36. 36

36

Kalle

I take a couple of shaky breaths after the press conference is over and I've escaped into the hospital to see Dad.

Doctors and nurses smile and nod, keeping their distance as they watch me perform like I know what I'm doing. Those who don't work there take any opportunity to get close to me. I pose for a few pictures and wave goodbye to those in the waiting room as I duck around an older woman with a nasty cough. I jump into the elevator, holding out my hands as Chase applies sanitizer.

"That went better than I thought," I say to Spencer.

"Dude." Spencer gives me a thump on the shoulder, happiness and, yes, relief written over his face. "You did great. Like you've been doing that for years."

My first press conference was at thirty-two. Odin has been doing that for years, and even Gunnar knows how to finagle a group of crusty reporters wherever country he's in, but I've never had the need to talk to the press.

Or wanted to.

That was first on the list that Duncan and Spencer gave me this morning. Press conference, quick visit with Dad, look at the pier, talk to people at the docks to see how they fared with the storm. Be seen around town. Check out any damage. Back to the castle for a meeting with the Canadian Minister of Foreign Affairs—Duncan has yet to brief me on what that's about, but at least I know Seamus O'Regan so it won't be too bad. Then there's some dinner tonight in St. Johns that I have to take the plane for, but I can do that.

I won't get any time to see Edie.

My first instinct was to bring her along for all of this, but I knew even before I suggested it that it wouldn't work. Edie has her own responsibilities—running the bar. If I have to take over for Dad, then she's going to have to manage everything on her own. She's more than capable, but only if I let her do it. I can't drag her away for the day, as much as I want to.

And I really want to, because last night…

Last night was amazing.

Or this morning, rather. I can still feel the softness of her skin, how her lips moved under mine when we kissed.

Sixteen years of waiting and the reality more than made up for it.

Or maybe not. I would have rather been kissing her for all this time.

"What's going on?" Spencer demands. I shake my head. "You just talked to a bunch of reporters that, in the past, haven't been your biggest fans. And you look happy about it."

"I'm not happy about it." But then I glance at myself in the reflection in the elevator, and immediately frown. My lips had been curved in what can be called a smile, my forehead wasn't creased in my usual scowl…

I relax and realize it can be said that, yes, I look happy .

"Then why—ah." Spencer's expression transforms into understanding. "Edie?"

I shrug but can't hide the smile. "We might try… you know. Not friends."

"More than friends," Spencer says. "That's great. But Kalle, don't try. Make it happen."

Make it happen. The words echo as I follow him out of the elevator. I'm going to make it happen.

When we get to Dad's room, I can't believe how much tension rolls off me. Shoulders slump, breath out in a whoosh. I have to stop myself from rushing to the bed.

I knew he was going to be okay, but after seeing him go down like that at dinner, it's been hard to really believe it.

Still, he looks pale and a little smaller in the brand-new pyjamas. Mrs. Theissen had to order him three new pairs because Dad had been sleeping in old T-shirts and boxers for so long, he didn't have any proper pyjamas suitable for hospital rooms.

"Hey." Gripping his shoulder, I lean down and rest my forehead against the top of his head. As I pull away, Dad reaches up to grab the back of my head, and I stay put for a long moment, breathing in Dad smell. He smells a little too much like a hospital for my liking, but still—Dad.

He's going to be okay.

"You good?" Dad asks. "Looked pretty fine at that press conference." Pride shines in his eyes and despite the relief that leaves me a bit shaky, I puff up a little.

"I should be asking you that." Dillon pushes a chair closer to the bed before heading to stand outside the door with Chase .

Spencer presses Dad's hand and tells him he'll give the update when I'm done, then disappears as well.

"What good is an appendix anyway?" Dad grouses good-naturedly. "What's the point of humans having them if they don't do anything and there's a chance they will blow up?"

"That's something you can talk to your doctor about." I settle in the chair beside the bed. For the first time since he dropped to his knees in the dining room, I breathe a little easier.

He's not going to die.

Well, he will someday since even the great king of Laandia won't be able to charm his way into immortality.

"The doctors indulge me, but they don't have the time to answer all my questions," Dad grumbles.

"Or the energy?" I suggest and he chuckles.

"I know I'm high maintenance, but it's not a fun place to be. But one of the nurses is pretty amazing. And amazingly pretty." His eyes twinkle and I sit up straight.

"Seriously? Do you—?" But I'm interrupted as Bo walks in, looking more rested than I do. "Dad's interested in one of the nurses," I tell him.

Bo seems to contemplate that with his usual stoicism and nods slowly.

"I said she was pretty," Dad protests. "That's it."

"You twinkled," I point out. "I haven't seen you twinkle in…"

"In a long time," he finishes a little sadly. "But that's not what I called you both in to talk about."

"Both of us? "

"Before I call in the rest of the calvary. Gunny and Lyra," he adds at my expression of confusion. "I want to check some things with you first."

"About the line of succession," Bo says. Bo, who is now the second in line to the throne. I've never missed Odin more.

"Shoot," I tell Dad, not wanting to give words to the apprehension that's begun right in my gut.

