It feels like the first day of school already and instead of telling myself to be cold and indifferent like I was with King Aksel, I tell myself to be warm and respectful to everyone I meet.
It’s not so hard when I’m introduced, yet again, to Henrik, or to Karla, a cook, or Agnes, the head housekeeper. They’re effortlessly polite and welcoming, reminding me a bit of the animated staff in Beauty and the Beast. But you know, actual people.
Then I’m brought upstairs to the second level to meet Johan, King Aksel’s driver, the one Henrik told me about. According to Henrik, Johan is a sleepwalker that I’ll probably see roaming about the palace in the middle of the night. He also looks—and speaks—an awful lot like Lurch from the Addams Family. I make a mental note not to scream my head off if I run into him walking around like Frankenstein at one a.m., though I won’t make any promises.
Finally, Maja takes me to the administrative offices down at the end, near the King’s office. She knocks on his door and I try and prepare myself to see him again, only there’s no answer. Can’t say I’m not relieved.
Then the door across the hall opens and a tall, skinny man with a deep-set brow and pale blonde hair strolls out, dressed in a sharp suit. He looks vaguely familiar so I figure I must have seen his picture somewhere during my spying spree.
“Nicklas,” Maja says to him and says a few words in Danish before she switches to English. “Do you know where he is?” She gestures to me with a firm nod. “She has papers to sign.”
The man, Nicklas, glances at me, and if I thought Aksel’s eyes were cold, whoo boy, one glance at this guy is like staring right at a White Walker. “Han er gået i seng,” he says firmly before he turns on his heel and stalks off.
I glance at Maja, my lips pursed in surprise. “Did he just tell you off?”
She manages a smile and sighs. “No. Well, perhaps. That’s Nicklas. I would have introduced you but he’s…”
“Disagreeable?” I tease.
She nods. “Yes. He’s … well, I’m sure you’ll hear about him in due time. He’s the King’s secretary, however, so you’ll be around him quite a bit. Try to stay on his good side.”
Now I’m totally intrigued. I’ll be juggling two assholes with this job?
“I know what you’re thinking,” she adds. “The thing is, he’s been through a lot and maybe because of that the King keeps him close to his side. You see,” she says, lowering her voice and leaning in, “Nicklas used to be Helena’s butler.”
I gasp softly. But of course! That’s why he looked familiar to me. “Oh my god, he was the one who was driving when she died? He drove them off the cliff.”
Maja nods furtively and motions for me to keep my voice down. I do have a habit of getting a little too animated. “It was ruled an accident.”
“I know, but still. How can he still employ him? I don’t even think I could handle being in the same city as someone like that, let alone the same palace, knowing that it was this guy’s fault my wife died. Bloody hell.”
“Aksel can be strangely forgiving,” Maja admits. “And honestly, I don’t always get it myself. Perhaps it’s one way of keeping Helena close to him still. Perhaps they share memories of her and it eases the pain.”
Huh. I never thought of Aksel being in pain. I feel a little bad for referring to him as King Asshole now considering all he’s been through. I remind myself that he only lost his wife two years ago.
“He must have loved her very much,” I offer.
“Of course. Everyone loved her.” She pauses thoughtfully. “She was very beautiful, very special. Did a lot of good in this world. The poor man’s heart is still broken by this tragedy. Most of all, it’s the girls that suffer.” She gives me a tight smile. “That’s one reason why I brought you back here for the job, hoping Aksel would see you the way that I do. You’re full of light and energy and this house has been ensconced in darkness ever since the queen died. You’ll do us all some good, I should think.”
Even though everything Maja just said is great for my ego, I can do without the added pressure. I can only hope I’ll be some sort of light for them.
“Since he’s retired to his room, I’m sure we can get the papers signed so he can deal with it in the morning,” she says as she opens the door to his office and flicks on the light. She motions for me to come in. “It’s quite all right, I do this often to help him out. It’s been an uphill battle for him the moment he took over the throne, and even though it’s been a few years, it rarely gets easier.”
