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Chapter Text

Erik stared out of the window and took several deep breaths because he didn’t want to shout at his lillebror. He didn’t know what was going on with Wille, but he had been despatched to deal with accusations of him picking a huge fight with August of all people. Erik arrived at Hillerska a half-hour ago to find Wille still bleeding, an ice pack pushed to his forehead, and his mouth firmly shut. He wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened. He was even refusing to speak to Erik for possibly the first time in their lives, but he would have to speak eventually. Erik had to find a way to make Wille talk because if he did not, their mother would appear at Hillerska as soon as her schedule allowed and she would just shout at everyone and make it worse.

There had never been a time when Erik was not the most sensible person involved in raising Wille.

There was only a few years between them, but still. Their mother returned to full time duties before his brother was even a month old. The nurses and governesses came and went, so Erik took it upon himself to give baby Wille the stability, kindness and love that was so lacking in the adults around them. As a consequence they are closer than most brothers, he knew, and he was adept by now at balancing his duty to Sweden as it’s Kronprins, and his duty to Wille as the only adult he could rely on. He wouldn’t ruin that by screaming at the boy. He did his best to calm his ire and turned to look at his brother.

Wille was still slumped in defeat, his posture closed and miserable. He was staring down at his phone, texting frantically and entirely ignoring Erik. That was interesting in itself. Erik didn’t know Wille had anyone he could text when he was going through tough times. On a weekend like this, the kids were busy with study or goofing around in the common rooms, or maybe taking a nap. There had been no witnesses to the skirmish between the royal cousins by the stables until the ruckus they caused caught the attention of a passing staff member. Erik had been despatched immediately as Her Majesty and the Duke were both busy. Erik knew August was languishing in another chamber with the Headmistress, who no doubt was coddling his black eye and broken nose. She was inordinately fond of the boy, as were most people. He was a people-pleaser in a way that Wille would never be. Despite his reputation as the party prince, his baby brother was gentle, anxious, and slow to anger. He didn’t like August for reasons Erik had never understood but still, they were family. Erik encouraged their friendship because of that alone. Being a prince was a lonely business, he knew, and people one could depend upon were rare. So far all he had learned this afternoon was that Wille started the fight, but neither Wille or August would admit to more.

Erik leaned against the windowpane in his corner of the room, and kept observing Wille. He had stopped texting and was looking at the closed door to the room with an expectant air. Sure enough, the sound of running feet could be heard coming closer, and in a moment a small whirlwind, or perhaps a boy, burst into the room. He didn’t notice Erik, who was still hidden to the side, and made a beeline for Wille. “Mi amor,” he cried softly, reaching out at once. The young prince looked up from his slump with brightened eyes, and the other boy stepped right between his knees to cradle his bloodied face between small, brown hands. He gently pulled Wille’s head to rest against his own chest. Erik was surprised to see his brother sigh heavily and fall into the boy’s skinny arms as if finding rest at last. The tension that Erik was used to seeing in Wille’s shoulders seemed set aside for a moment in a way he didn’t even know was possible for Wille to achieve.

Erik watched his brother press his face into the newcomer’s collarbone as if blocking out the world, and took the time to observe. The boy looked vaguely familiar, so Erik thought back carefully. As Kronprins, he had trained himself to remember names and faces. He had never been introduced to this boy, but he remembered seeing him sing on the first day that Wille came here. He recalled the way his brother had stared intently, smiling and then applauding enthusiastically in an unusual way. At the time, Erik had thought Wille was glad to see Felice Ehrencrona, or maybe even August. Clearly neither of those options was the case. The boy stroked Wille’s hair as if he had done it many times before, sifting through the long, blond strands soothingly. He was murmuring gently in Spanish, rocking them together, and Wille was nodding in answer.

As far as Erik knew, Wille didn’t speak Spanish. Languages were not his strong suite so if he had started learning, he must have had a powerful incentive.

Erik looked at the smaller boy’s pretty, fluffy curls and smooth bronze skin. He was a striking beauty even from Erik’s odd angle of viewing, and the voice that was soothing Wille was soft and melodious. His clothes were odd; cheap and ill-fitting, they would have marked him as lesser in the rarefied air of Hillerska. He wasn’t ‘one of us’, clearly. A poor boy then, maybe a scholarship student, so he must be as clever as he was talented and beautiful. Wille muttered something in Spanish and the boy stilled. He turned to look at Erik for the first time, raising startled, deep brown eyes with long, pretty lashes. Erik had the passing thought that the boy was heartbreakingly lovely but tamped it down easily.

A powerful incentive indeed. Erik had a bad feeling about what August had done to push his gentle lillebror to violence.

“This is Simon,” murmured Wille, loud enough for Erik to hear. His voice as he presented the other boy suggested he was exposing a rare jewel to the sunlight. As Erik moved forward, fixing a polite smile to his face, the young prince slowly got to his feet. He kept an arm wrapped around Simon’s waist, both of them knitted tightly together against the world. Erik had a moment of disconcerting surprise, maybe even jealousy. Wille had never had anyone but him, before, but this boy had come in and taken Erik’s place. He stepped forward mechanically to shake hands as Wille said awkwardly, “This is my brother,” as if Simon would somehow not recognise the Kronprins. Erik noted the grip Wille had on Simon’s hip. It dipped past his jacket and below a hoodie that Erik suspected belonged to Wille. Even as Erik made simple, breezy small talk, he thought, ‘Oh. The boy hasn’t taken my place. He’s made a new one.’

For his part, Simon was staring back with equal interest. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier startle. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he told Erik brightly. “Wille talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” said Erik lightly. He cringed internally but it was the sort of banal thing people said.

“Oh of course,” replied Simon gracefully. His smile was dimpled and guileless, almost impossible to resist, and Erik found himself smiling back in automatic reciprocation. But there was a stark difference between the relaxed way Simon had been with Wille and the way he was holding himself now. For a few moments he was playing the game of meeting the Kronprins, making small talk and saying the expected things, but Erik knew he wasn’t seeing the real person beneath. It was interesting that Wille had chosen a … friend … who at first glance seemed rather well-suited to the double lives they lived.

“I came as soon as I could,” continued Simon, looking anxiously at Wille. He reached up and carefully moved the ice pack from Wille’s forehead. Beneath was a small cut which hadn’t stopped bleeding and was becoming gummy and gross. The bruising around it marred Wille’s normally pretty face. “Have you been seen by the nurse?” Wille shook his head and Simon tutted impatiently. “I will go and find –”

“No, please don’t,” pleaded Wille, shaking his head for emphasis. He winced as the movement clearly made him feel worse. “I don’t want a fuss. They’re only going to shout at me anyway.”

“They will not,” said Erik firmly. “I won’t allow it. But this needs to be looked at, Wille.”

Simon seemed to relax when Erik made it clear he was on Wille’s side. “My mother will be home within the hour,” he mentioned incongruously, and to Erik’s continuing surprise, Wille perked up.

“She could look at it for me, couldn’t she?” he asked eagerly. He turned to Erik. “Linda is a nurse at the local hospital. I’m sure she can sort it out.”

So it was decided. Erik spoke to the Headmistress, saying he wanted to take Wille off-campus to see if he could get some sense out of him. She let them go with bad grace, but clearly didn’t feel able to nay-say the Kronprins. In a few short minutes, Erik shepherded the two boys into his newest car and drove them to Bjärstad under Simon’s guidance. Both boys sat in the back, ostensibly so that Simon could keep an eye on Wille’s cut, but really so Wille could press back into Simon’s neck and shed the tears he had probably been holding in all this time. They whispered together and Simon kept stroking Wille’s hair until he calmed. Watching them in his rear-view mirror, Erik felt oddly satisfied. Wille had never found a way to be close to anyone other than him before. Erik himself didn’t mind the lack of physical and verbal affection in their home, but from the very start, that life had not suited Wille. He watched Simon run a proprietary hand over Wille’s shoulders, eliciting a whine from the other as he no-doubt pressed over some bruising. Still Wille pushed into his hold, and Simon held him as if he would never let go. It was what Wille had always needed, Erik recognised.

The Kronprins drove more sedately than was his wont, not wanting to jostle his brother’s head. In a run-down, shabby part of town, Erik found the boy’s humble home. It was messy and crowded with the detritus of two teenagers and a hard-working single mother, and Simon looked embarrassed as he seated them both in the lounge area. There was clean laundry balanced on an armchair which he whisked away with pink cheeks, ignoring Wille who protested in slow, poorly-delivered Spanish. The ruckus caused another door in the house to open, and a girl stepped out. She was introduced as Simon’s sister. Erik was interested to note that she didn’t seem awestruck to meet him, nor embarrassed to have sudden visitors. Instead she stared at him critically and said, “You looked more handsome on tv.” Simon seemed horrified, but Erik barked a laugh and relaxed into the comfortable sofa. Wille giggled too, catching Sara’s attention. “What the fuck happened to you?” she asked in surprise. Wille looked down and mumbled, the word ‘August’ being the only thing heard clearly. “Oh well, it was only a matter of time, I suppose,” said Sara airily, heading towards the kitchen. “About time someone showed him. Did you get caught?”

“Ja,” said Wille lowly. His eyes flicked to Erik.

“Estúpido,” replied Sara cheerfully, and returned holding a fresh ice pack in a clean tea towel. “If it’s still bleeding, mama can put a stitch in it. She’ll be home soon. Try not to get blood on the towel.”

“Oh, you’re an angel of mercy, you are,” groused Simon, finally done putting away various bits and pieces around the house. It was a bit tidier than before, and Erik kindly pushed a pair of socks that were lying near his feet under the sofa. They sat together comfortably, Simon making tea and bickering gently with Sara. Despite her brusque demeanour, she kept a close eye on Wille’s forehead. Soon a key was heard in the door, and everyone looked up gladly to welcome Linda Eriksson.

