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.”