice is more acidic now.

“What happened? Who was he?”

“He was a criminal,” she says.

I stare at her. “Are you serious? I mean, I know there is a running joke among Australians but…”

“No, he really was. He came to town with a lot of cash and needed a safe place to put it. He bought an ailing pub and opened it. But it was a front. And then he saw me walking past the pub one day on my way back from school and that was that. My bike was broken, and the walk was hours and he offered me a free drink and I went in. His name was Dan. He promised me the world. They always do, don’t they. Only I had nothing and nobody and I stuck with him like a joey to his mother.”

“Where is he now?”

“Jail,” she says, brushing her hair off her face, which looks even more fair and pale in the starlight. “At least, I hope he is. He killed someone during a drug deal gone wrong…” she trails off.

“I’m so sorry you had to be with a man like that,” I tell her softly. When I wanted her to open up, I didn’t think it would be this. But at the same time, I’m glad I’m no longer in the dark.

“Sometimes I think about how he’s a villain and I’m a victim. Other times I think I’m the villain and he’s the victim. Then it turns out that everyone has both of those roles in a story.” She lets out a long sigh. “We’re just people doing stupid things because that’s what people do.”

It’s so silent now. I can hear Johan snoring downstairs. I glance over at the RA boat and see a guy at the back with his iPhone out, lighting up his face. There’s freedom out here, a place where confessions can set you free.

I need to be set free.

Especially with her.

We can’t move forward in this relationship, however you want to define us, until we’re completely honest and open with each other.

I clear my throat and steady myself.

This is just the last step in my salvation and she’s been my crutch each time.

Every dirty thing I do to her makes me feel clean inside.

Each time I come deep inside of her, I’m reborn a new man.

She is mercy incarnate, my absolution.

“I killed my wife,” I say. My words are quiet and soft and meant for her, but they still have the impact of a thousand storms.

Aurora slowly turns to look at me, her big eyes even more oversized, her face paling before me. She can’t even speak.

“It was an accident,” I go on, carefully choosing my words, hoping to make her understand. “I was driving that night in the car. It wasn’t Nicklas. I was angry, and the roads were wet and there was a fight in the car and I…I lost control. I so rarely lose control, but I lost control then. We went over the shoulder and plunged down. Flipping. I never thought the car would stop flipping. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and she went through the windshield. I saw her die.”

The air between us is so still, stretched thin with tension. Aurora is trying to breathe, I’m trying to calm my fevered heartbeat. I don’t know what I was expecting, I just know it needed to be said. And if she should leave me now…I can’t blame her.

“Where was Nicklas?” she finally asks.

“He was in the car. I picked up both him and Helena from the airstrip. I wanted the two of them together alone. It was the only way I could confront them in private.”

“Why?”

“Because Helena and Nicklas were having an affair. Probably since we got married, maybe even before. I knew, and I wanted them to know. It was stupid. I should have kept my mouth shut, that’s what was expected of me. To turn a blind eye to affairs. But I couldn’t. I was so hurt and more than that, my pride was hurt. Precious, precious pride.”

“So Nicklas wasn’t driving?”

“No. He took the fall because I’m a coward. I knew admitting what happened would destroy my family and the girls. And he took it because I promised him a job and I promised him the world would never know about him and Helena.”

“Jesus,” she swears, shaking her head. “Aksel…I don’t know what to say.”

It’s getting hard to swallow. Suddenly the fear is so real, that I will lose her. That she’s finally seeing who I am, the man beneath the crown and behind the mask.

Then she shifts and puts her hand on my thigh, squeezing it. “Thank you for telling me that. It must have been weighing on you so much. I wish I had that kind of courage.”

“Courage,” I scoff bitterly. “It’s not courage. It’s just that I can’t stand to keep anything from you. If you’re going to be with me, you need to know exactly who I am. A coward.”

“A good, brilliant man,” she says. “That’s what you are. Smart and funny and sexy and such a good father. You’re so many things, Aksel, and you’ve been through so much and being a coward isn’t one of them.”

“I feel terrible. All the time. Living this lie.”

“But it wasn’t your fault, you said so yourself.”

“It wasn’t, but it was me who picked them up, angry, me who drove them. I should have just…found another way.”

“But you didn’t mean to kill her. You almost died yourself.”

“I know. But facts don’t absolve guilt. Truth feels like a lie sometimes.”

“It’s because of Nicklas,” she says. “He constantly reminds you of what happened. God, how can you work with him? He was fucking your wife!”

I put a finger to my mouth to remind her to keep it quiet. Thankfully I don’t think anyone can hear us. “He was, and I hate him for it. I hate him for a million reasons. But if I fire him, he’ll tell the world the truth. And even if I am thrown under the bus, which I do deserve, my children do not. More than that, the truth about his affair with Helena will come out and that’s the one thing I swore I would do, protect her reputation until the very end. No one must ever know about her and Nicklas. She must remain an angel in their eyes.”

“So what are you going to do? He has something over your head every day. What is stopping him from writing a book or doing an interview?”

“The fact that people won’t believe him.”

“That hasn’t stopped other people before.”

I shrug. “Maybe he feels guilty.” Maybe he’s biding his time. “He is the one who hit me while I was driving, his actions made me lose control of the car. So, there’s that. And he knows it. That’s the only reason he accepted taking the fall for it, so as long as it was always known as an accident. And it was an accident, it’s just the roles were switched.”

She lets out a long breath of air, shaking her head slightly. “What a complicated mess.”

“It is.”

“No wonder you’re such a grumpy pain in the ass.”

I give her a look. “You watch yourself, kid.”

She looks around and then gently puts her head on my shoulder.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” I say softly, taking another puff of the cigar. “The guard on the other boat might see.”

But then I put my arm around her anyway and hold her close to me.

I’m just comforting the nanny.

There’s nothing to see here.

And yet there’s everything.

CHAPTER 20

AURORA

JUNE

It’s June 5th.

A date that used to have no meaning to me whatsoever, except that in France it was around the time that the tourists started to descend in droves and the weather was getting cracking hot.

But here, in Denmark, it’s their day.

As in their constitution day.

Denmark Day does have a nice ring to it, but they call it Grundlovsdag, which doesn’t have a nice ring to it.

Anyway, it’s a big ass deal to the Danes and as such it’s even a bigger deal to the royal family. I woke up at the crack of dawn this morning to get Clara and Freja dressed into their traditional Danish costumes.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Clara complains as I pull her hair back into a braid, pinning it to her head before trying to attach a white bonnet/veil type thing.

“You love dresses,” I remind her.

“Yes, but this one is scratchy and hot,” she says, picking at the dark patterned skirt. She’s also wearing a full white blouse, red vest, and sash.

The kicker is, so am I.

“Hey, I’m wearing it too and you don’t hear me complaining.” I give her a big smile in the mirror we’re standing in front of. Of course, I am complaining in my head, because it’s June now and Copenhagen is going through a heat wave and this costume really is hot and itchy.

But when Aksel suggested it might be cute for me to spend the day in traditional gear, I went along with it. Because as much as I love keeping Aksel on his toes, I also like to please him, and I thought this might make me feel like an honorary Dane, not just an honorary goddess.

There’s also a ball tonight. Most of the public don’t celebrate that hard since some don’t even get the whole day off, but for Aksel and his family traditions, there’s a royal ball that they always put on in the palace.

I’m excited. I’m excited because I’m invited. Being the girls’ nanny means that I’ve missed out on countless occasions and events that Aksel and the others have attended but for this one, the girls are expected to be there, and so I will be there by default.

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.”

“It does,” she says softly, giving my hand a squeeze. “But let’s not pretend he hasn’t had the help.”

I stare at her, wondering if she could possibly know what’s going on between us. We’ve been so careful with each other, even though Maja is as sharp as a tack.

But if she does know, then it obviously doesn’t bother her.

She’s probably just thanking you for your nanny duties, don’t get carried away.

So I don’t.

When the ceremony and speeches with Aksel, the Prime Minister, and some local celebrity (which, sadly, wasn’t Viggo Mortensen) ends, everyone goes their separate ways to prepare for the ball.

My job, as usual, is to watch the girls and keep them out of trouble.

My job is also to sequester Snarf Snarf into a guest bathroom on the third floor, just to keep him out of people’s way. It’s not an easy job since the bigger the pig gets, the more aversion he has to stairs, and I practically have to carry the giant beast all the way up.

Point is, I’m a mess and I’m a wreck and suddenly going to bed early seems like a better alternative to going to this royal ball.

“Girls,” I call out to them. I’m collapsed in what feels like a bottomless beanbag chair in their room, while they sit on the floor, Clara reading a story to Freja in Danish. “You don’t really want to go to this party, do you?”

“Yes we do, we go every year,” Clara says and without skipping a beat, goes back to reading out loud.

“I don’t even have anything to wear.”

“Why don’t you wear what you wore earlier,” Freja says, snickering. “Papa thought you looked funny.”

I groan. He did. That was his plan all along. And I still haven’t had a moment alone with him to kick him in the shins.

But the truth is, I don’t have anything to wear. For some reason I thought I would be wearing a costume to the ball and now that I know that’s not happening, I’m left with my own clothes and I’ve got nothing except miniskirts.

I sigh and text Henrik, who is probably super busy right now driving food and party supplies back and forth, but I do it anyway. Since I can’t leave the girls, and I’m not about to take them into a clothing store, I ask if Henrik can pick up a dress during one of his errands. I tell him my size and tell him I don’t want anything too clingy around my stomach because I don’t want to show off the little belly I’ve gained thanks to endless potatoes and rye bread. Really, I just want him to pick something that will fit in with the ball. He’ll know better than I do.

He doesn’t come back with the dress until way late. We skipped dinner because Karla and the cooks have been so busy with appetizers and drinks for the ball, so I scrounge around in the bustling kitchen for some bread and cheese and then bring it out to the dining room, so we at least have something to munch on before things get started.

My makeup is already done, and I straightened my hair, wearing it down to make up for the fact that it was stuffed in a braid and bonnet all afternoon, when he appears in the other doorway to the hall.

“Sorry I’m so late,” Henrik says, breathless. In his hands he’s holding a huge garment bag. “But I got the dress. I may have consulted with my wife on this one, so if you don’t like it, it’s all her fault.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I tell him, and I’m a bit relieved since I’ve met his wife once and she seemed to have good fashion sense. Then again, most people in this city are effortlessly stylish.

When we’re done scarfing down the bread and cheese, I wrangle the girls back up to my room since I don’t dare trust them alone when there’s party prep going on. I place them on the bed and tell them they can be my fashion show judges.

“Make sure you smize,” Clara calls out as I take the dress into the bathroom.

How on earth this girl knows about “smizing” and America’s Next Top Model is beyond me.

I close the door and unzip the garment bag.

Well, the first impression is good.

It’s a bronzy, nude color with glitter and sequins and…

I wrestle it out of the bag and then it expands to five times its size.

Holy shit.

This is an actual ball gown.

Like, a princess kind of ball gown.

From a Disney film.

I hold it up, trying to see if it will even fit but thankfully it seems to be my size.

I manage to get it on and look in the mirror.

The bustier top is full-on sequins, low-cut, pushing up my breasts while nipping in my stomach. The rest of the gown poufs out majorly, all glitter and tulle and magic.

Wow.

“Let us see,” I hear Clara cry out.

I open the door and make a dramatic entrance, shifting my hips to the side and throwing out my arms. “Ta-da!”

“You’re a princess!” Clara yells, jumping off the bed and running over to me. “You’re more princess than I am!”

“Du ser smuk ud,” Freja says, following her sister and running her hands down the side of my dress.

“Thank you,” I tell her. She said I look gorgeous.

I feel gorgeous.

For once I don’t think that my ears stick out a little or that my teeth and smile are oversized or that my brows are too strong and bold for my face. For once I think it all comes together, making me beautiful.

But let’s face it, Aksel has been making me feel beautiful every single night that I’m in his bed.

“Sleeping Beauty,” Clara says, looking me over. “That’s who you are.”

“Princess Aurora,” Freja clarifies.

Clara grabs her sister by the arm and starts twirling her around my bedroom. “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream,” she sings one of the songs from the cartoon. It’s terribly off-key and she shrieks more than she sings, but there’s something so utterly charming about the scene in front of me that I feel my heart breaking into a million pieces. It’s so strange how something can make you feel so happy, so good, it makes you painfully sad at the same time.

“You’re crying,” Freja says, once Clara has twirled her toward me.

“Am I?” I say, carefully running the edge of my fingers under my eye. “Probably just dust in the air.”

I head to the bathroom and look in the mirror again, making sure that my makeup isn’t ruined. I don’t know if it was the compliments that Maja was giving me earlier, or seeing Aksel give that rousing speech, or feeling like a princess, like I actually belong here for once, but my emotions all seem to be at the surface today.

As long as I don’t drink too much, I’ll be able to hold it together.

At about 7:30 p.m., after I get the girls into dresses of their own, shiny pink and green numbers with bows, I get a text from Aksel.

Where are you?

I breathe a sigh of giddy relief. I thought he’d forgotten about me.

I text back: Just got the girls ready.

He says: Come down. I need you here.

I need you.

Such simple words and they’re setting my heart on fire.

Be right there.

“Okay girls,” I say, putting my phone on the desk. I don’t have a clutch and the dress doesn’t have pockets so it’s better off in my room. “Let’s go.”

I take them by the hands and we head off to the ball.

The ballroom is located at the far wing of the palace on the first floor and other than playing with the girls and Snarf Snarf in there, I don’t go there much.

But tonight, it’s like entering another world.

