“My role?”
I bite my lip, wondering if I’m being nosy. “Yes. Are you … working for the royal family?”
“I’m the queen’s sister,” she says stiffly. “The dowager queen.”
Which I now know means the title is by marriage and not by birthright, so that makes Maja the sister of Queen Liva—therefore she’s King Aksel’s aunt. “I’m handling these affairs for His Majesty.”
I nod. “I bet it can’t be easy. Finding someone.”
“No,” she says. “It’s not. We’ve had a nanny or two since Helena died but they weren’t quite right.”
“Is it bold if I asked what went wrong?”
She purses her lips together as she eyes me. “It is bold,” she says after a moment of scrutiny. “But I’ll allow it.” She sighs, looking out the window and I can tell she’s trying to find the right words. “As you well know, the family has gone through a lot in the last four years. First with the King, Aksel’s father, passing away. Then with my dear sister Liva … she’s not been the same since. Aksel was thrust into the role of king far before he was ready and more or less lost both parents at once. Then with the car accident and Helena … you can understand he can be quite disagreeable at times.”
I have a feeling that ladies like Maja use the term “disagreeable” to mean raging asshole, but time will tell.
“I’ve worked well with a variety of personalities,” I assure her. Including Etienne’s father who hit on me non-stop. That tosser was just part of the reason I quit that last job. “Nothing phases me.”
Except, you know, sexual harassment and brats that try to set your hair on fire.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Which is one of the reasons why I called you back. The last two nannies were too soft, too sensitive, too reactive to stress. What the King needs, what the girls need, is someone who can weather any storm. Water off a duck’s back, is the English term, is it not?”
“It is.”
“And you can handle all that?”
“Most definitely.”
“Godt,” she says, clasping her hands in her lap. “Good,” she then clarifies, which makes me realize I have to start picking up some Danish.
We don’t talk for the rest of the drive but that’s fine with me as my attention is completely stolen by the streets of Copenhagen. I hadn’t made it up to northern Europe yet, so this is my first glimpse of everything Viking and Hygge.
So far, Copenhagen is living up to all my Scandinavian dreams. It’s absolutely charming, with cobblestone streets between colorful buildings done up in yellows and corals and greens, and I swear, the hottest people I’ve ever seen. The majority of them are tall and blonde with cheekbones that can cut glass. Most seem to have an ice cream cone in their hand, biking past breezily. All seem exceptionally smiley and happy. I guess I’d be that happy too if I was eating ice cream and looked like a supermodel.
“And here is the palace,” Maja says suddenly, which snaps my attention forward again. I had no idea how close the palace was to the city center. For some reason I expected the royal palace to be on the outskirts, not right beside the harbor.
But there it is.
“This is Amalienborg Palace,” Maja says as the driver takes us down a side street past an imposing domed church and a large square full of photo-happy tourists. At all four points of the square there are palaces. “There are four palaces but only the fourth one, Christian IX’s Palace, is where we take up residence.”
“It’s so close to … everything,” I say, gawking out the window at the four matching palaces dotted with grand windows and stone columns. I can’t believe they all face a public square like that. “How do you get any privacy? Where do the kids play?”
“There is a small yard in the back. It is enough. And as it is, we’ve only just come back last month. We use this as a residence for autumn and winter. We spend the summer elsewhere.”
All I know is that if I were royalty, I wouldn’t be in a palace surrounded by tourists peering up at all the windows. I’d be holed up in a castle somewhere. Preferably on a beach. With a margarita in hand. And a shirtless butler that looks like Jason Momoa.
“Here we are,” Maja says as the car stops in a small lot behind the palace, a heavily guarded gate closing behind us.
Okay, enough crazy daydreams. I’m here. And I’m bloody nervous.
I get out of the car and Maja escorts me in through a large wooden door.
We step inside a small foyer and I’m led along intricately designed Baroque floors toward a grand room.
“Have a seat,” Maja says as we step inside, gesturing to a teal velvet chair beside an antique desk.
I do as she asks and look around. The room is long and filled floor-to-ceiling with books between fancy moldings, with a comfy looking couch down toward one end.
“Is this the library?” I ask, itching to take a look at all the spines. They’re probably all written in Danish but I don’t care. Books are one of my addictions.
“This is just a study,” she says, waving her hand at the room like it’s a linen closet.
Oh. Just a study.
“I’ll go and get the girls.”
“The girls?”
“You’ll be meeting with Clara and Freja first,” she says, and I swear I see a smile crack on her face. “They can be a better judge of character than the King.”
She disappears, closing the door behind her.
Great. Maja seems to think well of me, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But now my job rests in the hands of two little girls. In general, girls tend to like me better than boys, and most kids warm up to me right away. But there are always a few outliers who need a lot of convincing. Candy usually works in those situations but I’m not sure if bribery is within royal palace protocols.
Just as I’m mulling over what kind of lollies the Danes might have, the door opens and Maja appears with a girl on each side of her, holding their hands.