I step inside. The office looks different during the night. Or maybe it’s that the King isn’t in here with us, so I actually have more time to take in the surroundings.
“Of course, you’re not to come in here otherwise,” she says. “In fact, I’d avoid most of the rooms on this floor, just to be safe.”
“No worries,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
“Here, take a seat,” she says, motioning to his chair.
“You want me to sit in his chair?” Because I’m pretty sure that’s totally stepping on his toes.
“Of course. You have a lot to sign.”
So I sit down in the King’s leather chair, and while it’s not a throne, it sure feels like it.
It feels wrong.
And yet powerful.
I could get used to it.
“Off with his head,” I announce dramatically, pounding my fist onto the desk.
Maja’s forehead wrinkles. I’m forever making this woman wince.
“Just kidding,” I quickly say. Serious. One must be serious in this chair. “So what do you want me to sign?”
She takes a folder from the corner of the desk filled with a stack of papers and plops it in front of me, along with a thick book that says in English “Norland College Handbook.”
“What’s this?” I say, picking it up and turning it over. It’s heavy. Like, the Bible kind of heavy.
“Normally the best nannies, the ones who go on to serve the British Royal Family, and celebrities, go to Norland College in England. We don’t have time for that so I’ve procured you their textbook. From avoiding the paparazzi in a car, to anti-terrorism training, it’s all in there. I think it would be wise if you were to read the whole thing.”
The whole thing? It’s huge. Luckily I have an appetite for learning. I glance at her. “Will there be a quiz?”
“If you wish,” she says, then hands me a pen. “Shall we get started on the documents?”
And so we get started on the documents. Maja is patient with me, making sure I understand each one. I have a feeling if it were Aksel here running me through it, he wouldn’t be so indulgent.
By the time I’m done, it’s getting late. Maja sends me off to my room with the heavy handbook in my arms and I’m feeling both exhausted and wired.
My room is on the third floor, and from the brief tour I was given the other day, I remember that it’s two doors down from the girls (who share a giant room and yet sleep in bunkbeds, which is really cute), and at the opposite end of the hall from the King’s room.
My room is quite large but still homey thanks to the thick Scandinavian rugs that cover most of the hardwood flooring. Of course, there’s still something so grandiose about it all, with a dark wood four-poster bed with a teal velvet awning, old antiquey-looking armoires, vanities, and wardrobes, as well as a sprawling bathroom complete with blue and white tile and a claw-foot tub.
I definitely lucked out in terms of my living quarters and what I should probably do before I go to bed is unpack my suitcase and duffel bag and put everything away, so I don’t have to rip through my luggage in the morning before I take Clara to school.
But the bed is more persuasive than anything else, and after I wash up and slip on the first item of clothing I find, a long-sleeved shirt that says “Dogs <3 Me,” I climb under the thick covers. The nights are chillier here than in Paris and the palace itself seems a little drafty. Then again, what palace isn’t dr
afty when you have rooms the size of apartments and ceilings that are fifteen feet high.
I lie there, thinking of how drastically my life has changed. Never in a million years did I think that a girl growing up in a shack outside the “town” of Windorah, Australia, surrounded by red dust and futility, going to bed hungry every night, wearing clothes donated from neighbors, wondering if she’d ever see her father again, could end up sleeping in a royal palace. Even as a child, I never even let myself dream about a better world for myself.
The sad thing is … I still don’t let myself dream, even when I’m supposed to be living it.
Chapter 5
Aurora
Despite being tired, I don’t sleep very well.
I never do in general and I especially don’t the first night in a strange place, whether it be in a hotel or my new room at my new job. I’m always too aware of how unfamiliar my surroundings are. I’m always planning my escape route in case something goes wrong—I’m always distrustful of the shadows.
In this case, my room is huge and the shadows are deep and long and everywhere. Plus, in the back of my mind I think I hear someone walking up and down the hall. It might be Sleepwalking Johan and I start to wonder if I locked my door or not.
