8. 8

8

Kalle

L eaving the bar in Edie's capable hands, I throw my coat on and head out through the alley to where my truck is parked. The rain is still pouring down, and another front is predicted to reach us this afternoon so I need to be back by then to help out Edie.

The meow stops me.

"There's your cat," Dillon says, pausing in the rain with me.

"Not my cat." The tabby pokes her head around the garbage bin, looking bedraggled and very wet. A pile of boxes gives her a bit of shelter but wet cardboard can only do so much.

I want to toss the poor thing into the kitchen so it can get out of the rain but it would be my luck to have the health and safety guy stop by.

Every time I see the cat, I tell myself to call Stella Laz. She would be better off if she was adopted or even took up residence in Stella's pet rescue rather than scrounging for scraps in the alley.

She does keep the rodent problem down though.

And it's not that she's alone—I put food out for her every day. She's a well-fed stray cat .

But still, my heart gives a hard tug that I'm walking away from her in the rain, and I tell myself to call Stella as soon as I'm done with Dad.

Dad. King Magnus of Laandia.

I haven't had a chance to talk to him since Odin's wedding and the fallout from his announcement. Dad had been busy entertaining the VIPs who stayed at the castle, and then, three days later, he left for meetings in Paris, Madrid, and London, the city in Ontario, Canada.

But now he's back and it's about time I find out what Odin stepping down means for me.

It means the same as it always did; as the firstborn, I'm next in line to inherit the crown. That won't change.

But I've always wanted it to.

I don't want the responsibility. I'm not interested in power. I can't handle the pomp and circumstance and silly frou-frou that comes with being a king.

Those are only a few of the excuses I tell myself as I make the twenty-minute drive up the hill to the castle. Dillon sits shotgun—Gunnar and Odin may sit back and let their security do the driving but I'm too stubborn to let anyone else take the wheel.

Besides, it always reminds me of when Edie and I were learning to drive and I let her take the heat for something I did.

I've never forgiven myself for that, and I've never let anyone else take the fall for me.

Still, Edie was so insistent; back then she was even more earnest and opinionated and slightly scary. My Edie has mellowed over the years, while I get grumpier than a bear woken up too early in the spring .

"You're smiling," Dillon points out when we're halfway up the hill. The rain comes down in sheets, with wipers doing double time.

"I smile."

"Not really." Dillon leans forward and ups the defrost. "I smile more than you."

"You never smile."

"My point exactly."

I rest my hand on the gearshift. "Did I ever tell you Edie's the reason I learned to drive stick?"

"You did not."

"Duncan set it up with Dad's security to teach me. I sucked at driving—"

"Maybe not the best thing to admit when we're driving up a mountain during a severe thunderstorm."

"Edie was much better than me," I continue as if Dillon hadn't spoken. "Not that I would let you know that. I hit the garage once and ran into the tennis court another time—and this was before I even got my proper license, so my mother told me if I hit anything else, I was going to have to wait another six months. I wasn't about to wait, plus I needed to learn how to drive a stick shift."

"Because you wanted to follow your little brother into racing?"

"Because Edie could drive stick and back then, I didn't want to let a girl do something I couldn't."

"Take about a male ego. So glad you've gotten over that."

I ignore the sarcasm. "The day after I finally master the clutch, Bob gives me the keys and sends me out to practice with Edie. She was so cute back then." For a moment I'm caught in the past, sixteen-year-old me trying so hard to impress Edie, the one girl in town who didn't give a damn about me or my family. She knew who she was and refused to bow to anything or anyone.

"Have you seen her lately?" Dillon demands. "She's still really cute."

"Got a crush, do you, Dillon?"

"You'd be an idiot if you didn't. She's a good woman, one of the best."

"She reminds me of my mother," I say suddenly. "In a good way. Not a… creepy way."

"I figured it was the good way. How does she remind you of your mom?"

Dillon wasn't working security when Mom had the accident, but people talk about her enough, so he could imagine what she was like.