You know those royal balls you see in the movies, people in fancy dresses dancing beneath glittering chandeliers, while butlers walk around with appetizers and champagne and a violin orchestra plays in the corner.

It’s like that.

Except everyone is a lot more modestly dressed.

And by that, I mean it’s all very sleek and Scandinavian and understated.

And I’ve just walked in the room in the world’s poufiest prom dress.

Heads turn.

People whisper.

“Who is that?”

“Is that the nanny?”

“Who does she think she is, a princess?”

Okay, well I can’t really hear or understand them from where I am, but I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re saying.

It doesn’t matter though. I hold my head high, ignoring the looks, and scan the room for Aksel.

I don’t see him at first, so, while still holding the girls’ hands with an iron grip, I slowly walk through the crowd, nodding my head at some of the staff that I know. But even they are giving me a look, you know, the one that says, aren’t you working too? Probably followed by, how on earth did she afford that dress on our wages?

The latter I don’t know. The label said Valentino and I really hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass, because I don’t have those kind of funds.

And then, like the sea parting for Moses, the crowd disintegrates in front of me and I see Aksel, standing with the Danish Prime Minister.

The Prime Minister spots me first, nods and says something to Aksel.

Aksel’s head pivots toward me.

His jaw practically drops. At least it seems that way to me since it’s usually held in such a tense manner.

That was the reaction I was hoping for.

I smile at him, knowing my smile makes him weak at the knees, and then glide toward him.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” I say to him sweetly. “I have your children here.” You know, to remind him that I’m the nanny and we haven’t been secretly screwing for several months.

Clara and Freja are incredibly quiet at the moment and Aksel says to the Prime Minister, “Warnekros, may I introduce to you my nanny, Aurora James.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Prime Minister,” I say, holding out my hand.

Warnekros is an older man with a shock of white hair and glasses and he seems a little befuddled at the moment. Still, he shakes my hand with a firm grip then looks at Aksel. “She’s much prettier in person.”

He said that in Danish but I’m certain that’s what he said.

Not sure if I should be insulted or not. I guess the tabloids never do publish my good side.

“I’ll let you two be,” the Prime Minister says, placing a hand on Aksel’s shoulder before walking away to the champagne.

“Lovely party,” I say to Aksel.

“It just got a lot lovelier,” he says, his voice awed and rough. He’s getting a look in his eyes, a look he can’t show in public. “You…” his eyes slowly rake over me, up and down. “You’re more than a goddess.”

I grin, wishing I could reach out and adjust his bowtie. “Well you look like a Nordic god in that tux, so I guess we make quiet the pair.”

It’s only then that I realize both Clara and Freja are staring up at us, watching.

“Okay girls,” I say to them, overly cheery. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

“Give them to Maja,” he says, reaching out and touching my shoulder.

“Why?”

“I want to dance with you,” he says. His eyes are intense and commanding, I can feel them all the way to my toes. They possess me in ways that nothing else does.

I look around. A lot of people are staring at us. Actually, I think everyone is. They’re watching our every interaction, our every look.

I feel like I’m at the zoo.

The most glamorous zoo in the world.

“You want to dance with me?” I ask. “What happened to you not being able to dance?”

“Perhaps I’ve improved.” He turns and waves at Maja nearby then smiles at his girls. “Go to your Tante Maja. I’ll bring Aurora back.”

They nod and Clara grabs Freja’s hand and they cross the ballroom to Maja, all while I hear Clara start to sing, “I know you, I danced with you once upon a dream.”

Once upon a dream is right.

Aksel holds out his arm for me to take. “If you will, Miss James.”

I do a small curtsey and then take his arm as he leads me to the middle of the floor.

Everyone who was dancing there suddenly scatters, leaving it open for just us.

He won’t stop smiling at me, not as I put my other hand on his shoulder, not as he puts his other hand at the small of my waist.

“Aren’t you afraid people will get the wrong idea?” I whisper, keeping focused on the strong, chiseled lines of his handsome face. From a scar across this nose where he broke it during his rally driving crash, to the sprinkles of grey at his temple and the permanent crease between his arched brows, I’ve memorized his face like a map that leads me home.

“Let them think what they want,” he says, his grasp tightening around me. “You can’t control that anyway.”

He’s got a point.

So I keep smiling as we glide and twirl around the ballroom, the world disappearing around us. Fragments of Clara’s song twinkle inside my head like stardust.

I know you, I danced with you once upon a night. There we were, wishing this dance would last forever all time.

And I know I’ll love him, forever all time.

All time.

But when the dance ends, the dream ends.

Aksel walks me back over to Maja and the girls, and I guess to make up for the attention I got, he takes Maja by the hand and proceeds to lead her over to the dance floor. She protests, bashfully at first, and then somewhat violently trying to get out of his grasp, but Aksel is persistent and wins his aunt over, spinning her carefully around the dance floor as he did with me, until she’s laughing loudly, clearly enjoying the attention from her nephew.

I’m happy.

There have been so many moments these days where I’m struck, almost blinded, by all this happiness and this is just another one.

Happy, happy, happy.

If I’ve been asleep all my life, it’s now, because of him, that I’m finally waking up.

“I want to dance, too,” Freja says in her small voice.

I glance at her. “Okay, but you both have to do it. I’m an expert at dancing with two princesses at a time.”

Both girls give me their hands and while Aksel dances with Maja, I twirl Clara and Freja around, their giggles as bright and bubbly as the overflowing champagne.

This continues for quite some time until my feet start getting tired and the drinks have made me a little loopy.

I tell Maja I’m going to the bathroom and I’ll be right back and before I’ve left the ballroom, Aksel is by my side, hand at my elbow and escorting me down the hall.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispers harshly in my ear.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

What did I do?

He doesn’t answer, he just looks around him and when he sees that there’s no one around, he opens the bathroom door and pushes me in there with him.

He quickly shuts the door and locks us in, and before I can say another word, he’s grabbing my face, lips devouring mine, tongue pushing into my mouth, stroking every pent-up desire.

Oh, Your Majesty.

I grab him in kind, my hands in his hair, at the back of his neck while his hands grab my waist, then my ass, trying to pinch and grope me through the layers of tulle. We grapple together in a frenzy of heat and lust and something unbelievably real. Something very us.

I’m pushed back against the tile wall, pinned there, and I’m his, completely his. My body operates on pure instinct, throwing myself into him with no inhibitions, no caution. It craves him as much as my mind and soul do. As he presses against me, breathing hard and kissing me, messy and wet, I put my hands around his shoulders and relish the lean, taut muscles of his back as I pull him in.

One of his hands is lost in my hair, tugging on it the way I like, and I let out a breathless gasp from the sweet pain.

“I’ve never seen such a gorgeous creature in all my life until I saw you tonight,” he says, voice rough with lust. “Once upon a dream, indeed.”

His other hand goes to lift the poufy hem of my dress, shrugging it up and up and up around my waist until it nearly takes over the whole counter. He slides the satin of my underwear aside and lets out a deep moan that I feel vibrate through me as he explores me with his fingers.

“So wet,” he murmurs. “You get so fucking wet for me.” He sticks three of his large, long fingers inside me and I clench around them, begging for more. “You know I want it. I have to have it.”

“Hurry up and fuck me,” I tell him. “Sir.”

But really. This is a dangerous place to get off and someone’s going to knock on the door at any minute.

He laughs, low and rich, reaching down to lift me up so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I reach down between us and frantically try to undo his belt. He stares at my frenzied hand for a moment, clearly enjoying just how much I want him.

“Hold on,” he says, pulling down his tuxedo pants and boxer briefs until his cock bobs freely, so dark and rigid. I love him like this, so raw, thick, and all for me.

He holds himself at my opening and waits for a few beats. I can feel the heat coming between us, the way his eyes burn into me, until his gaze drops to his cock as he’s about to push its stiff length inside me. Before I can urge him in, my fingers tighten their hold on his back, he pushes with one large, powerful thrust.

I can’t help the cry that escapes from my lips, and then the soft, “Oh,” as he slowly, agonizingly, pulls himself out, his cock absolutely drenched.

He eases himself back in, a few inches at a time, his lips brushing over mine.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he whispers against my mouth, his words breaking off into a groan. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I think the whole palace would collapse,” I manage to say.

Then he pushes himself back in.

Slow fucking agony.

My heart catches high in my throat. I can’t speak, I can only feel, and the intense gaze of his eyes tells me that something is happening, something new.

Tonight was something new.

Tonight I went to a ball and had a dance with a king.

Tonight I think the world had a glimpse of what we try so hard to hide.

His eyes continue to burn as he pushes himself in and out, pumping steadily. He grabs my chin lightly and holds my face, making sure I can’t break eye contact, can’t look away. It’s so intimate, the way his stare feels like he’s stripping me bare. But it’s Aksel. He can peer into my soul at any time. He’ll only see his own soul there.

A home for his heart.

Our moans are hushed, our breath rough and ragged as he moves inside me, his hips circling so he hits each and every tightly wound nerve.

It’s so fucking good.

It’s everything.

We are joined, connected, and the more he thrusts in, deeper, deeper, the warmer he feels, like barely contained fire. A bead of sweat rolls off his nose, and finally his eyes pinch closed as he approaches his climax, his mouth going for the crook of my neck where he bites and sucks and grunts as he pounds me, each thrust getting faster than the last.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, inhaling sharply. “I’m coming.”

Before I even have a chance to try and catch up, he lets go of my waist and slides a finger over my clit, petting it twice, and that’s all it takes to set me off like dynamite.

I explode outwardly, until I feel like there is nothing left, and he explodes into me. I can feel him inside, hot and potent as I throb mercilessly around him, my nails digging so hard into his shoulders as I ride him out that I know they’re going to leave marks tomorrow, even through his jacket.

My heart is huge, filled with stars and bliss.

This man. This king.

I’ll give it all to be his queen.

“Aksel,” I whisper, trailing off because I can’t catch my breath, because I know what I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it. That I want more and that I’m also afraid of it.

He’s breathing heavily into my shoulder and I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it, loving everything he is.

“I love it when you play with my hair,” he murmurs. He lifts his head and gazes at me with sated eyes. He gently brushes his thumbs over my cheeks. “I love everything about you.”

He’s got that look I love in his eyes, the one only I bring to him. Sleepy, relaxed, happy. Absolutely satisfied. In these moments his mask is gone, and the crown is elsewhere.

In these moments he belongs only to me.

The way it’s supposed to be.

“We should get back,” I tell him. “People will wonder.”

He nods, brows knitting together for a moment. “Of course.” He gently lowers me to the ground and then takes a wad of tissue paper, running it up the inside of my legs before unpoufing my skirt.

We give ourselves the once over in the mirror. He smooths down my acres of dress, I straighten his shirt and bowtie.

“I’ll go first,” he says. “That way if I see anyone, I can stall them.”

I nod, feeling all nervous about this whole thing suddenly. The blood is returning to my brain.

He opens the door and sticks his head out. Seeing the coast is clear, he strides away purposely.

I wait a few moments, so that he’s not associated with this bathroom at all.

Then I step out.

Just as Nicklas is walking in from the ballroom.

He must have just passed Aksel on the way and there’s nothing to suggest that Aksel was with me in there.

But my cheeks do feel like they’re on fire.

And Nicklas is staring at me in an odd way.

He walks toward me, his eyes so cold, and yet there’s a smug, knowing smirk to his face.

“Bathroom occupied?” he asks, gesturing to it.

“Uh, no, it’s all yours.”

“Tak, Miss Aurora,” he says and then steps in.

I know the truth about you, I feel like saying to him.

But I don’t.

I turn around and head back to the ball to find the girls.

CHAPTER 21

AURORA

One of the perks of being a royal nanny is that you get to work for someone like Aksel. I know that actually sleeping with the royal you’re serving is not part of the job description, but it’s worked out fairly well for us.

A perk that I just discovered is that when the royals go on vacation, you get to go on vacation too. And I don’t mean a rocky sailing trip down the cold coast of Denmark.

I mean sunshine, white sand beaches and azure waters. Coconuts and music. Parrots and dolphins. Everything wonderful.

We’re currently on the island of Saint Croix in the Caribbean. The island used to belong to Denmark at some point before it became part of the U.S. Virgin Islands. However, even though that was Denmark’s loss (hey, they still have Greenland), all the towns have kept their Danish names.

We’re at an extremely private villa just north of the colorful town of Frederiksted. It’s just me, Aksel and the girls. No Maja, no Nicklas, no Henrik.

Okay, so there were some royal attendants that are obligated to go with him everywhere, but he managed to have them stay at the gatehouse before the compound, giving us absolute privacy from everyone.

It’s just us.

Like we’re actually a family.

After the ball last week, after we were almost caught by Nicklas, Aksel decided he wanted us to get away, somewhere far, somewhere hot and humid. Somewhere where we could sleep in the same bed and be together without worrying that others are watching. Somewhere we didn’t have to hide our feelings for each other, where we could just be together, be free.

And while I still have my own room for the sake of the girls, it’s right next to Aksel’s and joined by a spacious deck, giving us complete and open access to each other. Believe me, we’ve spent the last six days making up for a lot of things.

At the moment, we’re lounging on our private beach that’s right in front of the villa. It’s small but it’s gorgeous and the girls are in front of us by the water, making sand “palaces.” The sand is white and fine, like baby powder and the sea is so blue it almost hurts my eyes.

We’re both on our stomachs on towels, a few beers between us. Aksel’s head is buried in his arms, so I let my eyes roam all over his body. He’s already so tanned, his body lean and long and rippling with muscles. His tight little bum is snug in a black Speedo that I like to snap the waistband of. Only fair, since he sometimes does that to my skirt, usually before shoving it up around my hips and having his way with me.