I’m not sure what the etiquette is around princesses but I err on the side of caution and get to my feet, then immediately curtsey. Makes me wish I was wearing a pretty dress like they are instead of my black dress pants and navy wrap shirt. Makes me wish I knew exactly what I was doing. My version of a curtsey makes me nearly fall over.
One girl looks amused by it, the slightly taller one. The other girl stays closer to Maja’s side, avoiding eye contact.
“Miss Aurora, may I present to you Her Highness Princess Clara and Her Highness Princess Freja of House Eriksen,” she says.
“Pleased to meet you,” I tell them, trying not to let my voice shake, to show fear. I have no experience with legit princesses and even though these girls are young, it’s oddly terrifying. “I am Miss Aurora of House James.”
“You have an accent,” the taller one, Clara, says in perfect English.
“So do you,” I point out with a smile.
“We do?” she asks and looks up at Maja for confirmation.
Maja gives a slight nod. “Miss Aurora is from Australia.”
“Like with the kangaroos?” Freja asks quietly. She’s the spitting image of her sister except a bit paler and with blonder hair.
“Oh yes, I have many stories about them,” I reply, and I realize I’m talking in the same tone as Mary Poppins. Where did that come from?
“You’ve come such a long way,” Clara says. “That’s the other side of the world, in the other hemisphere.”
“You’re right,” I tell her. “But I was already here in France. I’ve been in Europe for seven years looking after many boys and girls just like yourself.”
“Oh,” Clara says with a raise of her brow. “And what royal house did they belong to?”
I exchange a glance with Maja and she suppresses a smile. This girl is a clever one.
“I’ll let you three get to know each other,” she says, going for the door. “I will be back shortly.” Then she says something to Clara and Freja in Danish and they both nod obediently.
&
nbsp; The door shuts and now I’m alone with them.
I take in a deep breath and keep smiling.
Since Clara has been doing a lot of the talking I thought she would be chatting away and asking me questions, but the two of them just stare at me, rather expectantly. Like I’m supposed to do tricks or something.
Luckily I’m good at icebreakers.
“So your name is Clara,” I say to her, then look to her sister. “And your name is Freja.”
They nod in unison.
“Did you know you’re a goddess, Freja?”
Freja just blinks.
“A goddess?” Clara repeats. She looks her sister up and down discerningly.
“Freyja, of course. She’s the Norse god of love and beauty.”
“Ew,” Clara remarks, wrinkling her nose.
I’m glad I didn’t mention the part about sex and fertility.
“As well as gold,” I add. And war. And death. “And she drives a chariot pulled by cats.”
“Cool,” Freja says in a hush.
Clara seems to think that over. “If Freja is named after a goddess then I must be too. Mama would have named us both after goddesses.”
Hmmm. There are no goddesses named Clara, and if I don’t give her something she’s going to feel inferior or worse, be angry at her deceased mother.
I’m going to have to pull a lie out of my Mary Poppins bag.
“Clara means bright,” I tell her, which actually is true. “Among the Greek gods, Helios was the god of the sun, very powerful.” Also true. “The Goddess Clara was one of his daughters. You are a sun child.” Not true.
Clara beams and looks at Freja proudly. “I am a child of the sun, you are a child of gold.” She squints at me. “But you must be a goddess too. Aurora sounds like a goddess name.”
“She’s a princess,” Freja whispers. “Sleeping Beauty. Princess Aurora.”
“The only princesses here are you two beauties,” I say. I give them a saucy smile. “But if you want to call me a goddess, I won’t object. I can be an honorary one.”
“Want to come see our room?” Clara asks. Her green eyes are getting bigger with excitement.
“Yes, I want to show you my dollies,” Freja says. “I got a new one last week.”
“We both got new ones,” Clara points out, hand on her hip.
“Well, you know I would love to see your dollies and everything else in your room but I think I have to stay here.”
“Why?” Clara asks, looking around her. “This room is boring. No one ever comes in here.”
I raise my brow. How could anyone say a room full of books is boring?
Oh wait. Most people. And definitely not five and six-year-old girls. No, princesses.
I quell the urge to tell them that when I was their age all I ever wanted was books. I wanted to learn. Instead I was in the middle of the bloody outback of Queensland and I had to ride my own rickety bike for an hour every day to get to my school and back. It was even further to the library, and that’s the one place I spent all my free time, soaking up everything about the world that I could. Knowledge was everything. Still is.
“I’m sure you’d find it less boring if you got to read some of the titles,” I say.
Clara flounces across the room, her pale plaid green dress flowing around her. With her tongue stuck outside the side of her mouth in total concentration, she takes a book off the shelf.
“Careful,” I call after her. “Should you be manhandling your father’s books?”
“Manhandling?” she repeats as she flips the heavy, leather-bound book around in her hands. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Now that I think about it, it’s a dumb word, don’t worry about it.”
She shows me the book. “See, this is about law in…” She peers closer at the title. “The early 1800s in Germany. That sounds boring to me.”
Okay, so she’s right. These books have probably been a part of the royal palace since it was first built. Still, I’m impressed that she can read with such confidence.