Except for me. I don't talk about her. But something about the rain and the castle looming ahead of us brings it out of me. "She was smart, with all these different interests," I begin. "She was into everything we were, but more. She's the reason Odin got into the heritage stuff, got me coaching to give back. She'd set up daily breakfasts for kids at the schools, actually went in to do some counselling because that's who she was. She worked as a therapist before they got married."

"I didn't know that," Dillon says quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah, she was amazing. She didn't take any crap from anybody, just like Edie. Did you see her wade into that fight last night?" I shake my head. "Fearless. My mother was like that. She stood up to Dad about a couple of things, and she'd bring him back to the real world when he'd start getting too big for himself. Edie does that for me, too. Plus, Mom loved that Edie called Dad Maggot by accident when she was a little girl, and kept calling him that. It was awesome. King Maggot."

I laugh quietly to myself, the memory still funny, but like a lot of things about Mom, it's taken on a tinge of sadness, like one of those Instagram filters that turns the picture blue.

"Anyway," I pull myself back and continue. "That day, Bob gave me the keys and sent us out. We were driving on one of the roads behind the castle, out toward the farms, in the middle of nowhere; I was driving and there was this huge turtle on the side of the road."

Dillon peers out the window. "I see no turtles. You may proceed."

"I didn't know what it was, but Edie started yelling about turtles, and I don't know, I panicked because I thought I was going to hit one. I swerved, hit the shoulder, hit the other shoulder, and then the ditch. I landed us in the ditch."

"Always a great way to impress a girl."

"Tell me about it. We weren't hurt but I had no clue how to get the truck out of there. Edie was so calm and pushed me out and just drove it out. I was freaking because I knew Mom was going to tell me to stand down and not let me drive at all because of the other stuff, but we got home and Edie stepped up and in this voice—I swear she sounded just like my mother—told Bruce and my mother that she was driving. She wouldn't let me say it was me. Shot down all my arguments, and that was that."

Dillon grins. "Sounds like an Edie thing to do."

"It was such an Edie thing to do. But because of her, I focused and paid attention and practiced at the arcade, in one of those driving games with the steering wheel, and I got better. Once I knew I wasn't going to embarrass myself, Edie was the first one I took for a drive. No turtles this time."

It always gets me that for as long as I've known Edie, we don't share a lot of firsts.

"The two of you have been friends for a long time," Dillon says as we pull up to the castle.

"Yeah."

"I don't know, you ever think—" Dillon continues.

I cut him off. "What are you, trying to be some kind of matchmaker? Edie and I are just friends."

"I hear that a lot. But have you really looked at her lately? Like, last night when she got all fixed up for her date with the prince?"

I did look. I couldn't help myself.

Because she looked amazing.

I've seen her fixed up to go out with other guys before and it never hit me like a kick to the crotch like it did last night. She was almost… glowing.

Because of Mathias.

So it's got me thinking. "Yeah," I concede. "She looked good."

Dillon looks sideways at me. "Shame it was because of a guy like the prince."

I park in my usual spot between the west side of the castle and the garden. "Yeah," I say heavily.

And then I wait for Dillon to tell me it was time to do something about it, but he doesn't.

"You good today?" he asks instead.

I frown. "Why?"

"Never heard you talk so much."

I give a bark of laughter and race Dillon into the castle.

I can't deny that Edie is on my mind as I head through the halls of the castle to my father's office, especially how she looked in that dress last night.

And the pink of her lip gloss.

Whatever my uncertainty about the possibility of becoming the next king of Laandia, I can't deny that I loved growing up in the castle. Built back in the sixteen hundreds, the place has secret passages, dungeons, and a ton of character. Plus, it really impressed the girls when I was into impressing them.

Except Edie. She was never impressed I lived in a castle.

If she was, she never showed it.

She never treats me like a prince, never refers to me as Your Highness like so many others do.

These days, it's hard to find a woman to date who doesn't make a big deal about my family. Fenella doesn't.

Edie never did.

Dillon takes off for the kitchen as soon as he sees me safely inside, leaving me to the capable hands of Mrs. Theissen and Duncan Laz, Dad's right-hand man.

