The Wild Heir

  My mother is right. I know I didn’t leave a good impression on Ella and I don’t know why I was so surprised that she didn’t want anything thing to do with marrying me when she normally would never give me the time of day.

  But winning her over sounds like a rather tall order.

  Doesn’t mean I won’t try.

  “Okay,” I tell her, swinging my legs out of bed. “I’ll come right over.”

  “Oh, and Magnus. Do shave. And do something with your hair. This isn’t the medieval ages and you’re not a Viking.”

  I grumble something and hang up. I’m not sure if this outing calls for a suit again but because I’m expected to make a better second impression, I pull out a black suit anyway, no tie (lest my mother be outraged). But I don’t touch my hair. I run an electric razor over my beard and raze it down to stubble, but I refuse to be clean shaven.

  That will have to do.

  Soon, Einar is pulling in through the palace gates and Ottar is trying to rein in his curiosity. I told him he should come since negotiations sometime involve paperwork, and paperwork is my nemesis. I think he’s just overjoyed to be involved in this thing anyway he can be.

  Ella won’t arrive for another hour, or so my mother says, so that gives us time to gather in the sitting room and fret.

  Actually, I’m not the one fretting. My father is upstairs taking a nap, though I’m assured he’ll be down later. Mari is at school, so it’s just my mother, Tor, and her lawyer, Sigurd, and of course me and Ottar.

  My mother is pacing back and forth, dressed to the nines in a bright fuchsia silk pantsuit, and I can see where I at least get some of my fidgeting tendencies from.

  “Princess Isabella might try to play hardball with us,” she says.

  “I would assume so,” I tell her, watching her go back and forth. “There isn’t much for her to gain here.”

  She stops pacing and faces me, shock pulling back her face. “Are you serious, Magnus? Nothing to gain? She would become a princess and eventually a queen. The queen. She’ll take my place.”

  “She’s already a princess,” I remind her.

  “But she’ll never be a queen of her country, even if she didn’t have her brothers. That’s not how it works in their country. No woman will ever inherit the throne. It’s their law. Isabella will never be able to move past her title, and it’s one without many privileges.”

  “I really don’t think she has any interest in being queen.”

  “How would you know? You barely spoke to her.”

  “Well, according to father, I spoke to her long enough to propose to her. You know, I wasn’t going to say this to him because he’s under enough stress as it is, but he really fucked things up there.”

  “You watch your mouth,” my mother says, shaking a finger in my face, her eyes sharp as daggers. “For heaven’s sake. And by the way, you’re the one who fucked up.”

  Sigurd inhales sharply and my mother spears him with her gaze. “What? It’s my house. I’m allowed to swear. I’m the goddamn queen!”

  “Look,” I say slowly, trying to prevent her from having an aneurysm. “My point is, it put Ella in a tough spot. She had to lie to her father.”

  “That’s on her,” my mother says dismissively. “If she wasn’t open to the idea at all, she wouldn’t have lied and she wouldn’t be arriving here at any moment to discuss this.”

  “She might be. She strikes me as a person with honor and morals, and maybe she thinks flying here and letting us down face-to-face is the right way to do things,” I tell her. “And that whole moral thing is also why I think she won’t go for it. Hey, I’m stuck. This is my bed and it’s full of shit and I’m lying in it. But I’m pretty sure she’s the type who imagined when she one day got married it would be to someone she loved.”

  “She could learn to love you,” my mother says softly, almost embarrassed.

  I’m certainly embarrassed. I wince. “I doubt that. But my point stands. She has no reason to say yes, not that I know of.”

  “Well, you don’t know her at all. None of us do.” She gestures around the room. She then sits down on the couch and has a sip of her coffee which is probably cold by now. She sits back and studies me. “And so say she says no. Then what? Are you going to be disappointed?”

  I lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

  I hate to say it, but in a way I think I would be. Because if it’s not her it will be someone else and I think I rather like Ella. At least I’m still intrigued by her, not to mention attracted to her. There’s something about her demeanor, the way she looks so classy and quiet, but I’ve seen the fire inside her already and I’d love to see what she looks like, completely disheveled with that fire unleashed.

  Who knows if I’ll even have the chance.

  And if I did, who knows if she would let me.

  “Your Majesty.” My father’s butler appears at the door. “She’s here.”

  My mother gets to her feet and looks at me.

  Show time.

  Eight

  Ella

  This is a huge mistake.

  I knew the moment I booked the ticket.

  The moment I stepped on the plane.

  The moment I arrived at the airport in Oslo and got into the hired car.

  The moment that car pulled up to the palace gates.

  A big, big mistake.

  I’ve spent the last few days going over the scenario in my head, trying to understand my situation the best that I can. I’ve missed all my classes, calling in sick, because I can’t concentrate on anything else. I’ve made countless pros and cons lists, I’ve had debates with Jane, I’ve even tried meditation to find the right answer, as if the universe will enlighten me with one.

  And I’ve honestly come up with nothing.