“Let’s go see my dollies,” Freja says, coming over to Clara. “Come on Miss Aurora.”
I walk over and take the book from Clara’s hands and put it back on the shelf, just in case. Maybe this is a test and the kids have been instructed to pull priceless books from shelves. Maybe there are cameras set up around us and the King is watching from some master control room.
“We do have to stay here,” I tell them again.
“Why?” asks Clara.
“Because this is part of the interview. You know, so your father can decide who will be your nanny.”
“Interview? I thought you were our nanny now.”
“No,” I say carefully. “I’m sure you’ve had a few nannies or potential nannies at this point? Did you not meet them and talk to them just like we are now?”
“Yes, but we didn’t like them,” Clara says, plopping herself down on the couch. Freja goes and joins her. “They were too old and boring, just like these books. One even looked like a witch.”
“She was a witch,” Freja says in a small voice.
“And she smelled,” Clara points out. “Father didn’t like any of them either. But we like you so now you’re our nanny.”
I give her a lopsided smile. If only it were that easy. “Let’s see what your father says.”
“Okay,” Clara says brightly and then runs to the door. She puts both her tiny hands around the knob and pulls it open and yells, “Maja! Father! Come meet the new nanny!”
Oh dear.
Maja appears in the doorway, obviously having waited just outside. “No need to yell, Clara,” she chastises and then adds a few words in Danish. She looks to me expectantly, her hands clasped in front of her. “I take it everything went well? Normally the nannies are sent out in a matter of minutes.”
I glance down at the girls. “I hope so.”
“Okay girls,” Maja says to them. “Run along to your rooms.”
“Can we bring Miss Aurora?” Freja asks.
“No, she has to stay here so she can meet your father. Now go.”
The girls scamper off down the hallway.
Gulp.
I had gotten so wrapped up in getting along with the girls that I forgot there was one more, very important piece to the puzzle.
Their father.
The King.
My body seems to erupt into pins and needles. I take a deep breath through my nose as Maja tells me that she’s fetching the King. She disappears and now I only have a few moments to compose myself before they return.
Now what do I do?
Do I sit back down on the chair so that I can rise again when he comes in?
Do I curtsey?
Do I bow?
Do I fall to one knee?
I know I just spent the last twenty-four hours researching it but all that information has currently vacated my brain.
Shit. Well, I guess I’ll sit down and then I can kind of do a curtsey as I get up and also maybe it looks like I’m going down on one knee. Wait, isn’t a curtsey a combination of that and a bow? I…
The sharp step of insoles in the hallway outside the door makes me freeze.
Oh god.
I quickly sit down on the chair, remembering that I’m supposed to tilt my legs to the side and cross them at the ankles, a la Kate Middleton, just as Maja appears.
“Miss Aurora may I present to you His Majesty, King Aksel of House Eriksen.”
She steps to the side.
The King walks in.
It feels like it happens frame by frame.
I’d looked at his picture dozens of times before I came here so I shouldn’t be taken aback, but I am.
I’m nearly speechless.
It’s not just that he’s severely handsome with his cut-glass features, his tall and imposing presence. It’s the haughty tilt of his chin, the cold downward cast of his eyes. It’s the way he changes the energy in the room, both demanding that you look at him
and chastising you for it.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Gaping at him like I’m a bloody fool.
“How do you do?” I manage to say to him as I get to my feet and offer a weak half-bow, half curtsey. I’m not sure what the hand shaking protocol is here either but I’m definitely not going to offer mine until he does.
He stops in front of me and stares down at me like I’m some strange creature he’s stumbled across on his morning walk. His eyes lock on mine and I feel my breath being stolen, as if his glacial blue irises are steeped in Norse magic.
Then his lips curl into what can only be considered a sneer.
“No, not her. She won’t do at all,” he says in crisp English. Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s abruptly turning around and striding past Maja. “Who else do you have? Bring me someone else.”
My mouth drops, cheeks going red, and Maja glances at me warily before turning to him as he leaves the room. “Sir?”
“Someone else,” I hear him snap at her as he heads down the hall.
Maja slowly faces me again, offering a deeply sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing, Miss Aurora.” She sighs and then straightens her back. “I’ll give you a few moments to compose yourself before I take you back to the airport.”
And then she’s gone too, and I’m alone in this room which feels a million degrees colder, while my skin is on fire, and my heart is beating so fast I need to sit down.
I flop back onto the seat. This is beyond feeling small. This is about feeling worthless.
I feel like whatever creature I was to King Aksel, it was something that needed to be stepped on and scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
Chapter 2
Aksel
“No,” I tell Maja, my voice booming. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”
“But Aksel,” she says. “She’s one of the best candidates.”
I shake my head, my hands clasped behind my back as I stare out the window down at the gardens. I hate this. I hate that I have to pick out a nanny, a substitute mother for my children. It shouldn’t be this way.
It’s your fault it’s this way.
I can’t seem to get through an hour of the day without reminding myself of that.
A Nordic King Page 3