Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 4

Four

WINTER

“ W hat’s on the itinerary today?” Annie asks.

“You know what,” I say around a piece of toast spread frugally with marmalade, exactly the way I like it. Not too sweet.

Various boxes of Christmas decorations are littered around the main kitchen of Vikingstrong. Annie’s on a stepladder wearing reindeer antlers, and I’m trying not to hold my breath while gauging our distance.

If she goes down, how quickly can I get to her while navigating the millions of boxes under our feet?

“Remind me?” she teases, verbally poking at me.

“Hmm,” I rub my chin and play along. “Not sure I recall the details.”

Participating in a reality show is the furthest thing from my idea of fun, but in addition to buying myself some time before dear old Dad puts his foot down and demands I return home, I’m going to give Cat Bloomfield the shock of her life.

When I requested Brand Hub PR be my representation for the show, I never expected them to say yes. It was a farce, a revenge fantasy. I even requested PA services. It never occurred to me my parents would accept my terms, Anker would skulk back to Denmark where he belongs, and I’d be meeting Cat and her boss face to face in mere hours.

Annie loops a garland around her shoulder, teetering on the ladder. “How are we feeling about becoming an American heartthrob—is what I meant to ask.”

Ah, hell. Now she’s making me nervous.

“I’ve been in bigger spotlights than this. Talked to Elias last night and he’s a fan of the idea. Like you, he thinks it might be good for me. But what does that kid know, right?”

“He’s your cousin, only a few years your junior, and second in line for the crown. He might know something about the life you’re living.”

“You need help with that?” I gesture to her as she stretches for a hook I know is in the rafters somewhere, because I put it there years ago for her garlands, and lights, and bows.

“You still have a choice in the matter, and no, I don’t need help, thank you very much. I’ve been decking these halls since you were gangly and running around here like a lake rat with your pack of hooligan friends.”

“We were a bunch of hooligans weren’t we?”

“Of the best sort.”

“But you’re wrong about my having a choice,” I toss back.

“Oh, you have a choice here. You chose to make this about that girl, Fran’s sister. You could walk away, my dear.”

“From the crown?” I ask, knowing this is what she means but wondering why it feels more like she’s telling me to walk away from Cat. But I have nothing to do with Cat, nothing to walk away from. And after I make her job a nightmare until she either quits or I fire her, we’ll be nothing to each other again.

We’re nothing to each other now.

Except enemies.

I could walk away from the crown, abdication is a thing, but then what would I be? All grown up. A guy in a big house. My identity is tied up in Denmark even though I want nothing to do with my family.

Instead I say, “What about the people? They deserve a leader. And after Dad’s reign, I’d truly like to turn things around in parliament. Give a different view and guidance, still strong, but a different brand of strength than they’ve had these past few decades with him.”

“You owe them nothing, that’s all I’m saying.”

“But how can you say that? You love our little fishing village in Skagen, Marselisborg Palace with your favorite gardens in the spring, the cups of tea and the fairytales, it’s who we are.”

“Oh dear.” Her eyes turn misty, and she gently lays a shiny blue ornament back in a box.

“What?” I look at her, perplexed. “Do you need more lights?”

She’s wrapped them around the garlands swathed through the house; why I thought the kitchen would be spared is beyond me.

I guess I’m not as excited for the season this year because I know it’s not going to be filled with reading by the fire, mugs of hot tea, Annie and I chatting on walks around the lake, or riding horses in still mornings across fresh snow.

“No, dear, I don’t need more lights, but I do miss home.”

“Will you stop with the dears , Annie?” My voice cracks, the pressure getting to me and constricting my throat. I’m at a loss here. I want it all and none of it at the same time. I want my crown and my people to be happy and prosperous. I just wish that had nothing to do with me leading a country. With photo ops, sound bites, and press tours. I’m not cutout for it. Never was. “I’m sorry,” I add. Even though my words had zero bite to them, they were still out of line. She’s trying to help.

She steps off the ladder and comes to stand beside me, her hair so platinum it’s nearly white and in the same cheery bob she’s styled since I was crawling across hand-knotted royal carpets back in Denmark. “I’m on your side. I only want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy.” We both know it’s a bald-faced lie. I pull it off most of the time with the guys, but Annie sees right through me.

