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Wilhelm opened the door to his bedroom and tugged Simon over the threshold. He pulled his boyfriend to his chest, kicked the door shut behind them with his foot, and finally took a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart and thoughts. Simon wrapped his arms around Wille’s back and crushed him into a grounding hug before turning his head to kiss his neck lightly. He pulled back to look into Wille’s eyes to gauge just how upset he was to find them closed, but his breathing was more even than before.

“Do you want to talk about it, or do you want a distraction?” Simon asked quietly.

Wille took another deep breath before responding, “We should talk about it. I know we haven’t been able to check in as much as we needed with exams right before the break.”

Simon hummed in acknowledgment, leading Wille further into the space. A benefit of being at Drottningholm slott was that there was no guard stationed outside Wille’s room as there had been at Hillerska. There was still no reason to have this conversation against a door when there were three terribly uncomfortable antique couches in the sitting room to choose from.

“Let’s at least change out of our dinner clothes first,” Wille said.

Simon smirked over his shoulder, “I thought you didn’t want a distraction?”

Wille cracked a smile, “Fair, that's always distracting. But if you’ll recall, that is why I insisted on personally bringing your bags up before dinner.”

Simon did recall. Wille was waiting for him in the hall, right where palace security let him through a side entrance to the castle away from public view. He immediately took Simon’s bag, grabbed his hand, and set a brisk pace to his private rooms.

He stuttered, laughing, and said, “Uh, hello. I haven’t seen you move this fast since you chased down our car.”

“Hello to you, too. Hilarious. It’s been a month and a half since I’ve seen you – you should be happy I’m not sprinting. Like you said, I already proved I can and will for you.”

“Well, that’s adorable and embarrassing for you. But seriously, your legs are so much longer than mine that I can barely keep up.”

Wille stopped in the middle of the hallway, turned, and yanked Simon forward into a heated, albeit sloppy, kiss. He broke the kiss and then nosed his way to Simon’s ear.

“I’d carry you, but who would take your bag?” He whispered.

Simon’s breath hitched, and he saw the smug look on Wille’s face before he turned and started dragging him through the halls of the castle at breakneck speed yet again.

“We should definitely revisit the carrying thing sometime, though,” Simon practically panted – though he wasn’t sure if it was from running to keep up with his boyfriend or said boyfriend’s audacity.

“Oh, we definitely will, älskling.”

Audacity then.

They reached the doors to Wille’s rooms faster than Simon thought possible, and no sooner were they through the sitting room and into the bedroom before Wille tossed Simon’s duffle bag to the ground with all the care of someone who had never seen the price of luggage. Before he had time to process, Simon was being tossed, roughly but with more care than the poor duffle bag received, onto Wille’s bed.

Wille wasted no time climbing over his boyfriend, immediately aligning their bodies, threading his hands through his curls, and bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Simon wrapped his arms behind Wille’s back and pulled him down with his hands clutching his shoulder blades. He pressed his hips up, causing Wille to press down and detach his lips from Simon’s so he could reattach them to his throat.

“How long before dinner?” Simon breathed out while running one hand up into Wille’s hair.

“Only 30 minutes,” Wille said against his neck.

“Urgh,” Simon groaned. “That’s not nearly long enough.”

“I can work with it,” Wille said casually, pulling off his sweater before grabbing at Simon’s.

Once free from their shirts, Wille nipped at Simon’s neck again before starting a long, slow trail of open-mouth kisses from his collarbone to his chest, to his stomach, and down. His hands slowly followed along Simon’s sides until they reached the top of his jeans. He looked up to catch Simon’s eyes, pleased to find them halfway closed and his chest heaving. Simon nodded slightly, and Wille smiled into the kiss he placed on Simon’s happy trail while he undid his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down his legs.

Fucking audacity.

Simon heard Wille clearing his throat and shook himself from the earlier memory. “And I’m the one who gets easily distracted,” he chuckled.

He couldn’t argue with that since he realized he was still standing in the middle of the room, and Wille was already out of his dress pants and sweater and into sweatpants. They smiled at each other again, and Simon moved to his bag to change while Wille crawled up the bed and sat against the headboard. This conversation wouldn’t happen on a terribly uncomfortable antique couch after all. Small victories.

Simon finished changing and then sat on his knees next to Wille. His boyfriend smiled at him, held his arms out, and pulled his knees up to his chest, but spread them apart, leaving the perfect spot for Simon to fall back against him. Simon obliged, of course, and Wille wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled him back tighter against his chest. Simon leaned back on Wille’s left shoulder and turned his head slightly to look up into his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Wille started with a sigh.

“None of that was your fault. I –,”

“But I told you he wouldn’t be here. They told me he wouldn’t still be here.”

“Wille,” Simon stopped him. “That dinner sucked for a lot of reasons, but it was because you were blindsided, and your parents pulled shit again. Thank you for worrying about me, and I love you for it; I do, but I’m only worried about you right now.”

Instinctively, Wille tightened his hold on Simon and took a deep breath. Deep breaths were becoming a constant in his life in the last six months of living with his parents again. They were trying to be there for Wille in ways he hadn’t experienced in years, even before Erik died, but there was still a deep divide between them that was proving to take a lot of time and effort to bridge. And nights like tonight were doing anything but help.

“Thank you. Yeah, it was really shitty. He was supposed to leave after we taped the New Year’s message earlier today. I would have never walked you into the dining room knowing he and his stupid parents would be sitting there.”

“I mean, I was definitely surprised. But more so angry on your behalf because I knew your parents cornered you with them.”

“Yeah, but Simon, they only did because you were here. I mean, August is bad enough. But his fucking stepdad? Who, up until tonight, had only ever spoken to you as his lawyer when claiming the video was ‘relatively harmless ’? What the fuck were my parents thinking?”

Simon sighed. “I know. And I’m mad at them, trust me, but I know seeing August around is just part of this. It’s the price we agreed to pay for you to be free. And I’ll keep paying it forever.”

He leaned up and kissed Wille’s cheek quickly. “Now stop hiding your feelings behind worry for me. How has it really been since break started?”

“I – what…forever?” Wille sputtered.

“Yeah, now stop avoiding the question.”

“Speaking of things we’re going to revisit…”

“Oh, we definitely will, mi alma,” Simon said, the smile evident in his voice.

“Alma? That one’s new. What does it mean?”

“I’ll tell you after you tell me how it’s been having Royal Duties Lite with August the past couple of weeks.”

Having August in the castle had been an adjustment for Wille, his parents, and the entire Royal Court. But when the Royal Court announced right after August’s graduation last June that he would be a working member of the family and be granted a title and spot in the line of succession, they also announced that both the Queen and Crown Prince Wilhelm would take a step back from royal duties to focus on their wellbeing and grief after losing Erik, and so that Wilhelm could finish his schooling without distractions. So far, it had worked well for everyone, and as the Queen said, it would make the transition to August easier for the public when they announced that Wilhelm was renouncing his title on his 18th birthday.

Wille raised his right hand and ran it roughly down his face before wrapping it around Simon. “Obviously, I knew he’d be here leading up to Christmas for all the events and press. And I didn’t want to hang out or anything, but I could, like, deal with it if it meant not having to do anything except stand in two video messages as my parents had agreed.

It wasn’t terrible, so maybe I should have seen tonight coming because my parents noticed that we were ignoring each other, and after I dismissed their first few comments about it, they dropped it. They never drop anything.

Mamma said she was happy he and I weren’t fighting, but asked how long before I would talk to him. I just kind of stepped back and was like, well, why do we have to talk? There’s no press inside the castle to see that we’re not speaking to each other, so why does it matter? And she said she was worried about leaks from staff – that the gossip sites would say there’s a rift in the Royal Family.”

Simon noticed Wille’s heart rate increasing underneath him and started rubbing his hands over Wille’s wrists to soothe him.

“And I tried to say that’s not my problem. That I took a public step back from the Royal Family and hadn’t said or done a thing against August since he became a working royal and that was more than enough cooperation on my part. Then she got pretty irritated and said if I was comfortable giving him my job then I should be able to be family with him again, and it was selfish and hypocritical to use him as an out from being Crown Prince but still ignore him.”

“Wille,” Simon started softly, “None of that is right. You’re protecting yourself by stepping down and by only interacting with August in the way you’re comfortable doing right now. He wanted this job. Giving it to him didn’t mean giving him a pass on everything else.”

Wille sighed heavily again. “I know. And that’s what I was trying to say but I was just getting so frustrated and felt like she wasn’t listening to me again. And then…,” he paused, “I just…”

“Take your time. But you can tell me anything.”

“I lost my cool, and I’ve been working so hard to keep it in check when dealing with my parents. And all it does is make them see me as an impulsive kid and I hate that they’re right to think that sometimes.”

Simon turned in his arms and straddled his lap. He brought his hands up to either side of Wille’s neck and kissed his forehead before pulling back to look him in his eyes.

“Hey. Getting mad is not a moral failing. Especially in such a warranted moment. And I know how hard you’ve been working on your anger, and I’m still so proud of you for wanting to address it. No one said never get mad again, right? What did Boris say?”

After Hillerska closed, Boris moved to a cottage in a small town outside of Linköping. Wille couldn’t imagine bringing another therapist up to speed, nor did he think he could be as comfortable with someone as he was with Boris. He called the man himself about a week before he was set to start his second year of gymnasieskola and asked if he’d be willing to keep Wille as a patient virtually, at least until he officially renounced his title in May.

“Of course, Crown Prince,” Boris said happily over the phone. “I gave you my personal number hoping you would use it.” So, he and Boris resumed their weekly appointments, via secure link the Royal Court actually seemed eager to utilize, and Wille felt good about the progress they were making on his temper, anxiety, and communication.

Wille sniffled and leaned up to peck Simon’s lips before settling back against the headboard again. “Thank you, Simon. I know you’re right. I just hate that it made me feel so guilty. And Boris said pretty much what you did.”

“Well of course he did – I am so smart,” Simon said smiling and laughing.

“Yes, yes you really are,” Wille said, mirroring his smile.

“What else is there?”

“In a love/hate relationship with how well you can read me, by the way.”

“It’s a gift.”

Wille smiled and started to open his mouth.

“And don’t even say I’m a gift. That is the cheesiest thing you could possibly say, and I will get up off your lap immediately.”

“I – what…excuse you,” Wille gaped.

“You were absolutely about to say that, don't even lie.”

“Yeah, I absolutely was but damn…called me out.”

Simon smiled and leaned in to kiss him. He lingered probably a second too long for the seriousness of the conversation then pulled back.

“What else?”

“Fine,” Wille breathed out, “Mamma said I’ve been so good at controlling my emotions recently so if I couldn’t handle talking about August it must be because I’m not defending how I really feel…but how you do.”

“Ah. That’s why you said they only did this because I was here.”

“Yeah, she thinks I don’t actually have an issue with August anymore but I’m keeping him at arm’s length because you still hate him. Which, for the record, is not even true. I have conflicting feelings about August but I’m still nowhere close to wanting him back in my life.”

“I get that. But you know I’m following your lead with when and how, or if, you let him back in. Yes, I’ll never forgive him. But he is your family. And you supported me forgiving Sara and so I’ll support you too. I can still ignore him.”

“I know. And I really do appreciate it. But honestly, I’m so far from crossing that bridge that you don’t even have to worry about that right now. And Sara was your best friend and sister; of course I wanted you to make up. I never liked August to begin with.”

Simon let out a short laugh. “Okay true. So, is this why you think your parents had them stay for dinner because I was here? To force him and me to speak and what? Become BFFs? Then you’d want him as your bestie too?” Simon continued laughing.

“Honestly yeah, that’s all I can think of. But, of course, I was so surprised they should have known I’d just not speak.”

“Yes, thanks for that - I loved playing 20 questions with Rickard and Ludvig while the moms sat in uncomfortable silence.”

Wille tipped his forehead onto Simon’s chest and grunted. “Urgh, I know I’m so sorry I just froze.”

Simon carded his fingers through Wille’s hair. “It’s okay. You came back online when August asked about Sara at least.”

With that Wille’s head snapped up. “I wanted to punch him. He doesn’t get to speak to you or about her.”

“Have I mentioned I like protective Wille?”

“Yeah? How much?” Wille said with a smirk.

Simon leaned in and kissed him again. Their lips moved with a practiced ease, calm but loving. After a minute they broke the kiss and looked at each other with matching soft smiles.

“Feel better? Is there more to talk about?” Simon asked.

“A lot better, thank you. And I want to hear about the end of term for you and everything else. And we need to make sure we have everything covered for going to the cabin. And if we need to bring anything to Maddie and Felice’s tomorrow night? But, maybe in the morning?”

Simon nodded. “Definitely, it’s late,” he said as he rolled off Wille’s lap and laid down next to him. Wille reached over to turn the bedside lamp off, so the only light was filtering in through the lace curtains. He laid down next to Simon and pulled him close for another kiss.

“Thank you for being here. I’ve really missed you,” Wille whispered into the dark room.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else. And you’ll be so sick of me after a whole week locked in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with me,” Simon whispered back.

“I absolutely will not. That’s my five-year plan actually.”

“Tell me all about it in the morning?”

“Deal. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night, Wille.”

“Good night, Simon.”

Wille placed a quick kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead then settled back against his pillow. Simon turned in his arms so they were spooning and scooted back so they were touching from shoulder to toes. A few minutes passed where they both soaked in being in each other’s arms again after weeks apart. Simon was nearly asleep when he heard Wille whisper, “Hey Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“What does mi alma mean?”

“My soul.”

The next afternoon Simon and Wille were bundled up and walking through the private back gardens. They had slept in and woken slowly with soft touches and gentle kisses in the warm light of the midmorning sun. Wille typically hated waking up to his room being too bright. He was technically a morning person, mostly because he was always forced up, if not for school, then for meetings or Princely duties. He always found the brightness too jarring and had requested thicker curtains in his room several times over the years.

This morning, and any morning he was lucky enough to wake with Simon at his side, he was thanking every God or Goddess of the Sun that he got to bear witness to Simon bathed in light. He was beautiful in every situation. He was resplendent in the sun. It was like every cell of Simon’s body was created to be cast in a golden glow. The sun revealed the multifaceted layers to his hair, uncovered the depths of his eyes, and set his skin ablaze in a way Wille could hardly comprehend, but worshiped all the same.

Simon, a true night owl, hated waking up in any capacity, but Wille being there made it arguably the best part of his day. His house was always loud and hectic, especially in the mornings. Sharing such a small space meant always being woken up by Sara in their bathroom, Linda rushing for breakfast in the kitchen, or the two shouting in mixed Spanish and Swedish before heading out to school and work. Simon rarely was awoken peacefully or with care.