If Linda was astonished to find both Princes of Sweden standing awkwardly in her living room, she did a superb job of hiding it. She gave kisses to Sara and Simon in the hallway as they both surged forward, all three talking over each other at the same time in rapid-fire Spanish. Her deep brown eyes trailed over Erik and passed quickly to Wille as she broke away from her children.

“Mi principito, what has happened?” she gasped, coming forward and grasping Wille’s face between her palms in much the same way Simon had done earlier. She guided him quickly to the dining table where the light was brighter. Wille’s face still being captured in her hands, it was left to Simon to explain that there had been a fight with August. “Aieieiei,” sighed Linda. “Bring my kit, Sara. This will need a stitch, mi valiente, and it will hurt, mmm? Would you rather go to the hospital?” Wille managed to indicate that he would rather stay, so Linda changed out of her coat and carefully washed her hands. She pulled a few things from her medical kit to clean the wound and placed a butterfly stitch in Wille’s forehead. He stayed very quiet throughout, and squeezed Simon’s hand. After Linda declared herself finished, she hugged Wille very tightly and whispered a few words of comfort in Spanish that brought tears to his eyes. She allowed him to hide his face in her neck as she rocked him back and forth, her voice tender and motherly. Simon hugged him from the side, and Sara reached across to rub his arm and murmur that he had been brave.

It had been a long day. Unexpectedly, Erik wished he could have a hug too.

Afterwards, Linda finally spoke to Erik and welcomed him. He was anxious not to impose upon the exhausted woman any further and politely tried to extract himself and Wille from her home, telling her that he planned to take the boy to the local pizza place for dinner. Linda wouldn’t hear of it and insisted that they stay. To Erik’s astonishment they were all set to work cutting and preparing various food items, and in an incredibly short space of time, they sat down to a simple, flavourful meal around the small table with the mismatched chairs. Sara played with her food for a while and eventually left to eat in her room, but the others didn’t seem to find that strange. There was chatter and laughter, and Erik was delighted to find Wille relaxed and happy in a way he had never seen him before. His brother was practically glowing despite the bruising on his face. He didn’t seem to be touching Simon anymore, and Erik wondered whether he was mistaken in what he had seen earlier. But no, Simon had called him mi amore, and even Erik knew what that meant. Maybe it was simply that this shift was new, and they hadn’t decided to tell anyone yet.

Erik thought that Linda was watching the boys too, and at a juncture when they were looking at something on Wille’s phone and giggling together, he made eye contact with her in a way that said, ‘are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ She nodded slowly, her dark eyes guarded as they watched him back. Erik smiled warmly, hoping she would see that they were on the same side and find comfort. The fact was, anything that brought Wille joy was okay with him. They would deal with everything else later, somehow. Erik would stand by Wille against the court, just like he always had. The Kronprins could see that the Erikssons were warm and loving towards Wille in a genuine way that had nothing to do with his title and wealth. It was a rare quality, and he was glad that Wille had recognised it. If Wille wanted this boy, then Erik would see to it that he got what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Duke Ludvig allowed himself a moment of relaxation. In front of him, the Hillerska choir were in full flight, and he had been assured they had three numbers to work through. That provided him with ten whole minutes when people would not be staring at him, so he could afford to relax a little. In the past year, Ludvig had found these moments more precious than ever. The strain of constantly being in public, being of service to others as cameras flashed and whirred, all while trying to grieve the sudden loss of his beloved eldest son, was a walking nightmare. One that he was still living.

Wilhelm sat beside him on the hard church pew, his back straight and his face calm and impassive. His uniform was flawless, his hair short and neatly parted in the same style Erik had favoured. It made him look older and less blond, and increased the resemblance between the brothers. Ludvig noticed with a pang that he was wearing Erik’s watch. Wilhelm had greeted his father as he arrived, posed for photographs, and given a short speech that was perfectly memorised, all exactly as expected. He had not smiled once. He had not spoken to his father at all except when required to do so, and he had followed the expected script exactly. Welcome, Father. It is so good to see you. Thank you for coming today.

Ludvig glanced up at Wilhelm, startled to realise that in the last year his son had grown taller than him. His height and the breadth of his shoulders would probably increase in adulthood but he was well on the way to being a handsome young man. Ludvig wondered when that had all happened. He had no recollection of their meeting at Christmas, except that all three of them had sat silently for seasonal photographs before splitting up to disappear to their own rooms for the rest of the holiday. He didn’t remember the last time he had simply spoken with Wilhelm. Certainly it had been before. There was only before, and after. Before Erik’s death. And after.

It had been over a year.

A year in which Wilhelm had grown taller, more taciturn, more serious. A year in which the pressure of being the new Kronprins had been brutally forced upon him without training or kindness. A year with no patience for mistakes. A year in which Ludvig had not reached out to his son to talk to him about anything at all, let alone the terrible loss they had sustained. Ludvig was conscious of his heart sinking into his stomach as he realised he had abandoned his teenaged son to deal with his beloved brother’s death alone.

Why should Wilhelm smile at him? They were strangers who posed for photographs and lied to everyone from a podium about the time they spent together, the support they gave each other. Ludvig hadn’t even bothered to listen to the carefully memorised speech. Wilhelm had always hated public speaking, Ludvig suddenly remembered. Erik used to help him with his nerves beforehand. Who had helped Wilhelm today? From where had he drawn the strength to survive his bereavement and rise to the challenges of being Kronprins? Ludvig realised belatedly that it was not from himself or Kristina. He didn’t remember the last time he and his wife had spoken about anything that wasn’t work. As soon as her duties were complete, she disappeared to her room to lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Ludvig could admit that he was much the same. He was nearly sure that she hadn’t spoken a word to Wilhelm in the last year that was not about his new duties and the expectations placed upon him.

A lesser boy would have crumbled, but Wilhelm stood tall and calm. Ludvig was conscious of a rising sense of pride which he sternly tamped down. He had no right to feel proud of what Wilhelm had achieved alone.

In front of them, the soloist was nearly at the crescendo of the third song. He was smiling, looking upwards to the beautiful, vaulted ceiling and clearly enjoying the way his own sweet voice and the accompanying music bounced back down. The boy was very talented, thought Ludvig vaguely. He had listened to a lot of musical performances over the years, but he didn’t know much about it. He thought this might be a pop music song that had been rearranged for a choir. Ludvig glanced at Wilhelm to realise that his son was staring at the soloist with an intense focus that had been entirely missing during the rest of the day. A smile played about his lips as the soloist hit the crescendo of the song perfectly. The boy looked back out at the crowd, and Ludvig noticed that his eyes found Wilhelm immediately. They shared a tiny, secret smile. Anyone who wasn’t staring at them both directly would have missed it. As the choir came to a stop, students and parents alike applauded vigorously, and the soloist flashed a charming grin. He was very handsome, thought Ludvig, or perhaps pretty was a more accurate description. His smile was sunshine itself, and his eyes were warm and soft as they rested on Wilhelm. Ludvig noticed that the boy’s blazer was too long at the arms, and his trousers as he came to sit down again were too long in the leg. Unusual, in the rarefied air of Hillerska. Perhaps he was a scholarship student.

The Headmistress then let everyone know they had some time to relax with their children before afternoon tea. Ludvig knew she intended to speak with him, probably wanting to check in on August among other things. One of Erik’s last acts before his death had been to arrange August’s transfer to a school in Switzerland, which was paid for by the Crown. When asked to defend his actions, he had only told his parents that August was antagonising Wilhelm and needed to be sent away. It turned out that his mother couldn’t pay for Hillerska anyway, so the boy’s family had no choice but to accept Erik’s order. Ludvig nodded and smiled as he assured the Headmistress that August was doing well in Switzerland. The conversation came automatically while he watched his son. The boy had handed him over the Headmistress and immediately taken off towards the choir. Ludvig was surprised that he didn’t approach the soloist; rather he was chatting to the choir director, smiling charmingly. They both held their phones, and it seemed something was being sent from the teacher to Wilhelm. Once contented, Wilhelm gave thanks with another handsome smile, and walked away tapping at his device. Ludvig searched the room and noted that the soloist was also missing from the gathering. Unlike the Kronprins, he didn’t appear to have left a parent behind.

“Our counsellor here has assured me that Wilhelm has made great strides in his therapy sessions,” said the Headmistress kindly, seeing that the Duke was most interested in his own son. Ludvig turned towards her, polite smile firmly stitched in place. He had never heard that Wilhelm was in therapy. Given her own reticence to seek help, he had no doubt that Kristina had not allowed such a thing either. “If I may say, Your Grace, I was so glad when the Kronprins came to me to say that Your Grace and Her Majesty supported him in seeking help from our counsellor. Of course, if you had preferred to send him elsewhere for therapy we would still have helped him in any way we could. However, Boris is very experienced, and I believe they have built a supportive rapport in this difficult year. I am so grateful that Hillerska has become a refuge for His Highness. I hope he will come to remember us with happiness in the future.”

“Of course,” murmured Ludvig, nodding affably. “We are very grateful for your support also.” He had no idea what the woman was talking about. Had Wilhelm lied to the Headmistress? He must have done. There was simply no way Kristina had signed off on this. On the other hand, neither of them had looked at Wilhelm’s financial affairs lately – another sign of their neglect. If anyone from the Palace had contacted his son about the charges, he had only to say his grieving mother had approved it. None of the staff would have taken it further. It was the first sign Ludvig had ever seen of Wilhelm taking advantage of his position, and that he had used it to get emotional support for himself left the Duke with mixed feelings. He had truly abandoned his son. The boy had turned to strangers to help him, and they had done so, probably far better than he and Kristina could have managed. His head reeled even as his heart hurt.

“I think I shall join Wilhelm. We have much to discuss,” he murmured, and stalked away from the Headmistress’ graciously bowed head. He needed air.

