“Sir, I really don’t think you should go out there,” Ottar says, pulling back the curtains and peering out my window.

It’s not just that the weather has taken a turn for the worse and it’s absolutely pouring, dark and dreary, like October has decided to strangle the last breath out of summer.

It’s that last night as I was walking back from the pub I was harassed by not only the paparazzi but a few party boys looking to cause trouble with Mad Magnus. It took a lot of restraint not to punch them out, because, believe me, I could have with ease, and it wouldn’t have mattered how big they were. But with the paparazzi on my trail and cameras at the ready, I couldn’t afford to blow it.

So I just took their insults. Apparently I’m an attention whore, I’m not fit to rule, and I’m the laughing stock of the country. You know, the usual things I’ve been hearing these days.

I guess it didn’t help that earlier in the day a press conference had been called at the palace. I had to stand, with my parents flanked on either side of me, before a row of photographers and journalists, including those damn Russian twins, and make a public apology to the prime minister, to his daughter, to my family, and to the Norwegian people.

I don’t even know how I got through it. It was humiliating to say the very least but I guess that was the point of the whole thing. Plus, I did mean what I was saying. I am beyond sorry that all of this happened, not just because it’s brought deep shame to my family, my father especially, but because it’s pretty much ruined my life.

Then, after the press conference and the profuse apologies, I had to head over to the prime minister’s office and apologize to him in person. Thank god his daughter wasn’t there.

Prime Minister Erling Lundström has never liked me. That’s been apparent from his glib comments over the years about my reputation, and the way he kind of sneers at me when we’re face to face, as if I’m the chewed up gum beneath his shoe.

This meeting was no different and there were many times I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face with a cutting remark or two. But, for the sake of everything and everyone, I managed to bite my tongue and behave. I nearly had tears rolling down my face, and I hope he thought it was because of how sorry I was that I humiliated him, not because I was thinking about having to spend the rest of my life married to a stranger.

Which is another reason why I want to go outside and walk around, to let the rain soak me from head to toe as I stroll from pub to pub, hoping to wash all the bullshit off me and get belligerently drunk. It’s been a few days now since Ella and I had apparently gotten engaged and I’m still waiting to hear if this is actually happening or not.

I mean, it’s ridiculous, but what isn’t these days? After Ella had me escort her to her room and proceeded to tell me what happened, I immediately pulled my father aside. Not to get mad at him, though believe me, I was livid. He had absolutely no right to tell her father that I was proposing to her when he knew I was just talking to her and explaining the situation.

He, of course, thought he was helping, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wasn’t and that he’d put Ella in a very uncomfortable situation. I did tell him, though, that she still needs to think about it and will give us her answer soon.

But at the moment, it’s later rather than sooner. Ella and Lady Jane went back to Edinburgh the next morning and I haven’t heard from her since. Not that we exchanged phone numbers or anything, I just assumed she would have contacted my parents in one way or another. Patience isn’t my strong suit, and the longer I go not knowing where my future is heading, the more agitated I get.

Hence the need to leave the confines of this apartment and get smashed on whisky and aquavit.

“I think I should go with you,” Ottar says quietly, shutting the curtains.

“I’ll behave,” I tell him. “You know you don’t have to follow me.”

“I won’t be following you,” he says. “That’s what Einar is for. I’ll go with you. As your friend. You look like you need someone to talk to.”

“Do I?” I ask wryly.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and we both know that stress can have an adverse affect on you, particularly emotional stress. I mean, you are getting married and that’s enough to make a normal man piss his pants, let alone you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “There’s nothing emotional about any of this,” I tell him. Though the fact that he’s even mentioned it has made my heart rate start to pace. The smart thing for me to do would be to go for another run through the park like I did early this morning, or at least hit up the treadmill in my private gym, lift some weights until my muscles shake. Sometimes exercise is the only way I’m able to think clearly at all. It’s a positive place for all this pent-up energy and frustration to go.

“Are you sure you won’t stay in? You have all the booze in the world to get yourself bludgeoned. I think this is just going to cause trouble. I’m not sure if the public quite believes your apology or not.”

“Well, that’s on them,” I tell him, throwing on my coat and a newsboy cap. “I did the best I could and if they choose not to me believe me, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Just…” He trails off and sighs. “Be careful, sir.”