If there was one thing Wille was going to do, it was care for Simon. So, despite being before eleven and far too bright, Simon smiled and nuzzled closer into Wille’s side as he felt his boyfriend’s hands skating over his arms, back, and chest. He could feel the love and devotion radiating from Wille. He started planting light kisses over his face, then moved down to his neck and collarbone, causing Simon to giggle and squirm. Twenty minutes and two mouths mapping each other’s bodies later, they finally emerged for a – very – late breakfast.

Thankfully, the late start meant they didn’t run into the Queen or Duke in the private family kitchen. They ate slowly, feet intertwined beneath the table, and Simon updated Wille all about how the end of term had gone.

Simon and Sara had gone back to Marieburg after Hillerska shut down. For a while they thought Linda would move them to Göteborg, and for a while Simon thought that would be for the best, but after their summer trip with Wille and Felice neither sibling wanted to be even further away from Stockholm. Rosh and Ayub also made the excellent point that Simon would be the Crown Prince’s boyfriend anywhere he went. While a new city sounded like a fresh start, it would just be a lonely place with no friends and a lot of people to gawk at him. At least in Bjärstad he had his lifelong best friends to keep him company and buffer from the weirdos wanting to ask deeply personal questions in the middle of the cafeteria.

The transition could have gone worse. Really. However, after his first day back he did seriously consider the ethics of keeping fish for pets. All he could imagine as he stood by his locker and watched every person aged 16-19 in Bjärstad watch him even more closely was him being trapped in a glass cage, on display for the masses, never to be unknown again. It calmed down a little after Rosh asked the entire hallway what they were staring at and Ayub looked at Simon with wide eyes and said, “Oh shit, should I know you from somewhere?”

Sara adjusted better than Simon could have hoped. Their year at Hillerska gave her confidence and the art of not giving a fuck, so the bullies that hadn’t graduated the previous year either moved on when they realized they didn’t bother her anymore, or just ignored her from the beginning. She had her brother, Rosh, and Ayub with her almost all the time anyway, and no one was all too eager to get on Rosh’s bad side. Much to her amusement.

People were still weird with Simon though. They either openly hated him for being with the Crown Prince and made constant remarks, or desperately didn’t want the Crown Prince to have reason to hate them, resulting in either people he never spoke to before trying to suck up to him, or people he knew hated him biting back their sneers on the off chance they ever needed an in with the Royal Family.

Worst though were the two random guys he didn’t even know also liked boys who incessantly hit on him or tried to flirt for the first few weeks of school. One guy got the message after he cornered Simon in front of all his Year 12 friends and asked him to the movies yet again. When Simon said he already had a date that weekend the guy sneered, “Oh, with who?” and Simon deadpanned, “The Queen.”

The second guy was harder to shake. He popped up all around the school to try and talk to or just hover near him. He sent countless DMs, and after Simon blocked him, he created another account and tried again. Finally, Wille handled it after an exasperated Simon slammed his phone down on the bed one weekend when they were together in Simon’s room.

“Here just let me respond,” Wille said, holding his hand out for Simon’s phone.

“Um, absolutely not – we don’t need screenshots of you scaring random teenagers going viral.”

His phone buzzed yet again, so sighing he caved and gave it to Wille.

“Can I send this picture?” Wille asked, showing the phone to Simon.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind, but you know it won’t stay in that message if you send it.”

“I’m counting on that,” Wille said slyly. “Done!” he added proudly after a couple of minutes.

“God do I even want to know?” Simon groaned.

Wille handed the phone back and Simon looked at the messages, laughing. The boy from school’s last message said if Simon got bored playing princess, he was always available to show him a good time. Wille responded with a picture Felice had taken of them over the summer on the dock of her parent’s lake house. They didn’t post it on their accounts at the time because it was oddly intimate and after the past year, they really did value their privacy. But Wille was comfortable with it, so Simon was too.

The sun was behind them, they were both only in swimsuits, and were glistening with lake water in their hair and on their skin. Simon was laughing and looking up at Wille, and Wille was standing behind him doing his “soul stare,” as Sara had named it, into Simon’s eyes, with his arms wrapped tightly around his waist and a look of pure adoration on his face. He sent a message with it: “Many men have gone to war for less. Don’t think I won’t. Also don’t fact check that. I totally have the authority. But really stop being creepy. – Wille of Sweden”

The guy did post it, of course, and the screenshot went viral within two hours. The internet flayed the poor kid alive for not respecting boundaries. “Wilmon” fan accounts went crazy over the picture, but especially over Wille threatening a modern-day Trojan War, actually showing his personality, and that being the only recorded time outside of official duties Wille acknowledged he was a Prince. The Royal Court scheduled a meeting about social media etiquette for the next day.

So, while reintegrating into Marieburg was almost as normal as could be, two big things had changed in Simon and Sara’s lives in Bjärstad.

First, their house really wasn’t safe for them anymore. It was too accessible and too many people knew where they lived. Linda used some of the settlement money from August and got them a nicer, but still modest, apartment in a brand new complex closer to her job and the school. Simon and Sara still shared a bathroom, but everyone had their own room, the communal spaces were larger and more open, and the kitchen and bathrooms were far more modern than their previous home. They were on the top floor, and one of only three units on that level, so the privacy was much better without journalists camped outside at all hours. Better yet, their new address hadn’t been leaked yet, and the Royal Court was monitoring it to keep it from getting out after the rock incident, and because of how often you could find the Crown Prince hiding out in the smallest bedroom.

The second thing wasn't as good, but thankfully the Royal Court was working hard to keep it from leaking too, but for the Crown and Wille’s sake, not because they suddenly cared about Simon. The family knew Micke had begun drinking again when Sara moved back home and he gifted her the car as an apology. Unfortunately, while Simon and Sara were gone a lot that summer Micke spiraled again. He was arrested once for public intoxication in June, and again in July when he got sloppy dealing alcohol to minors. He was sentenced to 16 months in jail and was set to be released in November of their third and final school year, just in time for Simon’s 19th birthday.

Simon still had a hard time talking about it. The weekend the Royal Court told him of Micke’s sentencing he shut down for a day and barely looked at Wille. No matter what Wille did, Simon just wanted to be alone, until he finally snapped at Wille to give him “some fucking space.” It wasn’t a fight, not really. But it was the tensest time in their relationship since they got back together after graduation.

The next day Simon stood awkwardly in front of Wille trying to hide all of his emotions, and Wille sat in front of Simon scared to do or say the wrong thing. Wille, on the verge of tears, apologized to Simon – just a blanket apology he hoped wouldn’t make matters worse – and Simon, seeing the strain it was putting on his favorite person, finally broke down and cried. Wille was on his feet immediately and pulled Simon into a bear hug, and Simon buried his face in Wille’s chest and clawed into his back repeating, “I’m so sorry,” in between sobs. They stayed clutching another and bearing their worst thoughts and fears to each other for hours, until both of their throats were raw and their eyes red.

Now it was two days after Christmas, and they bundled up to walk in the gardens, far away from the public grounds. They checked with Farima and Malin that all the plans were set for them to go to the family cabin the next day, and were enjoying a pretty winter’s afternoon with each other before their plans that night.

“Do we need to bring anything to Felice’s?” Simon asked, lacing their fingers back together after detaching to take some pictures of Wille in the snow.

“I asked but she said they have everything covered. It’s not really a party, just ‘a friend get together,’ her words, so she and Maddie covered all the food and drinks. I think Ayub is bringing some games, and Alex is bringing the puppy his family got for Christmas - so really what else do we need?”

“A puppy?! That’s definitely a party then,” Simon chuckled. “It’s really good of Felice to invite my friends. I told her too, but it means a lot that they want to get to know each other.”

“Without the rest of Hillerska there this time you mean?” Wille jokeed.

“Ugh, yeah, that did not go well…Mr. I’m Working This Summer Too.”

Wille glared at him.

“What? Hopefully this time will be a lot better. More natural. Less judge-y.”

“I’m sure it will. We lost the dead weight. All that’s left are our actual friends,” Wille said with a small smile.

“Hm, very true. Well, I’m just glad we could have the whole group get together. It has been since the camping trip that we all hung out, and Sara wasn’t even at that - and I don’t remember Alex being around the campfire at all.”

This “low-key friend get together” was definitely a sort of milestone, finally combining the most important people to both Wille and Simon in hopes everyone would blend into one larger friend group, or at the very least tolerate each other. And since Hillerska closed, it had been since that awkward camping trip last April that everyone would be together, everyone being: Felice, Maddie, Rosh, Ayub, Sara, and Alexander.

Or really it was merging to very distinct friend groups, since Simon, Sara, Ayub, and Rosh still went to Marieburg together, and through a little bit of begging and happenstance, Wille, Felice, Maddie, and Alex went to the same school in Stockholm.

After their impromptu trip to Felice’s family lake house over the summer, plus a week hiding at at the Eriksson's, Wille went back to Drottningholm to face his parents, plan how to announce his reduced royal role, and where he was going to school come mid-August. His parents and the Royal Court already had plans to ship him to Switzerland to École Chantecler. Wille told them in no uncertain terms that fancy Swiss boarding schools attended by other various levels of European royalty was where a Crown Prince went, and just Wilhelm would be staying in Stockholm, so they better find a school nearby they deemed “worthy” enough.

Ultimately it was agreed that while he would technically still be the Crown Prince until he could legally renounce his title at age 18, he could fully step back from the role except for certain full family holiday appearances and attend Stockholm International School. The school battle was hard fought. The Queen and Jan Olof argued that he should attend a very small, private school outside of the city because it would be easier to control security and have staff and students bound by NDAs, the way it had been at Hillerska.

Naturally, Wille was really fucking against that idea. He argued that he wanted to go somewhere more diverse, and that part of living a life away from the crown meant giving up control. He desperately wanted to surround himself with less children of nobles and more “regular” people. After all, he fully planned on attending university and having a career now and learning more about the real world would only help him succeed on his own.

Farima suggested Stockholm International, saying there was a year’s long waitlist to get in with high fees still, so it wasn’t as if they would be sending him to the regular public school he tried and failed spectacularly at already. She provided a list of notable people’s children currently enrolled and explained that the international crowd would be good exposure for Wilhelm, and they might be less likely to care about him being a prince.

Eventually everyone agreed, a call was made to jump the list, and Wille added this to his list of reasons Farima was the only member of the Royal Court he liked. He called Felice that night.

“Do you know where you’re going to school yet?”

“No. Smysan is still pushing for SSHL, but I really don’t want to board again. My dad is trying to talk her into letting me stay at our Östermalm apartment and go public since she doesn’t want to leave the estate house.”

“Oh no, which multi-million-kronor house should I live in so I can go to the right school?” Wille joked in a whiny voice.

“Okay, Mr. Eriksson, dial it back,” she scoffed while laughing.

Wille tried to ignore what being called by Simon’s last name did to his heart and stomach and throat.

“Rude but accurate,” he sputtered. “Okay, well what if you stayed in Östermalm and went to Stockholm International, maybe with your best friend ever and we can face the wolves together?”

“Wait. That could work. I bet Maddie would be in too! She’s trying to get her parents to let her come back Sweden instead of staying in NYC.”

Felice wasn’t sure where her friendship with Maddie stood when she left her with Stella and Fredericka and ditched out on their New York trip. She was ready to cut her losses with Stella and Fredericka. She explained how they hadn’t been good or understanding friends – it just took until Sara told her she did the right thing by being honest with the school inspectors for her to realize it.

Maddie had been supportive though, and frequently put Stella and Fredericka in their places, she was just a little guilty by association in Felice’s mind, and when her body was screaming at her to make a break for it after graduation, she went one way and Maddie went the other.

For five days. Two of which were spent on planes. Barely four days into their New York trip Maddie kicked Stella and Fredericka out for all of the shit they were talking about Felice and Sara. They had even started blasting Wille and Simon, which Maddie thought was rich considering she knew they were sneaking around with each other. After one comment too many Maddie snapped and yelled at them to get out of her house and called Felice from the taxi apologizing and saying she was flying back to Sweden, and they were working this out. So, Maddie joined them for the tail end of their lake house trip and patched things up with Felice, and more impressively with Sara.

And when Felice told Maddie about Wille’s idea, Maddie jumped at the chance to be able to stay in Sweden to finish school. The two of them moved into Felice’s family apartment in the city, shockingly close to their new school, and resumed their roommate routine. Wille also tried not to think about just how much money all three families threw at the school to get their kids in on a month’s notice, not if it meant having two people he adored with him for the next two years.

That’s how the three friends found themselves walking into Stockholm International School for the first day of third year. People gawked at them still. How could they not openly stare at the Crown Prince who recently outed himself and his relationship to the world, his best friend who was an Instagram star in her own right, and a girl who apparently was holding back her craziest outfits, hairstyles, and makeup while at Hillerska - based on what she opted for as her first impression look at this school? They couldn’t not look at them, so everyone did.

They were expecting everyone’s eyes to be on them that first day though. What they weren’t expecting was to find another exiled Hillis among their fellow third years. They didn’t see each other during the school wide welcome assembly, but when they broke to a smaller room with only the rest of their grade they quickly found a shocked face and pair of wide eyes staring up at them from the front row of desks: Alexander Bragé, decidedly not at a Swiss boarding school like he had been during his brief expulsion from Hillerska.

“Hey Alex!” Maddie said happily while taking the seat next to him.

“Um, hey Maddie…Felice…Crown Prince,” Alex said hesitantly.

Wille gave him a small smile and head nod and then sat with Felice at the desk behind Alex and Maddie. He honestly wasn’t sure how Alex felt about him post-Hillerska, but being called by his title and not Wille did suggest not being on good terms. Plus, he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to be freinds at all after Alex agreed to help August. But still, before that happened Alex had been the only other first-year boy besides Simon that Wille thought was actually his friend, and not the Crown Prince’s friend.

It’s why he still felt guilty about throwing him under the bus for the drugs, and probably why Alex felt betrayed enough by it to side with August. Despite the shitty things they did to each other he wanted to believe the months they were friends were real.

The four stuck together though, singled out by their new classmates as fleeing that scandalous closed school, despite Alex and Wille barely speaking. Maddie knew something was up and finally asked Wille about it one afternoon a couple of weeks into the school year while doing homework with Felice at their apartment.

“Okay. Spill. Something is up with you and Alex, and the vibes are actually killing me.”

Wille blew out a long breath and stared across the table at Felice.

“Obviously I haven’t told her anything,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender.

“Yeah no one has,” Maddie huffed, “and if you don’t want to say anything I’ll understand. But you used to be friends and I guess I didn’t notice the change with everything happening at the end of last term, but it’s clear you aren’t anymore, and I need to know whose side I’m on in the divorce.”