“I don’t want to go,” I tell him with a sigh. “Can’t we stay here forever? Just like this.”

He turns his head, cheek against the towel and squints at me, the sun in his eyes. “I wish we could. I think Stella would kill me, though.”

When Aksel has to go abroad for an extended period of time, his sister, Stella, has to act as the regent in his place. In Denmark it’s called Rigsforstander and she’s currently at the palace, taking over all his official duties. I know she hates it, because she’s told me as much, but it’s the way it is.

“Yeah,” I say. “She would. I just…I love being with you like this. Just us. Just…”

“I know,” he says, and his eyes grow soft. “I love it too. In fact…,” he looks up at the girls who are giggling as the waves tease the sand palace, “I want to tell them about us.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“The girls,” he says quietly. “I want them to know that I love you and that you love me and that we’re together. That you’re more than just their nanny to me.”

I shake my head, a bout of fear striking my heart. “You can’t do that. They won’t understand. Don’t tell them. Seriously.”

He frowns at me as he leans up on his elbows. “They have to know at some point if they don’t already. Aurora, I don’t want to hide it from them. The way I feel about you, it’s not going away. It’s only growing with time. It’s not right to keep them in the dark. They deserve to know.”

“What if they hate me for it?” I whisper. The thought makes me want to be sick. “What if they hate you?”

“They love you,” he says emphatically. “It doesn’t matter that you aren’t their real mother, they love you for you and as you. They never want to let you go, just as I don’t.”

But I’m no good. I’m not good enough for anything real. I’m only good in secret.

“Why are you so afraid?” he says, twisting onto his side and reaching out to touch my face. “This is a good thing. This is everything.”

I can’t explain it to him. “I’m just…I’m someone to hide in the dark. Don’t you get it?”

“No. I don’t. You keep bringing up the fact that you’re the nanny and that’s why we can’t be together, but it doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters. Okay, it matters. I can’t measure up to Helena.”

“No one says you have to.”

“The tabloids do.”

“The tabloids can go fuck themselves. They don’t matter.”

But they do. I shake my head. “If you tell the girls…and things don’t work out…”

His gaze sharpens, his jaw growing stiff. “Why wouldn’t it work out? Why would you even say that?”

“Because, you’re a king and…”

His fingers go back into my hair and he holds my head steady as he levels me with his eyes. “I am a king. And I belong to you in ways I never thought possible. More than I belong to my country, more than I belong to the people, I belong to you.”

I don’t deserve this man.

I.

Don’t.

Deserve.

Him.

I lick my lips, my mouth dry, my heart flooded. “Aksel,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to live a lie anymore. I want to tell the girls and then I want to tell the world. But I won’t do any of that unless you’re on board. It’s fucking killing me not to be able to touch you in public, to not be able to sing your praises, to not let everyone know that I’ve found love, love that I’ll wear better than any crown.” He gives me a sad smile. “But I won’t do it until you’re ready.”

He wears my love like a crown.

I just wish I was worthy enough to do the same.

“Just think about it,” he says, getting to his feet and holding out his hand for mine. “Come on. Let’s go for a swim.”

I give him my hand and he doesn’t let go as we run down toward the turquoise waves. If the girls think the handholding is odd at all, they don’t show it. Maybe it’s because we’ve become so close with each other around them, that they think it’s natural. Maybe because what Aksel and I have is natural, as natural as the salt in the sea and the sun in the sky.

He’s right. The girls do deserve to know the truth about us.

I can only hope my heart will be ready for it.

Later that evening, Aksel and I are standing on our deck overlooking the ocean. He leans against the railing, wearing just a pair of board shorts, no shirt. A warm breeze ruffles his hair, a half-empty beer dangles from his fingers. His gaze is focused on the horizon, content, and yet I can tell a million thoughts are running through his head.

I stare at him and hope it’s imprinting in the back of my head like a film negative, so I can pull it up and stare at it whenever I want. This to me is the real Aksel. Gorgeous and commanding and searching for peace.

I feel like he’s finally found his peace.

It’s in me.

“Get a good look?” he asks with a sly smile as he glances at me idly, taking a swig of his beer.

“Always,” I tell him.

“Have you thought anymore about what I said?” he asks after a long pause.

“I liked that ‘wear your love like a crown’ part. It was very poetic, as usual.”

He gives me a faint smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

He reaches out, his hand going around my waist and pulls me toward him. The girls are fast asleep in their room, it’s only the two of us out here. It feels like it’s the two of us against the world.

His hand disappears into my hair and he leans in, kissing me softly on the lips. I run my fingers down his back, feeling his smooth, taut skin. In moments like this, it feels like we’re unstoppable, immortal, like we’re at the center of a swirling universe, a god and a goddess, with the worlds at our feet. Nothing can touch us.

He pulls back just enough to let his lips brush against mine. I hear him swallow and when I open my eyes, he’s staring right into my soul, my heart. “I want a baby,” he murmurs so rough and so soft that I barely hear him.

I frown, my stomach doing back flips upon back flips. “What?”

A baby?

A baby!?

“I want a baby with you,” he says against my lips. “I want us to make one. To make a new life that’s mine and yours.”

Holy fuck.

That was not what I expected him to say.

In fact, I’d never heard him mention children all that much, I assumed that Clara and Freja were all he’d wanted.

But now he wants a baby with me.

Me.

“I want to be a father again,” he goes on. He straightens up, running his hand down my neck. “I want you to be the mother of my child. My children. Hell, I want lots of babies. A whole palace full of brothers and sisters for Clara and Freja.”

Lots of babies?! A whole palace full!?

I don’t know what to say, what to think.

The truth is, my ovaries are exploding into a million pieces right now and I would be lying if what he said wasn’t the most romantic, amazing, joyous thing I’d ever heard (and this is coming from him, who’s got a terribly romantic heart).

And I would definitely be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it already.

Oh, I’ve thought about it.

A lot.

My uterus has been a ticking time bomb for most of my twenties and I think the only reason I’ve been able to ignore it is because I’ve been a nanny for other people’s kids. And while being a nanny, not only do I get to have the family and security I never had growing up, I get to take care of babies and children. They aren’t mine, but it lets me get it out of my system.

But since I started working for Aksel, that ticking time bomb has gotten louder and louder, forcing me to pay attention to it. At first I thought it was because I’d fallen so in love with Clara and Freja, and then I realized it was because I’d fallen in love with their father.

I’d have this man’s babies any day.

Then what? The voice in my head says. Do you think this will actually work?

I ignore it. I choose to feel ecstasy instead.

“I love it when you’re speechless,” he says with a smirk as he tucks my hair behind my ear. “Gives me peace and quiet.”

I burst out laughing. It’s not even funny what he said, I just can’t help myself. Joy invades me from all corners of my heart.

“What?” he asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” I say, and if I don’t stop smiling, I think my face will permanently stay this way. “Nothing at all.” I grab his hand and start pulling him toward the French doors.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

I give him a flirty look over my shoulder. “If you want babies, Your Majesty, then the first thing we have to do is start making them.”

He lets me pull him into the bedroom. “Not that I’m complaining, but don’t you have to be off the pill for a few days for it to, uh, not work?”

I lie back on the bed. “There’s nothing wrong with a little practice.”

“No,” he says with a lustful grin as he unties his shorts. “There definitely isn’t.”

A buzzing noise keeps interrupting my dreams.

I groan and roll over, my body still worn out from the endless baby-making sessions. I slowly open my eyes. There’s a glow in the room but it’s not from the moon outside, it’s from my phone on the nightstand.

Who the hell is calling me at this hour?

I look over at Aksel who is asleep and lightly snoring—he’s always out cold after he comes—and then I reach for the phone.

It’s Amelie.

My pulse quickens. God, I hope everything is okay.

But before I get a chance to answer it, the phone stops buzzing.

I open it and check the time. It’s 3 a.m. here in St. Croix, which means it’s 8 a.m. in Paris.

I’m just about to text her and ask why she called when a text from her comes in.

It’s a photo of something, a screenshot, and I can’t get a good look at it until it’s open.

It’s quickly followed by a link to a UK tabloid.

My heart drops like a stone.

This is not going to be good.

I open the first pic, where Amelie had texted underneath: is this true??

And to my utter and total horror, it is true.

It’s completely true.

It’s the front page of an article with a picture of me.

A picture of my mug shot from back in the day.

The headline says Danish Royal Nanny a Criminal!

I can’t breathe. I can’t blink. I can’t even feel my heart anymore.

Everything I feared, everything I tried to bury, everything I left behind me, hoping to never face again, has come back in full force. I’m no longer haunted by my past.

My past is here.

With shaking hands, I clink on the link and read the rest of the article, ignoring all the texts coming through from Amelie, question after question.

What was reported was completely true, albeit not telling the whole story.

It makes me out to look like an actual criminal genius, not some young, fucked-up girl who was manipulated and abused.

That’s what hurts most of all. Maybe I’m a villain as much as a victim but without even knowing the facts, about what I’d gone through, my truth has turned into a lie.

I drop the phone in my lap, feeling like the world is crashing in on me.

It’s all over.

All of it.

Him, the girls, my job.

It’s done.

I can’t continue after this.

I wasn’t worthy before.

I’m a criminal now.

“What time is it?” Aksel says beside me, his voice thick with sleep.

But I can’t even talk.

He shifts in bed to look at me and I must look like a ghoul illuminated by the phone in my lap, staring at it in horror.

“What happened? Why are you up?” he asks, sitting upright.

My head shakes, a wobble, really, and my mouth opens to speak but no sound comes out.

The weight on my chest is a thousand pounds of bricks.

“Aurora, are you all right?” His voice is urgent. He grabs my shoulder so I’m facing him, his eyes searching my face. “What happened?”

The phone light goes off and the room goes dark.

It’s better this way.

I can tell him the truth without the light in my face.

“I have to tell you something,” I whisper.

A long beat. “Okay,” he says, trying to sound calm but failing. “What? You can tell me anything.”

“Yes, well. Apparently, I thought I couldn’t tell you this. And now I have no choice.”

“What is it?” His voice is low now, prepared for the worst.

“I have a past.” I stare ahead in the darkness, feeling that darkness creep into my soul. “I did some bad things.”

“I’m sure you did,” he says softly, running his hand down my naked back. “I know about your past. We’ve all done bad things.”

“My name isn’t Aurora James.”

The bomb goes off, leaving only silence behind, like when a star implodes in space.

“What are you talking about? What is it then?”

“My given name was Rory Jameson. I changed it, to separate myself from my past.”

“Okay, well. That’s fine. You’re still Aurora to me.”

God, he’s so understanding, so good. He doesn’t get it.

“Rory Jameson did some bad things.”

I hear him swallow. “What did Rory Jameson do?”

I take in a deep, shaking breath, knowing it won’t steady me or make things easier. “She met a guy called Dan. She fell in love with him because she didn’t know any better. She was too young. He was old enough. He got her into drugs, an escape from her shitty life. Later, he got her on the road, helping him commit crime. She stole some wallets, mostly. Then shoplifted. Finally she helped him rob a friend’s house. She was never caught, neither was he, they just kept driving on and using until one day it all caught up to them. He was doing a drug deal, the guy tried to screw him over, take his stuff. I was there, and I shouldn’t have been. The guy came for me, Dan attacked the guy. Killed him. It was self-defense, sure, but that didn’t really matter given the circumstances.”

I pause, afraid to glance at him. I’m wringing my hands together until they’ve gone numb. “We were both arrested. I was tried for drug use and being an accessory, but it was later dropped. Dan went to prison. It wasn’t just the manslaughter account. It was years and years of theft and robberies and money laundering and drug dealing. Things that happened even before he met me. Even I didn’t realize the extent of the person he was and the things he’d done. But by the time I realized it, he was put away and I had to make a new life for myself. I altered my name a bit, moved to Brisbane, was pretty much homeless for a month before I could get a job. Then I worked and worked and saved and saved and left for Europe, never to return.”

I hear him exhale sharply from his nose, the only noise in the room. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

I gnaw on my lip, bracing for the blow. “Because I’m stupid.” I open up the phone and pull up the article and hand it to him. “I’m very stupid.”

CHAPTER 22

AKSEL

I stare at the phone in my hands, mind still reeling from the bombshell Aurora just dropped in my lap, only to find another one.

A worse one.

I read the article in a daze.

An article that reiterates everything that Aurora just confessed to me but without any of the real details and idiosyncrasies. An article that paints Aurora as a lying, half-wit villain, trailer trash that weaseled her way into the Danish royal family.

An article that ruins all that she’s worked so hard for.

A life as Aurora James.

And yet, as I sit here, my world splintering off, my heart in jagged pieces, I’m angry. I’m angry and I’m hurt.

How could she do this to me?

How could she keep it all to herself?

How could she not trust me after all the trust I placed in her?

Why wasn’t I good enough for that?

“Aksel,” she says. “Please, say something.”

I stare at her beautiful face and I only feel the pain in that she never gave me her all, never let me into the truth.

She never let me in.

“How could you do that?” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” she says, crestfallen and crumbling and I know she’s in pain too. “I was so stupid and young and—”

“No,” I say, sharper than I meant to. “Not that. How could you not tell me the truth?”

“You wouldn’t have understood.”

“Not understood?!” I cry out. “How dare you say that to me!”

She stares at me in shock for a moment before she yells back, “You would have acted like this!”

