,🌹🌹The Swedish Prince 🌹🌹
🌸🌸(ROYAL r0m@nç£) 🌸🌸
🌹Chapter 29🌹
Viktor’s POV
“So how do I look?” she asks, adjusting the mask.
“Very mysterious,” Magnus says. “Like most women.”
“Beautiful,” I tell her, tugging it up so I can see her eyes better. “Now even more so.”
“So what do you say?” Magnus says. “We have a few hours here before we go out and–”
“Sir?”
We all turn around to see Freddie standing by the entrance to the libr@ry.
“Yes?”
He clears his throat and slowly walks toward us.
“Freddie!” Magnus greets him, raising his hand in a high five. Magnus lives to bug Freddie. “What’s going on with you, my good man?”
“Hello Your Highness,” Freddie greets Magnus and tepidly taps his palm to his before retrieving it rather quic-kly. He looks to me. “I hate to be a bother but you do have c0cktails with your mother and father over at Drottningholm.”
“Well I guess tell them I’m cancelling.”
Freddie winces. “They were rather concerned, you see, since you’ve been having so many high fevers recently. They’ve noticed your abs£nce this last week.”
Of course they have. They notice everything now. “Tell them I’m not well yet.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates lying to them. “Fine. I will do my best.”
“Meanwhile,” Magnus says, “here!” He throws a mask at Freddie who catches it with one hand. Jeez, I had no idea Freddie possessed ninja reflexes.
“What is this?” Freddie asks.
“You’re coming with us!” Magnus announces.
Freddie looks at me.
Worried.
“By order of the Crown Prince of Norway,” Magnus says, de-epening his voice into a bellow, “I command you to attend this masquerade ball with me, this American beauty, and your boss, his Royal Highness, Viktor of House Nordin.”
Freddie just sighs. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” Magnus barks. He looks to me with raised brows. “Right?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
I know it’s Magnus’s goal in life to get Freddie good and properly drun!k, so perhaps this will finally be the night.
Either way, it’s actually a rather brilliant idea on his behalf. I do want to take Maggie out, I do want to show her a good time and have a good time myself without being cooped up in this place. I want us to have fun and a masquerade ball seems like a pretty good start.
“Okay Freddie,” I say to him, reaching over and plucking his iPad out of his hands. “You’re off the clock now.”
He c0cks a brow. “If I’m off the clock, sir, then this should mean I can retire to my room.”
I quic-kly give him back the iPad. “Fine, you’re back on the new clock and your job this evening is to accompany all of us to the p@rty. You un-derstand?”
He nods. He un-derstands and he doesn’t like it one bit.
At least he doesn’t until we’re getting re-ady to go to the p@rty and are hanging out in the study, drinking. Freddie has two sh0ts of aquavit and suddenly his face is red and he’s laughing like crazy at his own jokes, half of which I don’t even un-derstand.
By the time we actually leave in a limo to this p@rty that’s being held in a grand old building in the old town, Gamla Stan, we’re all feeling pretty damn good.
“$h!t!” Maggie cries out as soon as we exit the limo in town, her heels sliding on the snow. I immediately reach for her before she bails on the sli-ppery packed snow.
“You can’t possibly walk in those,” I tell her and scoop her up into my arms. “Looks like I’m carrying you.”
“My prince,” she says in her best fair maiden voice, lacing her f!ngersaround my n£¢k.
The winding narrow streets of Gamla Stan are ha-rd enough to walk on when it’s just cobblestone but packed in snow it’s another story.
“Are you cold?” I ask her as I carry her. She’s got a furry coat she found at a vintage sto-re in the h!pster area of Sodermalm, covering up the long green silk go-wn that she bought the other day. I feel like Gatsby holding Daisy in his arms, if Gatsby wore a mask. Perhaps I also feel a bit like Batman.
“I’m fv¢king freezing,” she says but she’s smiling broadly. “Does this place ever get warm?”
“Summers are delightful!” Freddie says to her, weaving up the narrow street in front of us. “It’s h0t and dry and the best place to go is Lake Mälaren where their Majesty’s palace is. So many nudists on the beaches, it’s incredible the amount of brea-sts you see!”
I glance over my shoulder at Magnus. “You got him drun!k, now it’s your responsibility to watch him.”
Magnus just grins at me, looking absolutely sinister in his tux combined with that mask.
“I thought Swedens were used to nudity,” Maggie says as we round the corner and see the building at the end of a square, a line of masked people waiting to get in, shivering in the cold.