“I always am,” I tell him and step out the door. I pass Einar in the hallway and wave my arm, gesturing for him to follow me. “Come on, Einar, old friend, let’s have another night on the town.”

“Sir,” Einar says but he doesn’t follow it up with anything else. Once I get my heart set on something it’s hard to talk me out of it.

I head down the tunnel and pop out of a door on a quiet back street, then I walk along until I get to one of my favorite drinking spots, Harold’s.

Harold is the owner of Harold’s (not just a clever name), and also the bartender and the doorman and everything else in between. He’s about seventy years old with a hunchback and a glass eye and tufts of grey hair coming out of his ears that makes it look like he’s smuggling a Husky inside his head.

His place is dark, with a fine layer of dust covering the top shelf bottles that he can’t reach. It’s also about the size of my kitchen with just two booths and five seats at the long, stained copper bar. Tiny wood-framed paintings of whales adorn the green walls, which remind me of Ella. I wonder if she’d like this place, I wonder if she likes going out to bars at all. At first glance she strikes me as too goody two-shoes for that and though she said she drank too much at dinner, she only had two glasses.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her though. That’s why I’ve come to the bar to begin with. That and it’s one of the safer places for me to go. Sure, I’m not going to meet any single ladies when I’m here, but Harold won’t let any paparazzi inside, there’s a no camera or cell phone use rule, and I’ve gotten to know the regulars pretty well.

They don’t give a rat’s ass about me.

There’s Maud, who used to be a film actress in ye olden days whose biggest claim to fame is that she stole Ingrid Bergman’s husband after Ingrid dumped him for Roberto Rossellini. She’s got lavender hair, always wears red lipstick, and talks about classic actors as if they were best friends and is never shy with giving you drunken thoughts about love.

There’s Guillermo, who moved to Oslo from Spain who knows when, and doesn’t know a lick of Norwegian. The more he drinks, the more Spanish he speaks, and from what I gather he used to be a monk. I can’t tell how old he is or if he’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t really matter. But he never speaks above a whisper.

Then there’s Erik. Tall, skinny, and pale as snow, I call him Slender Man. Doesn’t help that he’s always wearing the same black suit and his features are decidedly flat, his mannerisms subtle, his voice monotonous. Truth is, Slender Man got laid off a year ago and is going through a terrible divorce, so when he does speak, you can bet it will take the wind out of your sails.

“Prince,” Harold greets me as I step inside, the bell ringing above my head. He doesn’t call me Prince Magnus, just Prince. Like the singer. Can’t say I mind.

Einar follows me in and gets a head nod from Harold. Usually he’s stationed outside or he finds a space at the end of the bar where he nurses a cup of instant coffee that Harold whips up for him, pretending he doesn’t know me.

Today only Maud and Guillermo are at the bar, sitting side by side.

“Where’s Slender Man?” I ask as I sit down next to Maud. Einar takes a spot at a booth, trying to blend in with the wall.

She barely looks at me. “Why do you call him that?” she asks in her hoarse voice, her long, crookedly glued-on nails tapping against her glass. “Slender Man.”

“Nothing you’d understand,” I tell her. I raise my finger at Harold. “Scotch, please, and keep them coming.”

“Won’t understand because I’m too old? I’m only too old now. I used to be young.”

“Just go back to your drinking, Maud,” I tell her as Harold hands me my drink. “I’m afraid Slender Man is too classless for you.”

She laughs and starts coughing. Though I’ve never seen her smoke I always get the feeling that she started as a baby and quit only yesterday. “Sometimes I have to remind myself of who you are,” she says when she recovers.

“I saw the press conference on the news,” Harold says, putting on the kettle for Einar’s coffee. “I can see why you need a drink.”

“Like he ever needs an excuse,” Maud says, and Guillermo giggles softly beside her.

“Hey, I come to this bar for your support,” I protest, finishing the rest of my scotch, savoring the delicious burn in my throat.

“You come here because we hassle you,” Harold says. “That’s what every good ruler needs, to be hassled from time to time by the people who care about you.”

“That’s what my parents are for,” I grumble.

“I remember when Ingrid left Petter for Roberto,” Maud says, waving her hands around. “What a scandal that was. She was thrown out of Hollywood for that affair. She didn’t work in the US for decades. All because she chose the love of Roberto over Petter. Now that was a scandal, but it was a scandal for love. You, Magnus, your scandal only cheapens you.”