“Good God, Americans are so dramatic,” Felice said, exasperated.

“No, no, I’ll tell you. Honestly, I’ve been meaning to because I want us to all be able to talk about anything openly, among ourselves of course. It’s just a lot. And part of it isn’t just my story to tell. And parts are me at my absolute worst. And most of it I’m not even legally allowed to talk about.”

“Yeah, but Americans are dramatic,” Maddie deadpanned. “But also, that’s juicy as fuck.”

“Girl brace yourself – it is.” Felice said.

Wille covered the whole story. Maddie knew parts, like that Simon and Wille were together long before anyone had any clue, Alex was caught with and expelled because of drugs, and there was a giant rift between Wille and August. But he filled in the rest: August manipulating Simon into bringing the drugs because he refused to pay him back, Wille throwing Alex under the bus to protect Simon and throwing August under the bus with The Society to do it, August retaliating by releasing the video, Felice figuring it out and the Royal Court covering it up, Alex agreeing to take the fall for August when he found out it was Wille he betrayed him, Wille threatening August at the shooting range, and finally that all of this was settled with August out of court by the crown.

It took him about 15 minutes straight to cover everything. At some point Felice held his hand over the table and he was so anxious he hadn’t even noticed. When he was done Maddie stared at him, unblinking.

“Holy. Shit. What. The. Actual. Goddamn. Fuck.”

“Pretty much what I said.”

“Excellently put,” Felice and Wille said at the same time.

“Okay we’re going to take this point by point because oh my god,” Maddie said, standing up to pace around the room. “First, despite hurting my boy Alex, it’s actually kind of adorable how far you’ll go for Simon, especially considering that was before the video and anyone even knowing you were together.”

“I mean I literally held a gun to August’s head to protect him.”

“Not your finest moment though,” Felice murmured.

“Yeah, that’s some batshit, American behavior - but dare I say warranted?” Maddie said. “Okay, but the biggest reveal. IT WAS AUGUST ALL ALONG? AND YOU BOTH KNEW? AND NOW YOU’RE LETTING HIM BE KING??”

“It wasn’t my information to share,” Felice told her friend.

“No, babes, not upset about you not telling me at all. And thank you, Wille, for trusting me with all of this. I get how serious Royal Court settlements and NDAs are. I’m just so sorry you had to know this, and watch your family protect him, and still deal with him every day. Jesus Christ.”

“Thank you. It hasn’t been easy.”

“So that’s why you staged a coup in Forest Ridge and propped Vincent up, of all people.”

“Ha, yeah. I almost regretted giving him that much power there at the end, but it was worth it to punish August the only way I could at the time.”

“But now you’re going to let him become Crown Prince? And the King?”

Wille exhaled slowly again. Felice squeezed his hand. “I have to, Mads. I never wanted this. Deep down I never agreed with it either - I just didn’t know I was allowed to think that. It’s been slowly killing me my whole life. It just started rapidly killing me once I became Crown Prince. I had to save myself.”

“And Simon?” Maddie asked.

“I did it for me. I told my parents while we were still broken up. But yeah, I knew there wasn’t a scenario where I was King and had him. I picked me and just prayed he would too.”

“Oh, so you’re like in love in love with him. Forever kind of shit.”

“Eloquent as always, boo,” Felice chided.

“Yes,” Wille said, still serious. “I know we’re 17, but yeah, for me it’s forever. Hopefully it is for him too.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about that based on what I saw at the lake house,” Maddie laughed, sitting back down at the table.

“And you missed the worst of it that first week,” Felice said, patting Wille’s hand then letting go.

“Sorry not sorry,” Wille grinned.

“Okay, back to the topic that started all of this before we got understandably sidetracked: Alex,” Maddie said.

“Alex,” Wille repeated.

“I definitely see why there’s so much tension now. Something still feels off to me though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Even being mad at you about the drug stuff, agreeing to take the fall for potential child porn, especially since you and him were friends, it just feels like we’re missing something. Obviously it’s up to you, but I think you should talk to him. Do you want to be friends again?”

“I’d be willing to hear him out. And I do miss being friends. But Simon and I have been betrayed by enough people. So, I’m not sure if I can get over him helping August.”

“And that’s totally fair. Just think about it?” Maddie asked.

“I will.”

It took another week before Alex approached him between classes and asked if they could talk during their free period. Wille agreed, and an hour later he found himself sitting across from Alex at a small table in a private study room.

Alex took a breath before diving right in. “I was hurt and mad, still am a little even though I’ve had time to get over it and understand, but I also owe you a massive apology.”

“Okay. I’m listening,” Wille said, folding his arms across his chest.

“What August did to you, to both of you, was unforgivable. And as your friend I hate him for it and should never have agreed to help him. So, for that I really am sorry. And, I understand if you hate me for it forever.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure yet if I can move past that. I’m just so confused. Even if you hated me back for the drug thing…just, why? Why agree to take the blame for something so terrible?”

Alex looked up to the ceiling and hummed under his breath. Finally he looked back to Wille, his eyes betraying just how conflicted he felt. “If I tell you I didn’t want to, and was forced, would you believe me?”

“Like he blackmailed you into it? Of course I’d believe that. He blackmailed me and Simon into not pressing charges, as you probably pieced together.”

“Yeah, I did. And yes, he did,”

“Alex, what does he have on you?”

“I promise I’ll tell you one day. I really will. I would have anyway, just in my own time and because I wanted to. But I’m not there right now.”

“I get that. Believe me,” Wille said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, you would,” Alex grimaced. “It was really shitty of you to blame me for the drugs. But I can’t say I don’t understand why you did now that I know everything with you and Simon. I just knew everyone was lying to me at that god forsaken place. I thought you were the one person being honest.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, truly. I still hate myself for doing it. And if it helps, Simon hated me for it too.”

Alex smiled a little at that. “He would. I think he’s good for you."

Wille's lips twitched up, then he remembered there was something else he was curious about.

"Is that why you're here and not back at that Swiss school you went to?"

"How about I promise to tell you that reason eventually too?"

"Okay, that's fair."

"You know I meant what I said when I told you you were good and protected the people who were different.”

“You still think so?”

“Of course. I was just wrapped up in worrying about myself. I was the only non-white guy in our year, and was new money, so all the other guys still looked down on me because - hierarchy - or some bullshit. I thought if I tried hard enough I’d be one of them. But that was my mistake. Someone is always at the bottom of the food chain. And I forgot about Simon. Also not white. Working class. Openly gay. I didn’t think anyone would care about him over me. No one imagined you caring about him over everyone else.”

Wille couldn't help but smile at someone recognizing Simon's place in his life. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest though when he remembered the rest of what Alex said. “Yeah, but I still hurt you.”

“You did. And I’m not giving you a pass on it. But even though I was low on the Hillerska hierarchy, the Me’s of the world still win. The Simon’s don’t. And you protected him. You did protect the different ones; it just wasn’t me. So it took a while, but once I got my head out of my ass I realized you were actually better than I originally gave you credit for being.”

“Wow. Um, thank you? Id on't know about all that, but you kinda sounded like Simon just then.”

“Now that’s a compliment,” Alex said with a smile.

“Can I ask you something?” Wille said tentatively.

“Shoot.”

“If you knew all The Society guys turned on you, why just be mad at me for the betrayal? How were you still friends with people you knew looked down on you?”

Alex held his gaze for a minute and drummed his fingers against the table. “Come on, Wille. Simon’s taught you this.”

“He has?”

“I was a minority in a racist and classist system. I was just trying to survive it.”

From there, their friendship and trust slowly returned. They both let go of any residual anger or resentment, and though Wille wondered what August was holding over Alex’s head, he did believe his friend that he would tell him eventually. They, plus Felice and Madison, were a tight knit group of four, and once people got over the shock of having royalty around, everyone left them alone. They sat together in classes, hung out at breaks, and studied together after school. It was honestly a lot like Hillerska, just without the ancient traditions and Vincent breathing down everyone’s neck about every little thing.

When Felice mentioned them getting together over winter break with Simon and Sara and their friends Rosh and Ayub, everyone agreed it would be great to reunite and get to know Simon’s friends beyond their Twitter and Instagram interactions. Alex was a little nervous to see Simon though. They hadn’t talked much at Hillerska, and while Alex admired Simon for his convictions and wanted to be friends, he wasn’t sure if the feeling was mutual.

Wille explained Alex's trepidation to Simon as they headed in from the gardens to go get ready for the Not-A-Party get together at Felice and Maddie’s. They had definitely stayed outside too long if their scratchy, red cheeks and noses were any indication, and they needed to leave in an hour to get across town in time.

“Why would he think I don’t want to be friends?” Simon asked Wille with a tilt of his head.

“Probably thinks you’ll be mad about him and August still, and he mentioned that you haven’t really spoken much to each other.”

“Yeah, I don’t love it, but I understood his reasons, and like you said, August clearly was blackmailing him.”

“He probably just needs to hear that from you. The same way Rosh and Ayub needed me to tell them I was all in and they could trust me with you.”

“Okay, you work on integrating my friends, and I’ll work on becoming friends with yours.”

“Solid plan, älskling.”

An hour and a half later, Wille and Simon were standing outside of Felice’s family’s apartment door with Malin in tow, their plan for the evening in mind. Wille raised his hand to knock, but before he could Maddie flung the door open to greet them, happily yelling, “If it isn’t Sweden’s hottest and latest power couple!”

“Hi Maddie, sorry we’re a few minutes late. Malin had to sweep the entry before we could come up,” Wille said, rolling his eyes at his friend.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t care, move out of the way,” she said, bodily shoving the current heir to the throne out of her way to tackle Simon in a bear hug. “My darling, dearest Simme, I am SO sorry we weren’t there for your birthday last month. It’s just that SOMEONE said we weren’t invited.”

Simon giggled into her shoulder while she twirled them around in the foyer.

“That is not what I said,” Wille huffed fondly.

“Birthdays are boyfriends only means the same thing,” Maddie replied in a sing-song voice.

“Maddie, stop hogging them and get in here,” Felice yelled from inside the apartment.

They stepped out of their shoes and Maddie helped them hang up their coats before the three friends made their way into the open living room and kitchen, Malin shutting the door from the hall as they went. Rosh, Ayub, and Sara were already there, and everyone quickly made the rounds of hugging and saying hello.

“Wille! Hey man, long time no see. Since Simme’s birthday dinner I guess?” Ayub asked while giving Wille a bro tap.

“WHAT?” Maddie screeched. “I THOUGHT BIRTHDAYS WERE BOYFRIENDS ONLY?!”

Simon just laughed and looked at Wille expectantly while Ayub had the decency to look apologetic while laughing his ass off.

“They live in the same place; of course we saw his best friends. No, you cannot get mad at me over this one!” Wille yelped pointing at Maddie.

“All I’m hearing is we aren’t also Simon’s best friends, and you gatekept your boyfriend’s birthday, and honestly that’s extremely rude.”

“Maddie...” Wille started.

“Loser boyfriend behavior.”

“MADISON…”

Rosh’s eyes bounced back and forth between Maddie and Wille before she grinned, “God, I really like you.”

“I know,” Maddie said with a wink.

“Absolutely not, we’re changing the subject. Is Alex not here yet?” Wille said, looking around.

“No, he is, he just ran the puppy outside really quick. He should be back in a minute.” Felice said.

Everyone settled around the large kitchen island and started making plates of appetizers and catching the group up on how the holidays went. Madison celebrated with her grandparents in Malmö and was flying home to NYC for the last couple weeks of break day after next. Simon and Sara shared some of their Venezuelan traditions they had with Linda. Ayub had just started explaining how his family celebrated a secular holiday season but not Christmas, blending their Swedish roots and Islamic faith, when the door reopened and Alex came in with a tiny Swedish Vallhund puppy on leash.

“Hey everyone!” Alex greeted while bending down to unleash the dog.

“Oh my God, stop; it’s so cute,” Simon mused. He bent down to pet the puppy that had run over to his feet.

“This is Junjie. He’s a handful. But I mean look at his little face,” Alex said, joining everyone at the island.

“Wait, Junjie like Kung Fu Panda Junjie?” Simon asked.

“YES, thank you - someone else with taste!” Alex exclaimed.

“Oh, Simon and I still watch cartoons like every Saturday.” Ayub added.

“Well, I’m officially inviting myself along. I’ll bring Junjie.”

“Oh no, another one,” Rosh deadpanned. “Why Kung Fu Panda though?”

“Because he’s clearly part Swedish and part Chinese like me?”

Everyone laughed at that, and Felice called everyone into the living room to get comfortable and start playing games. Alex was still in the kitchen getting a bowl of water for Junjie, and Simon hesitated while everyone else left for the couches. Alex noticed his hovering and cleared his throat. “Hey, Simon, what’s up?”

“Hey. Can we talk for a minute?”

“Yeah, I think we should. Want one?” Alex asked, holding out a soda.

“Sure, thanks,” Simon said, taking the drink and popping the top. He took a breath. “I wanted to say –“

At that moment the front door opened forcefully and Malin stepped inside the apartment, body tense, eyes sweeping the room and alert. She had her phone against her ear, and everyone fell quiet enough to hear her murmur, “Yes I understand,” before hanging up.

Wille was on his feet instantly and sought Simon's eyes before looking back to Malin. “What is…” he started.

“Crown Prince, I’m sorry, but I’ve been instructed to take you back to Drottningholm at once.”

“Malin, what’s happened?” Wille said with authority, but an edge of fear lined his voice.

Simon crossed the room and held onto Wille’s arm. Wille grabbed back, seeking the support and steadiness of his boyfriend.

“I truly don’t know, sir. All I was told is there is an emergency, and you need to return immediately.”

The room went still, but faintly they heard Junjie whining.

Chapter Text

Felice created the group

Felice added Wille, Simon, Sara, Maddie, Alex, Rosh, and Ayub

Felice:

Hey. IDK what you’re about to walk into but we’re here for you. Both of you. Update us when you can. Thought this would be the easiest way to reach everyone.

Maddie:

💛💛💛

Sara:

Simon, do I tell mamma anything?

Simon:

I’ll tell you as soon as I know what’s happening. Wille says thank you.

The two walked quickly back into Drottningholm. The pace was similar to when Simon had arrived at the palace the day before, except now the playful speed was replaced by an urgent need to find out what fate awaited them - the destination no longer loving embraces in the safety of Wille’s rooms, but a cold, ornate meeting room holding the people that had only ever been their judge, jury, and executioners.