“No!” I yell. “I wouldn’t have. Aurora, for fuck’s sake, you kept this from me and now I’m finding out from a fucking tabloid. What the fuck were you thinking? We could have prevented this if you trusted me enough with it!”

Her mouth opens, chin trembling.

“Fuck,” I growl. I get out of bed and slip on my pajama pants from the floor, trying to think, needing space. My hands go into my hair, pulling, trying to get my temper under control.

“Aksel, I am sorry,” she says again. “Please.”

“Please nothing.” I turn to face her, breathing hard, my heart pinching in my chest like it’s in a vice. “I confessed to you my biggest secret, my crime, and you just kept yours to yourself. I trusted you with it because I trust you and your big heart, but it’s obvious you don’t trust me at all.”

“I do trust you!” she yells, pleads. “I do. I was going to tell you.”

“When? When?” I throw my arms out. “One day? Is this why you don’t want to tell the girls, is this why you didn’t want us to become anything?”

“I want us to become something!” she yells. “But, damn it, Aksel. You’ve got your head in the clouds.”

In the clouds? “Is that what you think? That the fact that I want babies with you, that I want to tell my girls, the world about you, the fact that I want to marry you and make you my queen, you think that means I have my head in the clouds?”

Suddenly she falls silent, her mouth clamped shut, eyes wide as she stares at me. “You…you want to marry me?” she whispers.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes. I figured that was apparent when I asked you to be the mother of my children.”

“You didn’t propose…”

“Propose?” I cry out. “How could I propose when I can’t even get you to admit to the world we’re together. If I got down on one knee here and asked you to be my wife, would you have said yes?”

She grows silent again. I suppose most proposals don’t involve a lot of yelling. I wasn’t even planning on it while we were here, though I did have a ring picked out just in case.

The more she doesn’t say anything though, the more I hope she never does.

I’m not sure if I could take it.

I’m not sure if—

“I wouldn’t have said yes,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

And that’s when the walls collapse in on me.

I can’t even breathe. There’s concrete in my chest. “What?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think we can be together. Not now, not after this. Not ever.”

This pain is brutal. Sharp, swift, slicing me up from gut to mouth. I’m bleeding heartache right here. I lean against the dresser behind me, trying to hold on.

“Why?” I manage to say, my voice breaking, everything breaking.

I am not a man anymore, I am just shell.

A fragile, breakable shell.

“Why?” she repeats and that’s when I see the tears stream down her face. “Because we can never work. This just proves it.”

“But we work better than anything!”

“When it’s just the two of us,” she cries out softly. “But it’s not just the two of us. You’re a king and you have a country and more importantly, your daughters. I can’t even stay your nanny after this. I’m a criminal in everyone’s eyes. Your daughters are going to be hurt by this and if I stay, they’ll be hurt even more. I love you to death, Aksel, but I won’t jeopardize them in order to be with you. And you know that’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do.”

She’s talking bullshit. I know why she’s saying it but she’s already going into it ready to give up, ready to roll over. That’s not how I do things.

“Listen,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice from rising. “I love you. I love my daughters. And you don’t get to tell me how I feel about anything, nor do you get to tell me what’s important and what’s not. I’m aware that I am a fucking king and I have a country. But I make the calls in my life, no one else.”

I lean over and grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “The girls will understand,” I tell her. “They don’t read the tabloids anyway, not at their age, but we can certainly explain to them in our own words what happened to you. That’s what we should be doing at this stage of their lives anyway. We should be giving them the heads up about things that might get printed.”

“What about everyone else?”

“Everyone else? Maja? She’s my aunt and she’s your friend. I doubt your past has any role in her life or the way she thinks about you. Same goes for Stella. The people closest to me aren’t the types to be easily swayed. They’re human. They get it. They’ve all made mistakes.”

“But the people.”

“The people are the people and they can think what they want. I’ll issue a statement, we both will, and if they want to go on with it then they can. Look, the people, the press, they all ran with a million stories about me, about Helena, about my parents and about their parents. That’s the price you pay being a royal. But I’m not going to let you go and walk out of my fucking life just so they won’t say anything bad about us. Fuck it. Fuck them.”

“I’ll just feel so guilty.”

“And I feel guilty too. About so many things. I have been drowning in my guilt over Helena for the last two years and I’ve felt like I didn’t deserve love and I certainly didn’t deserve you. But you, you had a way of making me better. Your love, your kindness, your devotion helped heal me and I couldn’t have done that on my own.” I pause, studying her face, hoping I’m getting through to her. “We’re all just broken children covering our guilt with adult clothing. We make peace with our guilt or we don’t but either way, we keep moving on. The only question is, will you move on with me?”

She averts her eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek and in that one tear I feel my heart going with it. There’s nothing in my chest but a hollow and empty space.

“Please,” I say, breath ragged, trying to breathe through the void. “Please, Aurora, move on with me. Be with me. I—I can’t do this without you.” I press my hand to her chest. “I have a home in your heart and a love that won’t stop bleeding. I need you in my life, you are my life, you are my sun that I’ve waited too many winters for.”

I watch her swallow, the pain around my chest is closing in, tighter and tighter, and I wonder if in the end, I’ll just collapse, if it’s possible to hurt this much.

She looks at me.

And in that look, I see that sun. I see her light. I see it breaking through the clouds and the darkness that almost took her away from me.

“I love you,” I tell her again, hands going to her cheeks, cradling her face as the tear rolls over my finger. “I love you. Tell me you love me. Tell me we can move on together. Tell me I’m yours, now and forever.”

She blinks and more tears spill. She wraps her hands over my forearms. “I love you,” she says. “I love you and I’m scared. I’m so scared. I don’t want to be the person that I was.”

“You aren’t.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t want the kids to be hurt.”

“They won’t be.”

“I want to deserve you.”

“You do.”

She closes her eyes and I let go of her face, pulling her into an embrace. She wraps her arms around me, holding me tight, crying into my neck.

I put my hand at the back of her head, holding her. Letting her know that her fears have no place here.

We’ll deal with the tabloids. We’ll deal with her past. We’ll deal with everything.

None of it matters so as long as I have my queen.

The flight back from St. Croix is long. Even on a private jet, I don’t like being up in the air and I especially don’t like it when I feel like my country is imploding on itself from too much gossip.

But that’s exactly what’s happening.

After Aurora’s past came out in the limelight early in the morning, several other tabloids started running with it until it was plastered all across the world. I spent the morning packing and dealing with the PR nightmare of the century, fielding calls from my staff and even the Prime Minister, telling everyone I would have a press conference at the palace tomorrow.

But since there is no wi-fi on this jet, I can’t answer people or check my emails and it’s probably for the best.

Clara and Freja are sitting in the row across from us, busy on their iPad games, while Aurora sits beside me. We’re holding hands, which doesn’t seem to invoke a reaction from the girls, but it does seem to get it from the royal attendants at the back of the plane. I saw a few raised brows as they passed our seat heading toward the lavatory but of course they wouldn’t dare say anything.

“You know what?” Aurora says as she leans in to me, her voice low. “I was thinking about all the stuff they’re saying about me…”

“Please, don’t think too much about it. It’s all trash.”

“Yeah, it’s trashy. But there are some details that are printed that don’t really jive. Meaning, it’s easy to dig up my mug shot once you know my old name and it’s easy to find out more about Dan. But there were some personal details in the British tabloid that they shouldn’t have been able to get.”

I frown. “What do you mean? You mean your mother talked?”

She shakes her head, rubbing her lips together as she thinks it over. “No. Not that. They quote an anonymous source, but I feel like my mother would have come right out and said who she was. That’s if she even knows who I am now. I haven’t seen or heard from her in ten years.”

“So who would it be? Amelie?”

“No, not her. I don’t let people get that close to me.”

“Tell me about it.”

She nudges me in the side. “This is serious. The tabloids reported on not just facts, but feelings. My guilt over the past, my desire to become someone new. Being homeless, living under a bridge in Brisbane. No one ever knew that. I only told those things to my diary.”

My chin jerks back in surprise. “You have a diary?”

“Yes,” she hisses. “You’ve seen it.”

“I haven’t.”

“Yes, remember when you went through it at the start of my job? Bloody snoop.”

“The thing with all the nanny notes in it? That was a notebook.”

“That was also my diary. Why did you think I was so upset?”

“Because that’s the way you are?”

She grumbles. “No, Aksel. You happened to just see the notes I made about the handbook. If you kept reading more, you would have seen my thoughts and feelings. I don’t write it in every day, just when I’m feeling down or blue or angry or have a weird dream. I write about the past a lot, in order to put it behind me. What?” She’s staring at me because I’m frowning like crazy.

“Nicklas,” I spit out. I look at her with wide eyes. “It was Nicklas. He stole your diary.”

She looks disgusted. “What makes you think it was him?”

“Other than he has it in for me? Other than he knows he can get away with it? He told me once he was in your room.”

“What!?” she exclaims so loudly that the girls look this way.

“It’s nothing, go back to your games,” I tell them.

Aurora grabs me by the collar, tight. “What do you mean he was in my room?”

Right. Well I suppose I did shit the bed on that one. “He says he was looking for you. I don’t know if I believe him or not, but he saw your vase and decided to comment on how expensive it was.”

“Oh god. Oh god. What if he stole my underwear?”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“This was just after Christmas,” I explain. “I roughed him up a bit.”

“I can’t believe you have to rough up your own staff.”

“You know how he is and there was no point telling you. You would get upset and then you’d want him fired and I couldn’t tell you why I couldn’t fire him.”

“You and I are a fucking mess,” she says, releasing me and folding her arms across her chest.

“Well where is your diary now?”

“It’s in the belly of the plane. I took it with me. And the first thing I’m going to write in it is what a big fat jerk you are.”

I burst out laughing. I can’t help it.

“What? You are. Dear diary, King Asshole was an asshole again.”

“I hope you’re including all the times I made you come in there.”

Her mouth drops, and she looks over at the girls to see if they heard but they now have their earphones on. Smart girls.

“How can you be so, so trivial about all this?” she cries out. “We’re going to land into a shitstorm and it was most likely your blackmailing employee who did this, threw me under a fucking bus. How are you going to deal with him?”

I shrug and it’s like I’m shrugging off the world. It’s hard to explain.

I think it’s because there’s a press conference tomorrow and I’ll finally be able to tell our truths.

Also, “If it was him, then he’s fired.”

“But you can’t fire him.”

“I most certainly can.”

“He’ll get back at you.”

“He already has gotten back at me. Why do you think this happened? He knows how I feel about you, how you feel about me. He knew it for certain during the ball. He’s not stupid. He found your diary on one of the many days you weren’t in your room and he’s been holding this stuff to his chest for a long time, digging up all the dirt on you that he could to ruin what we have together. But it’s not going to work.”

“But you can’t fire him. He’s going to tell the truth about…that night.”

“Then let him.”

Let him. Let him say what he needs to, and we’ll see what happens after.

“This is a gamble, Aksel.”

“Life’s a gamble.” I glance at the girls, lost in concentration on their games. But I won’t gamble them.

I undo my seatbelt and get out of the seat, taking a moment to stretch before I crouch down in the aisle beside them, staring at them until they pause their games and take off their headphones.

“What is it Papa?” Clara asks, glancing at me and then Aurora sitting behind me, in annoyance for having interrupted her.

“Girls,” I say in my stern father voice. “I have something very important I need to tell you, so I want your full attention. This is a conversation for big girls, grown-ups, and I need you to listen.”

They nod eagerly. Probably think I’m going to get them a pony or something. They’d have a whole farm if they could.

“You know that I love you both very, very much,” I tell them. “And you know that Aurora also loves you very, very much. But we also love each other very, very much.”

The girls are still nodding. I’m not sure they get it.

I reach back for Aurora’s hand and hold it against my shoulder. “I know no one will ever replace your mother. I know that. But…” I don’t even know how to word this right when there’s still a lot of uncertainty, “I want to be with her in the way I was with your mother.”

Clara cocks her head. “Is she going to become a queen?”

“Jaaaaaa,” Freja hisses. “Goddess queen.”

I laugh. “That’s what I hope.” And that’s all I can say because it’s all that I hope.

“Is she going to live in the palace forever?” Clara asks.

“That’s also what I hope.”

“Will she still be our nanny?” Freja asks.

I glance over my shoulder at Aurora, brows raised. A little help?

Aurora leans forward, smiling. “I’ll be your nanny always. But I’ll also be more than that. Remember when you asked if I had a boyfriend? Right now, that’s what your father is. And I love him a whole bloody lot.”

“But you’ll still live with us,” Clara says.

“I’m not going anywhere. In fact, this might mean I live with you forever.”

“Wait,” Freja says, scrunching up her nose. “Does this mean you’ll kiss each other?”

I grin at her and reach out, tussling her blond hair. “We’ll try not to do it in front of you.”

She sticks out her tongue in disgust.

“But listen,” I go on. “There’s one more thing. You might hear about it from other people and so we wanted to tell you first.”

“When I was young,” Aurora explains, “older than you are, but still young, I got in a lot of trouble.”

“Was it because your dad died?” Clara asks.

“Yes and no. It’s because I didn’t have a lot of love in my life, not like you two. I did some bad things. I stole things.”

“Toys?” Freja already looks like she’s plotting her next move at the toy store.

“Uh, kinda. Anyway, I was bad, and it was wrong, but I was also sick at the time. So I went to jail for a night or two, to teach me a lesson.”

Both girls gasp.

“And,” she goes on, “I learned my lesson. I never did it again. I just wanted to tell you so that you knew the truth.”

“She wasn’t always perfect,” I add, to which Aurora laughs.