Ouch. I clear my throat and slide my empty glass toward Harold. “I’m aware of that.” I take in a deep breath, knowing this is probably the right time to tell them about my news. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve met a wonderful woman and we’re getting married.”

They all stop and stare at me. I can even feel Einar’s eyes burning into the back of my head, and I have to wonder if he knows exactly what’s going on.

But even though things aren’t settled with Ella yet, the fact is I’m going to have to get married to someone and I might as well start telling people now if it’s going to seem believable at all.

“Married?” Harold repeats. “To the prime minister’s daughter?”

“Oh hell no,” I tell him, wincing. “Not her. A lovely blue-blooded woman that I think you’d all approve of.”

“What’s her name?” Maud asks. “Where is she from? Is she Norwegian?”

Shit. It’s harder than I thought it would be to be vague about this. I can’t exactly say Ella if it doesn’t end up being her.

“I can’t say too much,” I tell her with a wink. “You understand. I shouldn’t be talking about it at all with you, but I trust you guys.”

“Well, then,” Maud says, sounding impressed. “Harold, I think this calls for a toast. On the house, right? Our drunken prince here has fallen in love.” She gives me a rarely used smile, showing off a row of fake teeth. “I am so proud of you. You need any advice on marriage and you come to me. I’m an expert.”

“Because you’ve been married four times,” Harold says derisively, but he decides to grab a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “Though I do think this is worth making a toast about. Here’s our prince, overcoming his adversity by doing something completely adverse.”

“Out of flames and into the frying pan,” Guillermo whispers in broken English.

I laugh. If only they knew the half of it.

So Harold fixes us all a glass of celebratory champagne, plus the coffee for Einar, and we all say cheers to this sad, sorry state of affairs.

I spend a couple of hours at the bar and manage to behave myself, drinking a little less than I had planned. Just enough to calm my mind and give my brain a break from the constant flurry of thoughts.

I walk back to my apartment with Einar half a block behind me, and I’m almost at the secret entrance when someone steps out of the bushes.

Instinctively I raise my fist, ready to fight, but thankfully the alcohol has slowed my reaction time because it’s not a photographer or assailant at all but Heidi Lundström, the prime minister’s daughter.

“Sorry!” she cries out softly, throwing her hands out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t be leaping out of people’s bushes.” I glance over my shoulder to see Einar trotting up to me but give him a slight shake of my head to let him know it’s okay.

He backs off and I turn my attention back to Heidi. She’s not wearing a coat, just jeans and a very low-cut sweater that shows off her ample cleavage. Her face is done up with more makeup than I’ve ever seen on her, her red hair styled in waves around her face.

She’s more hot than pretty and just the right amount of inhibited and crazy in bed. But my instincts have never steered me wrong, and I have a feeling she’s just as crazy outside the bedroom. Hence the fact that she seems to have been stalking me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, giving her a tight smile before I look around to make sure no one is coming up the street. Wouldn’t that be the million-dollar picture.

“I know,” she says quickly, taking a step toward me and grabbing my arm. Her breath smells like peach schnapps. “I wasn’t sure how else to reach you.”

“You used to text me,” I remind her, not sure that I like her holding on to me.

“You haven’t responded to my texts,” she says, a hint of sharpness to her tone.

She’s right. She has texted me a lot over the last week and I’ve seen them and ignored them. I’m not the best at texting people back in general, but I was making sure I wasn’t touching Heidi again with a ten-foot pole.

And yet here she is, in the dark of night, hanging on to my arm outside the entrance to my apartment. I hadn’t even shown her where I lived—we always went to her place to screw—but somehow she found it.

“I don’t think it’s wise we text each other,” I tell her, taking a step back so that her hand falls away, “let alone see each other.”

“But I need to talk to you,” she pleads, her face crumpling.

I don’t handle crying chicks very well. They’re my kryptonite. But I straighten my back and resolve to stay strong, no matter what she does. It was her crying when I broke up with her that led us into this whole mess. “So talk. And make it quick.”

She frowns at that. “That was kind of rude.”

“Well, you did just ninja jump out of the bushes at me when I was about to go home, aaaaaaaand it was your idea to film a sex tape and it was your phone that somehow got hacked into, so yeah, sorry if I seem a bit rude but I’ve had a hell of a week.”

Her eyes get all wide and twitchy. “You think this is my fault? You don’t believe me? My phone was hacked, Magnus. It wasn’t just that sex tape. There were a ton of naked photos of me on there that got shown to the public.”