Outside, the spring afternoon was crisp and cool, and the lush gardens and distant forest were lit in golden Scandinavian sunlight. Hillerska had been Ludvig’s home too, once, and he felt a pang of nostalgia. The many emotions he had experienced that afternoon came back in a rush, and he quickly took off towards the forest path lest he start crying right there on the steps of the school. After allowing his security to tail him for a while, Ludvig assured them that he would find the Kronprins shortly and slipped away from them. Walking along the wooded paths felt restorative and calming, and Ludvig enjoyed the peace and quiet for another half hour before he noticed a blond woman standing by the path, staring impassively into the distance. He nodded quietly to Malin. She looked uncertain for a moment, before nodding her head towards the lake. Ludvig walked quietly in the direction she indicated, his footfalls soft in his expensive boots. From ahead he heard faint laughter which became his son’s voice. Another voice sounded as well, lighter and sweeter. The soloist.

Ludvig shuffled gently into the cover of a nearby copse of large trees. He wasn’t ready for the way Wilhelm’s face would shut down when he appeared. It felt imperative that he see what the boy was like when he wasn’t performing the part of Kronprins of Sweden.

He was rewarded by seeing Wilhelm leaned back against a large rock near the lake, laughing freely while the other boy giggled into his shoulder. Their jackets were draped carefully on a tree, and they were snuggled together comfortably. Indeed, as he watched Wilhelm brought the smaller boy right into the vee of his own outstretched legs, pressing his slim back against Wilhelm’s broader chest. He wrapped his arms around the tiny waist and hooked his chin over the boy’s shoulder, gently pressing a kiss to his neck. The whole action was smooth and sweet, as if they had done it a thousand times before but still treasured it. The boy smiled gently with closed eyes and leaned back, sighing, docile and trusting. Wilhelm rocked them together from side to side, and they appeared content and at peace.

Momentarily, Ludvig wondered at how open they were being. Anyone from the school might walk past and see them, for they were only nominally hidden away. He remembered Malin’s hesitation to send her employer in this direction. So, he thought, everyone already knows. It is only us, who have ignored Wilhelm all through this terrible year, who do not know. But we have spent a year saying empty words in public about how we support our son. These people have no reason to assume that we do not know and approve of his relationship with this boy.

In the distance, a phone rang.

Ludvig realised it was Wilhelm’s phone when he fished it out of his pocket. A moment later the line connected, and the boys appeared to be on a facetime call with someone with a female voice. The smaller boy called out, “Hola mamá!”, and then to Ludvig’s great surprise, Wilhelm did the same. He didn’t know his son spoke Spanish, but a fairly rapid conversation ensued in that language. When it seemed Wilhelm started to flounder with the translation both mother and son switched back to Swedish effortlessly, and Wilhelm thanked her with a sweet, bashful smile.

“Oh it’s okej, mi principito,” trilled the lady kindly, mixing English, Swedish and Spanish at random. “Thank you for the lovely video you sent. It’s so close by, I felt like I was there watching. I’m so sorry I missed your performance today, Simon.”

Simon, thought Ludvig, latching onto the name. The boy reassured his mother that it was okay, he knew she had to work today. He seemed embarrassed when she told him that she had played the performance for everyone at the nurses station, but Wilhelm just beamed.

“Our Simon is such a star, isn’t he, mamá?” he said proudly, and the lady nodded vigorously.

“Si, si! Everyone says so, Simon!” She beamed. “You will come for dinner tonight, yes? We will cook, I have already some food preparing in the fridge. We must celebrate your maths award too, Wille. Don’t think I don’t know about it, mi chico inteligente! We are so proud of you.”

“Si, mamá,” agreed Wilhelm immediately. His face was split with a huge, genuine smile. “Gracias.”

“Ayub and Rosh are coming too,” Simon told them. It all seemed so easy and simple. It was clearly something Wilhelm had done with these people many times before. He confirmed that thought for Ludvig a moment later.

“I’ll start the dinner, mamá, I think I know what to do,” Wilhelm promised, and expertly avoided Simon’s sharp little elbow. Simon’s mother told him cheekily that she would be judging him when she got home, and they all rang off laughing.

As soon as she was gone from the screen, Simon turned in Wilhelm’s arms to complain. “Why did you say you would start the food early?! It’ll cut into our kissing time,” he whined, pouting prettily and slinging his arms around the prince’s neck. Wilhelm just cooed and started laying possessive kisses on Simon’s neck, apparently making a start on ‘kissing time’ to placate the other boy.

“You could help me, you spoiled thing,” he laughed. “We could finish in half the time and go back to kissing.” Ludvig cringed and looked away as Wilhelm firmly grabbed a handful of the other boy’s arse.

“But you’re a better cook,” insisted Simon far too quickly, and earned himself a growling nip to his throat that made him giggle giddily.

Ludvig stepped away in silent haste, giving Malin a friendly nod on his way past. The woman relaxed her shoulders when she saw that the Duke wasn’t interfering. The fact was, Ludvig had no intention of disturbing Wilhelm’s enjoyment of his lover’s considerable charms, and he had much to think about. The Duke took the long way back to the school, enjoying the spring grounds and the lake, allowing it to provide a balm for his battered heart. Walking in the peaceful surrounds of the school where he had lived his teen years was surprisingly restorative, and Ludvig thought he should do this more.

By the time he returned to Hillerska, it was nearly time for the official afternoon tea. Ludvig sent security to ask Wilhelm to return to the private room he had asked for, with the extra message that he could bring a friend if he wished. While he had hoped to be allowed to meet Simon, he wasn’t surprised at all when his son turned up alone with his hair and clothes slightly rumpled and his face just as serious as before. His lips were kissed pink and there was a tiny red mark on the pale skin of his neck which his father carefully didn’t notice. Ludvig resolved to ask Wilhelm if he would agree to a video call each weekend with him, or a phone call perhaps – it suddenly occurred to him that his son probably wasn’t alone on the weekends. He might not even be on the campus. But first, thought the Duke bracingly, he would ask Wilhelm for advice on finding a therapist for himself.

Chapter Text

Queen Kristina sat in the position of guest of honour with a growing sense of unease. Her calm, placid face did not betray her inner thoughts of course, and she appeared politely engaged in the speeches going on. She herself did not need to speak today, which was a relief. There had been speeches from various students, the headmistress and vice-headmaster, and a performance by the famous Hillerska choir. The graduating class of the year, including her only son, Kronprins Wilhelm, had received their certificates and applause as expected. Wilhelm had delivered his speech flawlessly, and Kristina’s critical eye could find little to complain of. Even Jan-Olof, standing off to the side with a beady eye, appeared pleased. The boy had memorised all the platitudes that had been written for him, and didn’t even refer to his notes. He didn’t speak too fast, too slowly, or too robotically. The words were stuffy and dull in his mouth, but even she couldn’t find fault with that – he had delivered exactly what had been asked of him.

When she and Ludvig had arrived to Hillerska, Wilhelm had greeted them politely and said all the right things as expected. “Välkommen, ers Majestät,” said loudly enough for the gathered reporters to hear. “Tack fär att du kom idag.” He had kissed her cheek briefly. He addressed her as Your Majesty. He hugged his father, she was interested to note, and they made brief eye contact around the platitudes they both spoke for the benefit of those listening. It was just a bare second, then Wilhelm moved to the subtle mark placed on the ground. The family posed for photographs for the journalists. Having greeted the important staff of Hillerska, they moved inside, and official family photographs were quickly taken by the Palace photographer. These pictures would be released in the next hour or so. Through it all, Wilhelm looked perfectly presented, calm and serious.

It was what she had demanded of him after Erik’s death. Wilhelm was giving her exactly what she, and the Palace, needed from the future Kronprins. He was gentlemanly in his ways, reserved, polite. No move or word was out of place.

He had not smiled once.

Wilhelm’s eyes were direct but unfeeling. Perhaps, were he not an eighteen-year-old boy, she might have called his demeanour professional. He was graduating from high school with the sort of poise one would expect from an adult twice his age. There was no emotion in his face - no excitement about his future, no nostalgia for the years he had spent here. As they moved to the hall where the parents were milling about and chatting before the ceremony, she observed him curiously. After Wilhelm took his leave of his parents, two boys appeared and flanked him; a redhead and a brunette. They chatted lightly as they walked beside him, moving smoothly through the crowd and effectively stopping anyone from speaking to him. A group of boys nodded to Wilhelm as he joined the students, and he nodded back politely. As far as Kristina could observe he didn’t smile at anyone, though his eyes softened when a first-year boy gave him a nervous wave. He even squeezed the boy’s shoulder as he moved past. Overall, the other children seemed to accept Wilhelm’s coldness as he went with them to take their places for the graduation. Looking from the outside, he appeared to have no friends.

Startled, Kristina realised she was looking from the outside. She had no idea who Wilhelm’s friends at Hillerska might be; if they even existed. She had no idea what Wilhelm’s life had been like since Erik’s passing. In her memories before Erik’s death, Wilhelm was the party prince who occasionally got into fights. Then after. The after was a blur. Wilhelm, standing silent and alone in the cold chapel, being hurried along by staff as they prepared for the funeral. Wilhelm, walking silent and blank faced behind her. Wilhelm, sitting silent and obedient in her office while Jan-Olof and his minions explained all that would be required of him now. The role he would have to fill. The part he would have to play. The importance of not embarrassing his mother. The necessity of not letting down the institution he represented. The person he would be for the rest of his lifetime.

The spare become heir. The new Crown Prince.

And after that, nothing. She did not remember the Christmases that had passed. She did not know how Wilhelm had celebrated his birthdays. She vaguely remembered seeing a thank you note for the car that had been gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday; the same make as the one that she had carefully chosen for Erik, but a newer model, of course. The writing had been Wilhelm’s. She had similarly received a card and a bouquet of flowers from him for her own birthday. She had been overwhelmed by a wave of grief and had not spoken to anyone for days afterwards outside of her duties. She had not thanked him, but she assumed her secretary had passed back a message of some sort. While the final speeches droned on, Kristina searched her memory for a single conversation with Wilhelm in the last two years which was not about work, and did not include a buffer of aides and other staff. No, the Wilhelm she knew was from before. A nervous boy, easily swayed by friends. A callow youth who adored and looked up to his dashing, handsome brother.