I say hello to the staff I pass on the way to Dad's office. The castle is both an office and a home for the royal family, as well as a part-time hotel.

I wonder if Fenella is wandering around here somewhere. And since I'm taking her out tonight, should I find her to say hello?

I should get back to the bar instead of looking for someone who might not even be here.

I find Dad in his small office, the one he does the work in, not where he meets with foreign dignitaries and local government and business heads .

King Magnus of Laandia leans back in his oversized chair, feet up on the desk. His sock has a hole in his toe, his jeans have that distressed look because Dad wears his clothes until they fall apart. Case in point is the rough-looking Aerosmith T-shirt he has on; it has holes within its holes and has turned a strange shade that is no longer gray, and not quite brown. It came from an actual concert and it wasn't from this decade.

Or even last decade.

Dad is no one's idea of a king but that makes him kind of great.

He's reading something on his tablet, squinting so he doesn't have to use the glasses he's recently been forced to get. I knock at the open door. "You busy?"

"Ah," Dad says, looking up with his usual cheerful grin. "My favourite kind of distraction."

"I thought that was a cold pint of mead." I take the seat across the desk, sinking down until the worn leather threatens to swallow me whole.

"That's good too, but it's early yet."

"Not at my place. It's packed already."

"Storms are good for business when they don't destroy everything." Dad looks at me and there's a barely perceptible shift from father to king. "How's the town? Any problems this morning? Spencer and Gunnar went in yesterday to make sure the boats were okay, and no flooding."

Spencer is Duncan's son and like a brother to me. If we lived in medieval times, he and Duncan would be courtiers, dukes or other high-ranking aristocrats whose sole purpose is to help the king run the kingdom .

In fact, Dad has tried to give Duncan a title more than once, but he always says no.

Both are more than simple ‘yes-men.' It's tantamount to the respect he garners, but the idea of having people around who will agree to his every whim and decision doesn't sit well with King Magnus. He and Duncan have gotten into a couple of fierce shouting matches over the years. Spencer is a lawyer by trade, but the country as a whole is more of his client than Dad is.

It doesn't surprise me that Spencer would venture into town during the worst of the storm. It does surprise me that Gunnar would.

Then again, my little brother did ask to take on more responsibilities. Make more of an effort in being a prince, and looks like he meant what he said.

I don't make much of an effort being a prince.

Today, the realization leaves me feeling hollow, like I haven't eaten.

"Things look good," I report. "No flooding in the square. There was a bit of a ruckus last night in the bar, just some of the guys blowing off steam."

"That's to be expected. You handle it?"

I smirk. "Actually, Edie did."

Dad smiles widely. "That girl. Woman, I guess now. She's been a godsend to you. I've always wondered why—?"

"Things good up here?" I interrupt. I don't want another talk about why Edie and I anything because then I have to ask myself why I haven't, and I don't like looking like an idiot.

Dad mirrors my smirk. "Fair enough. Fenella is still here, you know. "

"Yeah. I… yeah."

"You haven't come for a social call, have you. It's a very wet day for you to come all the way up here to say hi, so there must be something on your mind." He sets the tablet on the desk but leaves his legs stretched out. "What's up?"

King Magnus of Laandia isn't your usual monarch. He's a former Olympian (gold medal in shot put), best-selling author (vegan cookbook before vegan was big), and one of the founding members of the heavy metal band Kr?ftig.

It's not my style of music but I still love to watch the videos of Dad onstage with Duncan, both of them rocking their hearts out.

He gave up a music career to come home to Laandia and prepare to take the throne.

He's also the most laid-back man I know. It pisses me off when I compare his relaxed vibe with my almost-constant irritation, but most of the time, spending time with my father teaches me something, whether it's about the country, his style of ruling, or even just how to take a moment and enjoy it to the fullest.

I've seen my father seriously upset four times in my life: after the attempted kidnapping of Lyra when she was thirteen, when the Canadians refused to concede to our requests in the fishing dispute, once at Bo, and recently, when he found out exactly what Signe Luute, Duncan's ex-wife, had been saying about the castle and those living here.