“They are!” Magnus yells, running up from behind us and nearly sli-pping on a patch of ice. “But Freddie here has never seen a br£@st in real life.”
“Very funny!” Freddie exclaims, awkwardly adjusting his glas-ses over his mask. “I’ll have you know that I do have a girlfriend.”
This is news to me.
“Who?” I ask.
“Is this a real girlfriend or someone you met on the internet?” Magnus asks, elbowing him in the side. That nearly takes Freddie down and he has to lean against a building to keep his balance.
“People you meet on the internet are real,” Freddie says, suddenly so serious.
I look over my shoulder to see how the security team is catching up. Surprisingly, none of them were overly annoyed to be wearing masks on tonight’s detail. I suppose they would never grumble to me either but I think it’s giving them something different to do for once.
The p@rty is held by one of Stockholm’s software developers and apparently he also has a rather kinky side because the moment we step inside, we notice all the rooms are quite dark and done up in red silk and there are a lot of half-n-ked people walking around. Freddie must be losing his mind at all the ba-re brea-sts.
Magnus and I separate as to not draw too much attention to ourselves since the two of us together are a pretty recognizable pair, even with masks on. The song “Two Princes” seems to pl@ywherever we go.
I’m also sure there are a few people who know who I am just from the way I walk and hold myself but the real point of the masks is to obscure who Maggie is.
Even though you can’t fully see her face, she looks absolutely beautiful. She’s wearing this bright redl-ipstick and her hair is done up in curls that fall softly around her sparkling mask. The slinky green dress shows off every curve and gleams like an emerald next to her milky skin.
It’s always been a fantasy of mine to have S-x in a public place with people in the next room, especially if everyone is dressed to the nines and there’s a formality about it, but I won’t risk it here. Though I’m pretty sure around every darkened corner people are having S-x, we can’t afford to get caught at this point.
So I just hold Maggie’s hand and we cruise around the room, admiring people’s masks, sipping champagne and stealing k!sses. There’s something so wonderfully freeing about all of this that it reminds me of being in Hollywood with her again. No one knew who we were, no one cared and it was just the two of us, getting to know each other’s bodies, each other’s hearts.
As we plunk ourselves down onto a loveseat in the corner of one room, and she nestles into my arm, I realize that this is just the ti-p of the iceberg. That down the line, I’ll look back at this moment and realize that I didn’t know her the way that I eventually will. That though we are both in love, there are many steps to love and this is just the first one. My love for her will only grow with time, evolve and de-epen.
Or it won’t.
That’s something a fool in love would think.
The thought strikes me, a cold ice pick to my heart.
I’ve tried not to think about our future together, tried to focus on the here and now but I know, lingering just out of sight, like a floating dot at the corner of your vision that you can’t quite focus on, that something will change. That these times, this honeymoon period where it’s just us two in secret, that it will soon become very real and with that, a lot ha-rder.
We will be tested. And I just hope we have what it takes to pas-s.
“Are you happy?” I ask her, my f!ngerspressed against her warm cheek, the dim chandelier lights reflecting in her dark eyes.
She blinks at me in surprise and smiles. “Of course I am. Are you happy?”
“More than I thought possible,” I tell her, giving her a soft k!ss.
“We have a problem,” Magnus announces in a low voice, interrupting us.
I look up to see him standing in front of the love seat, his eyes looking wild beneath his mask.
“What?”
“Freddie’s been unmasked. We have to go.”
Maggie and I sit up straighter. “What happened?” I ask, now noticing that some people by the door to this room are looking at us and whispering.
“He was hitting on some guy’s woman and they started fighting. His mask was r!pp£doff. The guy immediately recognized him as Freddie Vereberg, your pri-vate secretary. We have to go. Now.”
“$h!t,” I get to my feet, hauling Maggie up. “Where is he now?”
“Your people have him don’t worry. But the jig, as they say, is up.”
I look around and then start pu-lling Maggie toward the door and down the stairs.
“Don’t go that way,” Magnus hisses, “that’s where the paparazzi are waiting outside.”
“Paparazzi?” Maggie squeaks.
“The bastards are quic-k.” Magnus points down the hallway. “The back door is there, exits onto the royal palace of all places.”
“The royal palace?” Maggie asks. “Another one? How many do you have?”
“Too many,” I tell her as Magnus starts to walk away. A crowd starts to form around us. “Where are you going?” I yell after him.
