Vicious King

He caresses my cheek with his thumb, wiping away a lone tear that had escaped during my assessment of him. It’s as if he’s aged backwards with most of the heavy stress he once carried gone, as if replaced by a new resolve. Has he really changed that much, I wonder.

I take a step back and breathe—I have to think or I will not be able to stop myself if and when he tries to kiss me. I don’t think I could handle it if he did. Do I forgive him? My lawyer suggested divorce would help me see clearly. That if I severed ties with Aksel now, I could reverse the damage, and be happy. But I haven’t been happy a second without this man. If anything, life without Mads in my corner has been life under a perpetual rain cloud and for once, I’m seeing through the dinge.

Chapter Five—Mads

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Mykaella has pulled away from me and has wrapped her arms around herself. I’m so sorry for everything, my heart. For a moment, when I was holding her, it was like they were those silly kids in the stables again. It was only for a second, but I felt like nothing had changed between us. But so much has changed.

I know sorry won’t cut it. Just like I know and understand why she filed for divorce. I have never thought I was good enough for her. When she needed me the most, I failed her. Then, I wasn’t there for a year and half—imprisoned for a crime I did not commit, but just as guilty for getting mixed up with those putts of men, if I can even call them that after the shit they pulled.

“I’m so sorry, Mykaella. For everything I have put you through. For the slander that my sentence caused and for being a right idiot. I’m just lucky you even let me back into the palace. I’m sorry,” I plead, trying to reach her again.

Mykaella brushes a blonde strand of hair behind her left ear and squares her shoulders as she wipes one last remaining tear from her cheek. I know this pose. I’ve seen her strike it numerous times before. This is her power pose. She finds her strength to say what needs to be said and to lead effectively by shutting down her own true feelings and hiding behind a mask of false bravado. Yeah, I know it all too well. I’ve watched her use it on diplomats who thought they could twist her arm in their favor and even with the media when they thought they could whip out juicy stories about the royal family if they asked the right questions. Mykaella is brilliantly strong on the surface, but I know that underneath she’s hurting. I can feel her pain as my own.

“This is your home as much as mine,” she finally says, but it doesn’t comfort me. “And, if I am being honest, it hasn’t really felt like home without you in it.”

I shake my head. “No, it wouldn’t. Days and nights without you by my side felt foreign to me too.”

“However, we must play this safe, in order for this to work,” she pauses and waves a hand in the air between us. “For the media’s sake and all.”

My heart sinks. She’s all cold and steel now, reserved. Whatever moment we shared before has been stuffed down in order to protect herself again. It hurts me to know how close we are and yet how far. I try to make eye contact with her again, but she’s avoiding mine by turning away and walking back toward the door from which she’d come.

“I’ve had an attendant prepare a guest room for you in the east wing,” she says, pausing to look over her shoulder but not at my eyes.

My shoulders drop and heart plummets further. The east wing is as far from our—her bedroom as possible. I’m not just in the doghouse, I’m on the other end of an 800,000 square foot fortress, basically.

“Mykaella,” I start, and she interrupts.

“All of your things have been relocated to your very own room. I believe you will be quite comfortable. There have been some other changes in the palace while you’ve been gone—just a few renovations. I’m even considering remodeling Father’s, I mean, my study.”

“Mykaella,” I begin again, growing a little agitated that she’s evading my eyes, but I’m not mad at her—I’m pissed at myself.

“Dinner will be ready at the usual time and place. You can take yours separate from me if you wish. But, I have some errands to run now, so I will leave you to it.” With that, she walks through the door, and it slams shut behind her.

I stand there, staring at the entrance to the west wing. My mind flitted through the last several minutes; her crying in my arms, the moment when we locked eyes and touched foreheads, the smell of her lavender soap and lotion that she’s used as long as I can remember. I want those moments back. I want to run my fingers through her straw-colored locks and feel her soft lips against mine again.