“We were working on the lost city of Rhypes. Before the Romans sacked it. We’ve found tombs with grave goods and Corinthian columns and statues too.”
“Wow. That’s really cool.”
“Yeah. It is.” Stef flashes a sudden smile at me, and I want to kiss him right then.
His fingers brush mine.
I lean in, brushing his warm lips with my own. I shiver as our kisses deepen. Before long, we’re stumbling back inside again, picking up where we left off earlier, now damp from the pool. We fumble with clothes till they fall to the floor, and we tumble onto the bed, laughing. We’re greedy for each other, until Stef eventually collapses against my chest, his head on my shoulder. I hold him close, breathing in the scent of his hair.
We fall asleep, entangled. Then, everything turns strange with long shadows, and everything’s going wrong again. Papa’s died, and Freja tells me in the next breath I’m the new King, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m headed straight to the coronation from my father’s funeral. I don’t even have time to change or breathe, and I get the security briefing in the car on how to handle the public presentation of me as the new Danish King. It’s a direct beeline from Father’s grave to the palace. I have soil from his burial on my hands and under my nails. At the palace, en route to the balcony for my public address, my speechwriter hands me the written speech I’m meant to give, something I’ve never read before. It’s written in Danish, but it could be ancient Greek for all I know. The words swim on the page, incomprehensible.
And then, I open the double doors wide and walk out onto the balcony to give my speech as the new King. Except my voice is gone. And outside, it’s people as far as I can see, gathered for my address. It’s a deathly silent crowd.
Gasping, I can’t breathe.
The next thing I know, when I’ve got some awareness, is that I’ve screamed myself awake, terrified. And I have a distant feeling it was a scream loud enough to wake the dead.
Stef’s shaking my shoulder, trying to get me to wake up. I stare up at Stef. His eyes are huge. His lips are moving. I don’t hear him amid my shouting, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, reality and nightmares.
“I’m not ready—I can’t do this—” I cry out in Danish, gasping, raw. In my dream, I beg my father not to die. To not leave us. To tell Freja she must be Queen. That I’m not cut out to become the new King. But in my dream, Papa tells me I must. And he walks away as I call after him.
Stef shakes me harder, leaning over me. “Theo! Please!”
“I don’t know how?—”
“Theo!” Stef yells. “Wake up!”
Which is when Mads bursts in with another guard, and they pounce on Stef as if he’s murdering me for real. Mads rips Stef from me and pins him immediately against the mattress. The other guard takes over holding him down. With Stef secured, Mads turns to me. He glowers down, his gaze piercing, but concern flickers across his strong features.
As Mads grabs me to sit up, I come back to my senses. His fingers dig into my biceps, and I feel acutely embarrassed to have woken up like this. Again. Mads doesn’t get paid enough for my night terrors, of that much I’m certain.
“Theodor,” he says, his tone crisp.
And now I’m truly awake, gasping, adrenaline ricocheting through my body.
“Mads! It’s fine,” I cry out thickly, reaching for Stef. “Please.”
Mads nods at the other guard, who releases Stef at last. It all feels like an eternity or three, but it’s only been a few seconds. Maybe a minute, at most. Mads says something into his watch, presumably to the rest of my security detail in the perimeter of the property.
Stef shifts, brushing the guards off as if he hadn’t just been manhandled. He sits up in bed too, touching my arm. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
Mads hovers, studying me closely. “Theo.” Slightly less gruff this time.
“I just—it was another bad dream,” I admit, my face burning. “I’m so sorry.”
Stef strokes my cheek. My face is damp with tears.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell them both. “Honestly.”
“I’ll put the kettle on for you in case you want tea,” Mads tells me, not unkindly, though he still frowns with concern. I feel rotten for startling him again and provoking yet another full security response in the middle of the night.
After I nod at Mads, he leaves the room only after another long, intent look at me with the other guard, shutting the door behind him, satisfied I’m not in danger. And that Stef’s not murdering me.
While I shake.
“It was only a nightmare,” Stef murmurs, pulling me close, covering my face with kisses. “Some nightmare, though. What happened?”