Not only was the anger directed at Signe, but her stepdaughter Daphne. She, together with Daulton Drake, former secretary to the king, tried to sabotage Odin and Camille's wedding. Daphne had been one of Camille's bridesmaids and found out a few things that Camille had been trying to keep secret. She went to Daulton to spill what she knew. Daulton went to the press.

Thanks to Gunnar and Stella, the media explosion Daulton had aimed for was more a limp pft .

But still, I suspect Peter Luute won't be mayor of Battle Harbour for a second term, thanks to the machinations of his wife.

At least he wouldn't be if I were king. I would have forced him to resign the day after the wedding. Dad's a lot more benevolent than I would be.

"How was the trip?" I ask instead of just getting to the point.

Dad lifts an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"

"Shouldn't I be asking these things?"

"Ah." He steeples his fingers. "This isn't really a random son-ly visit. You want to talk about O jumping ship."

I fix him with my gaze. "Did you know?"

Dad nods. "You're asking if Odin came to me first? Of course he did. We had several long conversations about it, with and without Camille."

"Camille? You didn't think I had a right to know what Odin was planning?" My voice rises as frustration surges. "I should have been told this was in motion."

Dad keeps his calm, same as always. "Are you planning on abdicating?" he asks, like he wants to know how bad the drive up the castle was in this weather.

Despite the calm demeanour, the words float between us like some sort of explosive balloon ready to destroy.

There have been hours of discussion about whether I will accept the throne. Sometimes I'm part of these talks, but most times I'm not. I know the security council has regular meetings about it and it's a common topic among the people of Battle Harbour. There's even a group called the Odinites who likes to protest that Odin should be next in line, but they're out of luck now.

As far as I can remember, no one has ever outright asked me if I plan to step aside.

Again, this isn't usual. I know most of the heirs to the thrones in the different monarchies of the world—a few of us are in a group chat and Catharina-Amalia has been trying to get me to join her Facebook group, but I've never been a fan of social media—and the fact that I may have an option to not follow in Dad's footsteps is unheard of. They think I'm crazy to even consider it.

Laandia isn't your run-of-the-mill monarchy either; my great-grandfather Leif didn't conquer Canada to get his part of Newfoundland and Labrador. He helped them. Leif Erickson and a group of men, all with Viking ancestors, defended the country against a secret German invasion during World War Two and the Canadian government, encouraged by the United States, offered to reward Leif.

He asked for a country, and they gave it to him, as unbelievable as that seems.

I don't like history, and I don't know the exact details of what went down, but I think I would have liked my great-grandfather Leif. He seemed like a take-charge type of man. A doer, ready to get into the thick of things.

Like Edie stopping that fight at the bar last night.

Leif started it all; Laandia was his vision and he made it happen. But then it was my grandfather Euan and my father who have really established Laandia's place in the world .

I would rather been like Leif—take what I want and make it happen—than like Euan and Dad who had to fight to put everything in motion.

It's not being a king that I don't like the thought of, it's all the mundane, tedious things I'd have to do.

That's why I have Edie for the bar. She could organize the hairs on my head to stand at attention with a clap of her hands.

"This isn't about me," I say, easily sidestepping the question.

"You're right; it's about your brother." Dad's tone is firm. "Unless you have plans to step away, and then it's your business as well as Bo's. Do I need to call your brother home to talk about this?"

My brother is a good man, but no one really thinks of him as king material. Not that he wouldn't be amazing—Bo is kind and smart and generous—but he's a loner. An introvert, who tries to avoid people as much as possible. I'm sure—and history lover Bo could confirm—that there have been kings and queens both who like the quiet life, but I can't imagine putting Bo in the position of having to step into Dad's shoes.

I'll have a hard enough time with that myself.

I glance down at my hands in my lap. "No. Bo doesn't need to be here for this."

"Does that mean you'll remain in your position in the line of succession?"

I don't know how to answer, because there's so much more to the question than me being king someday in the future. And Dad seems to realize this because he gets up from behind his desk and comes around to lean against the edge .