"Do you want to be king?"

He asks without warning, without preamble. He always cuts to the chase with me, because that's how I do things too.

For once, I'd like the preamble.

He raises a hand still attached to tubes and machines and there's that pang of fear and realization that my father is not invincible. "We'll set aside the probability that you succeeding me means I'm dead, because we don't need emotion clouding things. I should have called Duncan and Spencer in for this," he muses.

"Let's just figure this out between us first," Bo says in his low voice.

"What're your thoughts?"

"Why are you asking?" I counter.

Dad heaves a breath. "Your uncle brought this up before he left. You know he was almost king," he says to Bo.

Bo nods. "I know there was talk when you were in the band. But it was your position. There was no almost with that."

Laandia is not a normal monarchy. The country wasn't taken by force, and as far as I know, we're the only monarchy who was given their throne rather than won it and proclaimed themselves king or queen.

If there are others, Bo would know .

"Some think differently. You know my father, Euan, was the second son of Leif, the first king of Laandia. His brother Bronn wanted nothing to do with being the king. He was twenty-five when he abdicated and left for Northern Canada. No idea what happened to him. He could be frozen solid in a block of ice for all I know."

"He died," Bo speaks up. "He ended up in Yellowknife for a time. Had a wife, a couple of kids. They're in Salmon Arm, British Columbia."

"Huh."

"I looked for him," Bo admits. "He wasn't that hard to track."

"I'm glad you did that. I've always wondered. These kids—"

"Probably have no idea their father should have been the king of Laandia," I say drily. And we should keep it like that because I can't imagine what it would be like if someone waltzed into my life to tell me I had a spot in the line of succession. Or that, in another reality, would have been king.

It was bad enough knowing all my life where my future lay. I had enough time to process.

But have I really? It seems to me that I've argued against the fact more than I've processed.

"I don't think he should have been king." Dad gives his head a firm shake. "From what I've heard, Bronn was brave but had a temper."

"Kings shouldn't have a temper?" I glance at Bo, who smiles and drops his head. "That rules both of us out then."

"Tempers are a sign of passion, but you need to learn to think before you act, which both of you are capable of. Bronn was not. No matter now, but I am glad he didn't end up frozen in an ice burg."

"He might be," Bo says. "I never found out how he died."

Dad grunts. "See what you can find out, will you? So we're back to the king of Laandia who wasn't supposed to be king. Second sons don't normally become king."

"King George of England," Bo supplies. "Henry the VIII, just to name two."

"I keep forgetting you're the brain of the family," Dad says admiringly.

"Just in history."

I've never been good at academics. The best part of school for me was gym class.

I remember Dante pointing out my low grades to Mathias once as an example of what not to do. But this time, instead of the surge of anger any of those memories bring about, I let it float away because this isn't the time to think about reasons why I shouldn't be king.

"Do you think Bo should be king?" I blurt out.

"No." Bo's quick response is definite.

"Bo would make a fine king, as would you. But neither of you seem very inclined."

"Is this when you give the Dune speech again?"

"No, but I hope my little health scare will give you some clarity. And my conversation with your uncle could give you an option. My father called me back from touring to ask if I could see myself being the king. I said yes, because I didn't want to disappoint him, and yes, the thought of myself with a crown was enjoyable. But when push came to shove, and my father had a heart attack that ended his life, I changed my mind. It might have been grief or fear, but just before I was crowned king, I ran."

I glance at Bo. Even with his history studies, I don't think he knows that. And Dad conveniently left out that part when we talked the other day.

"Your uncle Dante was ready to step up," Dad continues, "and he wanted to be king. Like, really wanted it. Unlike me, who let my emotions cloud my sense of duty. It was Duncan who got me back on track."

"Course he did," I mutter because Duncan has always been there for this family. And this country as well.

"Yeah, well, Dunc pointed out that I had given my word to the king and the country that I would be next. He also told me I'd be a great king, which is neither here nor there."

"I don't get the point of this," I cut in. "It's a nice story, but it's not helping."

"The point is that I gave my word. Not you. I answered the call to this duty, but you don't have to." His blue eyes, shadowed and tired meet mine with an intensity that pricks my skin.

"Are you saying I should step down and let Bo be next?"

"No," Bo says quickly.

"That is an option," Dad concedes. "And if Bo doesn't want it, I'll talk to Gunnar and then…Lyra."

We exhale in unison.

"Or I could appoint your uncle to be my successor, and his children after that."

"What?" Mathias in a crown? The evilness of my uncle, his cruelty and manipulation—no. No way .

"It's what he brought up at dinner, Dad continues, unaware of what is going on in my mind. "He'd still like the job, and Mathias was positively salivating at the thought of it." Dad gives a half-smile but I see the worry in his eyes. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere soon, but this little visit does bring up some worries about who is next in the line of succession. Like I said, this has never been a regular monarchy. We do things differently here."

"So what you're saying, is that if I decide I really don't want to be king, you can give it to Dante so Bo and the others don't have to deal with it?"

"It gives you an option. Something to think about."

"I don't have to think about it," I tell him.