25. Jensen

CHAPTER 25

JENSEN

ONE MONTH LATER

I ’ve only just laid down on my bed when there’s a knock on my door.

“What is it?” I groan.

I’ve literally just got back from a trip to Canada, and I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years. No such luck for me, though.

One of the servants opens the door, dipping his head in reverence or possibly embarrassment to be bothering me. “Your Highness,” he mumbles. “May I enter?”

It’s Kristian, one of the newer boys. He’s shy and a bit unsure, but very friendly.

He inches forward a fraction so he can just about be considered in the room, then announces, “I have a message from the king and queen, sir. They’ve requested your presence in the drawing room.”

“Oh,” I grimace. This can’t be good. “What have I done now?”

“I’m afraid it’s not for me to tell, sir.” Kristian stares at the floor so hard I worry his eyeballs will pop out.

I grin at him, hoping it’ll make him relax. “I’m kidding. It’s not your fault, whatever it is. It’s probably mine. It usually is.”

He smiles thinly, clearly not quite knowing what to say next. I wonder if he’s deciding if he should join in with the joking around, or if that would be considered unprofessional and only get him into trouble.

I decide to put him out of his misery. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute, please.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Kristian closes the door quietly, and I hear his soft footsteps retreating down the hall. The drawing room. That means it’ll probably take him two, maybe two and a half minutes to get back down there, which gives me a couple of minutes’ respite before I have to go down there myself and face them.

I pull a pillow over my face and let out a growl of frustration. Why can this not be enough for them? I’ve been trying my hardest for months now.

When will I be good enough?

With a grunt, I get up, throw on a hoodie, and head downstairs, holding my head high while also taking the tiniest steps known to man.

This is so typical of them, summoning me to a telling-off the second I get home. Couldn’t they at least have waited until I’d had a sleep first? Don’t they realize I’m less likely to be in a bad mood that way?

It’s not even like I’ve done anything wrong this time, though. About the only thing I’ve been doing lately is touring the northernmost points of the world with various scientists and taking videos to drum up support.

I guess that’s the problem right there. All I do is take videos and post about it. If I were better, I’d actually get involved. I’d have a degree.

I’d be perfect, just like my brother.

When I reach the door, I waver, my hand hovering next to the ornate wood paneling. I take a deep breath, clench my fists to steady myself, then push open the door.

The first thing I notice is that they’re smiling. It’s weird. They’re smiling and they don’t even stop when I come into the room. I’ve seen them smile before, obviously; they do it all the time. They more or less have to.

But this is the exact kind of look that they give Erik after he’s done anything at all. This isn’t the kind of look like give me, not ever. Not even when the media are around and we have to play happy families.

Something suspicious is going on here.

“What’s up?” I ask as I approach, my heart pounding as I wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Jensen,” says my mother. “Come here, darling.”

Okay, this is beyond weird. Am I getting told off here or not? Has someone died? Am I dying?

She gestures for me to sit at the table with them, and slowly I lower myself into my favorite chair, the one with the chipped leg and embroidered elephants on the upholstery.

“Jensen,” echoes my father, and I tense, preparing for the worst. “How was your trip?”

“It was good, thank you. Great, actually. We saw some more seals, which was good. The scientists were very excited because they’re experts in Arctic mammal habitats, but personally, I think I prefer birds. All the same, it’s so interesting getting to go with them and hearing what they’ve got to say about everything. I’m learning so much, and I’m having a great time doing it.”

Both my parents nod as if they’re really, actually listening for a change, and I keep going, an avalanche of words streaming from my mouth.

I tell them about the day we saw the polar bears, the hundreds of different bird species I’ve seen now on my travels, how the polar ice caps are an incredible part of the world and how drastically our world is going to change as they get smaller. I tell them how excited I am to have been invited to go again.

I tell them how I wish I could do more, but also how doing anything at all feels great. I am making a difference, even if it’s small.

“That’s wonderful,” says my mother, smiling like that is what she genuinely thinks.

“I— It is?” I say, blinking in surprise.

She nods, her lips twitching in amusement. It’s a tiny expression, but I’ve learned every face she has ever made over the years, and that one is definitely for real. “Yes, Jensen. It is wonderful. We have been waiting for such a long time for you to come into yourself — your father was starting to worry that you would be a troublemaker for the rest of your life.”

My father chuckles at that. “I’m glad not to have been right for a change.”

I squeeze my lips together to stop myself from smiling. This is not how I was expecting this day to go.

“We’re glad you finally found something to do,” says my mother.

“I don— I guess I— Um… thank you,” I stammer, my brain short-circuiting.

“We really mean it, Jensen,” says my father. “We’re proud of you.”

My mouth opens and closes at least four times.

For so long, those were the exact words I wanted to hear from them. All these years, I’ve been chasing this high, the one that comes from being recognized for who I want to be, the potential I have to mean something.

But to hear them actually say it, out loud… I can hardly believe it.

“You’re proud,” I say slowly, waiting for the catch, the but at the end of the sentence.

But there isn’t one.

My father gets to his feet and places his hand on my shoulder. “Yes, Jensen. We are. You’ve been doing excellent work these past months, and you’re living up to the family name at last. You should be proud of yourself. And, you know, we’ve never wanted you not to have fun.”

“Really?”

Out of everything they’ve said, this is the hardest thing to swallow.

“Despite what you might think,” says my mother, raising an eyebrow, “we never wanted to be harsh. But you haven’t exactly made it easy for us.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at my feet. “But I get it now. This is way more fun.”

They both smile again, and I smile back.

That night, over dinner, I tell them some more stories about my travels, and there’s this rush of something that goes through me the whole time — I don’t know if it’s relief or joy or what, but for the first time maybe ever , I actually enjoy spending time with them. It’s good to talk.

For a second, I contemplate asking them whether they would change their minds about me dating a commoner, but I don’t.

After all, my life is blooming into something amazing now. But Billie is gone, and nothing I can do will bring her back.