"When I was your age, I didn't have a clue if I wanted to be king," Dad admits in a casual voice. "Do you remember me telling you this?"

I do, even though it's not something we talk about. Mainly because no one can imagine Laandia without Magnus Erickson as king.

"The band was doing great," he continues like he's telling a story and not retelling the history of the country he reigns over. "I was touring and loving the travel. I might have been prince of Laandia but I couldn't see any reason to come home. I couldn't see a good reason to be king. I liked my life and I didn't want anything to change."

I can understand that.

"My father came to one of our concerts—"

"He came to a concert?" I interrupt. I never met my grandfather, but the portraits suggest he wasn't a man who enjoyed much, let alone live music. Loud live music.

"He came, but he wasn't a fan. But he needed to know what I was going to do."

"What were you going to do?"

The moment stretches on long enough for me to wonder if this is the most important conversation I've ever had with my father.

The pause is so long I have time to study him, notice the dash of silver in his dark blond hair has increased to a liberal sprinkling, that there are new lines around his eyes.

His eyes are still as bright and alive as they've ever been, full of compassion and love without having to say a word.

"Well, I had a pretty good career happening. The band was doing fantastic and—" He paused to lift his gaze to the ceiling with a shake of his head. "The women," he breathed with a sheepish grin. "We would get mobbed at every stop and the girls—"

"I don't need to know that," I cut in.

"This was before I met your mother and became the one-woman man I am today," he's quick to add. "You and your brothers might think you've got game but back then I—"

This time I hold up my hands like it's my only way to stop a bus heading straight for me. "Please. Way too much information."

"Really? You don't want to hear about how your old man once met—"

"Dad. Mom ."

"Was the love of my life," he finishes. "Before that… well, I won't say any more. But just know that at one time, I was living my best life and the thought of giving it all up to come back to pokey little Laandia wasn't on my list of things to do." He heaves a sigh, and I get it—I know exactly what he felt back then because it's how I feel every single day. "But my father came to visit," Dad continues. "We went out for a beer and he told me something. He said a great man doesn't seek to lead. He's called to it. And he answers."

I frown. "You were called to lead?"

"Not for a year or so. I won't get into the details about what was going on, but it was before my father got sick, and my brother was ready to step up and into the mess. Dante was ready and willing and… really wanted to be king. He thought I had hesitated too long, I was too distracted, and he would do a better job at it. He said he was obligated to step up."

"Dante was going to be king? "

"He thought he was," Dad says heavily. "In my opinion, he felt a sense of entitlement to the position. He was the second son, but your grandfather wasn't as liberal as I am. He was insistent that I declare myself. To give up the band and come home. Dante did a lot of whispering in his ear, in everyone's ear. I had a full life, a few successes—"

I don't bother to hide my snort.

"—Dante thought he had a right to take over. I don't know if it was because of that… I know his attitude had something to do with it because the two of us were even more competitive than you lot. Finally, I came to realize that I… I needed to do it. I was born to be king, and I'd do a damn fine job at it. That was me getting the call and me answering. Someday, you'll figure it out too. And if that day comes, and unlike me, your answer is no, you'll still be the only thing I ever wanted you to be."

My frown deepens because his words sound too familiar. "Did you just quote Dune?"

"What?" Dad asks, his face a mask of innocence.

"Dune, the movie. And the book. You just quoted L. Frank Herbert. Or at least the movie."

"It's a good quote," he says sheepishly. "And I changed a few words, so it's not like I lifted the whole thing."

I have to laugh. "Oscar Isaac said it better."

"I beg to differ. Oscar does a lot of things well, but I think I've got him beat when it comes to heart-to-hearts with my kids."

"I guess so," I concur.

"But Kalle—you'll know. There will be a time in your life when you'll know if you're going to step up and be the leader the country will eventually need—not for a long time, cuz I'm not going anywhere any time soon. And you'll know if it's time to step down and let someone else take over."

"And what if I do?" I ask. "Step down and let someone else. Let Bo. Or Gunnar?"