Her heart sank slowly into her stomach as she remembered how much that boy had loved Erik, and been loved in return. Despite the years between them, they had been inseparable. 

For long, long months that turned into years, her grief for the loss of her son had consumed her. It felt like it might swallow her alive sometimes. She had fought to continue her service to Sweden, to do all that was required of her as queen, but it had left her with nothing else. The hole in her heart would never heal, she thought, but she would survive her grief. Kristina didn’t remember the last real conversation she had had with Ludvig. As the second anniversary of Erik’s death came and went, she was slowly awakening to the idea that the others were grieving him too.

As the speeches finished, she joined the polite applause. For the first time, she wondered how Wilhelm had survived. With the thought came guilt, lightly on soft feet, a small, quiet thing that tiptoed to the edge of her mind. The parents and students stood and started towards the refreshments area. There would be mingling and photographs, but Kristina wanted to have a few private words with Wilhelm. It felt important. As she scanned the crowd, the sense of urgency and the creeping guilt twined into a complicated thing, and Kristina was conscious of rising irritation. Where was the boy? She wished to speak to him. As his mother it was expected of her, but moreover, there was much to discuss. He was originally supposed to return to Stockholm with them but had begged off to go on some jaunt with friends instead. To that end, he had chosen to stay in Bjärstad until it was time for the trip, and he planned to be away for the summer until it was time to go to Uppsala and start university. She had signed off on the plan without giving it much thought, but now, she thought that he should return to the palace. He could see friends any time, but having him near at hand at Drottningholm would make it easier for them to connect when she had time.

Yes, Wilhelm should return to Stockholm, and she would inform him of her decision.

She couldn’t see him anywhere, and turned impatiently to Ludvig, who gave a tiny shrug even as he made conversation with the parents around them. Eventually, through the flurry of people trying to talk to her, Kristina signaled Jan-Olof who appeared at her side in that silent way he had. He indicated that the security team would communicate with the team covering the Kronprins, and a few minutes later, nodded towards the doors. The crowds parted as Kristina’s security guards expertly cleared a path. Moments later they were in the grounds, and she breathed the fresh, early summer air with something akin to pleasure. It had been a long time. It was nostalgic being back in this beautiful campus, and she allowed herself to be walked through the garden and behind the main buildings. Everything was in bloom, every plant and flower seeming to put forward it’s best to farewell the graduates. They walked through to the workday part of the campus, and Kristina saw Malin standing quietly near a small barn. The way she was facing outwards indicated that the Kronprins was behind that shabby building, and indeed, as they stepped closer, Kristina heard voices. It took her several seconds to recognise that she could hear Wilhelm laughing.

She stopped in her tracks and waved the others to stay back. She couldn’t have said why, only that she didn’t want Wilhelm to stop laughing. His still, stoic face from earlier came to mind, and she cringed inside. She knew that the moment he saw her, all the relaxed joy currently in his voice would simply disappear, and she couldn’t bear that just yet. Kristina did something that she had not done since being crowned as a young woman, barely older than Wilhelm was now. She snuck up to the side of the shed, glad of her expensive shoes that made no sound. Malin did not move or make eye contact, as required by protocol, but Kristina could sense that the other woman was not happy. She ignored her and, leaving Ludvig and Jan-Olof with the security guards, tiptoed to peek around the edge of the building.

In a small clearing behind the shed, shaded by a large fir tree and surrounded by humble gardening detritus, stood Wilhelm. He was not alone. There was a woman there, probably of a similar age to Kristina but dressed cheaply in what she probably thought were smart clothes. Kristina remembered seeing her earlier, far away in the throng; she stood out purely because she was clearly not Swedish, nor wealthy. With the woman were a girl and boy who resembled her. The boy was in an untailored Hillerska uniform, and Kristina realised she had seen him singing in the choir, and later receiving his certificate. He had a wonderful voice and charming stage presence, with a pretty, sunny face topped with fluffy curls. In shock, she watched as Wilhelm curled an arm around the boy’s tiny waist. This astonishing action did not garner any reaction from the woman and her daughter, who continued chatting with big smiles. They were all speaking Spanish, overlapping each other’s voices in excitement. The other boy went up on tip toes to place a soft kiss on Wilhelm’s cheek, his hand resting over her son’s heart. Kristina watched in a daze as Wilhelm flushed pink with pleasure. His hazel eyes were syrupy and warm as he gave the boy a small, fond smile.

Bizarrely, the only clear thought in Kristina’s mind was, “Wilhelm doesn’t speak Spanish.”

“Tendremos que volver pronto,” Wilhelm called gently to the others. His deep voice sounded regretful, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to the boy’s forehead. They both closed their eyes into it, and Wilhelm sighed.

“Oh! Si, si,” cried the lady. “But first, we must have photos! Si?” Both her children groaned dramatically but she ignored them. She fished around in her cheap little handbag to extract an old, battered phone in a bright pink case and tossed it to Wilhelm. “You have the longest arms, mi hijo, can you take selfies?” Wilhelm just laughed as he snatched her phone out of the air. He punched in the code to unlock it, and then they all squashed in together. There was hugging and giggling and arguing in Spanish as the group took several selfies together, and Kristina thought that they were critiquing Wilhelm’s technique because he took several photos from different angles, laughing aloud when he failed to please them. As the group made silly faces, Kristina thought that she couldn’t remember the last time she saw Wilhelm so relaxed and happy. He seemed completely himself in this dingy little space. When the lady seemed happy with the group photos, she demanded pictures with her son, both her children, and then the phone was handed to her daughter so she could have a picture posed between the two boys. They both put their arms around her and squeezed tightly, pressing kisses to her cheeks. She squeaked with happiness while her daughter took pictures, then brought a limp tissue from her sleeve to dab at her eyes. “My boys are all grown up,” she murmured, causing them both to kiss her cheeks again.

“Siempre seremos tus chicos, mamá,” said Wilhelm in a choked-up voice, as her son sniffled and hugged her tightly. She just cooed and patted Wilhelm’s cheek.

Kristina didn’t understand all that had been said, but she recognised the word ‘mama’. Her son had called this woman ‘mama’. She watched numbly as he leaned down to kiss the other boy on the lips; a gentle, comforting press as the group started preparing themselves to go back out to the party. The boy reached up to stroke the nape of Wilhelm’s neck with a small, brown hand; a gesture both calming and possessive. The girl teased them familiarly, making mock kissy noises, and the boy pulled away to resettle Wilhelm’s hair and straighten up his tie while he laughed.

Kristina understood why Wilhelm had decided not to return to Stockholm.

Her throat was uncomfortably tight. Clearly, this was how Wilhelm had survived his bereavement. These people had taken him in, had loved him and lavished on him the care and kindness that his own mother had failed to provide in his darkest hour. She wondered what might happen if she tried to bring him back to Drottningholm now, away from the people he considered to be family. She recalled the careful way Wilhelm called her ‘Your Majesty’, making sure to give the hovering journalists and photographers enough to report on, and her heart sank.

She leaned against the wall, trying to assimilate all the new information she had just received, when the group started moving towards her. Wilhelm was in front, and he stopped short as he realised his mother was standing just beyond the barn. For a few moments, they stared at each other. Then Wilhelm moved back into the courtyard with a stiff-backed gait. As Kristina had feared, his face was wiped of all feeling and he was back to the stoic mask from before. The other boy stepped away from the prince awkwardly, but did not get far before Wilhelm pulled him back in. As Kristina and Ludvig entered the secluded space, the boys stood hand in hand.

Wilhelm took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, Father, I had hoped to do this at a different time, but it makes no difference. I would like you to meet my boyfriend, Simon Eriksson,” said Wilhelm cooly. His voice was flat and emotionless, but the grip he had on the other boy’s hand was white-knuckled. “This is his mother, Linda, and his sister, Sara. Simon will be attending Uppsala with me in the autumn.” He held up a hand as if pushing Kristina away. “I know you will have many questions and many reasons why this is a bad idea.” He took another deep breath and turned to search Simon’s eyes carefully, but the other boy wore his heart on his sleeve and in his eyes. His tender expression didn’t waver as Wilhelm seemed to make a decision. “I will return with the royal cavalcade to Drottningholm tonight so that we can hold any meetings with the court that you deem necessary in the next few days, but then I will return home. If, at the end of our discussions, you wish me to continue as the Kronprins, then I will do so with Simon as my partner.” The smaller boy pushed close to Wilhelm’s shoulder, almost holding him up although he didn’t appear to need support.

For the first time in a long time, Kristina was speechless. In a few economical words, Wilhelm had made it clear that he would consider abdication if she tried to remove the boy from his life. Behind her, she could practically feel Jan-Olof seething with judgement. She tried to think critically, but for the moment she could think of nothing to say or do other than stare at the boy who had captured the Kronprins’ heart so thoroughly. The boy – Simon – was good looking; indeed, he was prettier than any of the noblewomen on Jan-Olof’s list of suitable partners for the future king. He was talented too, and probably a scholarship student. She should go into damage control, she thought. It’s what Jan-Olof and the Court would expect of her. Pretend to play nice for the moment, and work on the boys – separately – in the coming weeks. It wouldn’t be pretty, but they could send Simon packing before summer ended. The public need never know that their new Kronprins liked kissing boys.

Kristina was a queen first and a mother second; it had always been this way. Erik had understood but Wilhelm had never been able to accept it. Right from the start he had expected more from her, and been disappointed. Always. Now, teetering on the brink of decision, she could only contrast the loving way Wilhelm had said ‘mamá’ with his cold ‘Your Majesty’.

What would a boy do for his mother?

What could a mother do for her son?