  Which is so ridiculous considering what’s at stake here. I shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea. The moment that Magnus told me the real reason behind everything, I should have just left. I mean, I tried to. But then my father called and he sounded so damn proud of me and happy and it’s like for one wonderful moment, for one lie, I had everything I ever craved right in my hands.

  His love.

  His acceptance.

  I caved. I should have told him the truth, but not only did I not want to disappoint him, I didn’t want to erase what I had fought so long to have.

  And now I’m stuck. Between a rock and a hard place known as Magnus’s muscles.

  But I don’t want to marry Magnus.

  I don’t want to marry anyone right now.

  I certainly don’t want to move to Norway and give up my studies, everything I’ve thrown myself into and worked so hard for over the years.

  Is the risk of disappointing my father really worth giving up my freedom, my life, my future?

  I still don’t know.

  I should know but I don’t.

  What I do know is that I don’t trust myself to make any permanent decisions right now and the fact that I even want to talk it over with them all is a bad idea. If I had a backbone at all I would have told them no over the phone and been done with it.

  And then what would you have done? I think. Then you’d go back to your classes, tagging along after your roommates, eating dinner with only Jane for company, struggling for the world to take you seriously, floundering after university with no support, no voice. No father to tell you he’s proud of you. Just a lifetime of being stuck in a life you don’t really want.

  But isn’t that what marrying Magnus would be like?

  I look over at Jane as the car parks beneath the palace, my nerves on fire, my heart jittery and jumping all over the place like I’d injected it with caffeine concentrate. Or maybe it was the several cups of tea I had on the plane.

  “What am I doing?” I ask, my eyes wide in panic as I watch the butler approaching the car. “I can’t do this.”

  Jane rolls her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Will you stop overthinking this? You’ve had a million times
to say no and call it off and you haven’t yet. Instead, you’ve spent the last few days thinking about it. That means you need to be here, even if just to hear what else they have to say.”

  “But this is ridiculous,” I say frantically, my palms growing sweaty. “I should just get the driver to turn around and take us back to the airport. I shouldn’t even be entertaining this. I don’t—”

  The car door opens and the butler says, “Your Serene Highness.”

  Which makes me wince. Technically that is the way you’re supposed to address me but I haven’t heard it since I was a young girl and even then it sounded too formal.

  I stare at the butler’s outstretched hand, and in that moment I know that if I grab it, if I let him help me out of the car, if I step foot in that palace, I’m committing myself even further, making it harder to back out.

  But I do it. I reach out for his hand and he helps me out, Jane right behind me.

  The palace looks different in the morning and I’m aware now that it’s in the middle of the city. I can hear cars, people walking past outside the gates. They blocked off the area so that you can’t actually see the courtyard, and from the paparazzi I spied as we drove in, I know it’s for good reason.

  “Your Majesty is expecting you,” he says, and leads me toward the main doors. We don’t have any luggage with us this time. In fact, regardless of what happens, Jane and I are booked back on a flight to Edinburgh later that evening. I don’t want to make the mistake of staying over again, especially if I end up saying no. That would be rather awkward.

  This time the butler takes us directly to another room instead of the Bird Room where we had to wait last time. I guess all the formalities are gone now.

  The room we’re led into is just as opulent as the others, with hanging chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling curtains, and teak and velvet furniture done up in shades of cream and baby blue.

  Standing around the biggest coffee table I’ve ever seen in the middle of the room, are Queen Else, Magnus, and two other people I don’t recognize: a short man with a round baby face and a bald, thin man in glasses who holds a stack of papers and folders in his hands.

  I’m not sure the proper protocol to enter a room that they already occupy so I immediately bow and curtsey with Jane doing the same.

  “Your Majesty,” I say, artfully looking down at the pale grey carpet. “Your Royal Highness.”

  “Please,” the Queen says. “You can call me Else. Or Madam. I’d rather things not be so formal between us.” I gradually lift my gaze to meet hers. She’s smiling warmly.

  She’s talking as if I’ve already told them yes. That’s not a good sign. I need to take back some control without making them feel slighted. “Thank you so much for having me here on such short notice, madam,” I say to her. “This is the type of thing I believe would be better discussed in person.”

  It hits me all at once at what I’m doing—standing before the Norwegian royal family and telling them what’s going on, telling them where I stand, being the one who is dictating the situation. Never in a million years did I think I would ever have the confidence to do this. I’m still in shock.

  I push that realization out of my mind. If I think about it anymore I’ll be running for the hills.

  “And we appreciate that,” she says, exchanging a quick glance with Magnus. “Please, sit down.”

  I sit down on the couch, Jane beside me, and as the butler pours everyone coffee—which I decline—my eyes go to Magnus. I’ve been trying not to look at him in case he influences me one way or the other.

  But the fact is, he is influencing me. And he should. This is the man I’m considering marrying. This is the person I may have to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t know him at all, except what seems to be all his bad qualities, and based on our meeting the other night, I can’t say that we get along even slightly.

  His gaze is as intense as ever, those dark eyes of his seeming to hold me in my place as I sit before him. It feels like he’s looking for answers from me this time, rather than the way he looked last time—like he was looking for his own answers inside me.

