James stares me down accusingly. “You didn’t text me back.”
“When?” I frown. “I literally just shut my phone off if you messaged in the last, I don’t know, five seconds. I didn’t get any other texts from you.”
“What on earth are you two doing?” James looks exasperated, from me to Ethan and back again, before taking stock of the laptops and a stack of financial statements.
“Work.” I gesture at the table. “You may have heard of it. Accounts, specifically.”
James turns back to me, frowning. “Theo, please don’t tell me you haven’t heard the news and instead have been staring at spreadsheets.”
“What news?” I ask, exchanging a glance with Ethan, who looks increasingly alarmed. Which, incidentally, is contagious. I grit my teeth.
“Good grief, boys.” James shakes his head, with a fatalistic air about him as he gives me something like a pitying look. “Why, your sister’s announced she’s abdicating the throne. Which means congratulations are in order—you’re the new Danish King.”
We stare at James.
Light-headed, I sit down hard on my stool at the table before my legs give out. Ethan puts a steadying hand on my shoulder.
“Are you quite sure she abdicated?” My mouth has gone completely dry.
“It’s either her or her doppelgänger giving a statement from your royal palace.” James shrugs. “Well, it’s a speech about her intent to abdicate.”
“It’s not my palace—” I say out of instinct.
“Actually, Theo, it is now.” James pauses. “And a whole kingdom too.”
We stare at each other.
“Why didn’t she call me?” I rub my eyes. Of all the ways I expected the news to come about Freja’s abdication, I figured I would have heard from her directly. Not finding out via James.
I full well know why she didn’t call me today.
She’s been leaving messages the last two weeks, and obviously, she had it with me not responding and moved on with her plans. After all, she did give fair warning. As did Mamma. Feeling nauseous, I grip the edge of the table and force down a deep breath. And another. It’s no good. Instead, I push my laptop aside, fold my arms on the table, and bury my face in them.
Ethan pats my shoulder. He can’t quite bring himself to speak.
“C’mon, now.” James’ footsteps click across the concrete floor towards me. Then he stops nearby. “Do you want me to call Eddie?”
“No.” My voice is muffled. I don’t move.
“Why not?” The frown in his voice comes through clearly.
“Because I ended things with him.”
“Theodor.”
“Irreconcilable differences.”
“You didn’t,” James says, aghast.
Ethan coughs. He shuffles beside me. “I’m… going to put the kettle on.”
With reluctance, I at last lift my head from the table and straighten. Too soon. The world spins, and I go back to holding on to the table.
“At least you have nibbles,” James observes, picking up a strudel with its fine dusting of icing sugar, and takes a large bite. “King Theodor has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Oh God, I’m gonna die,” I groan. A shiver ripples down my spine. “Maybe this isn’t real.”
James shakes his head. “Check your socials. The news. Anything.”