While Kristina was frozen in indecision, Ludvig moved forward. His smile was genuine and kind as he shook hands with Simon and greeted Linda and Sara. He immediately started making the kind of banal small talk one expected, and the Eriksson’s slipped gratefully into the conversational template he supplied. Simon and Linda were polite and well-spoken, while the girl Sara stayed silent. Though subtle, Ludvig’s actions were a clear signal to Kristina that he supported Wilhelm. Finding herself grateful to be able to follow his lead, she stepped forward to shake Simon’s hand, and then the others. Linda eyes were wide and rather panicked, but she congratulated Kristina and Ludvig on Wilhelm’s graduation with genuine kindness. For a wild moment Kristina wanted to snarl that Linda should congratulate herself, seeing as Wilhelm called her mama. But a lifetime of thinking before she spoke pulled her back. Antagonising Linda Eriksson would be an incredibly short-lived strategy. Kristina could see from Wilhelm’s protective, watchful stance that one wrong move on her part would end this conversation. So she politely thanked the other woman, and to her relief, Linda gave her an encouraging smile. Linda’s enthusiasm on what was an important day for her family was infectious, and she asked if Kristina would like her to take some photos with ‘Wille’ for his graduation.

Before Kristina could answer, Wilhelm immediately brushed the idea away. “Photos were taken this morning. They have already been released to the press.” Kristina recalled the efficient palace photographer working quickly to arrange them into the usual stiff poses for official portraits. With another uncomfortable jolt, she realised they had not taken a single candid family photo since Erik’s death. Erik had loved photos and made them all pose frequently. Almost all the family pictures she had of them had come at his behest.

Kristina forced a smile to her lips and accepted Linda’s offer. She quickly retrieved her own phone from her sleek Hermès bag, and waved off Jan-Olof’s anxious protests. Handing the queen’s personal phone to a commoner who she had just met was a huge show of trust, and Wilhelm watched with cold, narrowed eyes as she showed Linda which buttons to press. She and Ludvig came on either side of their unsmiling son. He didn’t shrug off their awkward arms or appear discomfited, but he held his hands clasped in front of himself with his back so stiff that he practically vibrated with tension. Simon’s dark eyes were watchful as Linda pressed the button a couple of times before making a dramatic clucking noise. She called out, “¡Principito, sonríe para mamá, per favor!” and Wilhelm huffed a small laugh. His entire posture melted a little. Kristina managed an official, trained smile, but inside, her reawakening heart ached at the nicknames and easy familiarity between her son and Linda Eriksson.

After they had taken a photo that Linda deemed acceptable, on a whim, Kristina asked if she could have a photo with Wilhelm and Simon together. She did not expect the odd hush that fell over the group. Simon started moving forward like a puppet, stiff and pale, but Wille stopped him with a hand to his chest. “We are not ready for public photographs yet, Your Majesty.” It was clear from his tight, angry face that the only reason Wilhelm could think of for her to ask for that picture was to use it against them in some way. Not knowing how to answer his bold insinuation, she stared at Wilhelm in awkward silence. She expected he would drop his eyes and accede to her request, but he did not. Unlike everyone else in her life, her son continued unflinching eye contact with her.

A moment later, both the Duke and Simon stepped forward. Ludvig smiled genially, while Simon’s face looked more strained. “Maybe another time?” the Duke suggested, and at the same moment Simon murmured, “Your Majesty, Wille has thousands of pictures of us; he could send you one later.” His placating smile was not as practiced as Ludvig’s.

Kristina turned to Simon. “Thousands?” She returned his smile as warmly as she could manage.

“From the last three years, yes,” replied Wilhelm. He swept Simon to the side, as if hiding the smaller boy from her. It struck Kristina how long three years is in the life of a teenager, how important those years had been to Wilhelm, and how much these two must have clung to each other through hardship. How much of Wilhelm’s life she has missed out on while mired in her grief. As she watched, Wilhelm once again claimed his boyfriend with a protective arm. His fingers dug into Simon’s waist so hard that the smaller boy winced. From his hard face, it was clear he would not be swayed.

“Another time perhaps,” agreed Kristina, left with no choice but to back down meekly. She turned back to Linda. “I do hope you will join us for the lunch?” Linda started to smile but her expressive face dropped as Jan-Olof came to stand behind the queen. After decades of working with the man, Kristina had a fairly good idea of how disapproving he must have appeared. She knew that it would be much, much harder to get rid of Simon Eriksson once everyone saw his family lunching with the queen and the duke. Nonetheless, Kristina pulled herself up to her fullest height, not quite reaching Wilhelm’s shoulder but still imposing. Seeing her stubborn stance from his position behind her, Jan-Olof silently dropped back. “It would be our pleasure to have your family at our table,” continued Kristina graciously, as if nothing had happened. A hesitant smile reappeared on Linda’s face, and she nodded carefully. Her eyes, however, were on Wilhelm. In turn, he was glaring at his mother as if trying to read her mind.

“Why?” he snapped rudely.

“Hopefully we will have many opportunities to get to know each other, Wilhelm, but it appears I have missed three years of chances to speak with Simon and his family,” said Kristina, in as polite a voice as she could manage. She was not used to being questioned. “Today could be a good start.”

“By the time we leave here, there’ll be photos all over the internet,” warned Wilhelm, anxiety leaking into his voice. “The students have been kind enough not to publish photos of us so far, but we can’t stop their parents.”

“We’ve always known we couldn’t stay hidden forever, Wille,” countered Simon, gently but firmly. He moved to stand next to Wilhelm from where the taller boy had been shielding him. Kristina saw that he was letting Wilhelm macerate his hand, which was turning red in the prince’s grip. “This way is probably better than others.”

“They’ll find your home,” Wilhelm protested, anxious eyes flicking to Linda.

“We can go to a friend’s place afterwards,” Linda suggested, and nodded warmly at Wilhelm. “But the decision is yours, mi hijo. We can sit together, or somewhere else, or even leave now if you prefer?”

Wilhelm’s eyebrows rose. “I would never ask you to go home, mamá! Os merecéis celebrarlo juntos.” He looked around a little wildly, then slumped as everyone waited for him to make a decision. “Okej. Let’s just go and eat,” he sighed, admitting defeat with bad grace. The mask he had been maintaining slipped for a few minutes, and Wilhelm looked tired and anxious. Kristina observed that Simon was gently stroking his back as they started making their way to the main building for lunch. The prince slowly regained his upright posture, and by the time they were in view of others he had his professional face back in place.

People noted the odd group approaching, Wilhelm and Simon still holding hands, and the whispers began. Kristina heard Simon say softly, “Pronto se acabará, mi amor. No está solo.”

“Yeah, we’ll eat fast,” muttered his sister from the rear of the group, and Linda shushed the girl with a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. Everyone was staring as they moved to the dining hall, and the queen kept a pleasant smile on her face. It was another surprise in an afternoon of shocks: she was about to spend a meal with people who had absolutely no interest in being near her for any reason. There was nothing she could offer the Erikssons. All they wanted was for her to leave them – and Wilhelm – alone.

It was the one thing she would not be able to give them.

Instead, she could offer them the paltry recompense of sitting to lunch with the queen; it was a coveted spot, and she knew Jan-Olof would have called ahead to make sure everything would go smoothly. Chairs were still being frantically reshuffled as they walked in to take their places, and the wealthiest families of Sweden were visibly furious to have been shunted to secondary tables. Kristina and Ludvig gave each other small, cheerful smiles which hid a multitude of emotions beneath them. From a lifetime of service together, she could tell he was as anxious as she was. The staff seated Linda between them, with the headmistress on Kristina’s other side as protocol demanded. She would have preferred to speak with Simon, but she had to leave that to Ludvig for now. Reliable as ever, he immediately started chatting knowledgeably about the earlier musical performance, and Kristina realised he must have already known about Wilhelm’s boy. Ludvig had never cared about music before, but he had researched enough to be ready to speak to Simon if the moment arose.

On Simon’s other side, Wilhelm sat stern and watchful.

As she made light conversation with the two women beside her, Kristina thought that Wilhelm must have felt this way all his life; the scrutiny lest she make a mistake was deeply unnerving. She tried her best to show that she had absolutely no intention of alienating Linda. Luckily, the other woman made it easy on Kristina’s shaky nerves. She was chatty and genuine, with a kind, motherly way about her. The queen saw that she was keeping a close eye on all her children, signalling to Wilhelm at one point when Sara seemed restive. Interpreting the nod of her head, he passed his roll and butter to Sara, who happily ate the extra bread instead of the cold soup course. Linda gave him a smile of thanks which he returned easily, and Sara leaned to whisper into his ear and make him laugh. Wilhelm visibly relaxed further, tuning into the conversation Simon was having with his father. The boy’s manners were not as polished as Kristina would like, but his passion for music lit his sparkling eyes as he waved his hands around dramatically to illustrate a point to Ludvig. Her husband’s answering laugh was genuine, his eyes warm, and he gave Wilhelm a happy nod over the curly head. A little more tension went out of the prince’s shoulders.

“Careful of your shirt, Wille,” murmured Linda with a mischievous smile. Wilhelm looked startled for a moment, then with a cautious grin he dramatically raised his napkin to cover more of his chest. “We had an accident a couple of weekends ago while making sancocho,” she confided to Kristina with twinkling eyes. “Our Wille ended up wearing the stock and we had to start again!”

The group around the table broke into smiles as Wilhelm shushed Linda with a finger to his lips. “You promised you wouldn’t tell the others, mamá,” he scolded lightly, laughing good naturedly as Sara elbowed him in the ribs. “It was bad enough that I smelled like yucca and onions for days!” They all laughed at the little joke, and ignored the dozens of furtive phone cameras pointed in their direction.

Eventually, this would be the picture published in the Aftonbladet and around the world for years to come: the Swedish royal family gathered around a small, sunlit table with the Erikssons, in a crowded dining room. Simon was laughing up into Wilhelm’s eyes as if he had hung the moon, and Wilhelm’s answering smile was simply besotted. There could be no question of their feelings, the depth of what they meant to each other. The photo was the beginning of a public courtship that would become one of the great modern love stories.