He does a dramatic twirl and takes off his mask and everyone around us g@sps, as if he’s just been revealed as a hideous monster and not Prince Magnus of Norway. “I’m going out the front. I know your paparazzi would love to take a ph0to of a handsome prince for once.” He gives me the thumbs up. “Good luck.”
I watch as he strides off down the stairs and I squee-ze Maggie’s hand. “Let’s go.”
We hurry throu-gh the crowd and by now everyone has figured out who I am. A few are taking pictures, some are kneeling or bowing or doing a curtsey, all of which makes me extremely uncomfortable and quite weird given their attire.
Thanks to Magnus’s distraction though when we bur-st throu-gh the backdoor we only see a bouncer and no one else. Beyond us is the stately façade of the royal palace.
“So who lives there?” Maggie asks as I look around for the best way to get out of here without being caught.
“That’s where my office is,” I tell her abs£ntly. “I thought you were alre-ady there, it’s open to the public.”
“Honestly I don’t remember much of those first few days.”
I pu-ll out my phone and call Nick, telling him to come pick us up in front of the palace.
“There he is!”
I turn around to see a whole fv¢king swarm of paparazzi running throu-gh the snow toward us, flashbulbs going off.
“fv¢k,” I swear, looking at Maggie. I’ve never seen her look so scared and though I’m a fast runner, I’m not sure I can outrun them while carrying her and I know she can’t run in those shoes. I don’t even know where I would run to.
“Viktor,” she whimpers, holding my arm ti-ght, her eyes wi-dening as they approach. “What are they going to do?”
Try and ruin me, I think as I look around, trying to figure out how to get out of this mess.
And then I sp©t it.
An escape.
I gr-ab Maggie and pu-ll her, sli-pping and sliding, over to an old Vespa that’s parked along a row of bikes covered in inches of snow. I dust the snow off and then pick her up by the w@!st, placing her on the back of the seat.
“What are you doing?” she cries out. “This isn’t yours is it?”
“I’m borrowing it,” I tell her, sitting in front of her, hands on the handlebars. “The owner will get it back tomorrow.”
“You don’t have the keys!”
“Vintage Vespas don’t have keys,” I tell her and look over my shoulder to see the paps approaching. $h!t. I toggle the ignition and after a few sputters the old Vespa screams to life.
“Hang on!” I yell at Maggie and she wra-ps her arms around me as the snow tires spin and spin before they find traction. We go off with a jo-lt.
“Ahhhh!” she yells into the wind as the Vespa churns throu-gh the snow until it finds a smoother path down on the main street. I weave it in and out of traffic, glad we don’t have far to go before we’re back at the house.
“I didn’t even think you could drive these in the snow,” she says, her arms gripping me ti-ghter as we narrowly avoid a snowbank.
“Swedens can drive anything in the snow,” I yell over my shoulder.
“And apparently steal Vespas while wearing tuxedos,” she yells back. “I guess you think you’re James Bond now.”
“Well I’m not Gregory pe-ck,” I fire back. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
She presses her cheek between my shoulder blades and we leave the chaos behind.
Chaos that I’m sure will catch up to us in the morning.
DAYS LATER
Maggie’s POV❤️
“Excuse me, do you speak English?”
I turn my head to see a Japanese couple with their c@m£ras out, holding them toward me like an offering.
“Yes I do,” I tell them. “Would you like your picture taken?”
“Oh yes plea-se, thank you,” they say, handing me the c@m£ra and posing in front of the royal palace. I snap a few pictures and they go on their way, shivering as more snow starts to fall.
It’s ha-rd to believe that it was just the other night that Viktor and I were here at the masquerade p@rty and escaping on the Vespa.
It reminded me that even though I c@m£ to de Kungliga Slotten (the royal palace) right after I arrived in Stockholm (it’s one of the major sights in the city) the jet lag seemed to have erased it from my memory.
So here I am again, peering at the swords and crown jewels down in what can only be describe-d as a dungeon, then traipsing the “royal ap@rtments” as p@rt of an audio tour.
A lot has happened since that night.
For one, we woke up the next morning to see Magnus, Viktor and I on the front page of the tabloids and the newspapers. All wearing masks, of course
Some of them reported on the Vespa ride (it was returned to the owner), some reported on the opulent p@rty (calling it an orgy, which is a bit of a reach), some wrote about the fistfight that Freddie got into. That p@rt was true. Poor Freddie still has a black eye.
Everyone speculated on who I was. All of them wrote about the “mystery girl that finally captured Prince Viktor’s heart” and now it seems the whole country is scrambling to figure out who I am.