Simon knew the severity of being summoned to the palace this late, especially in the typically sleepy time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. And if he didn’t, the look on Wille’s face and the sound of his voice in the car on the way back was enough to tell him.

“Simon…” he rasped, “Simon, the last time they called me to the palace was right after…right after…”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he said, pulling his boyfriend’s head onto his shoulder with one hand and squeezing the one he was holding with the other.

“What if it’s mamma? She’s been better, but I know this past year was still so hard on her. What if she, oh God…“

Simon stilled his fingers that had been carding through Wille’s hair and spoke firmly but softly. “It’s going to be okay, mi amor. Whatever is going on, we’ll deal with it together, okay?

He hated that he couldn’t tell Wille his mom was fine. But he didn’t know if she was. And she had been unwell. He didn’t want to promise a person was still there for Wille, however flawed they were, if there was a chance they wouldn’t be in whatever room they were about to walk into.

Wille understood what Simon said and what he didn’t.

As soon as they entered the palace, Malin directed them towards the meeting hall. It was behind the large, secure door that separated the public parts of the palace from the restricted sections and held several conference and sitting rooms of different sizes to accommodate the smallest and most informal meetings, or those requiring the entire Royal Court plus guests.

Farima met them when they went through the secured doors, turned on her heels, and quickly walked towards the meeting hall. The boys rushed after her, hand in hand.

“Crown Prince, everyone is gathered in the Vasa Stateroom. I’m afraid this meeting is just for the Royal Court and the family,” she said apologetically, glancing towards Simon.

“The Vasa – Farima, this meeting is with the entire Royal Court? What is happening?” Wille demanded.

“They’ll explain everything. We need to hurry.”

“Farima!” Wille stopped dead in his tracks. He was breathing hard but fought to keep his voice even. “Is my mother – is everyone okay?”

Farima’s eyes widened, and she took in the look on Wilhelm’s face and the way Simon’s hand was losing color from the white-knuckled grip he had on it. She stepped towards them and put her hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “Yes, Crown Prince, everyone is okay. Please forgive me. My head is in 37 places. I should have told you no one was harmed. It was an oversight.”

Wille let out a long breath and pulled Simon to his side by his waist before closing his eyes and placing his lips on his temple. Simon snaked his arms around Wille and murmured something into his neck that Farima couldn’t quite make out.

She cleared her throat. “If you’ll come with me, we really do need to start. Simon, why don’t you wait in the adjacent sitting room? I’ll have the kitchens send up a little snack.”

Simon looked up into Wille’s eyes. He gave a slight nod, so Simon agreed, and the three set off through the halls again, content that no one had died and that at least one member of the Royal Court understood Wilhelm needed Simon close by.

They reached the end of the meeting hall and could hear overlapping voices arguing from the other side of the doors to the Vasa Stateroom. Simon placed both hands on either side of Wille’s face before going up on his tiptoes to peck his lips. “I’ll be right here. It will be okay. You and me?” he whispered.

“You and me,” Wille whispered back. With one last look over his shoulder, he turned and followed Farima into the massive conference room.

Wille entered the room and tried to take in the scene before him. It was clear everyone present had rushed here. Where normally he was surrounded by overly starched business attire, shoes and watches worth most people’s rent, and perfect hair and makeup, most people were in slacks or jeans and sweaters, which, for the Royal Court, was as good as workout clothes.

The few people who resided at the palace, including his parents, were in expensive lounge sets, the Queen's silken with a matching duster. Only Jan-Olof, ever stoic and unchanging, was dressed in his typical three-piece suit. The juxtaposition, paired with mounting anxiety, actually made Wille laugh.

And he must have done so out loud because, at that moment, most of the room realized he had joined them. His mother stood from her seat at the head of the table and motioned for him to take his seat on her right.

“Wilhelm, please join us. We have much to discuss.”

He was so relieved to see her, he almost forgot that whatever he was about to be told would undoubtedly change his life. He also didn’t have time to process that despite how tense their relationship had been recently, especially after last night’s disastrous dinner, he was filled with nothing but relief and gratitude that both of his parents were in this room, waiting for him to take his seat.

As he moved, he looked around the table to see who was present. Next to his mother was his father, and on his other side was August, his mother, and his stepfather. To Wille’s side sat Jan-Olof, then Farima and Minou. Further down the table were the rest of the Royal Court advisors, each working royal’s secretary, and what appeared to be everyone from both legal and PR. Not a great omen.

He also noticed several security services agents along the edge of the room, which was strange. Typically, they waited in the hallway, but everyone’s main guard, two for his mother, was stationed along the perimeter. He turned in his chair, saw Malin had followed him, and stood a few steps behind him. Somehow, their presence made him feel remarkedly less safe.

His mother, no, the Queen, cleared her throat, and everyone fell silent again. “Wilhelm, we’ve been made aware of a situation and are here to prepare our response. It will affect all of us, and we’re discussing the possible fallouts and how we will handle them moving forward. We must face this head-on, united, as a family.”

Wille felt dread coil increasingly in his stomach the longer The Queen spoke. Another scandal. Had he done something? He racked his brain but came up with nothing. All he’d done in months was go to school, hang out with Felice, Maddie, and Alex in the safety of one of their houses, text and FaceTime Simon, go to Bjärstad to see Simon, have virtual appointments with Boris, and play video games like every other 17-year-old boy. This wasn’t about him, which was almost worse because it meant he was about to be blindsided.

And invoking their unity, as a family, before telling him what was happening, set off every warning bell in his head. The Queen was preparing for Wilhelm to oppose them. It could only mean he would have every reason to.

“Just tell me,” he clipped, looking The Queen in her eyes.

She gestured towards Jan-Olof, clearing him to take over, and the older man stood and produced a newspaper from the stack of papers in front of him.

He slid a copy of Dagens Nyheter over to Wilhelm.

EXCLUSIVE INVESTIGATIVE SCOOP: Royal Crime and Punishment Cover-Up?

Inside sources and paper trail reveal the responsible party for the Crown Prince’s leaked sex tape

was his cousin, August Horn of Årnäs, and the Royal Court covered it up

Wille had to read the headline three times for the words to sink in. Confused, he took in the rest of the front page until he read the date: this was tomorrow’s edition. He looked back up to Jan-Olof and noted he had never seen the man look as off-kilter as he seemed right now.

“We don’t know how they got their information, but it is very thorough. We’re looking for the leak from within the palace because there must have been one. We still have at least one friend in the newsroom, though, as they sent us this before it’s circulated tomorrow.”

Wille knew the older man had stopped talking, expecting him to react. He should be reacting. He wants to react. He wants to scream or throw all the stacks of useless fucking papers onto the floor, or maybe even cry, but as he stared at the headline his mind was just…blank. His pulse was racing, but his breathing was steady, and he felt oddly calm.

He knew he should be panicking. And it’s not that Boris had worked some miracle on his management techniques that he wasn't. His brain was trying to cycle through all the implications of what was in front of him, but it never got past the words cover-up and sex tape.

He realized it had been silent far too long and everyone was waiting for him to do something before this meeting continued. That finally broke him. He removed himself from this institution, this family, as much as he could while still a minor, but now everyone was waiting with bated breath to see what he would do – because somehow in this room full of Sweden’s most influential adults, this still all falls on him.

For the second time in five minutes, he just laughed. Jan-Olof sucked in a breath beside him, and the Queen shifted uncomfortably in her chair. His father had not looked up from his hands the entire time. He was still laughing when he raised his head and locked eyes with August.

“Well, we’re fucked,” he stated.

August looked like he was a second from throwing up since Wille entered the room, but at that, his lips quirked into an almost smile.

“Wilhelm,” The Queen sighed.

“No. You don’t get to sound exasperated at me. How the fuck else am I supposed to react right now? You all did this to yourselves. I walked away. What the fuck do you want from me?”

Jan-Olof blanched at his overt lack of decorum. “The Crown Prince must understand the damage this will do to the crown’s reputation. We are unable to stop this story from being published. We have to –“

“This is going to thrust you back into the spotlight,” Farima cut in, “you and Simon.”

Well, that got his attention. God, how selfish was he still? His brain was trying to catch up with all the information it was being fed, but how could he have not realized that Simon absolutely needed to be a part of this conversation? He stood up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” The Queen demanded.

“I need a moment,” he said, fleeing the room.

He pushed the doors open to the sitting room next door to find Simon sitting cross-legged on the floor and scrolling through his phone. His boyfriend looked up at him and before he could ask what was going on, Wille dropped to the floor beside him with a huff and dropped his head onto Simon’s shoulder.

“Wille, are you okay? What happened?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m not okay, but I can’t feel it yet. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Okay…do you want to tell me what is going on?”

At that, he picked his head up and looked at Simon. “There’s an article, an exposé, running in the morning. They somehow uncovered everything about August and the tape and the court covering it up. I don’t know what else. I kind of ran out here before we got to specifics.”

Simon inhaled sharply. The news was not at all what he was expecting to hear, but he knew it was extremely bad for all of them.

“What are they talking about? What do they want to do?”

“I’m not sure. Jan-Olof said something about presenting a united front. I literally laughed in their faces and came out here.”

“Okay. What do you need? Do you need time, or to go to your room?”

Wille leaned in and kissed him quickly. “We need to get back in there. This is going to involve you and they should have had you in there from the start.”

“Wait, seriously?” Simon stuttered as Wille got to his feet.

“Yes, seriously,” Wille said, extending a hand to pull Simon up. “Hope you’re ready to stare down Jan-Olof.”

“Always.”

That was one of Wille’s favorite things about Simon, and their relationship in general. He knew they were both scared shitless about what the Royal Court was about to tell them, but it didn’t have to be said, and their support and love for the other shone in the subtext of their jokes.

They entered the room and the Queen’s head snapped up. “Wilhelm, this is a closed meeting. Mr. Eriksson can continue waiting outside.”

“How is it physically possible for you to have lived this past year with us and still not see that all of this will heavily affect Simon’s life, even if he wasn’t my public boyfriend?” He pulled the chair he had been sitting in out from the table and gestured for Simon to take it while he spoke. He turned to grab a side chair from the wall, since there were none left at the table, and knew The Queen had noticed his deliberate power play if the look she leveled him with was any indication.

“Not to mention,” he turned towards Jan-Olof, “can you scooch over some?” he asked innocently while trying to fit his new chair between his and Simon’s.

Simon snorted and tried to cover it with a cough and the white-haired advisor stuttered. Unable to disobey a request from the Crown Prince, he nudged Farima, who was hiding a smile behind her coffee cup, and the whole row loudly scooted their chairs down. Wille unceremoniously shoved the chair to the table and sat down.

“As I was saying, not to mention, if 30 people are going to sit here and try to discuss my future, you should know you’re discussing our future, so we’re both damn sure going to be a part of the conversation.”

Wille felt Simon grab his hand under the table and gave a grateful squeeze back. He wasn’t actually sure how long this confident bravado would last. He was used to holding his own in meetings at this point, and he knew he could command attention when needed, especially when fueled by anger. But the lack of panic was starting to make his skin crawl and he felt like he was on borrowed time. Could you have a panic attack over not feeling panicked enough?

With his free hand, Simon pulled the newspaper to himself to read the headline. His eyes continued to scan the page, taking in the article.

The Queen sighed, “Very well, Jan-Olof, please continue.”

“Yes, as I was saying before our…delay, we must anticipate public reaction to this news and plan responses accordingly. We’ll enact whatever plans are necessary. Now, first things first, the wisest course of action would be to release a statement on behalf of the entire Royal Family denying all these claims as a smear campaign that has been fully fabricated with falsified proof.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Wille deadpanned, at the same time that Simon spoke up, “Wisest for who?”

Everyone turned to face Simon, shocked he dared speak up in a meeting he was not even supposed to be a part of.

“This is everything. They have the proof: the police report you made go away, a copy of the settlement, and a source saying the court had the computer used to upload, which proves it was from August’s phone. How the hell do you think you can cover up this cover-up?”

“Mr. Eriksson,” Jan-Olof sighed, annoyed at being addressed, “The people must have trust in their Royal Family. What we do - we do to maintain the crown’s image among them. We will reshape the narrative and provide our own evidence that this story is false.”

“The people are not that stupid,” Simon retorted. “And clearly they’re right to mistrust.”

“That is enough, Mr. Eriksson,” the Queen said stonily.

“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” Wille cut in. “This is everyone at the table’s fault except mine and Simon’s. Don’t get mad at him for pointing out the truth.”

“Wilhelm, I do not think you understand the gravity of this situation,” the Queen said, standing at the head of the table again. “We will say this is not true, and you will back that. If necessary, Mr. Eriksson will as well.”

“You cannot force either of us to do anything, especially him. And I think you’ll find neither of us are interested in flat-out lying to the people to cover for you.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be,” she said, placing her palms on the table and leaning onto them. “But who exactly do you expect to take over for you if this article proves true? The people will not accept August as the Crown Prince with this knowledge, but you could, even after everything. So, if you want out, you’ll do this.”

She shifted her hard gaze from Wille’s eyes to Simon’s, then stared back at her son. “And if he wants you out, he’ll do it for you too.”

With those words, Wille’s brain finally caught up to the reality of the situation. He realized the prickling he had been feeling, the uneasiness that he wasn’t reacting enough, was just his mind refusing to address the incredibly obvious: this article meant he could lose his backup. August would not take over if the people turned on him.

Oh shit. If they didn’t fix this August couldn’t take over. Could Wille lie, and if not could walk away from his role and the monarchy if there was no one to replace him? Would his mother and the Royal Court even let him? Was he trapped?

He broke eye contact with The Queen and turned to stare, wide-eyed, at August. He had been unusually silent the entire meeting. He took a deep breath.

“I am sorry,” his cousin offered.

“For what?” Simon interjected, squeezing Wille’s hand harder. “That your cover is blown? For making us lie for you? Or for actually doing it in the first place? Because I’m still waiting on that apology, August.”

Simon looked over to his boyfriend and noticed he was still staring blankly ahead and breathing erratically.

He leaned in, “Do we need to get out of here?” he whispered.

Wille tapped the back of Simon’s hand once: yes.

The taps started as a way to communicate during sex, but they quickly realized they worked well in situations where they couldn’t speak freely, or either of them was too overwhelmed, and evolved from there. One tap for yes, two for no, three for I love you, and four for an immediate stop. Wille using them, unable to even nod, was enough for Simon to know he had to get them out of there, and fast.

He pushed back from the table abruptly and pulled on Wille’s hand to get him to follow.

“We’ll obviously need a little time to think this through. Wilhelm will let you know what we decide in the morning,” Simon said, addressing the entire room like he had done it before, or was even allowed to do it at all.

With that, he turned and led Wille from the room, Malin following a step behind them.