There would be years of courtly shenanigans before Simon could be confirmed as Wilhelm’s consort, and years again before they became an international symbol of the forward-thinking Scandinavian countries, but looking at her son’s smiling face in the paper the next day Kristina knew she had started making the right decisions at last.

Chapter Text

After the successful lunch, the queen agreed that Wilhelm could remain in Bjärstad with Simon for a few more days while the Court prepared for whatever meetings they deemed necessary. Seeing the anxiety crossing Wilhelm’s face, she ordered a full security team for him and the Erikssons for the next week. A precautionary measure against journalists, she assured Linda, and the other woman nodded nervously. As he appeared mollified, Kristina thought it a good time for a few words with her son before leaving for Stockholm. The two met in a small, private antechamber which looked out on the wide driveway outside Hillerska.

To her surprise, Wilhelm opened the conversation immediately. “I hope you can find a way to accept Simon, Your Majesty.”

“Before we discuss whether I can accept Simon, I have to ask whether you can accept me back into your life, Wilhelm,” she told him honestly. It was hard to look up into his cool hazel eyes knowing how warm and loving they could be, so she stared out of the window instead as they stood side by side. Wilhelm was taller than Erik now, she thought with a familiar pang of sadness. He had cut his hair recently, into a style somewhere between the blond curtains he hid behind as a boy and Erik’s sleek side parting.

“Your Majesty is my mother,” replied Wilhelm after a pause. His cold tone didn’t change.

Kristina sighed. “And what a mother! I lost one son through no fault of my own. Today, I have come to realise how thoroughly I have lost you, Wilhelm, through neglect.”

“I’ve managed.”

She cringed at his short reply which did not spare her feelings. “I can see that, and I will never be able to thank Linda Eriksson enough for stepping in where I should have been all along. I assure you I have no intention of upsetting the Erikssons in any way. And I heard what you said earlier in the garden: that you have and will consider abdicating for this boy.” She nodded at him seriously, risking a few seconds of eye contact to see him frowning in thought.

“So you’re saying that you do accept Simon?” he queried.

“I see you have a one-track mind where the boy is concerned,” admonished Kristina gently. She was trying not to make promises the court would not allow her to keep. Wilhelm stared outside, his eyes following Simon as he trotted across the yard. The two boys who had been beside Wilhelm earlier walked with him, and all three were smiling and chatting comfortably. It seemed purely coincidental that they were blocking nosy strangers from approaching Simon. “And if this relationship does not last?” asked the queen softly.

Wilhelm rolled his eyes. “Then, how good I am at memorising speeches will be the least of your worries.” His voice was flat. “Your Majesty,” he added belatedly.

The queen sighed. “I hope you and the boy are in no rush? I need time to work out how to integrate Simon Eriksson into the monarchy, but that can be a problem for another day. Today, I will say that I am very proud of you, my son. I know I do not have a right to say it. Linda and Simon Eriksson can take credit for the wonderful young man you have become. Sweden will be lucky to have you on the throne.” It was the truth, and one she had withheld from Wilhelm for far too long. He was not a child anymore; had perhaps stopped being one on the day Erik had left them.

“With Simon beside me,” interjected Wilhelm firmly. Kristina almost groaned aloud. The boy would not be distracted. Even now he was watching like a hawk as Simon chatted with his family, Felice Ehrencrona and a nervous-looking first-year. The group of boys who had nodded at Wilhelm earlier in the day had loosely surrounded the little group, horsing around in a relaxed way that nonetheless cut off any journalists brave enough to approach the Kronprins’ boyfriend.

Perhaps Wilhelm had found loyal friends at Hillerska after all.

“People will complain, Wilhelm,” she told him, knowing that he knew this already. He wouldn’t have spent three years hiding his boy from her if he didn’t realise that. But she wanted to hear how he justified that public reaction.

Wilhelm merely shrugged elegantly. “People always complain. Our ancestors used to cut their heads off for dissent and they still complained. And I’ll know exactly what they complain about, because Simon will tell me. He’s never hidden his dislike for the Monarchy, and he’ll understand what the people are really angry about.”

They continued watching the staff, students and parents milling about outside for a few moments while Kristina digested this information. “Have you considered that being your consort may not be an ideal role for Simon?” she suggested hesitantly.

“He goes where I go, so no.”

Kristina was starting to get an insight into Wilhelm’s mind. The understanding dawned that keeping Simon Eriksson happy was about to become very important to the Royal Court of Sweden. The queen nodded carefully, aware that others could see them in the window. She forced a motherly smile onto her face. “Well then, it would be best if Jan-Olof retired before I do, don’t you think? I suspect his heart will not survive the man Simon Eriksson will become.”

Her son gave a snort of almost-laughter. “You make it sound as if Jan-Olof is going to fall in love with Simon, Your Majesty.”

“I doubt there’s much danger of that,” she smiled back.

Wilhelm nodded slowly and gestured to the driveway outside. “Should we rejoin the others? We’ve been here a while, and they’re waiting.”

Kristina thought it long past time to start teaching Wilhelm the real business of being a king. “That’s not something you need worry about, Wilhelm. You and I are always on time. Others, even our beloved consorts, are early or late.”

The boy frowned thoughtfully. “That’s not very nice, Your Majesty.”

“Being king is not about being nice, mostly. Your Simon will get used to waiting for you.”

A pause, long enough to suggest that Wilhelm disagreed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Have those wretched photographers left yet?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Kristina smiled to show the meeting was over. “In that case, let me take your arm as we walk down, and let us pretend that I have attempted to be a real mother to you in the last few years.” She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, looking for all the world as if she were a loving mama proud of her boy.  

Wilhelm’s eyebrows rose. “Have you considered therapy, Your Majesty?”

Chapter Text

Professor Sine Larson hummed happily as she walked through the music rooms at Uppsala. As a professor, she didn’t get to spend nearly enough time here. She loved listening to her talented students making music. The university faculty liked their exams and assignments of course, but no one could force the magic that was music. It could not be bound and trapped within folders and rubrics. Sometimes it felt like she spent her days defending her students from encroaching deadlines and paperwork, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had written music for herself.

Sine snuck quietly into a recording studio, despite seeing that the red light was on. No one would stop her of course, but it was not usually okay to go into a studio that was actively recording. She closed the door silently, and the world disappeared in that odd way as the soundproofed walls cut out all the ambient noise of life outside. One forgot how busy, bustling and loud the world was, until ensconced in spaces like this. Uppsala had a few different recording studios which were well used by students learning every aspect of creating music. She saw that one of her favourite students was currently hunched over the mixing desk, his brow creased with concentration as he listened to the musicians inside the booth. His flicked over the controls, sometimes confidently and other times less so. His tutor sat beside him, leaning close to offer quiet guidance. Sine relaxed against the wall in the back corner, ignored by the handful of students.

She would never admit to having favourites of course, but she was sure no one would hold it against her where Simon Ericsson was concerned. For one thing, the boy was simply gorgeous, which immediately made him very popular with his image-conscious peers. He played up his striking colouring and tiny figure with eye-catching fashion, moving confidently through the tall, blond populace of their university town. Simon was a pocket-sized dynamo of charisma, though his kind, bubbly disposition came with an occasionally fiery temper. Despite only being a first-year, he was known for passionately defending anyone he felt was being bullied or discriminated against. His pretty face was still soft with youth, but Sine thought he would probably look like a teenager well into his twenties. Interestingly, in spite of his designer clothes and expensive jewellery, Simon spoke of himself as a poor boy from a small, remote town. She had never even heard of the place he came from, and in conversation it was obvious that he was not lying about his humble origins. He spoke proudly of his mama and sister back in their small family home, and obviously missed them terribly while he was at Uppsala.

Through her years of teaching Sine had seen many students go on to achieve fame and fortune, and she recognised that Simon had it. The X factor, that sparkle and shine that turned an ordinary boy into a star. Not that there was much ordinary about Simon. His beauty was matched by his talent: a lovely voice, quick feet, and a gift for writing lyrics and composing that was coming along very nicely. Many of his classmates were already bordering on being fans rather than friends. However, instead of taking the obvious path to performing in front of the camera, he focussed on learning production methods and composition. She had seen him sing and dance only a handful of times in the last year, and almost always as a backup singer where his vocal talent was wasted. He didn’t have stage fright; in fact his comfort on stage was another reason the boy was clearly destined for stardom. Sine wondered if he was already negotiating a recording deal, which might make him reticent to be filmed by his peers.

There was also the matter of his absences. Simon was an enthusiastic and popular member of class but he was so often missing. After a rash of absences early-on threatened his ability to pass his courses, all his professors had received a missive that indicated that quotas of classes attended would not apply to Simon Eriksson for his tenure at Uppsala. It was not clear where the letter had come from, and no one in the faculty would give her a straight answer. A professor who tried to fail him in the first semester was called in, and after a scant ten-minute discussion in the Dean’s office, allowed Simon to pass without saying another word. The other professors saw how it was, Sine included, and they turned a blind eye to Simon’s attendance record. He always worked hard and did his best to catch up on anything he missed, so it was not hard to let it go. Sine had taught students who were dealing with illness, family disfunction, new babies and all sorts of other life problems before, and she assumed she would find out about Simon’s life eventually.

She watched as the musicians came to the end of their run-through, looking to Simon and his tutor for validation. Simon gave them his usual sunny smile, but Mathias only shook his head seriously. He didn’t seem quite as impressed, and after a bit of conversation it was agreed that they would go again. Sine had no doubt that Simon would have got the musicians to try again anyway, but perhaps they would have been less grumpy about it. The vocalist especially looked put out, but Simon hopped up to bring her some water and sweet-talk her. He had a charming way of getting people to do what he wanted as if it were their own idea. The girl was singing his words, Sine realised, for she had seen his lyric book last week. It was baffling to her that Simon wouldn’t sing his own lyrics. The soft, dreamy song suited his husky voice perfectly.