“No, I wasn’t perfect, and I’m still not, and that’s fine. I made mistakes and I learned from them, as everyone does. But we wanted to tell you because people might talk about it.”

“Okay,” Clara says simply. “Can we go back to our games now?”

Damn, I wish adults were as easy as children when it came to judgment and forgiveness.

Something tells me we’re in for a rough one when we land.

I can only hope that with us telling the girls the truth, that we have less to hide. I know people will be ruthless and I know that our love is both fragile and new and strong all at once, but after the events of last night, I still have doubts that Aurora is one hundred per cent on board.

But it’s a gamble, like she said. I have to gamble with Nicklas, gamble with the press and gamble that her heart is still mine, that she’s not going to up and run when it gets tough.

Though, I know, even if she did run, I wouldn’t stop running after her.

This woman is my queen.

And she already has my love for a crown.

CHAPTER 23

AURORA

I was right.

We landed right into a shitshow.

No matter how prepared I was for it, I wasn’t prepared enough because the moment we got off the plane at the private airstrip, we were bombarded by the press. Flashbulbs in my face, shielding myself with my purse and Aksel’s arm, that total celebrity thing.

Meanwhile they were yelling at me.

“Why did you lie?”

“Were you an accessory to murder?”

“Will you be let go from the royal family?”

The only way we got them to back off was for the royal attendants to start pushing them back, while I scooped Freja and Clara up in my arms (Lord, they are heavier than Snarf Snarf).

Thankfully, once we were in the car, Clara and Freja didn’t seem traumatized. I guess they liked the attention.

I, on the other hand…

But the press and the ambush weren’t what I was the most worried about.

No, that would be stepping foot in the palace.

Seeing everyone.

Seeing on their faces how their opinions of me have changed.

“I am so sorry you had to go through that,” Aksel says beside me, taking my hand and turning it over to kiss my palm.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to smile, trying to remain upbeat. He seemed a lot more hopeful than me up in the air, and I couldn’t tell if it was a mask or not. To be honest, I don’t know how he’s going to deal with Nicklas, but I guess it’s one thing at a time.

One horrible thing at a time.

We pull into the palace gates but instead of feeling relief at being home, I’m on edge. Normally at this time everyone moves to the Danish summer palace but because we went away, we postponed it to next week.

I wouldn’t have minded going elsewhere. Moving into another palace. Getting another fresh start.

But that’s the thing with second chances. Unless you put that first one to bed, it’s going to keep following you around.

Aksel holds my hand as we step out of the car and head into the house and this is already raising some eyebrows, especially as we run into Henrik in the foyer.

“How was your trip?” Henrik asks, smiling but cautious. He won’t even look me in the eyes.

“It was fine until the end,” Aksel says, pulling me along the hall. “By the way, Henrik, I want the entire staff gathered in the living room, now.”

“As you wish, sir,” he says warily before he scampers off, heading into one room before changing his mind and running into another. I bet he thinks they’re all getting fired.

Clara and Freja are following us and Aksel tells them to go and check out Snarf Snarf, which they do so happily.

Aksel then takes me to the living room, sits me down on the couch, and heads straight to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of port I knew he was saving, and two glasses.

Then he comes back to me with a corkscrew, gives me the glasses to hold, and proceeds to open it.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he says, getting the cork most of the way out and pulling the rest with his teeth. “Better than ever.”

I frown, my hand starting to tremble as he pours a large splash of port into the glass. Despite his frantic mannerisms, his hands are steady. They’re always steady. He’s my rock.

He pours his own and then clinks the edge of his glass against mine, the sound of the crystal ringing clear across the room. “Here’s to the truth setting us free,” he says, looking me deep in the eyes as we both take a sip.

Someone’s throat clears from across the room and we turn to see the staff gathered by the doorway.

“Come on in, all of you,” Aksel says, waving them over. “Don’t be shy. You’re not in trouble. We’re the ones in trouble here.”

They all exchange glances and then come over. The only one who isn’t shy about it is Maja, because she’s part of the family, and of course bloody Nicklas, who thinks he can’t get fired.

They gather in the middle by the fireplace: Maja, Nicklas, Agnes, Karla, Henrik, and a few others, hands clasped at their middles, looking wary. The only one missing is Johan, but he picked us up from the airport earlier.

“I’m sure you all want to talk about what was reported in the tabloids earlier today. And we’ll get to that,” Aksel says before having a sip of his port. I take the time to do the same, while watching Nicklas, trying to see if he’s squirming. Of course, he’s not.

“But before I get into that, I have an announcement to make,” he continues, and then he holds his hand out for me, gesturing for me to get up.

I stare at him. Are you sure?

And he nods.

I put my hand in his and he helps me to my feet.

But he doesn’t let go of my hand.

All eyes in the room completely focus on that fact.

He’s holding my hand.

He speaks in Danish, looking everyone in the eye. “You’ve all been very loyal staff to me over the years, and I’d like to think of you all as friends. In some ways, family. It’s not easy running a palace and I know I don’t say it enough that you do a grand job—in fact, I don’t think I ever do and for that I am sorry. You do a grand job.”

Everyone glances at each other, brows raised, ready for the axe despite what he said.

“And because I see you as friends and family, I know I need to be honest with you. Not only as a king but as a person. And so, I must tell you, that I have fallen in love.”

Someone let’s out an audible gasp—I think it was Karla, she’s such a romantic—while everyone else raises their brows.

“I knew it,” Maja mutters under her breath, but she’s so lead-faced that I can hardly tell if she’s happy about it or not.

“I realize this may come as a shock to you,” Aksel says. “Or maybe it’s not a shock at all. Maybe it was all very obvious. It’s hard to tell when you’re in it. I didn’t plan to fall in love with her and I’m pretty sure she’ll tell you the same. To be honest, I think she hated me for some time.”

“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes.

“You did refer to me as King Asshole on a few occasions,” he points out while everyone in the staff laughs.

He shoots them a dirty look. “I’ll ignore that. Anyway, the point of all of this is two-fold. One is to let you know that we’re together. I realize she’s still the nanny, but the girls approve of it, and I think this palace is a better place with her around.” He looks around at all the faces. “And two, is to say that yes, Aurora made some mistakes when she was younger and that’s nothing as bad as what’s been printed in the tabloids. I won’t discuss it much further than that. What I will discuss, however, is how all of that got reported to the tabloids to begin with.” He pauses. “It was one of you.”

Everyone either gasps or goes silent.

Damn, Aksel. This is like the movie Clue!

“That’s right,” he says, starting to pace with his hands behind his back, his voice deepening. Wow, he’s really playing up the part of Wadsworth. “One of you sold Miss Aurora out to the press.”

“I don’t think anyone would do that,” Maja says. “We all have more respect for the both of you than that.”

He stops pacing and comes back over to me, picking up his glass of port from the coffee table and finishing it. “I know that. I’m just…” he trails off as his eyes go over to the doorway where Johan is standing with a laptop in his hands.

“Buying time,” Aksel finishes.

“It’s all in here,” Johan says, holding it in the air.

“That’s my fucking laptop!” Nicklas cries out, storming toward Johan.

But Johan has royal attendants behind him and he hands the laptop off to them and they disappear down the hall.

What the fuck is happening?

Then a few more guards appear, blocking the exit of the room.

Nicklas whirls around to look at Aksel. “What are you doing?”

“Johan found the emails on your hard drive I’m assuming.”

“Emails? There’s no…you can’t go in my room!”

“But you went in Aurora’s room to get her diary.”

“I did not.”

“And you admitted to me that you’d already been in there before.”

“This is an invasion of privacy!”

“Yes, it is, that’s what you did. You dug up fucking dirt and then you sold it. And you didn’t even really care to hide it well because you assumed you couldn’t get punished for it. Well, guess what, Nicklas. Pack your bags. You’re fired.”

Again, everyone gasps, including me. I didn’t think he’d do it and I flinch, bracing for what might happen next.

Oh, Aksel.

“You can’t fire me,” Nicklas says wildly.

“I can. I did. Get the fuck out of here.”

More gasps. More of my nerves on fire.

“No. No, this…you ruined my life.”

“How so?” Aksel asks, his jaw tense, eyes blazing.

Daring him. He’s daring him.

Nicklas frowns, trying to think, trying to come up with a way out.

Then he bites the bullet.

He turns vicious.

“Because you were driving the night Helena died. It was never me.”

And now it’s like no one can gasp anymore because there’s no air in the room.

Everyone looks at Aksel.

Aksel remains completely composed. “No, I wasn’t.”

He lies. He lies to him and to everyone else because the truth would ruin everything. And while Aksel is moral, I know that he’s lying because he has to lie. The truth is, well, the truth is messy. It’s complicated. They’re both at fault and they’re both not. One man carries the blame for something he didn’t do and yet hides the truth of something he did do. The other man spent years drowning in guilt for something he didn’t do either. Where is there a happy ending here?

“You’re lying. I’ll prove it,” Nicklas seethes, and I see sweat dripping on his face.

He’s nervous.

He’s losing.

He knows no one will believe him, especially after today.

“You do what you need to do,” Aksel says. “I have your laptop. We’ll do what we need to do. You’re dismissed, Nicklas.”

“You’re not fit to wear that crown,” Nicklas sneers.

Aksel is nonplussed. He gives a half-shrug. “I never said I was. But it’s my crown to wear.”

Nicklas roars and starts running toward Aksel.

Henrik is fast and holds him back, though it’s apparent that Aksel can take care of himself.

“She hated you!” Nicklas yells at Aksel, pointing. “She used you the whole time!”

I gasp sharply at that. Here comes Helena.

“Oh, shut up you little weasel,” Maja says snidely. “She used you too. We all knew that. We all knew what was going on. We’re not dumb.” She looks at Aksel. “And honestly, dear nephew, I really don’t care who was driving the car or not. It was an accident and that’s really all that matters. We know the pain you went through and you deserve more than anyone to move on. So, let’s help you move on.”

Shit. Maja knew all along about Nicklas and Helena.

Aksel looks completely surprised too.

And touched.

His lips are clamped together, his jaw firm, but his eyes carry so much weight and softness in them. Perhaps it’s just the affection from his aunt in lieu of his mother.

Perhaps this is just the truth and the weight of the world off his shoulders.

And while I’m pondering that, I realize that Aksel is fighting back tears.

Oh god, now I’m going to cry.

He manages to hold it together at the last minute. “Thank you, Tante Maja,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion, words barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

She comes over to him, looking like she’s going to cry too, and pulls the King into a hug. She’s whispering something to him and he’s nodding, holding her tight.

And now I really am crying, big fat happy tears spilling down my face.

He’s finding his closure.

He’s going to heal.

He’s going to move on.

While this touching scene is happening, the royal attendants drag Nicklas off.

Good riddance to that guy. Wouldn’t mind feeding him to Snarf Snarf.

And that’s when Clara and Freja appear in the doorway and see the Maja and Aksel embrace.

They immediately run over and join in on the hug, turning it into a group one by wrapping themselves around Maja and Aksel’s legs.

Freja spots me and then waves. “Come on Aurora, you’re part of the family now.”

I can’t help but beam at that.

Family.

My family.

I finally have one.

I get to my feet and join them.

The next morning, I wake up in Aksel’s bed for the first time.

Sun streaming in through the windows.

No more hiding.

No more sneaking.

Just two people together in the way they always should have been.

“Hey,” I say to him as he slowly wakes up, blinking his eyes at the light.

“Good morning,” he groans, frowns.

“Wow you’re grumpy when you wake up over here. What happened to Caribbean Aksel?”

“He was temporary.”

“Hey, lift up your arm and let me cuddle.”

Now he’s grinning. “Fine.”

He lifts up his arm and I curl up next to him, resting my head on his warm chest. “So, do I get a raise now?”

He jerks his chin back to stare at me. “You think you deserve a raise?”

“We did a lot of baby-making the other night. I think I was pretty good at it.”

He chuckles. “You did a lot of cock-sucking is what you did. Hardly good for making babies.”

“Cock-sucking deserves a raise, I think.”

He shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know. Now that we’re together, I get to get on your nerves allllll day long.”

He squeezes me close to him and kisses the top of my head. “Well, let’s not get too relaxed yet. We have a press conference to go to today.”

I groan, pinching my eyes shut as if to shut out the world. “I forgot. I woke up and I thought yesterday was it.”

“You don’t have to go. You know this.”

“But I have to. It’s my life, my reputation.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

I sigh. “Maybe not. But I owe it to myself.”

And that thought is what gets me out of bed and ready. I do owe it to myself to come clean to the world about who I was. And I owe it to Aksel, too.

The press conference isn’t far. In fact, it’s right in front of the palace, set up where the Constitution Day stuff was.

I eschew the miniskirt and blouse and decide to wear pants and a blazer. Aksel says it doesn’t look like me anymore, but I beg to differ. How would I know who I am if I haven’t tried it out?

Besides, the outfit gives me confidence, the kind of confidence I need to stand by Aksel’s side and face the press. I hold my head high as we leave the front doors and head out to the podium. He’s not holding my hand, but he is guiding me by the elbow, comforting and steady.

“I have gathered you all here today,” Aksel says, speaking into the microphone as the cameras click in our faces, “because my employee, Aurora James, has something she needs to confess. The truth. You see, what was reported in the papers was only the bare bones, both factual and taken from a stolen diary. Her thoughts, her feelings, were never meant to be shown, nor was her mug shot, her past. Aurora made some mistakes and she paid for them, but she was never charged of any crime, and therefore, isn’t a criminal. But before you insist on condemning her anyway, you need to hear it all from her own mouth. This is the only thing you should be reporting on.”