“You have a great body, so what do you care?” I tell her, looking over my shoulder and nodding at Einar. Not for him to do anything, just for him to kind of stand-by in case she becomes a stage-five clinger.

“You really think I have a great body?”

I look back at her, frowning. “What? Yeah. Sure. Look, Heidi, what we had was fun until it really fucking wasn’t. Now it’s time for us to part ways and never speak again. For real.”

“You’re such an asshole,” she sneers. “I could ruin your life, you know.”

I tilt my eyes skyward. “Right. What else could you possibly do?”

“First of all,” she says, shoving her finger into my chest. At that I know Einar is making his way over, because it’s pretty much against the law for anyone to touch me in a threatening manner. “I didn’t do anything. I was hacked. Okay? Second of all, you are an asshole. Everyone knows it. Third of all, you’re going to die alone.”

I tilt my head at her. “You know, telling the Prince of your country that he’s going to die, whether alone or not, can be seen as a threat. If I really was an asshole, I could lock your sorry ass up right now.”

“Oh really?” she says, withdrawing her finger and crossing her arms. “I’m sure that will fly when my father runs this country. You’re from a monarchy that has no power. Sure, everyone loves you and you get all the prestige and attention and the validation, but my father is the one who runs this place.”

Validation? That was an odd choice of words. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” she says and then grabs her head, starts tugging at her hair. “No. Magnus. We had something. Don’t let what happened ruin that. It’s been hard but no one understands me the way you do and no one understands you the way I do.” Her arms drop and she steps toward me, her eyes glistening, looking hopeful. “Being in the public eye, being judged. Feeling like people don’t see the real you. I get that. I live that. You shouldn’t give up so easily.”

Oh boy. There’s only one way out of this.

“I’m not giving up easily,” I tell her, just as Einar joins my side. “I’ve met someone else.”

She blinks at me for a moment before it hits her. I can tell she wants to explode, but Einar tenses up and her eyes go to him and she knows she has to hold it together. She hisses, “You what?”

I nod. “I’ve met someone else. Fallen in love. She’s swept me right off my damn feet.”

“You’re a liar,” she says. “You’re a liar and an asshole.”

I shrug. “You’ll find out soon enough,” I tell her. “When we get married and it’s all over the news.”

Then I step back out of the way while Einar steps between us, his hands out, ready to move her. “You have to go, ma’am,” he says gruffly.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, shuffling backward and turning away from Einar’s reach. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you know who I am?”

Einar just stands there, arms crossed, and I’m more than grateful for his formidable silent type persona right now because it hints at how lethal the man can be. I mean, I’ve never seen it myself, but my father has told me stories and he certainly plays the part.

At any rate, Heidi takes heed. She turns and walks away, swaying slightly, until she disappears around the corner. I feel a twang of pity for her. I know from the few dates we went on that she’s a little lost, neglected by her father, obsessed with notoriety and attention. But my pity doesn’t stretch that far. I’m still not convinced it wasn’t her that leaked the sex tape to the press.

Satisfied that Heidi won’t be returning, Einar turns around and gives me a nod.

“Back in Tromso, we had a name for women like her,” he says gravely. “A barnacle.”

I laugh and slap Einar on the back. “If you say she’s a barnacle, she’s a barnacle.”

“What would you call her?” he asks.

I think for a moment. “Psycho hose beast.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of that one,” he says. “But I must say it fits.”

* * *

The next morning I’m woken up with a call from my mother.

“She’s coming today. I need you here in thirty minutes,” she says.

I rub the heel of my palm between my eyes and groan. “What are you talking about? Who? What time is it?”

“The time? It’s time for you to grow up,” she says sharply. “Why on earth are you sleeping until ten o’clock? Half the morning is gone already.”

I sigh and roll over, trying to wake up. I don’t think I slept very well. Running into Heidi right before I went to bed was bad timing.

“Who is coming?” I repeat.

“Princess Isabella of Liechtenstein.”

“Okay, first of all you don’t have to say her full name every time. And second of all…what?”

My mother gives an overblown sigh I can practically feel whistle through my ear. “She’s coming over. She and her lady.”

“To Norway? So she said yes?”

My heart is already racing. The fear is real.