“Here,” Simon said, after leading Wille into his bedroom. “Wait right here; I just need to grab a few things, okay?” Wille tapped his hand once.

Quickly, Simon went to Wille’s closet and got out two pairs of sweatpants, well-worn blue Ralph Lauren ones and his grey Hillerska pair, knowing it would calm him down to see Simon in his clothes. He dropped the pants on the edge of the bed and continued into the bathroom to grab a glass of water, picked up one of the fidget toys Boris had given Wille from his desk, then placed both on the right nightstand – Wille’s side of the bed.

He stood back in front of his boyfriend, “Can I help you change clothes?” One tap. Simon smiled up at him. “Okay, arms up.” Wille complied, and Simon pulled his sweater over his head and dropped it on the floor but left his t-shirt on.

He grabbed the blue sweatpants and held them by the waistband between their bodies. “Can you take your jeans off and then step into these?” Wille moved robotically but did as Simon asked, then stood back up again, dressed for bed and dazed.

Simon undressed himself and slid on Wille’s sweatpants, then pulled the other to the right side of the bed. He lightly pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit, and Wille scooted back to the headboard. Simon sat cross-legged in front of him and reached for the water.

“Would you drink a little for me?” Wille took the water and took a couple of small sips before lowering the glass. “Thank you,” Simon smiled, taking the glass and setting it back on the nightstand. He picked up the fidget toy, a small cube with different movable pieces on each face, and held it out. “Would this help?”

Wille nodded. A nod, progress. Simon handed the toy over and Wille began pushing a light knob back and forth.

“I’m here whenever you want to talk, okay? And if that’s not tonight that’s okay too.” Wille nodded again. “Okay. I’ll just play some games on my phone. I won’t talk to anyone until we do. Let me know when you want to talk or go to sleep, yeah?”

Wille reached out and ran his hand to the inside of Simon’s wrist. Three taps. I love you. Simon felt a wave of relief that Wille was shut down, but not shutting him out, and smiled again.

“I love you, too.”

He gave up on playing a game after a few minutes. His mind was running a mile a minute, so he was aimlessly scrolling through his new, and now private, Instagram. He was trying really, really hard to not panic. It wouldn’t help Wille right now, and as much as he had worked on not putting his needs second, he had only ever seen Wille get so overwhelmed he stopped speaking three times. Once on the day Erik died and Simon tried to talk to him when he walked him back to his dorm after getting off the phone with his mother, the night of Lucia after the video was posted, and now.

The fact of the matter was Simon was freaking out that this would change, or god forbid end, their relationship…again. But Wille was freaking out that he might not be able to walk away from his title now - or if he could stomach lying so he still could. And on some level probably what that would mean for their relationship too, or at least Simon selfishly hoped that was also crossing Wille’s mind. So truthfully, Wille’s problems were a little bit bigger right now. He could wait.

The two had worked hard in the past few months to communicate better: Wille trying to understand his privileges, be more empathetic, and slower to anger, and Simon trying to understand his boyfriend’s lifelong pressures, being less guarded, and more forthcoming. It was something they had agreed they needed to improve for their relationship to last, and thankfully they also agreed they wanted it to last forever, but they knew that would take some effort and compromise.

Wille brought it up with Boris and they made a list of communication issues Wille was worried could cause major problems in their relationship, how Wille could address them, and things he was willing to ask Simon to address too.

One of those things was Simon starting therapy. Simon had never seen Wille look so nervous the night he finally brought it up, tangled together on Simon’s bed in Bjärstad. In classic Simon fashion, his first instinct was to get defensive, but Wille was so kind, and clumsy, and loving that Simon took a breath and heard him out. And, well, he had a lot of solid points.

Simon never unpacked the trauma he had from growing up with an addict who at the best of times was an unreliable flight risk, and at the worst of times cruel and violent. That coupled with constant “otherness,” from being biracial, lower class, and gay, left him, justifiably, in a weird battle between caring for others to his own detriment and being too emotionally closed off.

And then there was the whole trauma of being a victim of revenge porn as a minor, thrust into the media spotlight unwillingly, and dealing with the pressures and expectations of dating a royal. So, eventually, Simon had to agree that talking to someone might be a good idea, no matter how against his nature it felt.

He started seeing Mika weekly at the beginning of October, and despite wanting to hate it, after a couple of sessions, he found himself being more honest with them than with anyone else in his life – even Wille, but only because they talked about Wille. They were in their mid-30s and had a no-bullshit vibe to rival Rosh, but there was a softness in how they asked questions that relaxed him and made him feel safe. They were also loudly queer, with a pride pin and pronoun tag on their work badge, and decorated their office with subtle touches to let their clients know they were in a welcoming environment: a crocheted rainbow blanket over the back of the couch, a mini progress pride flag stuck in the pen holder, and a gallery wall of affirmations.

When they made a plan for how Simon could improve his communication, he also brought up how he wanted to work on ways to better manage when Wille was angry or overwhelmed, whether they were fighting and Simon needed to change tactics, or if it was just to offer better support.

Mika asked when and how he noticed those were characteristics of Wille’s and Simon replied that he had learned he had to speak to his sister differently in different situations, and he was often the person to help her through meltdowns as children before she was diagnosed with autism and given the tools to handle her emotions more constructively. He realized some of those approaches also helped Wille, but since his and Sara’s personalities and communication styles were so different it wasn’t a perfect translation.

“Oh wait,” he gasped when he said the words out loud for the first time. “Holy shit, Mika, is Wille autistic? That actually makes so much sense.”

They laughed at Simon’s revelation. “Obviously, I can’t say if he is, but if you see the similarities then I can help you prepare for talking to him about it, and what you can do to help him without harming yourself. You are my priority.”

Simon was still gathering the courage to bring it up to Wille. Despite Mika’s help, it was still really daunting to tell your boyfriend you thought he might be on the autism spectrum, but he knew no one in his family or the Royal Court would ever think Wille could even be autistic, much less help him seek an evaluation if he wanted to pursue one. However, the more he got to know Ludvig and heard about his fascination with The Great Northern War, it was less and less surprising that Wille could have inherited it.

“Hey.” Wille’s whisper shocked him out of his thoughts.

“Hi,” Simon smiled as Wille reached out and laced their hands together.

“How long has it been?” he asked quietly.

Simon checked the time on his phone. “About an hour. Did you want to try and sleep, or..?”

“No, I want to talk a little if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. How are you feeling?”

“Confused, I think.” Simon nodded for him to continue. “Um, I’m trying to think through the options and what all this means, but I can’t even start. And I feel like I should be having a panic attack, but instead I just kind of feel nothing. I still couldn’t get any words outthough. Like I was so overwhelmed I moved past panic to something worse.”

“I think you dissociated. Have you heard of that?” Wille shook his head.

“It’s something I’ve talked about with Mika. They told me it’s common with people that have experienced trauma and with neurodivergent people, so both Sara and I do it sometimes.” Okay, he planted the seed, that was on the list of how to eventually bring this up to Wille.

“Basically, if you get overwhelmed or put in another traumatic situation, or something triggers memories, you kind of shut down. Like, pull away from your feelings because they’re too much and your brain is trying to protect you.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Is it normal to feel like you can’t speak?”

That was a potentially dangerous question. Simon did not want to draw too many parallels to Sara right now. Wille was smart; he would see the connection and that was way too much to process at once. “I think it’s different for everyone, but yeah I’ve heard of being nonverbal temporarily.”

Wille looked lost in thought for a minute. “I don’t think I can talk about what this means yet. My brain won’t let me.”

Simon giggled quietly at the phrasing. “That’s okay. I’m sure we’ll have some time before we have to tell them what we’re going to say. And knowing them they’ll probably make us sit in another meeting before then anyway.”

“When did we tell them we would give them an answer?”

“I told them we’d be back down in the morning when I was getting you out of the room,” Simon said with a bit of a question in his voice.

“I literally don’t remember this at all. You told the court we were leaving?”

Simon wanted to panic a little that Wille blocked part of the meeting from his memory, but he knew that was a common tactic and often filled in gaps for Sara. “Yeah, you tapped on my hand that we needed to leave so I told them we had to talk about this and would let them know in the morning.”

“Damn I wish I could remember that; I bet you standing up to the entire Royal Court was hot.”

At that Simon laughed out loud, thankful that Wille was coming back to himself, and slightly turned on, no matter how inappropriate of a time it was. That little shit.

Simon’s phone buzzed several times in a row on the bed between them and he flipped it over to read the notifications.

Group Message

Ayub:

Simme we’re all freaking out a little. Is everything okay?

Rosh:

Jesus you aren’t supposed to tell them we’re freaking out

Ayub:

Oh my b

Ayub:

Simme we’re totally chill, how about you?

Rosh:

🤦🏻♀️

Alex:

What he said…I think

Sara:

Anyway…we’re all here for you both

He showed the messages to Wille and they laughed at their friend’s antics. “What should we tell them?” Simon asked.

“Oh shit. I’m sure reporters will go after most of them after this story breaks. They’ll want reactions or information from anyone close to us.”

“Crap, I didn’t even think about that.”

Wille ran a hand down his face slowly. “Yeah, unfortunately, I have to.”

Simon’s heart broke at that, but he also felt a little proud of his boyfriend. A big fight in their past had been Wille not recognizing ways the press hounded Simon because he was so protected from it. So, his immediately realizing their friends would be targeted was great progress. The heartbreaking part was Simon could see how much Wille was still struggling to be present, and he shouldn’t have to muster his brain power to think logistics.

“I can fill them in and warn them if you want?”

“Could you? I’m sorry, älskling, I just don’t have the words right now.”

“Of course. Do you want to go get ready for bed while I text them? I think you’ll feel better if you stick to your nighttime routine.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll be right back,” he said, leaning over to kiss Simon’s cheek as he got out of bed and walked towards the bathroom.

Simon:

Hey guys. Wille asked me to update you. He’s here and he’s okay, just a lot to process.

Simon:

Everyone is okay

Simon:

So basically, an article is going to be in tomorrow’s Dagens Nyheter exposing what August did and the cover-up. The court is planning on denying it and saying it’s all fabricated. They want us both to join the statement.

Maddie:

WTF

Rosh:

Oh fuck no

Felice:

OMG are you going to do it??

Ayub:

Bro

Ayub:

BroS

Ayub:

Brethren?

Alex:

What he said…again I think

Sara:

Not ideal

Simon:

We don’t know yet. If we don’t then August can’t take over for Wille. If we do he can, but we’d lie to everyone. We still have to talk about it more.

Simon:

Oh Wille also wants me to warn all of you that people might contact you to get statements

Simon:

We know you’d never talk, but he wanted to give you a heads-up

Felice:

No of course we won’t talk to anyone

Felice:

Can we do anything to help either of you right now?

Simon:

I really don’t think so

Simon:

I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow once we know more

Simon:

Sara can you warn mamma?

Simon:

Hold on Wille is telling me something

Sara:

Yeah of course

Simon:

Wille says he’s going to send a guard to mamma tonight to stake out the front of the building in case anyone shows up. And he’ll talk to the court in the morning about moving us to a hotel temporarily so our address doesn’t get leaked. I’ll call her in the morning too.

Sara:

Okay I’ll tell her

Sara:

Tell Wille thank you

Simon:

He says of course

Simon:

He also says to tell us immediately if anyone follows any of you or gets aggressive

Rosh:

I will as long as my security agent is Malin

Ayub:

???

Rosh:

What? She is FINE

Maddie:

^real

Rosh:

👀👀

Ayub:

Can you two flirt somewhere there isn’t a national crisis happening?

Alex:

What he said

Simon:

And that’s our cue

Simon:

I’m turning both our phones on Do Not Disturb. Text you in the morning. Thanks guys.

Wille finished texting Farima about getting security to Linda then handed his phone over to a waiting Simon, who quickly set both their phones so they'd be left alone and placed them on the nightstand. They lay down together, Simon automatically taking the big spoon spot to comfort Wille, and eventually fell into restless sleep.

They awoke in stark contrast to the day before, jolted by anxiety far too early, mood matching the skies outside: grey and stormy. They moved slowly, taking lazy showers and dressing comfortably, and eventually made their way to the private kitchen for some breakfast. Wille was speaking but was still quiet and a bit in his head. He was desperately clingy, which Simon honestly loved, despite the circumstances, and kept a part of himself touching his boyfriend at all times.

Simon was standing at the island pouring two glasses of juice with Wille at his back, arms around his waist, and head hooked over his shoulder, when Ludvig and Kristina entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, boys,” Ludvig said with a small smile.

“Wilhelm. Simon,” Kristina stated.

“Mamma. Pappa,” Wille volleyed back with the same inflection.

“Good morning,” Simon added, trying to ease the tension.

“Did you two discuss the joint statement?” The Queen officially entered the conversation.

“Jesus, mamma, can we at least finish our breakfast in peace?”

“Wilhelm, this is too important. We must react…where do you think you’re going?”

Wille had moved to grab the plate of cheese sandwiches and fruit he had put together and motioned for Simon to grab the juice.

“I’m not listening to this right now. We’ll see you in the meeting. Come on, älskling.”

Simon did not have to be told twice. They ate silently sitting on Wille’s bed with the plate between them. When they finished Wille sighed and reached for his phone. “Let’s get this over with.”

He flipped off Do Not Disturb and set the phone on the bed. Immediately the screen lit up: 3 Google alerts, 2 missed calls (one from security services and one from Farima so his number thankfully had not been leaked), 57 text messages (at least their generation didn't call people), 72 emails, and an unending stream of Twitter and Instagram notifications. Simon, thankfully, only had a lot of text messages (by his standards), but no unknown calls or texts, so his number hadn’t been leaked either.

Simon sighed heavily. “We’re going to have to lie.”

Wille looked up, startled before his face settled on puzzled. “You want to lie?”

“No, I don’t want to, but I want you stuck here even less. We closed this chapter. Do you really want to reopen it?”

While they were talking they both received the same message.

Farima:

Please come back to the Vasa Stateroom immediately. There has been a development.

Both boys groaned in unison. “Told you they’d make us sit in another meeting before we’d have to give them an answer,” Simon smirked.

“Well let’s get that over with too,” Wille said, grabbing Simon’s hand as they started the long walk to the meeting hall.

Five minutes later they entered the conference room, still hand in hand. Wille noticed immediately that everyone looked much more Royal Court-like than they had the previous night, back to business suits and perfect styling. This time they were the odd ones out, Wille in a designer matching sweat set and Simon in his trademark plaid pants and purple hoodie. It felt a lot more normal than it had last night.