When the sky begins to lighten from black to purple-grey, I’m already awake and getting out of bed. Maja had told me that Clara’s school starts at eight-thirty and is about a twenty-minute drive, so we should be out of the house—erm, out of the palace—no later than eight.
I’m nervous as I usually am on my first day on the job. I don’t know the area (and in this case, the country), I don’t know the children or the adults. I have no idea what to expect and that’s not even factoring in the whole royal thing. Having a shitty sleep on top of it all doesn’t help my nerves either. The best I can do is just ignore the whole royal thing for now, and the fact that my new home is a castle, and I’m caring for two bloody princesses, and just pretend that this is nothing new.
Though a vat load of coffee wouldn’t hurt. I flick on the lights and look around the room. I wonder if they’d mind if I got a kettle for the room along with some tea and instant coffee. I can’t see myself trudging down to the cavernous kitchen at all hours of the day and night for my fix.
You’ll get some caffeine in you later, I tell myself. Just focus on the day. You know everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.
The first step is to figure out what to wear. I’m a bit of a tomboy-ish dresser and you can usually find me more on the side of casual than not, favoring shorts and singlets in the summer and skinny pants and fitted tees and jumpers in the winter. But this being a royal palace and all and the fact that my two charges seem awfully fond of pretty little dresses, I wonder if I need to step it up a notch. Even the nannies from the Norwood handbook stuck to a Mary Poppins-esque uniform at school (Complete with hat!) and a working uniform of navy blue skirts and blouses.
I dig through my luggage some more, putting half my stuff away, until I come across the only skirt I have, which is a black wool A-line skirt. In fact, I don’t think I’ve worn it since I came to Europe—it was part of my waitressing uniform back in Brisbane before I scrounged up enough money to escape.
I squeeze it on, feeling like I’m going to have an aneurysm doing so, and can’t even get it zipped all the way up the back. Well, if there was any doubt that I’ve gained weight since moving to Europe, here’s the proof. Not that I’ve been lazy (I like my walks, and running after kids is brilliant cardio) or eating crap (the food here is amazingly fresh and whole compared to back in Oz), but I was painfully thin back then. In fact, this skirt used to be huge on me to begin with.
I shudder at the memory and figure I should probably take it off lest it remind me of my past all day. Only I can’t. The zipper is stuck halfway.
“Oh for crying out loud,” I grumble, twisting and trying to fiddle with it.
Someone knocks at the door. “Aurora,” Maja calls out. “Just making sure you’re up.”
“I’m good, just getting dressed!” I yell back, frantically trying to get the zipper unstuck.
“Breakfast will be served in the dining room in five minutes,” she says, and then I hear her footsteps go down the hall and knock on another door. She must be waking up the girls.
I sigh and look at myself in the mirror with my rumpled “Dogs Love Me” sweatshirt I slept in and an ill-fitting mini-skirt. I need to make the best of this. I mean, the skirt is probably too short but maybe if I pair it with tights and knee-high boots and a blouse it will be okay.
But of course the only pair of tights I have are snagged. So I put on thick knee-high socks to go with my boots and a white V-neck t-shirt underneath a light grey cardigan—the “grandpa” kind which is long enough to cover the fact that my skirt is only zipped halfway up—and quickly pull my long hair back into a ponytail, heading out into the hallway. I probably should bother with a bit of makeup but I’d rather be bare-faced than late.
It takes longer than anticipated to finally find the dining room since there are so many freaking dining rooms in this palace and by the time I get there, Clara, Freja and Maja are all sitting at the table and eating what looks like muesli and yogurt. There are two extra empty placements and I’m assuming one of them is mine.
“Hello Nanny,” Clara says cheerfully.
“Honorary Goddess,” Freja says under her breath, giving Clara a contemptuous look.
Meanwhile Maja has one brow raised as she glances at my skirt. She doesn’t say anything though I can practically hear the tsk-tsk in her head. What’s Danish for hussy?