“You could be.” She gives my back a few supportive pats, not overly affectionate, but there nonetheless. “Cup of tea?” And there it is. The real way a Scandinavian woman, or at least this one, shows love, with something warm in the belly.

“I’d love some. Thanks.”

My arms are still sore from my workout the next day as I grasp the reins, taking Daylight up to a trot by squeezing my thighs and pushing my heels into her sides. She knows what I want, and I post in the sleek English saddle while we take in the winding mountain road.

This time of year, when things are a little more quiet and calm, is my favorite.

“Hey there Mr. Troutwine,” I yell across a dirt path riddled with orange and red leaves, some with hot pink centers.

Fall swept through the lake towns of Clover and Novel like a hungry teen at a Thanksgiving table. For years, the guys and I crashed Thanksgiving at Ben Holiday’s house, the only buddy with a big family who cooked, and believe me, I’ve seen teen boys inhale turkey. Mrs. Holiday’s stuffing is pure American goodness and my stomach rumbles thinking about it. I’m looking forward to sitting at that table in a few weeks, hopefully without a camera crew in tow.

The skiers who know about our cozy lake towns with the mountain only minutes away flock here every holiday season, especially for Christmas. In the distance, they’re already cutting down the tops of snowcapped mountains which are sure to see fresh powder soon instead of the manmade snow the Lodge makes for pre-season. The lifts from Little Star Lodge will be packed with down coats, ski bunnies, and shredding boarders soon.

Mr. Troutwine tips his beanie, “Winter. What brings you to Garland?” The mayor of Clover grouches.

“Just a ride up to the lodge, you know my heart is still in Clover.” Eh, I’ll win him over sooner or later. He isn’t a huge Larsen fan—something about the Danes and our cozy hygge culture puts him off, though how anyone can hate what it stands for bewilders me.

Still, it makes me itch when people don’t like me.

Up at the lodge, I dismount and tie Daylight’s reins to a post they keep for mountain riders and waltz through the automatic doors, careful to kick the mud off my riding boots because manners count. I saunter up to the desk and ring a little brass bell.

“Winter, you’re here!” Darcy, longtime manager of Little Star Lodge, greets me cheerily.

Leaning easily against the counter and watching her fiddle with desk accessories, I say, “Lead me to the slaughter.”

“Shoot. Your mom and dad aren’t that bad.”

Aren’t that bad? Mom and Dad?

I push my hair back from my face, making sure it’s smooth after the ride, and level with her. “Hate to tell you this, but they’re only nice to you because you always hold the good room for them when they’re in town.”

Brutal but true. But Darcy doesn’t buy it, she’s one of those optimists I keep hearing about, people who obsessively see the cup half-full. I don’t trust them.

“Follow me, they’re in The Elk Room with production. I can’t believe they’re filming a Christmas-themed dating show at the lodge. ”

Time to play the game, I put on my poker face, of which I have many. This one says, I’ve changed my ways and I’m here to make all your Prince Charming dreams come true, dear family.

The door swings wide and I’m introduced to a bunch of suits in a room. My father stands, grasps my hand and pats my shoulder, turning for Anker to snap a photo then scurry out of the room.

“Freddy, I thought we had a deal?” I glare.

He waves me off with a grimace. “He’s getting on a plane now—had to have something for when this hits the media.”

My mom appears at my side and grasps my elbow. “The country needs to see this as much as they need to see you acting like an adult and finding a wife to settle down with.”

“Will that make you happy, Mom?” I ask through my smile, still glad-handing my dad while he keeps his grip firm. Streamflix reps watch out of the corner of their eyes.

She startles. “Yes, it will make me immensely happy to see my only son settled in life.”

“You’ve bought yourself some time,” my father grates, “In exchange for returning with a wife.”

“Which equals stability in your mind.”

“It’s a step in the right direction. Maybe some real responsibility will force you to find some pride and do your duty. Be a man, Winter. Stop acting like a sniveling child.”

I stand tall, push my shoulders back, and pretend his words mean nothing.