I swallowed hard and answered, “Yes?”
Everyone watched as I crossed to see what this was about. The band followed, either out of solidarity or curiosity.
“Miss, we need to take you somewhere now.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know who you are. Are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping?” Clarice puffed her chest.
The man pulled out a badge. “We’re the Norwegian Police Protection Service, ladies.”
I went white as a sheet and lost it momentarily.
Alicia caught it and wrapped her arm around me. “Don’t be a noob and lock your knees!”
I stammered and asked in nervous Swedish, “Are… you arresting me?”
“Arresting you?” He tilted his head, confused.
“Yes. Did Max tell you?—”
Another man appeared, “Ma’am this is an order from the crown. There is no Max that I know of.”
“Well, you show up here and we have to ask,” Clarice’s words slurred from the champagne we consumed either in celebration or commiseration.
The first man said firmly, “Miss Jensson is requested at Stiftsgården imminently.”
“What’s a Stiftsgården?” Clarice whispered.
“It’s where the royals live,” I sighed, sensing these men had no time for jokes. “Fine. Take me with you.”
I began to leave, but Clarice demanded, “And if they are really kidnapping creeps?”
“We’ll avenge you!” Barry called.
“Miss Jensson, His Majesty requests you himself. No one is trying to kidnap or harm you,” the second man assured. “Why do you think that?”
“I kissed a royal and it’s all over the Internet.”
“We are aware of this situation. That is why we are here.”
“To arrest me?” I asked, still worried. “Because if so, I want someone from the embassy?—”
“We’re here asprotectionofficers.” The first man spoke Swedish as if he thought my English was too poor for good comprehension.
I quieted. “Oh. So you aren’t the Stagedoor Mafia sent to spirit me away to be tortured in a warehouse because I kissed a royal?”
We piled into a waiting car. The driver stared, confused.
Number one answered in Swedish, “No, Miss Jensson. Our concern is your safety.”
I soon discovered why as we traversed the streets of Trondheim in a vehicle flagged in the King’s crest. They teemed with people. In the couple of hours since the tape released, somehow young people gathered in pride gear. Techno pulsed through the streets like an impromptu pride parade. People waved at the car, as if in on the joke. I worriedthis only made it worse. Me being here was tabloid fodder, wasn’t it?
“Should I worry that people see me in here?” I asked as the vehicle parted through the seas of those gathered.
“There isn’t much use in that, is there?” Number Two joked. “Cat’s out of the bag. The crowd has only tripled.”
People weren’tcross. People wereexcited!? I wasn’t too drunk for reality. They were having a party. While it unnerved me a bit, it flew in the face of all I assumed. There wasn’t a public panic. No one cried foul. As Alicia would say, theyshippedus.
Since Trondheim was the size of a pin, we soon reached Stiftsgården, a beautiful wooden fortress in the middle of the city. It looked unimposing compared to something like Buckingham Palace, but upon entry, my heart beat out of my chest. Hands sweaty, I followed another unnamed man in a suit toward a big pair of white and gold doors. A man in uniform opened them.