He looks at me and nods.

In his eyes, I know he believes in me.

In his eyes, I know this is the right thing to do.

I step up to the microphone.

“My name is Aurora James, born Rory Jameson, and this is our story.”

I launch into it. Bold, brave, ready to shut the door on everything that I ever tried to bury. I brought my truth to the surface like fresh bones and I showed the world what I was hiding. I told them the whole experience, everything I told Aksel, maybe a little more.

All in all, it was a good fifteen-minute expose on my life, all the little details, all the things I never even thought were important but now know are.

It was cathartic.

It was freeing.

It was my chance to move on.

The irony is, having this public role let all this light into my life. If I had stayed in France, with the same old families, I would have never had to face anything.

I would have never started to live again.

When I’m done, there are tears running down my face, but I’m still composed. I’m sure some will say it’s all put on, but screw them. This isn’t a court appearance. I’m not pleading for them to forgive me. I’m just telling the world a very true story, all the bad and ugly bits.

I step back from the microphone and wait for Aksel to say a few words to conclude the press conference, and then we’ll head back inside, and I’ll collapse dramatically.

“Thank you so much for coming here and taking the time to listen to her,” Aksel says into the mic. “But before you all go, I have an announcement myself.”

Oh my god.

I thought we had done this already.

I didn’t think he was serious when he said we’d announce our love to the world and yet, here we are, reporters and cameras in our faces and hanging on to his every word.

“By now you all know Aurora James and her life story. But you don’t know our story.” Aksel smiles at them, then glances at me, softening before my eyes. “Aurora was hired to be the children’s nanny last year and she’s been wonderful. Truly. She’s kind and selfless and puts up with no shit, not even mine, if you can believe it.” He laughs, and the crowd laughs politely, on cue. “More than that, the girls have loved her so very much. But they aren’t the only ones to have fallen in love.”

More audible gasps. The last twenty-four hours have been just people gasping all around me.

I lick my lips, smiling shyly at him, trying to ignore everyone else. It is a little more embarrassing than romantic that he’s doing this but it’s important to him, so I guess I have to deal.

“I’m in love with Aurora and by some grace of god, she’s in love with me. We kept it private for as long as we could, and I’m sure we could have hidden it some more. But today is all about being truthful and while she shared her truth, I share mine. First, I share it with you, the public, the press, the people. And now, I share it with her.”

He reaches down and picks up my hand, cradling it between his as he pivots to face me.

“Aurora, I know I’m embarrassing you right now and I bet when you first met me, you had no idea that I would do something like this. But I like to keep you on your toes, just as you like to keep me on mine. And maybe love changes a person. I believe that. I believe that we need people in our lives and that it’s not a fault to need them. As long as that person is good, as long as that person makes you better, then it’s worth the need. We all want to be better than the person we were yesterday and there’s no more noble cause than that.”

Then he slowly, very slowly, drops to one knee.

Oh.

My.

God.

More audible gasping.

The press starts clamoring around the ropes and podium, trying to get a better view.

Of us.

Of Aksel, proposing to me.

Bloody hell, I know he mentioned it the other night, but I thought those were just fighting words.

Oh god, and I was the idiot who told him I wouldn’t have married him!

Shit. Shit. And he’s doing this now, not knowing what I’ll say?

I try to swallow, I want to cut him off and tell him YES, but I don’t want to interrupt him. I can’t get enough of his words and I think the public needs to hear them too. They need to know how he’s moving on.

“Aurora, we built our own world, you and I,” he says, gazing up at me with his haunting blue eyes. “A world where we helped each other, a world where we realized how damn good this life can be. The potential for mercy and grace, the potential to be reborn with love at your side. You, you, make me a better person. You healed the wounds. And I couldn’t have done any of it without you. I couldn’t have grown without you. I couldn’t be this king without you. Which makes me realize that I can’t continue being this king if I don’t have a queen.”

He reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a gleaming ring.

I’m stunned.

Stunned.

It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, oh my god, this is happening.

“All I want on this earth is for you to share my life and my children and my throne,” he says, voice shaking now, hands trembling. He’s not so steady now. “All I want is for you to be my queen. And, I think you’d be really, really wonderful at it. Aurora, will you be my equal, my queen? Will you marry me?”

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Now there’s no more secrets.

Now there’s no more past to hold us down.

Now we’re both free.

Every doubt and fear I had has been erased by going straight through the fire.

And at the other end, I choose him.

Forever.

“Yes,” I cry out. “Ja! Ja!”

He grins at me, beautiful, perfect Aksel, and a tear slips from his eye.

He puts the ring on my finger where it sparkles and glows.

Then he gets up and pulls me close, kissing me in front of the cameras even though we’re both back into that world built for two.

This man is my king.

And, reader, I will marry him.

CHAPTER 24

AKSEL

“With a snarf snarf here and a snarf snarf there, here a snarf, there a snarf, everywhere a snarf snarf!”

Normally that variation of “Old MacDonald” burrows into my brain like an earworm, but today it sounds like pure heaven to my ears.

Well, almost. I swear Clara’s singing has gotten even worse. It’s too bad you can’t auto-tune your own children.

“I’m surprised this isn’t bugging you,” Aurora comments, watching as Clara and Freja chase Snarf Snarf around the living room, singing at the top of their lungs. The pig has one of the few tennis balls he hasn’t actually eaten in his mouth in a game of fetch that escalated into a game of keep-away.

Normally the pig isn’t allowed in this room, which I consider one of my last true domains, but because we’re all celebrating the engagement, and I’m feeling on top of the world, I’m allowing it.

For now.

As if on cue, Snarf Snarf barrels into the side of an end table, knocking over a vase. We all watch in slow motion as the vase rolls off and tumbles onto the rug below.

Everyone gasps.

It doesn’t break.

“Okay,” I say under my breath, about to get up from the couch. “That’s enough.”

“Aksel,” Aurora says to me, putting her arm across my chest to hold me back. “Let the girls have their fun.”

I narrow my eyes at her playfully. “Are you on Team Aksel or Team Snarf Snarf?”

“Team Snarf Snarf, obviously.”

“Team Snarf Snarf!” the girls yell in unison, running past us after the pig.

“Okay, here we are,” Stella says, coming into the room holding a tray with four glasses and a bottle of Dom on it. “Time for a toast. Maja, get in here!” she yells as she puts the tray down on the coffee table.

It’s only been a few hours since I proposed to Aurora, and we’ve escaped from the media circus that’s still outside the palace, to relative peace and quiet inside. Or, it would be, if not for that damned swine.

Stella was set to leave back to England yesterday right after we got back but since I knew what I was planning to do—proposing to Aurora in front of my nation—I asked her to hang around. I know she wants to get back home to Anya, but the fact is, I don’t have any other family but her and Maja, and I wanted everyone close to me to be here.

“You could have Karla do that,” I point out as Stella tries to undo the cork.

“I’m fine,” she says, wrestling with the bottle. “Believe me, after a week in your shoes and acting as Regent, I’d like to go back to the simple life.”

The champagne cork goes pop, making everyone jump, and the cork goes flying across the room, almost smacking Maja in the head as she enters. She manages to duck in the nick of time. Our aunt is awfully spry.

“Trying to take me out?” Maja says to Stella, her brow raised. “I’ll remember that in my will.”

“Sorry,” Stella apologizes, though she looks a little happy about it. She pours the champagne into the four glasses, and hands them to us as Aurora and I get to our feet.

“Can I have some?” Clara asks, running over.

“You can have chocolate instead,” Aurora says. “If and only if, you and Freja take Snarf Snarf out of the room. Us adults need to talk.”

“Okay!” Clara yells happily. “I hope it’s Belgium chocolate,” she adds under her breath as she and Freja run out of the room, the pig following.

“What’s wrong with our chocolate?” I swear she’s getting pickier by the day.

“Okay. Well. Here’s to my dear brother, Aksel,” Stella says, raising her glass to me. “Even though you were always my big, big brother, I never felt any distance between us growing up. My fondest memories, my earliest memories, were always of you. I knew from the start you were meant to be a king and I knew that you would do the job better than anyone else. You have heart and morals, even if you hid all that by being cold and insufferable most of the time.” I give her the get on with it look.

She continues with a laugh, though now her eyes are watering. “It’s the truth. But I saw a side of you that no one ever saw…until you met Aurora. I knew, from the moment I met her, from the moment I saw you look at her, that she had gotten under your skin. That she had seen the real you and you recognized it. It was apparent from the very start that there was something brewing, and I could only hope and pray that one of you would come to your senses. Because you, brother, are a king who has needed the right queen by his side. And she is the right queen.”

“She is,” Maja says, raising her glass.

“Well thank you,” I tell Stella, trying to keep my emotions in check and ignore the hot knot forming in my throat. I appreciate the praise, but it does make me uncomfortable. “Only a fool wouldn’t fall in love with her.” I give Aurora a squeeze.

Aurora blushes and tries to shake off the compliment. “Or perhaps only a fool would.”

“Normally I wouldn’t argue with you but I’m afraid I’ll have to make a stand.”

To be fair, when I decided I was going to pop the question during the press conference, I was wondering if I’d look like quite the fool in the end. The press conference itself was out of character for me since I’ve had such a distant relationship with the press and public and I know that not only announcing our relationship, let alone proposing to her like that, was bound to ruffle some feathers.

But, fuck it. What’s the point of sitting on a throne if you can’t ruffle some feathers every now and then? They didn’t expect it from me but maybe now in the future they will. I’m not sure what kind of king I’m turning into but perhaps Stella was right, and this is the king I’m meant to be.

There was also the huge risk that Aurora would turn me down, especially since she practically told me that in St. Croix. I know that was during a fight and things were so up in the air at that moment and emotions were flying very, very high, but it still hurt fairly deeply, it still planted a tiny seed of doubt. It was a gamble that luckily paid off.

Everything has been a gamble so far since the day I met her.

It was a gamble to pursue her, to act on my feelings.

It was a gamble to profess how I felt about her, to admit my truth.

It was an even greater gamble to open my heart the way I did and let myself free fall without a parachute, even after we came together.

I know I came on strong. I know that after months of testing her, testing myself, and then finally giving in, I went all in, to the hilt. I know that we went from zero to sixty after so much denial, making up for lost time, but that was the only way I knew how.

It was the only way I wanted, needed to love her.

With Aurora, she made forty years of loneliness disappear with the drop of a hat.

Why wouldn’t I embrace the sunshine after all that darkness?

Why wouldn’t I spend all my days with her, holding onto forever?

And now I can.

She said yes.

I’d never felt happier, more at peace, more excited about our world and the future, than I did in that moment.

The gamble paid off.

I have my queen.

“Here’s to you, Aksel,” Maja says, clearing her throat. “You’ve found your second chance, you’ve found your peace. May you always hold onto it, onto her, forever.” She then looks at Aurora with a twinkle in her eyes. “And you, Aurora. I knew right away that you needed to be in this house. I knew that you were meant for the job because I knew that you had just the right amount of spunk and beauty that could get to Aksel’s heart. I knew you wouldn’t just be a wonderful nanny to the girls, but you would shake things up, shake this king here loose, help him find his way. And that’s just what you did.”

I raise my brow, both charmed and surprised. “You were trying to play matchmaker?”

“I didn’t try, dear nephew. It worked.” She raises her chin, ever an aristocrat. “And I would like all the credit for it.”

Aurora rolls her eyes, but she’s blushing. “Since you’re going to be my aunt-in-law, you can have all the credit you want. I know whose good side I have to stay on.”

“You’re a very wise girl,” Maja says. “Welcome to the family.”

We all clink our glasses together and I hold Aurora’s deep brown eyes as she has a sip.

Welcome to the family, I think. Welcome to our brand-new life.

“So, now that this has happened,” I tell them, “now that Aurora will be permanently part of our lives, I think perhaps tomorrow we should visit mother. All of us.”

Stella nods. “I have a flight out in the afternoon, I could do the morning.” She looks to Maja. “What do you think? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s a nice idea, above anything,” Maja says. “I’ll call up the nurses in the morning and see how she is. But if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll try again.” She puts her hand on my arm. “I know you think your mother doesn’t know you’re there or doesn’t care, but I promise you, the more you visit, the better it will get. For you. She can feel love, even if she doesn’t know who you are, but for you, it’s never too late to start rebuilding a relationship. And if you can start with Aurora by your side, I think that will make all the difference.”

I nod, finishing the rest of my glass, letting it go to my heart. In this world of second chances, I owe it to my mother and myself to give our relationship another one.

Suddenly, the squeal of a pig interrupts us, and Maja lets out a scoff as Stella jumps, nearly spilling her champagne.

“I’m going to go check on the girls,” Maja says and when Aurora moves to do it, Maja puts her hand out to stop her. “You and Aksel need some alone time to process everything.” She jerks her head to the door. “Come on Stella, help me round up these monsters.”

They leave the room and I turn to Aurora, wrapping my hands around her waist. “You hear that? We need some alone time.”

Aurora grins, that smile still trying to bring me to my knees. “I could always use some alone time with you.”

I lean in and kiss her softly, gently at first, then as her mouth opens to mine, warm and lush, I feel an overpowering urge come over me, my hands tightening around her back and pulling her against me. “Come on,” I whisper against her lips. “Let’s go consummate this engagement.”

She nibbles on my lower lip, gently tugging. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“It works when you’re trying to make a baby,” I remind her. “Tick tock.”

She pulls back and smacks me against the chest. “Speak for yourself, old man!” she sneers. “I’m the young and fertile one here.”

