Vicious King

“Well, let’s just say she turned several shades darker at your arrest and when ‘Mads’ the ‘mad King’ is mentioned in tabloids, we all kind of duck and cover.”

He sucked in a breath and whistle. “Oh, that’s bad.”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, he chuckled again and then said, “I guess I’ll be lucky if she even lets me into the palace or under her roof then. Maybe I should start with apologies and a hug.”

I shake my head, but laugh. “You’ve got a helluva mountain to climb in regaining mother’s favor.”

He sighed again, but this time all of the mirth had left him as we rode the rest of the way to the palace in silence.

Chapter Two—Mykaella

I’m going to kill him. That’s just what I’ll do. He thinks he can just come back after a year and a half and I will what, welcome him with a hug and a smile, pretend like it didn’t happen? Ha!

I pace my study. As I approach my ceiling-reaching bookshelves for the upteenth time, I stop and run my fingers along the old spines—a practice that has soothed me and calmed my tempers since I was a small girl. My fingers rise and fall over raised, gold embossed titles and I take stock of just how many titles I’ve read over the span of 40 years—at least those thoughts are better than ones of beating my husband to a pulp.

A knock at the door gives me pause to collect myself and in comes my personal assistant, Gerrie. She’s had a hard life, until she came to the palace and found her forever home here. I remember her mother, hardworking though she might have been, the woman was hard as bricks and impossible to make smile—a stark contrast to her bubbly-natured daughter, who despite all of the turmoil of her youth, brings a healthy dose of sunshine to the otherwise gloomy palace grounds.

“Your highness,” she says and dips into a customary curtsy. “I have your mid-day tea.” Gerrie pushes in a little black cart topped with the royal porcelain set and a teapot in a tea cozy stitched with the royal coat of arms. The smell that fills the room hints at notes of lavender, chamomile, and rose hips?my mother’s special blend.

“Smells like mother,” I say.

Gerrie smiles, nodding her head as she sets a tea cup on a saucer and pours me a cup. Steam rises and coils from the cup, inviting me to relax and enjoy its contents.

“I thought you might like a warm cup of your mum’s very own tea blend. I hear her herb garden is more fruitful this year than in years past. Maybe—that is, if you wish to do so your highness—you might fancy a day trip to visit her in the mountains?” Gerrie pauses, adding a healthy dollop of amber honey to my cup and then stirring it delicately before continuing. The woman has always been a bit of a talker, but her voice is as calming as the tea she’s making, so I’ve never minded it much. “Northern Denmark this time of year is the best for visits after all. They say it is the time for healing and restoration and that there is no better place in all of the world than the mountains of Denmark, that they do, your grace.”

Gerrie gestures for me to take a seat in my father’s old high back chair. Though the palace has been under my rule for nearly two decades now, I still refer to the study and all of its contents as ‘my father’s’ and may continue to do so forever. He’s gone and I need to accept it already, I thought as I pull the chair back and sit, running my hands over the smooth wooden desk. Pictures of my mother, father, and I, are now accompanied with photos of my own children. Their smiles have helped me through the last few years and will hopefully continue to push me through as I face today—and my ex-husband.

Gerrie sets the steaming cup in front of me and steps back, clasping her hands together and smiling at me as she waits for me to take a sip.

“It’s time to start making this space my own, past time, really,” I tell Gerrie, sipping my tea.

Her bubbly, cherub face and deep brown curls bob as she nods excitedly. “Oh yes, your grace! What colors are you thinking? I can gather together a swatch of paint samples for you, if you wish! And dear me, is it time to rid us of these curtains!” Gerrie steps behind me and opens the heavy, poker table green velvet curtains that are tied back with equally tacky golden tiebacks, complete with gaudy golden tassels. Light spills in from the window behind us, illuminating the room.

“Oh, your mum will be so delighted when I tell her we will be giving this room a facelift!” Gerrie squeals—she never once stops to hear my thoughts for the room, but that is just as well, since I have none. “We will most certainly need to schedule you a proper visit with her now or at the very least, we’ll bring her to the palace so she can add her own two pence!” Gerrie giggles and leaves the study, already lost in her own mind of planning, more than likely.