Mathias leaned over Simon’s chair while the musicians got set up again, and Sine thought he was being rather cosy. Frowning down at his own notes, Simon didn’t seem to have noticed how close the taller man was, and how his bright blue eyes trailed over Simon’s lithe form. It happened, of course. They were all adults, and musicians were notorious for their ill-conceived love affairs. Sine tended to stay out of it. There was no future in trying to run her students love lives, but she would eat her favourite hat if it turned out that Simon Ericsson, in all his gorgeousness, was single.

The band restarted, and in a few seconds the vocalist’s smoky tones drifted through the studio. Simon flicked his instruments and the music mellowed even further. It was beautiful, and Sine relaxed against the wall, almost disappearing into the soundproofing as she enjoyed the magical sound. She barely noticed the door opening silently, but eventually became aware that a figure had slipped through and come to settle against the back wall not far from her. She looked over as the song hit the bridge, then did a double take.

Leaning against the wall next to her was Kronprins Wilhelm of Sweden.

Blinking, Sine took in his long, lean form. He was dressed simply in jeans and a soft blue sweater that stretched across his broad shoulders. His blond fringe was pushed back with an incongruous little flower clip, showing clear hazel eyes. It was undoubtably the Kronprins. She knew he was at Uppsala University, of course. Everyone did. Journalists and photographers turned up occasionally, and there was endless gossip around. They said he was doing social sciences and economics. They said he lived in a small townhouse off-campus. They said he had a driver and a maid and a chef and security guards. They said he missed classes all the time because of his duties, but no one bothered about his attendance quota. They said he was a nice fellow despite all his privilege, and that he kept to himself with a small group of loyal friends. She vaguely remembered a photo from last year, showing him with a boy from his school. They said he had fought the royal court to bring the boy with him to Uppsala, and – oh.

Sine followed the prince’s intense gaze to Simon Eriksson. The boy was still hunched over the controls in front of him, eyes closed and listening intently. Mathias still had his arm across the back of Simon’s chair, close to his body. However, the band and the vocalist were facing outwards, able to see who was outside their booth. One by one they came to a confused, discordant stop, causing Simon to look up in surprise. The vocalist, who had been singing with her eyes closed, gasped theatrically into the microphone.

Simon turned, and his face immediately brightened as the Kronprins smirked. Sine could almost hear a crackle in the air as their eyes met.

“Sorry mi corazón, I didn’t realise I was late,” called Simon sweetly, taking his headphones off and jumping out of his seat. Sine noted that Mathias sprang away from him as if burned.

“Not at all, min hjärta,” murmured the prince, stepping forward with open arms. “I’m early, and I didn’t mean to disturb everyone. My apologies.” He gently wrapped an arm around Simon’s tiny waist and leaned down to press a kiss to his plump lips. Simon smiled with a hum of pleasure, lazily twining his arms around the taller boy’s neck. Sine noticed that the prince’s proprietary hand had slid up his back, right under his daring crop top.

“If you were really sorry, you would have waited outside,” Simon teased. The prince pouted, but his boyfriend just giggled and ran gentle fingers over the nape of his neck. “We’ll just do one more run through and then I’m free, okej?”

Prince Wilhelm nodded solemnly. “Take all the time you need, Simon. It’s okay.” Sine thought that even his deep, serious voice sounded expensive.

“It’s really not,” laughed Simon. “Your mother texted me to say that we cannot be late for the ambassador tonight.” He went up on his toes for a kiss that was immediately given, and then he stole the hair clip right out of the prince’s fringe. “Thank you for bringing this!”

‘Your mother’, thought Sine slightly hysterically. His mother, the queen. The actual freaking queen of freaking Sweden. Kristina I of Sweden had texted Simon. Sine’s student Simon, the boy with the beautiful voice who scribbled lyrics in an old school notebook. The queen had commanded Simon to be on time for a state event, and he thought it was funny. And her son, the actual freaking Crown Prince, had brought him his hair clip.

Now Sine really had seen it all. There was nothing more her students could do to surprise her.

It seemed that everyone else in the room was having a similar existential crisis, but the couple showed no awareness of this. With a smirk curling his lips, the prince dipped his head again to collect his thanks. His large, pale hand rested lightly at Simon’s throat, and for a few seconds the stuffy air in the studio sizzled. Sine and the others stared, mesmerised. Simon sighed sweetly when he was released; it seemed that being kissed breathless by the future king felt as good as it looked. He carefully tidied up his curls with the hair clip and bent over the mixing desk to speak into the microphone.

“Let’s have one more go, okej? I need this one to count, guys. If we’re late the queen will be up my ass, and not in the good way.”

“Simon!” admonished the prince, looking both amused and exasperated, though he couldn’t seem to resist a love tap over the tight jeans covering said ass. Simon laughingly pushed him away and he returned to his earlier spot, walking backwards with his hands up. His gaze didn’t leave Simon till the smaller boy turned away, when they all saw that his face changed entirely. Cold hazel eyes cut to Mathias in clear warning, holding for a few beats longer than was polite. The tutor looked like he was about to pass out, and Sine couldn’t blame him. He was now crowded at the other end of the desk, as far from Simon as he could practicably get while still doing his job. The musicians smartened themselves up nervously, and the vocalist gulped half a bottle of water before they restarted. The prince relaxed indolently against the wall with his arms crossed and returned to gazing intently at Simon.

It occurred to Sine that their future king really was smoking hot. If he ever stared at her like that she would simply pass away, but Simon seemed to accept the prince’s obsessive attention as his due.

What followed was an absolutely flawless performance of Simon’s song, better than the previous rounds by far. Sine noticed that the prince tapped his fingers in tune with the musicians, obviously familiar with the music, and she silently bet that he had a video on his phone of Simon performing it. Probably naked. An exclusive for Simon’s biggest fan, she blushed to herself.

Simon smiled hugely as the last notes drained away, and Sine was surprised when he bounced up from the mixing desk to thank each musician individually and help them to pack up. Producers usually considered themselves too good for that sort of thing. Prince Wilhelm patiently waited beside her, watching Simon with a proud little smile. As Mathias hastily slipped away through a side door, Sine introduced herself to the prince as gracefully as she could. Wilhelm repeated her name, shook her hand, and made light conversation, all without taking his eyes off his boyfriend. She suspected that later he would be able to recall every aspect of their conversation perfectly despite not having given it the slightest bit of attention. His entire focus was on the other boy.

So much of Sine’s past confusion about Simon made sense. His expensive clothes that contrasted with his humble origins. His frequent absences. And of course, he choice not to perform. He would spend his life in front of the cameras in a very different context. Simon’s stage presence and charisma would probably make him famous worldwide, just not in the way she had imagined. She thought sadly that it would be a loss to the music industry, for he really was very talented. Still, Simon seemed happy enough. The prince was obviously besotted with him. And if Simon was careful he could still have a career in music, albeit behind the scenes. It made sense to learn how to write and compose, how to produce music, and how to work with musicians to get the best out of them. She realised he had already decided on his path, a way to have two great loves: his music and his prince.

Inside the booth, the vocalist was waving her arms around and whispering urgently to Simon. He nodded along while peering out at Prince Wilhelm, and his face scrunched adorably into a bright grin. Brown eyes sparkled under the lights, and his sweet laughter could be heard softly through the glass. Everyone in the room stopped to stare, caught by his beauty for a glittering moment.

“Little star,” murmured Sine.

“Yes, he is,” agreed the prince happily.

Chapter Text

Sofia Bernadotte tip toed through the darkness of Drottningholm palace. It was a vast space full of confusing interconnecting rooms, but she knew every nook and cranny of her home intimately. Her Fader had told her that she had been born here, same as him, and soon her baby brother would be born here too. Sofia was already five years old, practically a grown-up, so she was confident that she would be a good big sister. Soon she could show her lillebror her special way to navigate the endless, gilded spaces using the big portraits that hung on every wall. Fader explained that the people in the paintings were members of their family who had died a long time ago, and that their fancy dresses and wigs were fashionable in those times. Many of the costumes still hung hidden in the attic, and sometimes she and Papá would pull some out and get dressed up. Whenever they did this, Sofia was pleased that her bright hazel eyes matched perfectly with the ones in the portraits, just like Fader’s. There was also an extra-special portrait in the sunny salon of their family apartment, hanging in pride of place. Farbror Erik was Fader’s storebror, though he looked much younger, and his smile was the kindest of all her ancestors. Sometimes Sofia talked to him and included him in her games, and Fader always wiped his eyes and gave a wobbly smile when he saw them playing. Papá would give him extra cuddles and kisses when that happened, though Sofia thought there was already far too much kissing going on in their apartment at any one time. Her parents always seemed disgustingly in love so perhaps they couldn’t help it. Sofia tried to be patient with them but she had noticed even the staff sometimes secretly rolled their eyes at the two of them.

She was looking forward to having her lillebror on her side, though Papá said it would take a long time before he could walk and keep up with her. Privately Sofia was sure her brother would be cleverer than other babies, and she looked forward to the fun they could have together despite their guards. Malin was very good at following Sofia everywhere. Indeed, Sofia couldn’t remember a time she had not been there, silent and watchful, even when playing hide and seek! Malin cheated, obviously, but Fader and Papá were very firm that that was allowed. But Malin was away now. She was sick, just like Papá and almost everyone else in the palace. It was winter, and Christmas was just around the corner. Sofia absently wiped her running nose on her green pyjama sleeve. Papá said it was the ‘floo’, and had given her medicine to help her stuffy nose. But it didn’t work, and she had woken up snuffly and sad. Her other security guard, Joachim, was fast sleep in his chair so Sofia quietly put on her warm unicorn slippers and went next door to her parent’s room. Fader wasn’t there, and Papá’s breathing under the blankets sounded heavy and stuffy. He had looked so tired that evening, though they made arepas and sang Spanish songs together like they always did on the nights when Fader had to work late. She didn’t want to wake him. After a moment of careful thought, Sofia padded through their big family kitchen and slipped right out of the royal apartment in search of her Fader.