They took their seats, though Wille sat next to the Queen again with Simon between him and Jan-Olof. A few more people trickled in, and then the ancient advisor stood and cleared his throat. It was only 7:53 AM and Wille already wanted to punch him. This was going to be a long day.

“Thank you all for getting in so early; there really is no time to waste. Now, the article has been live for,” he twisted his wrist and checked his 850,000 SEK Chopard watch, “53 minutes and we have preliminary drafts of the statement drawn up. However, we have just discovered a…wrinkle…and need to adjust accordingly. Minou, if you will.”

He motioned to the woman sitting a couple of seats down and she raised a remote and pointed it at an otherwise blank stretch of wall. The wall filled with light from a projector that Simon had not noticed extended from the ceiling and displayed the homepage of a website he had never heard of.

The page was minimal, with a solid black background and greyed-out, semi-opaque, text box containing a headline in bold blue letters:

Svenskar för Avskaffande claims responsibility for hacks and sources leading to the reveal of the Royal cover-up of child pornography and the protection of the sex offender responsible for its creation and distribution

All evidence is dated and sourced, has been independently verified to be authentic and not altered or manipulated, and is available for the public to view for free here

Please note: the video in question will not be linked due to its nature and the age of its victims. Screenshots necessary for evidence will have faces blurred.

For a list of the party’s policies and demands, click here

To contact us, click here

The only Sweden worthy is a Sweden free of monarchy

- Svenskar för Avskaffande

The room was silent for a full minute while everyone took in the words on the screen. Simon looked around to gauge everyone’s reactions.

The Queen and Duke were stony-faced, the former starring at Jan-Olof and the latter at the table; this was clearly not news to them. August and his mother were both extra pale and clammy looking, lips in tight lines, and his stepfather was fiddling with his wedding ring and not making eye contact.

Everyone at the other end of the table, people from legal and PR, had leaned forward, like getting closer to this bombshell would soften the blow, and some started frantically shuffling their papers or writing notes down.

Wille reached over and held his hand under the table before speaking up, “Svenskar för Avskaffande? Swedes for Abolishment? Who are they?”

“Yes, Crown Prince, we were made aware of this group some time ago but had not encountered them directly until they posted this, eh, manifesto, if you will,” Jan-Olof began. “It seems they were once part of The Swedish Republican Association but broke from them a couple of years ago as they did not feel their former party’s tactics were aggressive enough. They claim to have hacked both Hillerska and police records to gather their evidence, as well as planting someone within the court to leak information and the settlement between yourself, August, and Mr. Eriksson.”

“Oh, a Republican mole in the palace? Wonder who that could be?” August chided, glaring at Simon.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Wille ground out.

“Yes, August, my master plan. Jesus Christ, you’re as stupid as you are conceited,” Simon deadpanned.

“That is ENOUGH,” the Queen said, standing at the head of the table and commanding attention. “You three will keep your mouths shut while we figure out how to fix this.”

“And how the hell are you supposed to do that if they have all the proof?” Wille asked incredulously.

“Well, Crown Prince,” Jan-Olof began, “we will of course have to see how credible the people find this group and their claims. From there we can…”

“Oh, come off it,” Farima interjected, annoyed. She looked Wille in the eyes, then looked to Simon, and finally back to Wille, as she addressed both of them. “The longer everyone in this room denies the inevitable the worse off we’ll all be. August will not be accepted as the Crown Prince, or even as a spare. As of this morning – you don’t have a backup.”

Chapter Text

Simon was concerned. And that was the understatement of the century.

He was lying awake in bed, staring at the far too ornate ceiling and repeatedly replaying the previous day. Farima was honest with them. She had told them what they both knew deep down, but no one else from the Royal Court had the guts to say. You don’t have a backup. And that made all hell break loose.

Wille went non-verbal again, missed by everyone in the room but Simon, since the meeting devolved into what was probably considered chaos by Royal Court standards. People from legal and PR got into the quietest and most respectful shouting match Simon had ever heard. Jan-Olof interjected every 30 seconds to try to maintain order. Farima countered every argument he made.

August said he would throw up and excused himself at one point. He didn’t return. His mother left soon after he did. Rickard stayed and watched the melee with a detached amusement.

The whole time, Simon had a death grip on Wille’s hand, trying to ground him and not leave him reeling in his head. He asked if they needed to leave. Wille tapped the back of his hand twice: no. Simon had to assume Wille meant they needed to know what was happening, but he was too overwhelmed to be an active participant. Thankfully, he sat on the right side of his boyfriend, so his dominant hand was free from the death grip. Simon pulled a notepad and pen someone had left on the table closer and started taking notes as best he could.

That meant Simon was paying close attention to everything everyone said, every look someone gave, and all the other non-verbal cues everyone exhibited. It was a messy affair. But he noticed one thing, the absolute worst thing: neither of Wille’s parents looked at him after Farima blew up the meeting.

Wille was told his ability to leave and live his own life could be gone, and he, the impulsive and temperamental Prince who had no qualms about yelling at anyone and loudly standing his ground in meetings, said nothing. He said nothing for almost two hours, and his parents never looked at him. The Queen didn’t even look at him, and to Simon, those were different people in the same way Wille and the Crown Prince were.

Simon would have yelled at them, asked what the fuck was wrong with them that they didn’t notice or care that their anxious, traumatized, perfect son was in the middle of a probable autistic dissociation. Oh yeah, and that they failed to see their son is autistic, add that to the list of things to yell at them about. But between writing down all the points around the table and holding Wille’s hand, staying in tune enough with him to know if they needed to leave, he didn’t have time to scream at a Queen. He was too busy taking care of a neglected Prince.

Eventually, the Royal Court dismissed everyone, saying they needed time to write drafts and see how public opinion unfolded. Simon and Wille spent the day in relative silence, tense and unsure of the future. They went to the music room, and Wille curled up on a couch, and Simon played piano absentmindedly. After a while, Wille managed to ask Simon to sing; so Simon smiled at him, pushed every emotion away, and played through some songs he had memorized without sheet music, which he could read with ease now.

He played some of his favorites, Stay by Rihanna and Fine Line by Harry Styles, and hoped their lyrics weren’t too on the nose for the situation. Still, he let his emotions slip in when he played a couple of Wille’s favorites, Video Games by Lana Del Rey and Heavenly by Cigarettes After Sex. He had about 30 songs memorized, half Wille’s requests, but he could still play around for a minute and figure one out by ear. Wille told him it was an insane talent; Simon honestly thought it was something embarrassing left from when he couldn’t read sheet music.

So, he had other songs he could play - several fit the, at this point, obvious vibe he was going for, but he had a thought and wanted to see if it would pull Wille back to him or if he was still too far in his head. He began messing around on the keys, playing little sections or muttering he didn’t like it that way, and trying something a little different. After a few minutes, he started adding the lyrics he had been working on.

It was far from complete, but he had these words in his head ever since Wille came to Bjärstad for his birthday last month. They were in snippets here and there, but he thought he had the chorus more or less finalized. He played around with it for about ten minutes, singing more confidently as time passed, when Wille finally raised himself off the couch and joined him on the piano bench.

“That doesn’t sound familiar. Are you writing again?” he spoke slowly and softly, getting used to it.

Simon hummed in response. “I might be.”

Wille played the words he heard over in his head. Simon showed the depth of his love for Wille daily, but was more reserved regarding words and voicing them. But if the lyrics were any indication, he might love Wille as much as Wille loved him.

“And were you maybe thinking of anyone in particular when you wrote it?” Wille asked, smiling for the first time in hours.

“Hm, just some guy. Good hair. Heart of gold. Great ass.”

Wille laughed out loud and put his head on Simon’s shoulder. “Thank you. You always know how to get through to me and make me feel better.”

He's mulling over those words as he lies in bed next to his still-asleep Prince of a boyfriend in this stupid, oversized palace. Simon always knows how to make Wille feel better. He always supports him, comforts him, and reassures him. And it’s a slippery slope from just being a good partner to bolstering Wille at his own expense.

Well, that’s a really selfish thought. His boyfriend found out his entire life plan was ripped out from under him. Simon spent two days helping him process it, and now he’s worried about his feelings? Jesus Christ. It had only been 48 hours; he needed to get a grip.

No, he reminded himself. Recognizing his feelings was not selfish but self-care. Understanding that they also needed to be addressed didn't make him a bad boyfriend because if left unchecked, they would fester until he exploded, and that would make him a bad boyfriend. Expecting Wille to provide the same emotional support he did was not high maintenance; it was a balanced relationship.

Man, Mika would be so proud of him. He was nailing this therapy stuff.

Or he would be if he had plans to bring this up to Wille. But he just couldn't. Not right now. Maybe that's putting himself second, but fuck it. Since he knew him, Wille had gone non-verbal four times. And two of them were in the last 36 hours. That was a big fucking deal if you asked Simon - so he’s fine, really. He can wait.

Just then, Wille groaned and stretched, reaching out towards Simon and pulling him back flush with his own body. “Good morning, älskling,” he whispered.

“Good morning, mi amor,” Simon whispered back.

Wille wrapped his arms tightly around his back, pulling him half on top of him, and Simon settled his head on Wille’s chest, nose in the crook of his neck. He breathed deeply, taking in all of Wille’s scent. And that was why he could wait. That person, he felt against every inch of his body, had taken on more at 17 than anyone should have to in their lifetime. But he was there, real and flawed, but trying, and Simon desperately loved him. He could wait.

They decided to have breakfast brought to Wille’s room to avoid running into his parents like they did the previous morning. They showered together while they waited, only getting a little distracted, and put on clean sweats when they finished.

“What do you want to do today?” Wille asked as they were eating breakfast in the sitting room - because they weren't lazy cavemen who refused to get out of bed, so Simon told him.

“I think we need to get out of this palace…if they’ll let us, I guess.” And let really was the keyword.

There weren't too many, but some people had gathered outside the palace gates. Tours were closed until after the New Year, so no one was on the grounds. They were set up with chairs and some signs, not that they could read them from how far back the palace sat, but they could see them through the front-facing windows in certain rooms.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Wille said, “It’s not like it’s a full-on protest or something. And cars come and go from here all the time. There’s no way for anyone to know it’s me in one. Why, where do you want to go?”

“Well, we never finished our low-key friend get-together. I figured we could use the distraction and catch them up some more. Rosh and Ayub texted last night, and they stayed an extra night in case we needed them, but they will go home this afternoon.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad they’re still here. Just them? I thought they rode down with Sara?”

“Mm yeah, they did. Sara had to work at the stables today, so she drove home yesterday. They’re taking the afternoon train.”

“And I’m assuming they’ll be mad if I even offer to buy their tickets since they stayed because of my family drama?”

Simon giggled and kissed his cheek. “Yes, they would. But it’s sweet of you to think about it.”

“Okay, well, I still feel bad. I’ll text everyone, though, and we’ll figure it out.”

Wille pulled his phone out and frowned when he opened his texts. Simon figured if he wanted to talk about it, he would. He fired off the messages to the group chat, Farima, and Malin. Felice told them to come over anytime and Alex said he’d meet them there. Farima agreed they could go but insisted they take one of the fully blacked-out cars usually reserved for the Queen. They decided to silence their phones and let Farima and Linda know if they needed them to go through Malin.

As they stood up Simon suddenly chuckled to himself.

“What are you laughing at?” Wille questioned.

“I just realized you described a national scandal threatening the continuation of a thousand-year-old monarchy as your family drama.”

Forty-five minutes later they found themselves in the same apartment, with the same people, minus Sara, as two days prior – though the mood was noticeably more subdued. Everyone was comfortably lounging in the living room when Rosh broke the ice.

“Okay, enough bullshit small talk. We’re worried about you,” she said shifting her gaze back and forth between Simon and Wille.

It actually warmed Wille’s heart a little that Rosh had included him in that statement, as she was hard to read at best and downright terrifying at worst. The eyebrow slit didn’t help.

“I genuinely don’t know what to say yet,” he started. “I mean, the court is waiting for more public opinion to unfold before responding accordingly. But no matter how people react, it's likely that August is done.”

“So, what does that mean for you?” Rosh asked. Wille was sure she did care, but the undertone was also clear to him: what does this mean for my best friend you’ve already hurt too many times? Are you going to do it again?

“I think they’re going to try and get me to stay, to be king, with everything they have. But my feelings on that haven’t changed.”

“So, if you still abdicate?” She raised the slitted eyebrow when she asked.

“It would cause a constitutional crisis.”

“Yeah, man, for those of us that didn’t pay attention in social studies, how? Why?” Ayub asked, scratching the back of his neck like his not paying attention would personally offend Crown Prince Wilhelm.

“No, I don’t know either, actually,” Alex said. “I grew up mostly in Shanghai,” he stated, looking towards Rosh, Ayub, and Simon since the rest knew this. “So, I only did Grade 9 here before starting at Hillerska. My Swedish civics and history isn’t great.”

Simon appreciated that Alex saw that Ayub looked a little uncomfortable and spoke up when he didn’t have to, and in a way that wasn’t condescending. Outside of the whole August thing he always got a good vibe from Alex, even though they never really spoke. And if three people he loved and trusted liked him as much as they did he was sure they could be friends too.

Maddie raised her hand. “Uh, not to outshine y’all, but some of us are American and therefore ignore the inner workings of every other country, even if we live in them,” she finished giggling. Simon did not miss the exasperated but fond look Rosh was giving her.

“Okay, stop me if I get too into the details here,” Wille began. Everyone nodded. “So, back in the late 70s, the Riksdag passed a Line of Succession bill. It was mostly to write into law establishing the firstborn automatically be given right to the throne regardless of gender, because my grandparents had –,“

“Grandparents. Like they weren’t a whole ass King and Queen,” Maddie huffed.

Wille smiled before continuing. He knew his friend was just trying to make him laugh after the past couple of days. “Yes, that’s generally how it works in my family. So, my grandparents, the King and Queen,” he shot Maddie a look, “had my mom and she had a younger brother. Before the law change the crown would have passed to him. But there were, like, I think 12 or 14 years between them. I know they tried for a long time to have him, and then he was kind of a surprise.

The doctors weren’t sure he’d make it and he had a ton of health problems from the beginning. My grandfather worked with the Riksdag for years to get the law passed, because even if my uncle lived a long life, he wouldn’t ever be well. He actually died several years before they passed the bill, but grandfather wanted it done to make sure it was never an issue down the line."

He took a deep breath before launching into the part that was actually relevant, but a lot of people forgot there had been a former prince, especially people their age who were born decades after the fact, so he figured it was worth mentioning. “Tucked into that bill was a clause that the Riksdag is not obligated to name a new family line in the event the current line dies out.”