I clear my throat, fighting back the urge to cover my thighs. “Sorry I’m late. I got lost.”
Clara giggles. “I must play hide and seek with you later. There are so many hiding spots, you’ll never ever find me.”
“Clara,” Maja chides her quietly. “You know what happened last time.”
“What happened last time?” I ask, sitting down at my spot and eyeing the empty bowl. Maybe I’m supposed to go into the kitchen and fix up my own stuff?
“I hid so well, it took them days to find me,” Clara says proudly.
“It was a few hours,” Maja corrects her with a shake of her head. “And it was enough to make the old nanny cry when she couldn’t find you. You must promise you won’t do that to Miss Aurora here.”
All I can concentrate on is getting coffee into my veins and I’m about to ask where I can get some when Karla, the cook, enters.
“Good morning, miss,” she says to me. With her blunt-cut blonde bangs, squinty eyes and round cheeks, Karla looks like she’s perpetually cheerful. “What would you like for your breakfast? Waffles? Cereal? An omelet? Cold cuts and cheese?”
I don’t want to be a pain in the ass so I just say, “I’ll have what they’re having. Plus as much coffee as you can give me. Cream and sugar, please.”
“Of course,” she says, and then eyes the empty plate at the head of the table. “Is he not coming again?”
Maja shakes her head. “He’s very busy today.”
Karla nods and heads out of the room while I turn to Maja. “Does Aksel normally eat breakfast with you?”
“Papa used to,” Clara speaks up and seems to stab her muesli with her spoon. “Every morning it was him and me and Freja … and Mama.”
A heavy hush seems to come over the table. This is the first time I’ve seen the girls mention their mother and I have no idea how they’re going to handle it.
Though Clara seems to handle it by being violent with her breakfast and Freja shrinks in her seat like she wishes the room would swallow her whole.
“I’m sure he will soon,” I say, trying to be positive even though I honestly have no clue at this point how anything in this place works.
“You girls know he’s been so busy lately,” Maja explains but even that sounds a bit weak.
It makes me sad to imagine how this family was before Queen Helena died. It must feel like a ghost din
es with them every day.
After I mainline a pot of coffee and pick at some muesli, Clara and I pile into the waiting car at the back, Henrik behind the wheel. Freja stays behind with Maja though Maja notes she’ll probably start coming along for the ride if she’s not available. Maja acts as the girls’ grandmother but in the end, she’s not their nanny.
“Good morning, Miss Aurora,” Henrik says cheerfully as he twists in his seat to nod at me and Clara. “Godmorgen, Deres Kongelige højhed.”
“You can speak English to me, Henrik,” Clara says as she shuffles along the back seat of the car. “I’m fluent, you know.”
“Yes, of course, Your Royal Highness,” Henrik says as he starts the car.
Clara looks at me with a big smile. “I am fluent, correct? Am I not the best English speaker you’ve ever met?” She’s impossibly cute in yet another dress, this one a blue print that matches the blue headband in her long straight blonde hair, with coral-colored sandals. A backpack that seems to dwarf her occupies the space between us.
“Definitely one of the best,” I tell her and catch Henrik’s expression in the rearview mirror, trying not to laugh. “I’m surprised you don’t have to wear a uniform at school.” I’m also surprised that she started school back in the middle of August.
“It’s public school, we can wear whatever we want,” she says.
Public school? That’s a new one. I would have thought the girls would be locked up in some ultra-private, ultra-exclusive, ultra-expensive academy for royals.
“I’m sure you’ll discover the royal family here is quite casual compared to England,” Henrik says, reading my expression. “They always believed in being as down to earth as possible. Aksel even used to ride his bike around the city all the time, with security and minders following him, of course.”
I laugh. I don’t know what’s funnier, the thought of Aksel on a bike or the fact that at any given time you might be strolling around Copenhagen and see the King whiz past you on two wheels. “I can’t picture it,” I admit.
A Nordic King Page 6