The first place to check would be his office, of course. It was not very far from their apartment, through a few big, gilded rooms and just across from the portrait of a king with enormous purple pantaloons. Sofia turned a corner near the golden princess cuddling a pineapple, and quickly hid behind a pile of boxes. There were a few people moving around outside the office, and Sofia recognised Jan-Olof, even with his mask on. He was a very old man who worked with Mormor and complained to Fader about everything. Papá said that’s just how it was with old men but Sofia didn’t think that was entirely correct. Her Farfar was also very old, but didn’t complain very much at all. He always gave her sweeties and cuddles, so much so that sometimes they had to hide the sweeties from Papá and Fader. Sofia hoped Farfar had enough sweeties for her lillebror too, although… yes, decided Sofia. She would share her sweeties with him, because that was what a big sister should do. She had had a long conversation with Tía Sara about big sister duties. Tía Sara had been a big sister for a long time and knew all about it.

Sofia carefully edged into the office, crawling behind boxes and camera equipment. Looking up at the desk, she could see her Fader sitting in a big fancy chair – not his normal chair at all. His big desk was also very clean, which was unusual. There were some pictures placed carefully on the desk: one of Mormor and Farfar, another of Abuela and Tía Sara, and a third which showed Fader, Papá and herself. It was from that boring photoshoot they did on her fifth birthday. Sofia hoped that would be the last time she had to waste her precious birthday time taking photos, but Papá had only laughed ruefully when she told him that.

Fader was speaking quietly to someone who was putting makeup on his face, and lots of the adults were peering into the camera, and another was holding cards which had big writing on them. They were all wearing masks, except for Fader. Someone stepped forward and clapped a little black and white board together. She cried out “Action!”, and there was a soft whirr as machinery powered up.

Sofia shuffled closer and listened to Fader, who seemed to be reading the cards. He thanked people for watching, and explained that the queen was unwell, as were most of the staff and family at Drottningholm. He sounded apologetic that he was the one speaking instead of Mormor, but that seemed silly to Sofia. People loved Fader. They waved Swedish flags and cheered when he went by, and sometimes they had flowers or pretty rainbow-coloured signs too. Fader always smiled brightly and waved back. She knew he often left the Palace to meet with the people of Sweden, because his job was to listen to them and to tell their stories to the important, fancy people who often came to the Palace. The fancy people loved to meet Sofia and take pictures with her. Sometimes they tried to pinch her cheeks or pick her up but Papá always stepped in quickly. Luckily, people always listened to him. They would bow their heads and say, “Apologies, Your Grace,” and Papá would nod politely with stern eyes. Sofia had noticed that both her fathers smiled much more when they met people who were not fancy.

Fader went on to talk about things that had happened in Sweden that year, some of them good and some of them bad. Sofia listened as carefully as she could despite her tiredness. It was all rather dull and she couldn’t help fidgeting, keeping as close to the ground as she could. Unfortunately, her snuffly nose got the best of her. “Achoo!” Fader stopped speaking immediately and looked into her dark corner, and so did everyone else in the room. Sofia had no choice but to shuffle out meekly, though she felt she shouldn’t really be in trouble. It was naughty to run away from Joachim of course, but really, he looked so very tired and he wasn’t well either. She tried to look repentant and lifted her arms to Fader as she ran to him. This was usually a good way to stop him getting cross with her, rare as that was. Sure enough, he cooed and lifted her to his lap, ignoring all the people waiting for him. Up close, Fader looked tired under his makeup, and the lights were very, very bright on his desk. “And what are you doing here, Soffi?” he queried gently. He straightened her unicorn print pyjamas, which were rather grubby from crawling on the floor, and his arms were very warm as she snuggled into his broad chest. “Poor Papá will be frantic if he wakes and finds you gone.” Fader smoothed her curls where they had escaped from her bedtime plaits, and Sofia was so glad for the comfort.

“My nose is all stuffy Fader, and Papá is so ill, I didn’t want to wake him,” she whined, and made her eyes as big as possible. It was all true, but she was definitely playing up the pathos for his benefit. Fader pressed a fond kiss to her warm forehead. She didn’t seem to be in trouble but Sofia decided it would be best to change the subject from her night-time wonderings. “Are you talking to the people of Sweden?”

“Ja, min lilla prinsessan.” Fader had laughter in his voice, though she could tell that he was falling sick with the floo too. “I will come home in a moment to put you back to bed, and we can give you some more medicine, okej? Can you wait with Fröken Everley for Fader to finish?” He waved over to his secretary, a severe-looking Englishwoman who sometimes escaped her duties to play with Barbie dolls with Sofia.

“Can I talk to the people too?” Sofia looked over at the camera curiously, blinking in the bright light. There was a green light beside the black hole that Fader had been speaking to. She didn’t expect Fader to say yes, but with an amused grin, he agreed.

“Of course, Soffi, go ahead,” he murmured affably. He made a winding motion with his hand, and the man beside the camera gave a thumbs up.

“Hello everyone,” Sofia waved into the camera. She noticed there was snot on her sleeve, so she quickly put that hand down. She thought carefully about what to say next. “I am Prinsessa Sofia. I hope everyone will have a nice Christmas. We are very sick here at the palace. It’s not fun so please keep warm and be careful not to catch the floo!” Sofia waggled her index finger the way Mormor did sometimes, and looked stern so people would know she was serious. “Papá says the floo will finish in a few days, and he promises that Santa Claus doesn’t get sick because he is magic. So I hope all the boys and girls will get nice presents this year, even if they haven’t been very good every single day. I know sometimes it is hard, but Papá says Santa understands. I’m going back to bed now. God Jul!”

She looked around in surprise as her Fader hugged her again. She whispered to him that he should wish the people a merry Christmas too, so he obediently parroted, “God Jul!” with a big smile. His tired eyes sparkled in the extra-loving way they did whenever he cuddled with her and Papá. The green light went out, and the big lights dimmed so she and Fader could see properly again. Around them were clustered all the adults she had snuck past, and they clapped lightly. She thought they were smiling under their masks.

The lady with the black and white board stepped forward. “Why don’t we stop there, Your Highness?” she queried. Her eyes above the mask were kind. “We got a few good recordings, and to be honest, I think the last one was best.”

“Now, don’t get any ideas,” harrumphed Jan-Olof anxiously. “We could never air something so informal!”

“Let me put Sofia back to bed,” interrupted Fader firmly as he stood up with her in his arms. He sounded certain and confident like always, his tone commanding, and Sofia admired him for being so strong even when he was sick. “I’ll come back to check the rushes, and we can film again if we need to. I know we’re all tired, but I want to get this wrapped tonight so everyone can go home and rest.” The adults nodded, and from her place clinging to her Fader’s broad shoulder, Sofia listened carefully. Someday, Papá told her, she would give the orders like Fader did. But Sofia had noticed that people didn’t seem to mind following Fader’s orders at all. He seemed to make it easy for everyone to obey him, except maybe Jan-Olof.

Fader lovingly carried her back to bed, gently nudging the sleeping Joachim on the way. The other man was horrified when he realised his charge had had such an adventure, but Fader only laughed and said he had sometimes escaped his own security guards in a similar fashion. They were whispering quietly and Sofia didn’t think she was meant to hear that part.

A rustling was heard from the adjacent room and Papá came shuffling out in his pyjamas, sleepily rubbing his eyes. His curls were a riotous mess, much like Sofia’s, and for the first time she felt guilty for leaving the apartment. She was much too tall for Papá to carry so he hugged her as she rested in Fader’s arms. It was nice to lean over and cuddle her face into his over-warm neck while Fader recounted her exploits. To her relief Papá only tutted tiredly and said they must all have a hot drink and some medicine, even Joachim. Fader had to return to his office of course, and Sofia and Joachim stoically looked in the other direction as he pressed anxious kisses to Papá’s feverish forehead and pink cheeks. In turn, Papá fretted that Fader was getting sick too, and stroked the back of his neck and promised to make him a hot drink when he returned. Sofia sighed theatrically as her parents sandwiched her between them and kissed again, but that only seemed to make them laugh and drop kisses all over her fuzzy curls. She gave them her best princessy glare.

Eventually they put her back to bed while bickering softly about how Papá should rest instead of staying up, and how Fader should finish filming quickly so he could come home soon. Sofia rolled her eyes at Joachim. As expected, he was polite and did not roll his eyes back, but he did smile just a tiny little crinkly-eyed smile. Finally, Fader kissed her forehead and firmly admonished Sofia to stay in bed this time. He was rarely strict with her, but she could tell he meant it this time. Fader lingered at the door a few moments longer with an arm around Papá’s waist, and they nuzzled into each other until Sofia sneezed loudly and snottily. Papá hurried back at her bedside with a hot drink that made her sleepy and content, so Sofia snuggled back to sleep and bravely ignored the funny medicine taste in her mouth. She drifted off listening to the comfortable, quiet chatter from the kitchen as Papá and Joachim had their drinks.

The next morning, Papá called Sofia to hop up into her fathers’ warm, fluffy bed so they could all have breakfast together. There was hot chocolate and warm cinnamon buns, and Papá peeled all the yukky white bits off a satsuma for her while Sofia chattered about her dreams the previous night. Fader was in the salon talking to people on the phone in his pyjamas, but he quickly re-joined them and promised that they could all stay in bed together for the day. Sofia’s request to watch the latest Disney Princess movie was quickly approved. Fader told Sofia that the official Christmas message he recorded would be broadcast on television as usual, but that the Palace would also release Sofia’s recording online as the Royal Family’s personal Christmas present to Sweden. Mormor had seen it and had told Fader that she was very proud of Prinsessa Sofia’s first public address. Sofia wasn’t sure what that meant because she had worn many dresses in public, but the adults seemed happy so she humoured them. In the spirit of Christmas kindness, she nibbled her satsuma and restrained a sigh when Fader leaned over her tangled curls to press fond kisses to Papá’s cheek.

Her lillebror couldn’t get here soon enough.