Ayub, Alex, and Maddie continued to stare like that didn’t fully explain the situation.

“Okay, as it’s written in the Swedish Constitution, if the royal family line dies out or ends, the Riksdag is to name a new family line to take over the crown. That’s actually how my ancestor got the crown, but our line has been intact since 1818. So, if I abdicate, or even if I was King but didn’t have any children,” he unconsciously reached out and laced his fingers with Simon’s, a move that everyone else noted with interest, “the Riksdag would have either opened the line of succession to include August, not an option anymore, or vote on a new royal family, probably another old, noble one.”

“Oh God, imagine Vincent suddenly became King,” Felice groaned.

Everyone laughed out loud, even Rosh and Ayub, who had heard plenty of horror stories from the last year.

“Well, good news/bad news. The succession change gave the Riksdag an out, so they could vote on a new family, but they don’t have to. I haven’t spoken to anyone in the Royal Court about it yet, but I’m assuming a lot of people think they wouldn’t nominate anyone and would vote to end the monarchy. So, no Vincent, but definitely a constitutional crisis, and the government as Swedes have known since forever would change.”

Ayub held his hand up to Simon. “Yeah, bro, you somehow ended the monarchy in less than two years.”

“Dude,” Simon and Rosh said at the same time.

Wille laughed, high-fived Ayub on Simon's behalf, then tapped Simon’s foot with his to get his attention. “We should probably talk to someone to see if that is what they are thinking. I don’t want to be blindsided in any more meetings.”

Felice and Maddie caught each other’s eyes and had a silent conversation about that “we.”

“Yeah, of course. Farima?”

“I think she’s the only one who’ll be honest. I’ll text her and set it up.”

“But speaking of not being blindsided, what are people saying? We haven’t been looking at our phones for obvious reasons,” Simon asked the group.

Everyone exchanged nervous glances. “Guys…” Simon stated again, warningly.

“It could be worse,” Felice offered, trying to soften the blow.

“Yeah, no, people are a thousand percent on y’all’s side! It’s not looking good for August, the court, or the Queen and Duke though, Wille.” Maddie added.

Rosh huffed out a laugh. “Good riddance.”

“Hey,” Simon said harshly, “it’s still his parents.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Wille,” Rosh started, “that was insensitive.”

He actually couldn’t believe she had apologized at all based on how protective she had been of Simon in the past, not that he minded that. “No, it’s okay. They don’t not deserve it.”

“Well, in the working-class corners of the internet, AKA anything I see, everyone is backing you both, saying how terrible it was but especially now that it was a, quote, inside job,” Ayub said. “Even anti-monarchists love you now, Wille.”

That was confusing to him. “Me? Why? I’m very much still a part of the monarchy as far as anyone knows.”

“People see you as a victim of the institution that they are against,” Rosh took over. “And you are, to be honest. But people also see your speech from the Jubilee in a new light now, especially August getting up first and your death glaring at him when you passed him. I mean, they see it how we always did since we knew the truth.”

“Yeah,” Ayub cut back in, “people love you two together even more now because it’s obvious to them how much of a fuck you to your family and the court it was to claim Simon, for lack of better words, publicly. And people think it’s adorable you’re still together,” he finished smiling. If Simon and Wille had one fan of their relationship, they knew it was Ayub.

“Well….” Felice said hesitantly. Maddie shot her a warning look.

“Spit it out, Feli,” Wille demanded.

“One gossip site claims a former Hillerska student told them you were broken up at graduation, so they’re saying if you’re still even together now it’s an unstable relationship that the monarchy shouldn’t blow up over.”

“That no one should face consequences over, you mean.” Simon glowered.

“Hey, no, not me. I’m just trying to be honest about what’s out there.”

“Ugh, I know, I’m sorry. It’s so hard not to care when they say that though.” Simon sighed. Wille squeezed his hand tight.

“I know, I’m sorry you have to deal with it.” Felice conceded.

“Would it help or hurt to hear what the new Forest Ridge group chat is saying?” Alex asked, clapping his hands together.

“The what?!” Simon and Wille asked simultaneously.

“Yeah, so Henry, obviously Henry, created a new group with pretty much everyone from the house minus both of you, August for clear reasons, and Nils and Vincent also for clear reasons. He was asking if it’s true, if anyone knew anything, pretty much anything to be nosy and a gossip.”

“And I’m sure Tweedle Dum was backing him?” Maddie deadpanned.

“You know it.” He turned to face Wille. “You know they both went to École Chantecler because their parents heard that’s where you were going, right? Apparently they were pissed when they got there and you never showed,” Alex said laughing.

“That is not at all surprising. Okay, what did the group message decide?” Wille asked.

“Not much because no one knew anything. I mean people were of course shocked it was your own cousin, but then everyone started remembering how you treated him after last Christmas, and they had that light bulb moment. I haven’t said a single thing.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I trust you.”

“Well, they called me out on it. Henry point blank asked me what I knew and said they knew we’re close from mine, Felice, and Maddie’s social media, but I didn’t respond. I’m kind of surprised Henry didn’t kick me out of the group in retaliation.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t. They think you could still talk. Tell me if anything noteworthy happens in there though?”

“Of course.”

“Did they say anything about me?” Simon couldn’t help but ask.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Still ignoring me because I’m not rich, that figures.”

“We’ve already established that they’re idiots, älskling,” Wille said soothingly.

“Okay,” Felice said, slapping her legs, “that is enough deep, depressing talk. You should have some fun now that you’re out of the palace!”

That quickly led to a team Mario Kart battle, Simon, Rosh, and Felice versus Ayub, Alex, and Wille. Maddie happily sat out in favor of being the live commentator, and she had everyone crying from laughter minutes into the first race. Simon, Rosh, and Felice won, all taking a victory lap running through the apartment. Maddie held her phone out like a microphone for a post-victory interview that Ayub, Alex, and Wille loudly booed.

Eventually, Rosh and Ayub needed to head to the train station, and Wille said the least he could do was drive them there on their way back to Drottningholm. The two friends relented after a few minutes of protests, so the four piled into the blacked-out sedan after telling Malin about the detour and telling the others bye.

Rosh and Ayub told them how much they enjoyed hanging out with Wille’s friends again, and that they even had a great time staying with Felice and Maddie the extra day. Ayub elbowed Rosh when she said it and she shot daggers at him. Simon pretended not to notice for her sake.

When they pulled away from the train station Wille told Simon that Farima agreed to meet with them when they got back to the palace. Instantly, Simon felt the calm and happy feeling the time with their friends had given him evaporate.

Back to anxiety and the relentless pressure of the royal family. But he had to support Wille, who he could already see biting the edges of his nails. Wille would worry about Sweden, his parents, and his role, so Simon would worry about Wille. He was fine. And if he wasn't, he could wait.

Farima asked them to meet her in one of the small, informal meeting rooms. Wille and Simon held hands as they walked there in silence, the atmosphere getting more tense the closer they got. Simon hated how just being in this building started sucking the life out of them.

Even worse, he could leave – Wille fucking lived here. It was no wonder he escaped to Simon’s as much as he could. For a boy constantly under pressure with a fear of being perceived, living in a museum was not ideal - not even his home was a safe escape.

Too quickly, they arrived at the meeting room and Wille opened the door to lead him inside. It was really more of a small sitting room attached to a larger meeting room and held ornate couches and accent chairs around a golden and marble coffee table, all placed in front of a large fireplace.

Farima was already there and gestured for them to join her. They sat next to each other on one of the couches and the advisor sat in the adjacent chair. A fika spread was on the coffee table. Simon appreciated that she had taken measures to make this as informal as possible.

Wille cleared his throat and started, “Thank you for meeting us on such short notice.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem at all, Crown Prince. I am always available to you. Please do help yourselves to some coffee and cinnamon rolls,” she gestured to the pastries and drinks. “Though I am sure you’re wondering why we’re meeting here and not my office.”

That actually hadn’t crossed Simon’s mind, but Wille nodded immediately.

“I just reserved this room on the calendars but didn’t note I was meeting with you. I sometimes come here to work in front of the fire for a change of scenery or during an especially stressful day. I think we need to be honest with each other. And I think I need to level with you more than I have before, because you deserve the truth, and I think you can handle it. How about you?”

“Yes, I agree. I asked you to meet specifically because I don’t trust anyone else in the Royal Court to not keep things from me. They work for the Queen. I think we’re at a point where I need an ally. You’ve spoken up for me several times. And you are the only one who seems to understand just how serious Simon and I are about making these decisions together.”

Wille looked over at Simon when he said the last part and reached for his hand. Simon gave him a small smile and placed their joined hands in his lap. That had been Crown Prince Wilhelm speaking, and it always kind of took Simon’s breath away to see Wille transform into this confident, aware person. Unfortunately for the anti-monarchist in him, it was also infuriatingly hot.

Farima nodded at them both and continued. “I want to be your ally. It may feel foreign at first, but I think it’s unavoidable that you are going to have to play politics from here on out within the Court. You’ve been protected from it thus far, or too young to make your own way. The reality is that time is gone.”

“I asked you to meet me here because whenever other members of the Court find out, and they always find out, that the three of us had a closed-door meeting in my office, they would know you are making plans of your own, and they would plan how to move against you if they didn’t like those plans. Hiding in the open is a more tactful approach. If anyone enters for any reason, we are simply having fika because Simon had questions about his potential long-term role,” she finished with a wink.

Simon laughed a little darkly. “Well, I’m just happy we’re finally acknowledging all the behind-the-scenes power plays. I’d rather be upfront about it.”

“And I admire that about you. In fact, a large reason I think the Crown Prince is ready to strategize his own plans is because of how much more aware you’ve made him. But it is a double-edged sword. Once you start playing the Royal Court’s game, you can’t stop playing it.”

Wille swallowed visibly. “I’ve never been one for the politics of this place. But I don’t want to find out life-changing news at a table with 35 other people anymore. I want to walk in and be prepared to argue my case. I have to mentally prep myself to do that, otherwise my emotions guide what I say, so I need to know beforehand.”

“Yes, I understand that. Though I do want to say I have the utmost confidence in you. Even when you go a little off script,” she chuckled, “you have a way of making your point and endearing people to you. No matter what you decide for your future, I know you will succeed.”

“Thank you, Farima, I do appreciate it.”

“Of course, Crown Prince.”

“I guess it’s too much to get you to call me Wilhelm if we’re going to work closely together?”

“It is, Crown Prince. Now, we’ve established we both will be transparent with each other, so what do you want to know?”

Wille began fiddling with Simon’s fingers to stave off some of the anxiety he was feeling. “Our friends told us what the public has been saying so far. I know the Royal Court is just stalling by saying they are waiting to see what the main opinion is. What do you think is actually going to happen?”

Farima picked up the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, then took a long sip, mulling over exactly how transparent she was about to be with the 17-year-old prince.

“The Court will go ahead and release a statement that August will be stripped of his titles and removed from the line of succession. Whether he continues to come to family events will be up to you and Her Majesty, but it will never be public knowledge. They plan on finalizing the statement at the meeting tomorrow morning and publishing it after New Year's to try and curb some of the worst reactions.”

“But all of that was to be expected, right?” Wille questioned.

“It is. Many in the Court feel this will be enough. That removing him admits to the wrongdoing and that the Crown Prince appearing alongside the Queen will show there is no animosity, and that the people will accept that and eventually move on. A few people in PR have been tasked with planting stories about other nobles and celebrities in the coming weeks to shift focus.”

“Jesus Christ, of course they have,” Simon muttered.

“I argued against it, and I do not believe that the public will be satisfied with no apology or consequences for the Queen and Court.

Wille turned to Simon. “Do you think the public will think that's enough?”

“As the local general population expert?” Simon asked with a smile.

“Yes. People here are loyal to the monarchy to the death. They’re biased.”

Simon thought for a minute and ran the fingers of his free hand along the back of Wille’s palm in his grasp. “No, it won’t be enough for most of the public. The anti-monarchists will latch onto this, and it will tip people who didn’t have strong feelings against it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for telling the truth,” his boyfriend said squeezing his hand. He turned back to Farima. “Is anyone planning for what to do if it’s not enough?”

“Yes, there is always a plan for every outcome. But very few think it’s a possibility, or they aren’t speaking up if they do. I am planning for it because it is the only thing I see happening. You need to plan too. Not just strategically, but personally.”

Wille frowned slightly. “How do you mean?”

This was it. Once she said it out loud there was no coming back from it. No matter what Wilhelm personally decided to do, hearing this would change everything.

“One of Svenskar för Avskaffande’s demands is the removal of Queen Kristina. Some people are already calling for her abdication or forceful removal by the Riksdag for being unfit to reign. Since she cannot be legally tried for anything, I believe the longer she goes without some form of consequence the louder the public will be in opposing her, especially with this organization keeping the story in the news cycle.”

The buzzing in Wille’s ears was so loud he barely heard Farima finish her statement.

“Whether or not she hands over the crown, or is removed, waits to be seen. But she will not survive this scandal, in my opinion. I am telling you this so you can prepare yourself for that possibility, and because frankly, I do not see this being Her Majesty’s court for much longer. My focus is on you now.”

She took another sip of her coffee to give the prince time to process what she was saying.

“But – I don’t…I can’t…” Wille stammered. Simon turned his body towards him and held onto his arm with his free hand.

“I know you plan to officially renounce your title when you turn 18 in a few months. And I am not telling you this to dissuade you. Only you can make that call, but you must make it with all of the information.”

Simon could tell Wille was trying not to go into his head, so he spoke for him. “If that happens, how long will it take? What would happen to Wille after?”

“Well, I think it depends on how intense public scrutiny is. To be honest, I don’t see the Queen conceding the crown willingly, so the timeline would depend on how quickly the Riksdag moves. While the Prime Minister and her party have been friends to the monarchy, they are as you know left-wing, so they are more likely to vote for removal as a means to gain control. They are desperate to keep the right-wing from gaining seats, and ending the reign of a now deeply unpopular queen could help gain votes.”

“If the Crown Prince is not yet 18, they will nominate a regent. Technically the Crown Prince could take over after his birthday, but I think everyone would agree we would rather him finish schooling first. The same would be true if he was already 18 and the Queen was removed; no one wants an uneducated monarch. However, if the Crown Prince abdicates, the Riksdag would either nominate a new line for the throne, or they could refuse to, and put forth a vote to dissolve the monarchy.”

“So, you are trying to sway him. You don’t want him to abdicate,” Simon stated coolly.

“I want what is best for Sweden, and that is stability.”

“That’s another word for monarchy – you work for them you don’t want it to end.”