“Well then I don’t have a lot of time to spare to do I?” I say, clutching my heart. “This old ticker might give out at any moment.”

She shakes her head in amusement and laughs. “You are such a dork; did you know that about yourself? From King Asshole to King Dork.”

I grab her arm. “How about King Fuck Your Brains Out?”

Before she can protest, I pull her out of the living room and up the stairs to my—our—bedroom.

I shut the door behind us, lock it, then proceed to get naked.

“Wow,” she says, watching as I strip, her eyes lingering on my cock, hard and ready to go. “You really are wasting no time.”

“Pretty spry for an old guy,” I say, motioning for her to take her clothes off. I’d do it myself, but I have a bad habit of tearing things, especially those pretty little blouses of hers.

“I think you just made a pun about an Offspring song and you have no idea,” she says, letting out a laugh.

“I have ideas. Get fucking naked.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She steps out of her pants, throws off her shirt, in seconds flat, then slowly undoes her lace bra and panties, tossing them aside with flourish.

I take a good long minute to drink her all in.

Aurora has a beautiful body. Curvy hips, gorgeous tits, skin like cream. A body I know better than my own. I’ve touched and licked and tasted every part of her until her skin has imprinted on my heart. I can’t stop wanting her. I can’t believe my luck.

She gives me a sly little smile, her eyes dancing eagerly and then gets on the bed.

I follow, prowling over her until I’m between her lush legs and she’s staring up at me with those big brown eyes. I reach over and brush a strand of her silky hair off her face, cupping her jaw as I stare into her eyes. I feel like I can see her whole heart in them.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be my wife, my queen,” I manage to say, feeling as if I’m about to be sideswiped at any minute by today’s emotions.

She gazes at me through her long dark lashes, and I feel the heat in my chest intensify. Her usually saucy expression is softening, and her sudden tenderness is utterly disarming.

Then her trademark cheeky grin emerges, and she reaches down, her palm sliding flat along my stomach until she grips the edge of my cock, hard and rigid as a cement bar.

“Don’t forget the future mother of your children,” she says.

God, help me. The urge to come inside her already, to plant my seed, to give her a baby, is thoroughly intoxicating. With her hand gripped expertly around my cock, my eyes nearly roll back in my head.

“There’s no forgetting,” I manage to say, the raw lust and need starting to build inside me. My fingers press harder into her jaw as I lean in and kiss her, capturing her mouth against mine, my tongue dancing with hers, stoking the fire.

“Aksel,” she says against my mouth.

My name sounds so good but still, I have to tease her. “Is that the proper way to address me?”

“Is this what marriage is going to be like?”

“Only when you misbehave.”

“I’m hardly misbehaving now,” she says, squeezing my cock harder.

Fuck.

I unleash myself on her neck, licking and sucking just the way she likes it, until soft moans fall from her mouth. Music to my ears.

My fingers slip between her legs, slick and slippery.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” I whisper to her, my voice catching in my throat. “Can I make you wetter?”

“Yes,” she groans breathlessly as I slip my finger along her cunt, the sensation making me delirious with lust. She lets out a lengthy moan, her hands going to my shoulders, then to my hair, making fists.

“I want my cock to slide into you, just like this.” I add an extra finger and move them in together. “You want it harder, deeper? In this bed, I serve you.”

She groans, arching her back, her tits pushed up, her sweet, pink nipples tight and hard.

She’s yours, she’s yours.

This queen.

“Do you want my cock first?” I ask softly. “My tongue? How would you like me to fuck you?”

“Give me everything,” she says through another moan as I drive my fingers even deeper. “Lick me out.”

No fucking hesitation from me.

I move back and lower my head, pressing my face in between her legs, my tongue snaking out and licking up to her clit. “You taste so good, so sweet,” I murmur into her and she shudders from the vibrations. “I’ll never get enough of this.”

“Then we’ll have a good marriage,” she teases, until I suck her clit into my mouth, wet, warm, and she gives a sharp cry, calling out my name in such a way that I nearly come on the bed, right there and then.

I pull away, needing a breather, needing to control myself. Her eyes are half-closed, dazed, mouth open with her hair falling over her face.

Goddess.

“I want to fuck you from behind, my queen,” I tell her as I slip my arm under her back and flip her over on the bed so she’s on her stomach.

I position myself behind her ass, her soft, shapely legs between my thighs, my cock hot and inflexible in my hands. With one hand, I run my finger down the crack of her gorgeous bottom, so perfectly round, that I instinctively give it a smack with my palm.

I can’t help it.

“Sir, yes sir,” she murmurs.

I smack it again, hard—crack—the sound filling the room.

“You love your punishment,” I murmur and the moment she nods, I spank her again, this time getting both cheeks, turning them red.

She nods, makes a sweet little sound of urgency, and that alone makes me want to explode.

I take the moment to really tease her and run my thumb over her cunt, making it wet, then drag it up to her ass.

I slowly push it in her opening, tight and taboo.

We’ve never done this before but it’s about time I test the limit.

“God, I love what a Dirty Dane you are,” she says. Her voice is tense, trembling but still dripping with want.

I grin and push my thumb in further, feeling her asshole clench around it.

“Oh god,” she moans.

“You want the rest of me?”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s not how you make babies, Aksel.”

She has a point.

I grab my cock at the base and steadily push it in between her legs, into her cunt, deep as I can go.

I groan as she envelops me, a tight velvet fist. The fact that her legs are closed together means I have the added friction from her thighs.

Fuck. I’m not going to last long.

She grips me from the inside out and I push in further, my breath shuddering.

I press my hand down on her shoulder for leverage, slowly pulling myself out, then back in, trying to find the rhythm without crushing her. My thighs are doing most of the work, shaking slightly, the muscles popping as I move faster and faster, my cock disappearing entirely inside her, the base shiny from her desire.

My hips circle and I shorten my thrusts, so I don’t slip out. She’s wet down to the middle of her thighs, and I want to stay inside her deep like this, tightly packed. It’s such a fucking squeeze that a sweat is breaking out at my temples, my muscles wound too tight.

Aurora is moaning something deep and desperate and loud.

For once we can be fucking loud.

No hiding.

“Do you want to come, my queen?” I whisper hoarsely. “Will you come on my cock?”

She’s groaning, whimpering for release. “Yes, yes.”

I love talking dirty with her.

I love how I can let myself out of the cage, a beast unleashed.

“I’m going to make you come,” I say roughly. “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard. Fuck you up so good.”

I move one hand down to her waist and grip her while the other squeezes in between her hips and the mattress until I reach her clit. It’s soaked and my finger slides over it with ease.

That’s all it takes.

Her body tenses and then starts to quake beneath me. She pulses around my cock, her clit throbbing under my finger. A sharp cry leaves her lips, then fades off into breathless little moans.

I come immediately after. There’s a rush along my spine until something at the base of me explodes. I grunt like an animal, thrusting deeper and deeper, the bed shaking, while the cum shoots hard into her.

I exhale loudly, my breath elsewhere, my heart thudding to a marching beat inside my head. I lean back on my thighs, absently run my hands over her bottom while I remember how to breathe. Then, when it doesn’t feel like I’m having a heart attack, when the sweat stops rolling off my brow, I gently pull out.

Leaning forward, I put my lips to her ear. “Did you like that, Goddess?”

She turns her head, her eyes closed and whimpers. “Yes. Yes, yes.”

I brush the hair off her face and kiss her cheek. Then place tiny, soft kisses on her neck, shoulder, down her spine, until I finally get off of her.

“Your Majesty,” I add.

“Your Majesty,” she says.

We take a few moments, lying next to each other, trying to bring our breath back into our bodies and calm our racing hearts.

I reach out and touch her damp forehead, pushing aside her hair.

“Today, I have never been so proud of you,” I tell her, my voice hoarse. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

She swallows, nods. “I think I am. I think…it’s finally starting to sink in. That it’s all in the open. That there’s no more hiding.”

“No more hiding.” I lean over and kiss her forehead, tasting the salt of her sweat. “No more hiding.”

“And you,” she says. “You don’t have to hide anymore.”

I sigh. “No. I mean…I do have to keep lying to the world about what happened with Helena and Nicklas.”

“But that’s the world and the world doesn’t matter. The people who do matter to you, the people who you love, they know the truth. And that’s all that matters. They know it and they still love you. You’re free Aksel. We’re both free.”

I let her words sink in, soothing my heart. I pull her into me, holding her tight.

We’re both free.

EPILOGUE

Aurora

Five years later

“Are we there yet?” Clara asks.

“Yeah, are we there yet?” Freja asks.

“Yeah, are we there yet?” the twins say in unison, giggling like the little devils that they are.

“Not even close,” I tell them, leaning back in my seat. I glance over at Aksel, his hands comfortably on the wheel, his aviator shades covering his eyes.

“How are you doing, baby?” I ask him.

He glances at me, gives a half-smile. “You mean, aside from the kids yammering on and on in my ear? I’m fine.”

“You know we could have done this road trip with them in the car behind us. In fact,” I turn in my seat to glare at everyone. “If you guys don’t be quiet, I might have your father pull the car over and I’ll stick you with your aunt Maja.”

“Nooo,” Lars cries out dramatically.

“Well, then be quiet.” I turn back around. “Let’s see if that holds.”

“I wish my own children gave me the same respect that my country does,” Aksel laments with an exaggerated sigh.

“That’s what you get for putting more heirs out into the world,” I say. I glance at my children in the rearview mirror and even though they’re a lot to handle most days, having little princes and princesses, I wouldn’t change them for the world.

There’s Princess Clara, who is now eleven years old, smart as a whip and endlessly sassy. She’s recently gone from vegetarian to full-on vegan, much to the agony of her father. She likes for me to dye her hair wild colors every Friday night with wash-out foam, wears a lot of purple and denim, and reads as much as she can. She’s recently started taking up pottery as a hobby and I like to think that it was that priceless Greek vase all those years ago that got her interested.

Then there’s her sister, Princess Freja. Freja is ten and she’s both cheeky and devious as well as extremely sensitive and poetic. She likes to read too, but also write. She fills notebooks and sketchbooks up with poetry and drawings and short stories. She’s also in the boy crazy stage, is in love with all the K-Pop boys that she listens to non-stop, and she hates the fact that she has to wear glasses now. She’s one of the quiet ones but it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

Of course, both princesses are stunning. They really do look a lot like Helena, with Aksel’s height thrown in. By the time they’re teens, they’re going to tower over me.

They’re in the very back of the SUV, probably because they can hide and get into more trouble back there. Right behind Aksel and I, though, are the twins.

Emil and Lars. Five years old. Born five minutes apart.

Even though they’re identical twins, I swear Emil takes after me and Lars takes after his father. Aksel says I’m crazy and that they look the same and it’s more that Emil acts like me and Lars acts like him.

I’m still not sure.

Emil is charming. He’s all smiles, all day long. He’s a big goof too and loves music, always dancing around with Freja to her K-Pop obsession. He’s really into horses at the moment, but last week it was whales, and I’m sure next week it will be alligators or something. He’s curious, always wanting to know more about the world, and his favorite thing to do is jump on the bed in the morning and give me a hug. He’s my own bit of sunshine.

Oh, and when he smiles, you can see his incisors, so that’s why I think he takes after me.

When it comes to Lars, though he’s curious, he’s also serious. He rarely smiles unless it’s about a fart joke and then he can’t stop laughing. It might also be his laugh that’s the issue, since it’s loud and squeaky and he tends to fart when he’s laughing, which makes everyone else laugh and then he laughs more and anyway, who knew that having boys resulted in a palace filled with farts?

His favorite thing to do is go sailing with his father (I like to stay on shore, thank you very much) and learn other languages. So far, he’s got English, Danish, and Swedish down but he says he wants to learn Italian next. I think it’s because his favorite meal is spaghetti and meatballs…with herring.

So those are the major changes over the last five years. I’m Queen Aurora now (much better than Princess Aurora). Aksel and I were married within a few months of him proposing and by that time I was already pregnant. All that baby-making paid off.

I honestly didn’t think I could be happier, feel this kind of joy, that I do nearly every day. We still have Snarf Snarf too, because that pig is going to live forever, but we also have a huge Newfoundland dog called Pilot, because one animal isn’t enough and Aksel still has a weak spot when it comes to his daughters.

As for Nicklas, the ex-butler, well he did write his book in the end. No Danish publisher wanted to touch him, especially when it was leaked that he was the snitch in the royal palace, but eventually a British publisher picked him up.

The book didn’t go anywhere. He was dropped.

It could have just been about his life as a butler and the real involvement of Aksel in the accident and perhaps people would have believed it.

But he went on and on about sordid, dirty details of the royal family, including a lot about Helena. Like, sexual stuff. Private stuff. It was pure drivel and malicious, with everyone assuming it was made up. All the publishers expected Aksel to sue for libel, so they didn’t want to take the chance. The guy even tried to go the self-publishing route, but the Danish royal family was quick to threaten a lawsuit.

That said, the Danish royal family now consists of just me, Aksel and Stella.

Aksel and Stella’s mother, Queen Liva, died a couple of months ago. Luckily Aksel was able to get closure with her over the years, coming to terms with their relationship. Even though she rarely recognized him, on the days that she did remember, she was kind and remorseful. They never had the mother/son relationship that Aksel wanted, and she never gave him the love he needed, but at least in the end, he was able to salvage the distance that had grown between them.

He gave a stirring speech at her funeral, which was televised across the nation. Every time I see Aksel give a speech in front of his country, I see him transformed into a king. It’s not that he isn’t, it’s just as the years go on, he wears his crown with pride. He’s become someone that people need and more than that, he’s started believing they need him. That he’s worthy of it. He rises to the occasion, born to be a leader and a ruler.