“Not exactly,” she says after a pause. “She said she has a lot to discuss with us. Negotiations. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I’m not sure you made the best impression on her so you better not screw it up this time. If you don’t win her over, I don’t think she’s coming back.”

My mother is right. I know I didn’t leave a good impression on Ella and I don’t know why I was so surprised that she didn’t want anything thing to do with marrying me when she normally would never give me the time of day.

But winning her over sounds like a rather tall order.

Doesn’t mean I won’t try.

“Okay,” I tell her, swinging my legs out of bed. “I’ll come right over.”

“Oh, and Magnus. Do shave. And do something with your hair. This isn’t the medieval ages and you’re not a Viking.”

I grumble something and hang up. I’m not sure if this outing calls for a suit again but because I’m expected to make a better second impression, I pull out a black suit anyway, no tie (lest my mother be outraged). But I don’t touch my hair. I run an electric razor over my beard and raze it down to stubble, but I refuse to be clean shaven.

That will have to do.

Soon, Einar is pulling in through the palace gates and Ottar is trying to rein in his curiosity. I told him he should come since negotiations sometime involve paperwork, and paperwork is my nemesis. I think he’s just overjoyed to be involved in this thing anyway he can be.

Ella won’t arrive for another hour, or so my mother says, so that gives us time to gather in the sitting room and fret.

Actually, I’m not the one fretting. My father is upstairs taking a nap, though I’m assured he’ll be down later. Mari is at school, so it’s just my mother, Tor, and her lawyer, Sigurd, and of course me and Ottar.

My mother is pacing back and forth, dressed to the nines in a bright fuchsia silk pantsuit, and I can see where I at least get some of my fidgeting tendencies from.

“Princess Isabella might try to play hardball with us,” she says.

“I would assume so,” I tell her, watching her go back and forth. “There isn’t much for her to gain here.”

She stops pacing and faces me, shock pulling back her face. “Are you serious, Magnus? Nothing to gain? She would become a princess and eventually a queen. The queen. She’ll take my place.”

“She’s already a princess,” I remind her.

“But she’ll never be a queen of her country, even if she didn’t have her brothers. That’s not how it works in their country. No woman will ever inherit the throne. It’s their law. Isabella will never be able to move past her title, and it’s one without many privileges.”

“I really don’t think she has any interest in being queen.”

“How would you know? You barely spoke to her.”

“Well, according to father, I spoke to her long enough to propose to her. You know, I wasn’t going to say this to him because he’s under enough stress as it is, but he really fucked things up there.”

“You watch your mouth,” my mother says, shaking a finger in my face, her eyes sharp as daggers. “For heaven’s sake. And by the way, you’re the one who fucked up.”

Sigurd inhales sharply and my mother spears him with her gaze. “What? It’s my house. I’m allowed to swear. I’m the goddamn queen!”

“Look,” I say slowly, trying to prevent her from having an aneurysm. “My point is, it put Ella in a tough spot. She had to lie to her father.”

“That’s on her,” my mother says dismissively. “If she wasn’t open to the idea at all, she wouldn’t have lied and she wouldn’t be arriving here at any moment to discuss this.”

“She might be. She strikes me as a person with honor and morals, and maybe she thinks flying here and letting us down face-to-face is the right way to do things,” I tell her. “And that whole moral thing is also why I think she won’t go for it. Hey, I’m stuck. This is my bed and it’s full of shit and I’m lying in it. But I’m pretty sure she’s the type who imagined when she one day got married it would be to someone she loved.”

“She could learn to love you,” my mother says softly, almost embarrassed.

I’m certainly embarrassed. I wince. “I doubt that. But my point stands. She has no reason to say yes, not that I know of.”

“Well, you don’t know her at all. None of us do.” She gestures around the room. She then sits down on the couch and has a sip of her coffee which is probably cold by now. She sits back and studies me. “And so say she says no. Then what? Are you going to be disappointed?”

I lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

I hate to say it, but in a way I think I would be. Because if it’s not her it will be someone else and I think I rather like Ella. At least I’m still intrigued by her, not to mention attracted to her. There’s something about her demeanor, the way she looks so classy and quiet, but I’ve seen the fire inside her already and I’d love to see what she looks like, completely disheveled with that fire unleashed.

Who knows if I’ll even have the chance.

And if I did, who knows if she would let me.

“Your Majesty.” My father’s butler appears at the door. “She’s here.”

My mother gets to her feet and looks at me.

Show time.