I swallow against the strange knot of anxiety that forms in my throat as I walk up to the gates. The palaces seem to frown down at me as I present my press card at the security checkpoint.
I feel like a fraud just walking through these gates, even though I’m not perpetrating any kind of deceit. A stoic guard waves me inside the gates and instructs me to walk straight ahead to the giant door of the first building on my left.
Tossing my hair back over my shoulder and smoothing my hands down my blazer, I adjust my tote bag on my shoulder.
You can do this, I tell myself.
It takes a couple of minutes and two separate skeptical looking palace servants to gain access to the palace.
I’m led down a large hallway by one of the servants. I can’t help the fact that my eyes bug out a little as we walk; the echoing hallway is made entirely of dark wood, adorned with a demure dark blue carpet runner, and lined with paintings of royalty.
I feel like every painting I pass stares down at me, somberly disapproving. Telling me I don’t belong here. My palms start sweating.
The servant stops by a door, motioning me inside. I’m not expecting to see Stellan; I’ve seen enough royal movies to know that I should be content to wait.
But there he is, extraordinarily tall in a white button up shirt and dark suit pants, standing in a room with crisp white walls. He faces away from me, contemplating a photograph that is hung on the wall. The photograph is a black and white close up of a lion on the hunt in the savannah.
How appropriate for Stellan.
He turns a little when I approach his side. He stares down at me, brooding. The intensity in his ice blue eyes makes me repress a shiver.
Ah, yes… I forgot how compelling he is, here in the flesh.
He smirks a little. “You are a photographer,ja?”
My hand slides to my tote bag, where my camera rests. I raise my chin. “Yes.”
He looks away, back to the photograph on the wall. It’s a little like a spotlight has been taken off of me.
Why do I always feel like he is going to look right through me?
“What do you think?” he asks idly, nodding to the photo.
Frowning, I turn toward the photo in question. Tilting my head, I just stare at in for a second. “It has an interesting composition. The play of light around the lion lends the photo an intensity that I like. And the lion is very close up, and obviously fixated on something the audience can’t see. It draws the audience to look just past the edge of the photograph.”
“So you like it?”
Squinting, I shrug. “Yes. It’s not the most interesting concept to me, but art is very subjective.”
He nods, looking at the photo for another few seconds. Then he turns, pacing a few feet away to stare at the next photograph hung on the wall. I follow him, curious.
“What am I doing here, Stellan?”
He looks at me for a second, his expression telling me nothing. “I was told you were here to do an in-depth article about me. Is that not the case?”
My eyes tighten on his face. “I think you know that the reasons for the article are… well, to be polite, I would say that they are politically motivated.”
One corner of his mouth curls up, making a dimple appear in his cheek. “And if you were not being polite? What would you say then?”
My mouth twists. “That buying my silence and covering your tracks by usingPolitikenis a form of government corruption.”
His eyes pin me right where I stand. “I see. That’s a harsh view of things,ja?As far as I am concerned, it just sort of…” He pauses, then shrugs. “It worked out to benefit both of us. Don’t you think?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “It’s just you and me here, Stellan. You don’t need to lie to me. I’ve already signed your nondisclosure agreement. There is no illusion between the two of us.”
He mirrors my gesture, wrapping his arms across his broad chest with a smirk on his face. “It’s often like that when you are dealing with the aftermath of a royal scandal. Trust me. This isn’t the first one I’ve seen.”
My brow hunches. “That’s it? That’s your answer?”