Born to be mine.

I’m so, so lucky that he’s mine. I’m so, so lucky that six years ago he agreed to hire me. And I’m so lucky that I didn’t give up when the going got tough—not on myself, not on the girls, not on him. I didn’t give up on love, even when it was drowning me. Being a queen isn’t an easy role and I have some very pretty and beloved shoes to fill, but I can do it with my king, with my love, at my side.

I have no greater proof of his devotion to me than right now.

We’re currently in an SUV, driving across the dry outback of Queensland, heading closer to the border with South Australia.

Heading to Windorah.

Behind us is another car with Maja, who is still spritely at her age, and Johan at the wheel.

And behind them is Henrik, driving the royal attendants.

Rich, red dust rises up behind our mini convoy, spreading across the desolate brushland.

We’ve been driving forever at this point and my hometown seems to get further and further away.

Of course, we could have flown in a little plane.

And, of course, Aksel didn’t have to drive at all.

But after what happened with his mother, I felt the need to make peace with mine. And even though my mother can’t be located by any means, and I know she’s no longer in Windorah, I figured I need closure in other ways. Just to see the pub, just to see the shack. Just to see the life I used to have and say goodbye to it. No more demons, no more pain. I’m moving on and the guilt can stay behind.

So Aksel insisted on a family trip to Australia and then he insisted on reliving his ex-rally driving days and driving us there. Naturally I’ve been keeping him from going too fast since we have our little princes and princesses in the car and with there being no bends or turns in the road whatsoever, it probably doesn’t feel like racing at all.

But to Aksel, it’s freedom.

Window down, arm outside, the hot air blowing back his hair, Aksel feels free.

And I will soon too.

It’s another three hours until we finally hit the outskirts of town and thank god for that, because everyone has had to go pee and there hasn’t been a single rest station or even tree on the side of the road to do your business behind.

The town is even smaller than I remember. It’s just a road with a few houses scattered about. There’s the petrol station/dairy and a farm and feed store and…the pub.

It looks the same as it did, all peeling paint and clapboard sides, dust that’s been permanently etched onto the windows. Aksel asks if I want to go inside but I don’t. I just want to see it in passing, to know it’s still there, to know it has no hold on me anymore.

We keep driving, past a cattle ranch and then down an even worse dirt road and then suddenly we’re here. Both the cars behind us have stopped further up the road to give me some privacy.

“Is this it?” Clara asks, peering out the window as we come to a stop in a dusty driveway.

“Yes,” I say, breathless already, as I slowly step out of the car.

I barely feel the cramps in my legs from being in the car all day, my eyes are focused on the shack.

It looks a lot better now or maybe it was never that bad. About three rooms, single story, tin roof. There’s a porch with a sagging couch and a screen door that’s not shut properly.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Aksel asks, getting out of his side.

I shake my head. “Take the kids to pee behind that tree.”

I walk toward the shack, slowly, as if in a dream. In fact, I have to pinch myself a few times.

Is this real?

Am I really here?

Who am I?

But then the screen door is pushed forward, and a black and white cattle dog comes bounding out, tail wagging.

“Hey boy,” I say to him as he comes over to me, happy and excited. I have no idea who this dog is, but I do love dogs and they do love me. I still have a sweater that says so.

I crouch down to pet him, and he starts licking me up the side of the face just as someone else comes out of the screen door.

It’s a woman, younger than me, and a little bit pregnant.

“Hi,” she says warily. She’s pretty, white teeth, very tanned. She’s in dirty work boots and a brown floral dress. “Can I help you?”

The dog runs over to her and now the woman is distracted by my kids, who all come running forward, and Aksel in the background, pissing on a tree.

“No,” I tell her, smiling big, hoping she doesn’t think we’re here to rob her or pee on her trees. “Sorry to just show up like this but I used to live here.”

She’s taken aback and walks off the porch, wiping her hands on her dress.

“You used to live here?”

“I did. Long, long time ago. I haven’t been back here for, maybe, fifteen years.”

“I hear your accent now,” she says, nodding. “It’s getting stronger as you talk.”

“Anyway,” I say, shrugging. “I just wanted to look at it and see if it’s still here. It is. Sorry to bother you.”

The kids are now running around with the dog, and Aksel comes over, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Hi,” he says to her with a nod.

“Hi,” she says, then sticks out her hand. “I’m Meredith.”

Aksel shakes it. “Aksel. This is Aurora.”

“Aurora,” Meredith muses. “I can’t say I remember your name being mentioned.” I almost say I was Rory back then, but I don’t. Rory is gone. “We actually moved in about four years ago. My husband, Jim, he started up an emu farm.”

“Emus!” Emil yells, abandoning the others and the dog and running over to us. “You have Emus.”

“Yes, he’s out there with them right now.” She gestures with her head to a small hill I used to climb when I was young. She peers at us. “You have very interesting accents. Where are the rest of you from?”

“Denmark!” Emil exclaims. “My name is Prince Emil and that’s my brother, Prince Lars and we’re twins.”

“Oh, really,” she says, smiling at them, completely amused.

“They’re going through a phase,” I lean in and say under my breath, not needing for her to know who we really are.

“Well I’m having a little prince myself,” Meredith says, putting her hands on her belly.

“You don’t have royal family in Australia,” Clara yells over at us.

“It’s a figure of speech, Clara,” I yell back.

“Yeah, but…”

“Listen,” Meredith says. “You’ve come such a long way to see this place. Would you like to come in for some supper? Maybe a spot of tea?”

“Oh no, no,” I tell her. “Please, we just wanted to see it, that’s all.”

“But I insist.”

“You’re cooking for three, not for nine,” I remind her, stunned by her generosity.

“Thank you for the offer but we couldn’t impose on you.”

“I could help cook,” Aksel offers.

I stare at him, trying to shoot what are you doing messages with my eyes. “You can’t even heat up soup!”

“I’m a good cook,” Freja speaks up. “Karla taught me how to make sous vide the other day.”

I can tell Meredith does not know what to make of us. “I must say, I’ve never had sous vide and I’m not sure what it is. But we do have a bloody lot of ground emu, some chicken too. And my veggie garden has really taken off. Lots of aubergine and courgettes.”

“Good, because I’m vegan,” Clara announces, coming over to us, hands on her hips.

Oh, please, no lectures, I think.

“I used to be a vegetarian,” Meredith says to her, “before this baby of mine started craving meat. Come on, come inside and have a rest. I’ll fix you all up something.”

“Yay! Emus!” Emil yells, running around, pretending to flap his wings.

Aksel leans into me. “Someone ought to tell him it’s what’s for dinner.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay, well thank you so much,” I tell her. “Kids, why don’t you stay out here, out of our hair. Just don’t touch anything except the dog.”

“His name is Otis,” Meredith says as she starts toward the house.

“Otis,” I tell them. “Everything else you come across out here, ignore it. It will probably kill you.”

But the kids aren’t listening to me because they never do. They go back to chasing the dog around the driveway.

Aksel leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going to grab my phone and text Maja and the others, let them know we’ll be having dinner here. There’s food at the pub for them, right?”

I let out a dry laugh. “There should be. But if Henrik can convince Maja to eat anything on the menu, I want a picture.”

He grins. “You’re handling all this so well.” He brushes a strand of hair off my face. “I’m proud of you.”

I nod. “It feels like this place has another life now. And it’s a good one.”

“A second chance.”

“Another life and a second chance. It doesn’t get better than that.”

I look around at the red dust and the shack and the life I have now colliding with the life I had then. And I was right.

It doesn’t get better.

THE END

Thank you all so much for reading A Nordic King!

Reviews of this book and others are much appreciated!

—> If you leave a review of A NORDIC KING on Amazon, drop me an email at KarinaHalleANK@gmail.com until October 5th 2018, I’ll send you a signed Nordic King postcard as a thank you (open only for US addresses, only valid until October 5th). <—

If you’re wanting to check out any of my other romances, I have TOO MANY to list, but here are some of my favourites (and all are available on Kindle Unlimited):

- THE WILD HEIR (Prince Magnus of Norway’s story)

- THE SWEDISH PRINCE (Prince Viktor of Sweden’s story)

- BAD AT LOVE (a quirky friends-to-lovers romance)

- BEFORE I EVER MET YOU ( young single mom falls for her father’s best friend)

- LOVE IN ENGLISH (the ultimate forbidden romance with the sexiest Spanish soccer star ever)

- THE PACT (two best friends agree to marry each other by the time they’re thirty)

- THE NORTH RIDGE SERIES (A trilogy about three rugged mountain men from Canada with very dangerous and thrilling jobs and the women who love them)

-> If you want to connect with me, you can always find me on Instagram (where I post travel photos, fashion, teasers, etc, IG IS MY LIFE and the easiest place to find me online)

-> or in my Facebook Group (we’re a fun bunch and would love to have you join)

-> Otherwise, feel free to signup for my mailing list (it comes once a month) and Bookbub alerts!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Some stories haunt you until you give them power.

I’d been dreaming about King Aksel and Aurora for most of the year, these characters occupying my head, heart, and soul even as I wrote other books, even as I took a long (much needed) break from writing.

Finally, I sat down and got serious and let these two characters come out to play.

What a seriously beautiful and romantic ride A Nordic King was for me, and I hope for you. Endlessly inspired by Jane Eyre and classic fairy-tales, I wanted a tale of redemption beneath all the agonizing sexual tension and banter.

I wanted to show two people who were wearing masks, what it’s like to finally let them slip, to show each other who they are.

I wanted to show King Aksel falling to his knees and giving into real LOVE for the first time ever.

And he falls hard. That wonderfully obsessive love that only first loves have, a lot that he has for Aurora.

Who doesn’t dream of stripping away the layers of a cold and rigid man to find a pure heart pumping underneath?

Anyway, this book was such a delight for me to write, a story I wanted to wrap myself up in and live in, and I really hope it spoke to you too. Thank you for being so patient and waiting for Aksel and Aurora to arrive.

I have so many people to thank:

My sweet Nina who forces me to talk to her on the phone even though I hate talking on the phone but I’ll do it to hear that Southern drawl of hers, THANK YOU. You are the mustard paste to my rye bread and I couldn’t do this without you.

Same goes for Chanpreet, you are a super-star lady! And we’re so alike, only I’m not organized and you are, so really you complete me.

To Sandra, for always being there. I hope you’re happy now.

To Ali for all your help.

To Kristina Hansen for your Danish expertise, thank you! Tak!

To the ladies (Heather, Tiffany, Megan, Sandy, Ella, Vernalee, Cassandra, Jana, Rox, Dawn) who came to my first ever reader retreat on my island AND put up with me trying to write while you were here - you’re all awesome and you’re welcome back anytime. Thank you for the wine and the gifts and your support.

Amanda Fuckin’ Cantu! Those Momoa dreams are all yours, baby.

To Kelly for being the Mitchell to my Marilyn.

To Kathleen for being my partner-in-wine.

HANG - I love you! This cover is THE BEST YET! Thank you for always going above and beyond the call of duty.

To my parents for being extra excited about all this Scandinavian stuff (did you know my Norwegian father, Sven, is an ex-rally driver turned sailor and that he has a photo in his office of him posing beside a wrecked Datsun that says “Why I took up sailing”?)

To my bookstagrammers and street team and ARC reviewers, you all make this book world go round, thank you for being so lovely!

To my beta readers for all your invaluable feedback!

To my Anti-Heroes for being fucking fantastic.

To my agent, Taylor, for believing in me…BIG DREAMS INC!

To my editor Kara, and my proofreader Roxane, thank you for always doing more. <3

And finally to Scott and Bruce, because, always.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Bad at Love, The Swedish Prince, Sins & Needles, and over 46 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pitbull, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.

Halle is represented by Root Literary and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK.

Hit her up on Instagram at @authorHalle, on Twitter at @MetalBlonde and on Facebook (join her reader group “Karina Halle’s Anti-Heroes” for extra fun and connect with her!). You can also visit www.authorkarinahalle.com and sign up for the newsletter for news, excerpts, previews, private book signing sales and more.

ALSO BY KARINA HALLE

Contemporary Romances

Love, in English

Love, in Spanish

Where Sea Meets Sky (from Atria Books)

Racing the Sun (from Atria Books)

The Pact

The Offer

The Play

Winter Wishes

The Lie

The Debt

Smut

Heat Wave

Before I Ever Met You

After All

Rocked Up

Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

Maverick (North Ridge #2)

Hot Shot (North Ridge #3)

Bad at Love

The Swedish Prince

The Wild Heir

A Nordic King

Romantic Suspense Novels by Karina Halle

Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)

On Every Street (An Artists Trilogy Novella #0.5)

Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)

Bold Tricks (The Artists Trilogy #3)

Dirty Angels (Dirty Angels #1)

Dirty Deeds (Dirty Angels #2)

Dirty Promises (Dirty Angels #3)

Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1)

Dirty Souls (Sins Duet #2)

Horror Romance

Darkhouse (EIT #1)

Red Fox (EIT #2)

The Benson (EIT #2.5)

Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)

Lying Season (EIT #4)

On Demon Wings (EIT #5)

Old Blood (EIT #5.5)

The Dex-Files (EIT #5.7)

Into the Hollow (EIT #6)

And With Madness Comes the Light (EIT #6.5)

Come Alive (EIT #7)

Ashes to Ashes (EIT #8)

Dust to Dust (EIT #9)

The Devil’s Duology

Donners of the Dead

Veiled