Dad shrugs. He shrugs like it's not the very thing that kept me awake at night for the last week. The last year. My entire life. "They'll deal. Either one of them is very capable of leading. Even your sister, as unbelievable as one would think, after seeing her latest picture on the cover of US Magazine ."

"Oh, god, what did she do?"

"I think it's more about what she was wearing. But whatever you decide, Kalle, you'll always be the only thing I've ever needed you to be." He gives me a toothy grin. "My son."

I groan. "Oscar said it better."

Dad laughs like that was the funniest thing he's ever heard, slapping his thigh and roaring. "But seriously, my boy, there is something you might want to pull forth from the back of your mind."

I give another groan. "That doesn't sound good."

"It could be," he says mildly. "If you do decide this king stuff is going to be up your alley, you're going to want to find a queen before that happens. It'll be a lot easier for you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that as a prince of Laandia, your options for dating are pretty good," Dad explains. "Girlfriends are great, girlfriends don't have a lot of pressure. Wives, on the other hand—especially when your wife will eventually be Queen of Laandia—wives are under a lot of pressure. And there may not be many options if you wait too long. I want you kids to all marry for love—we lucked out with Odin, and it's still early, but Gunny seems to be headed in the right direction." He studies me intently, like he's trying to read what I'm not saying. "It's hard enough to meet a good woman you think you can fall for, but I'm telling you, it's exponentially more difficult when you're already the king." He grins ruefully. "Trust me on this. It worked out for me, but I don't want you to have to go through what I did."

I know the story of my parents—at least I thought I did. "What did you go through? You met Mom, fell in love, and got married."

Dad grimaces. "Yeah, but it wasn't really in that order. I did meet her soon after my father passed away, and I became king, but it wasn't exactly love at first sight like everyone assumes. In fact, I don't think she liked me that much."

"I definitely didn't hear this side of the story."

He waves his hand. "It's too long to go into it now, but ask me again next time you catch me with a couple of pints of mead in my belly. Long story short, I knew I needed someone to do this with me. My father was gone, my brother wasn't speaking to me, and I had Dunc, but I thought a wife would be good. I set to find her, sort of like Odin did."

"But…" It feels like the chair tips as my seismic plates shift and react to this new information. My parents' love story was known to all, and the type of relationship every one of us wants to emulate.

They met. Fell in love. Married, in very short order. Five children and twenty-five years later, we lost her in a tragic accident.

There were no difficulties or challenges Dad is now suggesting they went through.

"I know," he admits. "We kept that part of things quiet because we weren't proud of it. I met your mother six months after I was crowned king. She was working in Ottawa and I knew she'd be the perfect person to help me figure out how to be a king. I proposed that night."

"Just like that?"

"She said no. Three times, actually. I was very persistent. I was also very frightened and your mother—Selene—she made me feel like it was all going to be all right."

"She did that with everything," I say, the ever-present sadness when I think of my mother building the usual lump in my throat.

"She did." We share a smile. It says a lot about my father that he's always acknowledged his grief and worked through it. The family had a therapist for almost a year after we lost her, with group and individual sessions.

I hated the idea of sharing my feelings but it was Edie who convinced me to talk.

"Selene eventually agreed to marry me. Either I wore her down, or she took pity on me… or it might have been the conversation I had with her father. He worked for the governor-general; it was easy for me to convince him I needed his daughter. I'm not proud of that," he admits cheerfully. "But I'm glad it worked because I can't imagine my life without her."

I shake my head. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, it's not the love story you want to broadcast. And it will be broadcast," Dad warns. "Your life will be under a microscope, which, I promise you, you'll get used to, but it's the relationship stuff that is the worst to handle. Keep that in mind."

"What am I supposed to do?" I had come to talk to my father to settle my nerves and get some assurance that I could do the job of running this country, if that's what I wanted .

This conversation has done none of that.

Dad's advice comes with a cheerful grin. "If you've got your mind on someone, go for it sooner rather than later. Stop playing and make it real."

I don't like that advice.