There were a few interviews done with people who were at the masquerade p@rty and they mentioned that “the Prince and her seemed to be very cozy” and “he couldn’t keep his hands off her, it was obvious that he was smitten” (I liked that one the best) and “I don’t know where she was from but she wasn’t Swedish.”
I guess in some ways we got lucky but in other ways it’s really fv¢ked $h!t up. The paps are out on full f0rç£ and have taken to hanging out by the main gates, which is why I’ve spent the day br@ving the cold and wandering around Gamla Stan and the Ph0togra-phy Museum, trying to keep myself occu-pied. I feel like a prisoner if I stay in the palace. I’m just lucky that Nick is able to sneak me out and lose anyone that starts to tail us. His training definitely comes in handy.
And now that the public knows that Viktor has someone serious, his parents are finally aware of me.
That’s the scariest p@rt. Viktor went over there for dinner last night (while I ate in the kitchen with Bodi as he explained Swedish soap operas to me) and didn’t come home until late. He said it went fine and his parents weren’t upset but I know him well enough by now and I could tell he was upset.
I also know that since they know the truth about me, about where I come from, all my baggage, that I’m a commoner to the extreme, that they can’t be too happy about it.
I guess I’ll find out all that stuff in person tonight.
I’m supposed to meet them.
The King and Queen of Sweden.
At a pri-vate dinner p@rty they’re holding at their palace for King Aksel of Denmark who is visiting.
I’ve been trying not to think about it because the more I think about it, the more nervous I get. I mean I’ve gone from being sequestered in the house to having to meet a queen and two fv¢king kings. All at once. I mean, I know meeting your b©yfri£nd’s parents is nerve-wracking for anyone but in this case, I feel like I nee-d to be drowning in aquavit just to get throu-gh it.
“Don’t be so nervous,” he says to me later that evening as we’re getting re-ady. “You’ll be fine. They will love you like I do.”
I give him a look.
“Well,” he corrects himself, “maybe not exactly like I do.”
“You’re nervous too, admit it.”
He raises his chin and stares down at me. “I will do no such thing.”
I sigh and turn to stare at myself in the mirror. I’m wearing the same long green satin dress that I wore to the masquerade p@rty because I don’t have anything else that’s nice enough. I’ve put my hair up high and let a few strands of hair frame my face. I’m wearing peachyl-ipstick that I know drives Viktor wild and soft colors elsewhere. I’m trying for an elegant and clas-sy lady and though I know I’m anything but, perhaps I can fool his parents.
Oh who am I kidding, I still probably have White Trash written across my forehead. If anyone can sniff that out it’s probably a King and Queen.
“So tell me about King Aksel,” I tell Viktor as we sit in the back of the car, Nick at the wheel. My leg is bouncing so much that he has to place his hand on it and hold me down. “Is he nice? I looked him up over the summer, he seems kind of young to be a king.”
Viktor straightens his tie, peering at himself in the rearview mirror. “King Aksel is a good guy. A bit reserved, maybe comes across as cold to most people. The Danish press seems terrified of him and loves taking ph0tos of him looking harsh. But I swear once you get to know him he has a wicked s-en-se of humor. And yes, he’s pretty young. I believe he’s having a big fortieth birthday bash this year that…” he trails off. “Well anyway, I will be attending.”
“Is there a queen? I re-ad that he has daughters.”
“There was a queen,” he says. “She died last year.”
“Oh. $h!t. I better not bring that up.”
“No. It was a shame too, she was beautiful, perfect, Denmark’s answer to Princess Di. Now Aksel has these three daughters and, well I guess you two might have more in common than I thought.”
That makes me feel a little bit better about this king although I’m not going to start up a conversation with him like “I heard you lost your wife, I lost my parents, let’s talk about how ha-rd it is to raise kids on your own.”
It’s not long before the car is pu-lling up throu-gh the gates of Drottningholm Palace and even though it’s dark out and a layer of snow is blanketing the landscape, there’s no mistaking the in-your-face majesty of the palace.
It’s hvge.
“Wow,” I say throu-gh a g@sp as the car drives around a large statue, “This place is like…the palace of all palaces.” I look at Viktor with my brows raised. “And you’re going to live here one day?”
“We’ll see,” he says after a moment and I have no idea what that means. Why wouldn’t he want to live here? The place is so grand and opulent, lit up by dozens of lights against the night sky. Even though I’d never been to Versailles in France, that’s what it reminds me of. I tell Viktor this.
🌸T. B. C🌸