  Do I take this man to be my lawfully married husband? It doesn’t matter that he’s built like a Viking, that he’s gorgeous in his own rugged way and oozes alpha testosterone, or that he’s a prince who will one day be the king. None of that matters when I don’t know the guy. And if I don’t know Magnus like I should, then I have absolutely no idea what I’m getting into and I’m not sure anything—even losing my father’s acceptance—is worth that.

  I had originally come here not really knowing what my answer would be, but I do have my own list of negotiations that I’d tapped out in the notes section of my phone, just in case it came down to it.

  I wrote down that I wanted an easy out before the wedding, and I wanted an easy out after, if I was at all publically humiliated by Magnus in any way.

  I wrote that I wanted to continue my studies in Oslo.

  I wanted my own non-profit organization off the bat with built-in media interest and the brightest minds working for me.

  I wanted a house or palace of my choosing.

  I wanted a rich personal life away from the prying eyes of the media.

  And I wanted a dog (I’ve always wanted a dog).

  I considered adding a clause in there that roughly said that I was under no obligation to have children or to have a sexual relationship with Magnus, but I decided that would probably something to discuss privately since no one wants their wife-to-be admitting to their family that she would never touch him with a ten-foot pole.

  Hmmm. In his case, make it twenty.

  But now that I’m looking at this man, this stranger, I realize that the negotiations are worthless.

  There’s only one reasonable, sane, and smart thing to do here.

  “I want two weeks,” I tell them.

  Everyone stares at me in surprise and Jane nudges me questionably in the side. I ignore her.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” the Queen says. “Two weeks of what?”

  “I have a list of negotiations here,” I tell them, awkwardly fishing out my phone and pointing at it. “Things that must be agreed upon before I even consider this. I assume there will be a contract between us before the actual marriage? Something that will make sure that none of us talk about the truth, that this is an arranged marriage?”

  The Queen looks over at the bald man who nods. “Yes, of course,” he says, and I’m guessing he’s the lawyer. “Everything will be airtight.”

  “Good,” I continue, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice. It’s like I’m possessed and someone else is talking for me. Maybe Ella of the future, if you want to get all metaphysical. Perhaps I’ve been meditating too much. I clear my throat. “Then I would like my list of demands added to the contract. But only after two weeks, if I agree to it.”

  “And what’s happening during these two weeks?” Magnus asks.

  I meet his eyes again and smile tightly. “It’s a trial period. To figure out if we can stand to be around each other.” I quickly give his mother an apologetic look. “You’ve raised a good son and I’m sure he’s a good man. But I have to know this for myself. With all due respect, having good looks and blue blood isn’t enough for me. We have to be compatible, even in the most basic way, before I’ll consider it.”

  “Look, Princess,” Magnus says, and it doesn’t escape me that every time he calls me princess, he does it in a slightly mocking way. “This goes both ways. In two weeks I might decide I’d rather be chained to the Princess of Belgium instead.”

  “Magnus,” the Queen says sharply, giving him a glare that would melt the strongest steel. “These comments are exactly the reason why she’s asking for this.” She sighs, closing her eyes briefly and then looks to me with an apologetic tilt of her head. “This makes sense to me and I completely understand. It took the King years to win me over and convince me to become queen. We can afford you two weeks to do the same
.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her, breathing out a sigh of relief.

  “But,” she goes on, exchanging a look with her lawyer, “after those two weeks are up, we will need an answer. And once you give that answer and the documents are signed, things will need to happen very, very fast. We’re looking at a winter wedding, around Christmas.”

  Jeez, that is fast. It’s the start of October. If I give my answer in the middle of the month, we’ll have just a month to get everything planned. I want to ask why the urgency—surely saving face doesn’t have an expiration date, especially after I saw the public apology Magnus made the other day—but I bite my tongue and save my curiosity for later.

  After all, I’ll have two weeks to get all the answers I need.

  I didn’t hang around for long after the meeting. We all shook hands—I swore Magnus was trying to break mine in two so I tried to match his grip, which then led to us holding hands for longer than I wanted to—and then Jane and I headed into Oslo to grab some lunch and shopping before getting on the plane back.

  The Queen invited us to stay longer, saying her husband, who was noticeably absent from the meeting, would love to say hello, but I figured it was just better to get out while I could. There’s a lot I have to do.

  And yet here I am, standing in the middle of my dorm room, taking far too long to figure out what to pack. My room looks like it’s been ransacked with clothes and bras and books.

  At least I have some idea what to expect. Over the next two weeks, Magnus and I are supposed to move into one of the royal estates located in the Asker region which isn’t too far outside of Oslo. It’s a pastoral area and the estate has a lot of land, so it will be a completely private setting.

  Also, I’m not to leave the estate at all just in case the paparazzi get wind of me, but at this point I don’t mind. It’s just two weeks. At the very least I can pretend to be Jane Eyre and the estate can be my Thornfield Hall.

  Anyway, originally they suggested I move into Magnus’s two-bedroom apartment downtown but I quickly vetoed that idea. I want to get to know him better but I still need my own space, and being confined to an apartment with him is a recipe for disaster.