“No, Simon, that is not what I mean,” Farima countered. “You pay attention to politics. We are entering an election year, and the Social Democrat's just elected a new Prime Minister, so their power is unstable. The right-wing is using that instability to their advantage and are making moves to gain seats and could very well win a majority if they form an alliance. If the new Riksdag chosen in September is right leaning, they would be in power to open the referendum to dissolve the monarchy, then have the power to restructure our entire government and vote in all new Ministers, all with right-wing beliefs.”

“But if it’s what the people vote for it needs to happen. You can’t hold Wille hostage in a position he doesn’t want just because everyone here is afraid of the public voting against a monarchy.” He was getting heated now. Wille kept squeezing his hand. He was grounded; almost nothing could pull him away from Simon when he argued a point with passion.

“I do not want to harm the Crown Prince. I want to help him feel less burdened, but I need him, I need both of you to be open to the bigger picture. We are tracking every candidate, and all the election data, so we can prepare for how to work with the new Riksdag for the next four years. And we are worried. Simon, I know you see this, how it’s spreading.”

Simon nodded. He did know exactly what Farima meant. The rhetoric was vile and manifested in his social media comments before he deleted his public accounts in an impulsive move.

“The Sweden Democrats are gaining traction at an alarming pace, and it will be a tight election, but they will gain some seats, we just have to hope it’s not a majority. But whether they do or not, their ideology is being embraced among Swedes in a way that worries me. We’ve already seen what these far-right policies and ideas have done in America and now the UK. It’s heading to Scandinavia now. Or it’s been here, but in the quiet. What we thought people were afraid to say aloud is no longer the case.”

“I understand where you are going with this. And I am willing to talk about it,” Wille began. Simon almost recoiled but kept his hands on his boyfriend. Wille was willing to talk about this? What happened to “I don’t want to King. Or Crown Prince?” Should Simon just be relieved Wille was not panicking and engaging in the conversation?

“But all my life it’s been hammered into me that the Royal Family is not allowed to speak on politics. We must be neutral, to be something all Swedes can depend on.”

“Yeah, but Wille, it’s what I’ve been saying to you since we met. A lot of things are just human rights, not politics, but bigoted people made it political. You took be apolitical literally,” another check in the Wille is autistic list, Simon thought while speaking, “So, do you even know what the Sweden Democrats campaign for?”

Wille shook his head.

“A big point for them is anti-immigration. They believe in…what’s the word you use for it?”

“Nationalism,” Farima answered. “They believe Sweden is strongest with a single, common culture. In a recent interview, a spokesperson said a mixture of languages, religions, or traditions would weaken the Swedish identity. They also support being Swedish only by birth.”

Wille looked at Simon with wide eyes. “But that’s absurd. Linda is quite literally the single best thing in this country.”

“Wow, not even me? Just my mom?” Simon scoffed.

Farima smiled and laughed. Sometimes she forgot that teenagers could have these light moments in the midst of such a serious and heavy conversation.

“Well of course you. And Alex. And Rosh and Ayub, they were born here but their families weren’t, right?”

Simon nodded. “And me,” Farima cut in. “If you want to know why this matters even though you’ve been raised to be neutral? My grandparents immigrated here from Iran when my mother was a teenager. And my husband is from Jordan. We met at university; he was here on a student visa. He only was able to remain in this country because we married.”

“So, you don’t want me to abdicate if these people are in charge. That’s what all this means.”

Oh shit. Simon almost forgot after Wille made his joke and included his mom and best friends in the list of why these politicians were wrong. Oh shit. They were talking about Wille not stepping down.

“There are many unknowns. I would like for you to not be one of them until we have all the information.” Farima said diplomatically.

“But…” Simon began weakly. “No. Because this role is suffocating him. This family was killing him. He’s supposed to be free.” Simon was looking between Wille and Farima almost wildly, starting to feel desperate. This was not what they agreed. How was Wille so okay right now? He was fine. But Simon was not fine.

“No one has to make a decision today. As I said, there are many unknowns. I simply suggest not abdicating the moment the Crown Prince can. We need to play politics a bit and let the election happen first.”

Simon pulled away from Wille and leaned back so they could see each other better. “How are you…?” he started but couldn’t finish the thought.

Abruptly Simon stood up. He could feel the fear clawing at his stomach, three days’ worth of panic and worry and shock rearing its head now that Wille was stable. Wille was okay. Simon could finally not be.

“I can’t be here right now,” he said to no one in particular, heading straight to the door.

“Simon…” Wille started.

“No, Wille,” Simon said firmly. “Four taps.” Stop, or I need to leave.

He was out the door before Wille had time to process that Simon spoke the taps out loud. Did he even know the way to Wille’s room from here? Oh well, too late now. He was running. He was running through the convoluted halls of Drottningholm slott in the direction he thought his boyfriend, current and who knows for how long, Crown Prince, lived.

Vaguely he registered footsteps behind him and someone shouting his name. It was a miracle too because he could barely hear his own footsteps over the thundering beating of his heart. Why didn’t he see this coming? Of course, they’re going to find a way to keep Wille trapped here. Of course, they would never let him go. He had been so stupid to start to believe in the fairytale.

It wasn’t the normal one: meet a Prince, fall in love, marry, become monarchs, and live happily ever after. No, their fairytale was different: meet a Prince, fall in love, escape the claws of the monarchy, and live a normal life. But he had believed in it. Fuck, he believed they could get their happy ending.

His vision clouded with tears that he hastily blinked away. He was already running a little blind here; he couldn't actually be blinded by tears. Finally, he saw the hallway the stairs to Wille’s corridor were off of. A few more seconds of running and he made it to Wille’s sitting room. He hurried through until he was in the bedroom and looked around wildly, totally unsure what to do now.

He felt his heart racing and his chest rising and falling rapidly. It would really help if this entire room didn’t smell like Wille because he couldn't think clearly, and he desperately needed to work out the odds of their relationship surviving the thing that had killed it. Twice.

The door behind him crashed open; so that must have been Wille he heard chasing after him. Why was it always him leaving and Wille chasing? When did it get dark outside? Had the lights from the gardens always been so bright? When did it get so hard to breathe?

He had to pull himself together. This was what happened to Wille; he knew he wasn't actually dying. He needed to ground himself – that’s what helped Wille. He needed to focus on something besides the panic. Well, that left anger. Because what the fuck did Wille mean by he’d consider it? After everything this place did to him? To them? He tried to take a deep breath, but it was shallow and ragged.

Simon was close to hyperventilating. He spun to face Wille, the harsh outside lights breaking through the curtains and casting his face in angry shadows. “Is this it?”

“What?” Wille rasped, his mind racing to catch up and his chest heaving from running after Simon.

“Is this all we get? Seven extra months together and now they…they’ll tear you away from me again?” His right arm was raised gesturing wildly towards the hall, towards the meeting room they fled. Because that was Simon’s fear. If Wille stayed…

Wille shook his head frantically. “No. No, Simon, no.” He crossed the room in three steps and gently grasped Simon on the underside of his jaw with both hands, his thumbs rubbing his boyfriend’s tear-stained cheeks.

“I walked away from this before and can do it again. I picked us. I’ll never not pick us,” he whispered.

Simon slid his hands up Wille’s forearms and held onto his wrists. He wanted to believe him with everything in him. It’s just that Farima made some really good points. He almost couldn't blame his boyfriend, except he could, because he was supposed to have not changed his feelings. But Wille had started to give in.

“What are we going to do now?” he whispered back.

Wille leaned down and touched his lips to Simon’s forehead. He didn’t pull away, but kept them there, unwilling to break any point of contact. What the hell were they going to do now?

“I don’t know,” Wille said, so softly, lips brushing his forehead. “We don’t have to decide anything right now. But it’s good that we heard Farima out. We needed to know all of that.”

Simon jerked away for the second time in five minutes. “But you’re considering it?” he was definitely raising his voice. “Everything we’ve built this relationship on was with you being free. But that was just two stupid teenagers dreaming, right?”

Wille stepped towards him again and Simon instinctively stepped back. Back to defense mode. Back to putting up walls. So maybe he wasn’t nailing this therapy thing and Mika would say they had a lot to work on still.

Wille stopped but held a hand up between them. Simon fleetingly thought he looked like those people nature shows trying to approach a wild animal without spooking it. That probably wasn’t too far off since Simon realized he was still crying and breathing erratically.

“Simon, please,” Wille pleaded. “Älskling, you’re having a panic attack. Please let me help you.”

He knew, theoretically, that’s what was happening. But if he admitted that was reality then he would crumble. And Simon didn’t crumble in front of people. Not even in front of Wille. Especially not in front of Wille. The last time was over Micke being sent to prison, and damnnit if he was letting that happen again. It would really help if he could breathe though. He slowly slid to the floor, back against the wall space under a window.

Wille mirrored his position and knelt but didn’t get closer yet. “Simon, breathe. Just match my breathing, okay?”

Wille was just told he really needed to stay the Crown Prince. Wille was the one who hated this life but might stay in it. Why should Wille be the one comforting him right now? He had held it together for three days. He couldn't hold on a little longer? Why did he have to fall apart now, when his boyfriend obviously needed him? Simon took care of people – he didn’t let himself be cared for. Wille would probably be so upset with him when this stupid pani -

“I’m going to put my hand on your chest now, okay?” Wille said quietly. Simon nodded frantically. He didn’t want Wille to see this. He felt guilty he was having to deal with it. But the only thing Simon wanted was to feel him.

And he did. He felt his boyfriend’s hand over his heart and heard him talking quietly again, “That’s good, Simon, just keep breathing.” Wille reached out and slowly took Simon’s hand and placed it over his own heart. He took slow, deliberate breaths. “Try to match me. It will help.”

They sat on the floor breathing together, a picture-perfect scene of helping a loved one cope, but the roles were reversed from their usual assignment, and Simon could not feel more guilty about it. After a minute he felt his breathing even out and he finally looked up. The look of love and fear he saw staring back at him was the final straw.

“Wille,” he all but croaked, his voice rough from crying and throat raw from gasping for air.

“Oh, älskling, come here,” Wille said, pulling Simon straight onto his lap. He sat him sideways, legs perpendicular over his, and tucked his head into his neck. Simon immediately wrapped his arms around him, and Wille did the same, gently rocking him forward and backward. He kissed the top of his head, inhaling his curls before speaking again. “It’s okay. You’re okay, love. Can you talk to me?”

Simon shook his head. “It’s alright if you can’t yet, but please don’t shut me out. I want to be there for you. You’ve been my rock, and not just the last few days. Please let me do the same.” He felt tears on his neck and dripping down his collarbone. “I love you, Simon, so fucking much.”

He pulled his head back to look Wille in the eyes. One of Wille’s hands left his waist and cupped his cheek, wiping the last few tears. “I love you too, more than I thought I could,” Simon said, barely audible. “And that’s the problem. It feels like it doesn’t matter how much I love you. It will never be enough to break you out of this place.”

Wille swallowed loudly, eyes bouncing back and forth between Simon’s and heard him continue, “It feels like we’re destined to love each other but always be pushed apart by the Crown.”

“Don’t say that, Simon, we are not the same people we were last time,” Wille said hastily. He had a terrible sense of déjà vu and did not like the sound of this conversation. “And I’m not even saying I will stay. But I need us to believe that we could survive any obstacle.”

“Not this one, Wille,” he said, shaking his head and feeling fresh tears fall. “I know how this plays out and I don’t know if I can watch the monarchy destroy you again. I can’t watch it destroy us.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to pick the Crown or me. I want you to be happy and nothing here has ever made you happy. If you stay…I just can’t.”

Chapter Text

The late afternoon light filtering into the library was weak and a cool, pale blue. The sky outside was overcast, and the little light that did peak through reflected off the cold, snow-covered ground, tinging the day in a dreary grey. It didn’t match the warmth of the wooden floors, walls, and massive cabinets filled with leather-bound books. With its grand fireplace blazing heat into all its nooks, the all-amber-colored library begged to be drenched in a golden glow rather than the bleak brightness the Nordic winter was currently providing.

Simon sat in one of the ancient armchairs, thumbing through the book he had brought from home, and once again thought that everything was at odds. The hue didn’t match the ambiance. The weather didn’t match the day. And Simon didn’t match the palace.

It was New Year’s Eve, and while people worldwide would celebrate later that night, anyone associated with the Swedish Royal Family was in no mood to party. Maybe the weather was actually in tune with the vibe in Drottningholm slott.

The Queen, Duke Ludvig, and August were supposed to attend a gala hosted by the Nationalmuseum to celebrate a new exhibit one of the Crown’s foundations had helped finance. But after the bombshell article that still had all of Sweden reeling, their appearance was swiftly canceled.

Wille and Simon were supposed to be at the family cabin, a cozy retreat outside Gällivare passed down through Ludvig’s family. Simon was okay with their plan being derailed due to the article, but he was upset that it meant losing alone time with his boyfriend.

They had done long distance as best as they could the past seven months, but the distance was still distance, and it still sucked seeing each other once a month, twice if they were lucky. Truthfully, he felt like he and Wille needed that time away, just the two of them, without the distraction or worry of other people or responsibilities weighing them down.

Their relationship had grown so much since Wille stepped away from Crown Prince duties and focused on being Wille. They communicated better, trusted each other implicitly, and learned everything they possibly could about each other.

But the worry still lingered in Simon’s mind that the distance would be too much at some point. That their feelings would fade without regular physical contact. That someone much more interesting - and nearby - would place themselves in Wille’s sightline in Stockholm.

He knew his fears were unfounded and irrational, just the little remnants of doubt left from growing up, feeling that he was not good enough, and that came to the forefront of his thoughts now and then. Wille loved him more than anything. He was a singularly committed boyfriend, and Simon was the same. Their relationship was solid, and he was confident in them.

Or he had been - until two days ago, when Farima shook their entire foundation, and Wille rocked it further by saying he’d consider her suggestion not to immediately renounce his title when he turned 18. And then Simon blew it up by falling apart instead of being strong and supportive.

Wille reassured him repeatedly that he wasn’t upset with him at all; that, on the contrary, he was grateful that Simon was honest about his feelings and finally let himself process everything that had happened since he got to the palace after Christmas. He had been so perfect when Simon was having that panic attack that Simon still felt guilty for making him the caretaker at that moment.

But Wille just held him the entire night, and in the morning, they agreed to table everything Farima had mentioned while individually processing it in their own time. Besides, they had almost five months until Wille turned 18, so it wasn’t like they would decide anything in the next couple of days anyway, Wille had argued.

Simon would have believed everything between them was okay, except he didn’t know where Wille was, and he barely saw him after their conversation yesterday morning, too. The vanishing act was out of character for his overly clingy boyfriend, who was doing everything but convince him that he wasn’t upset by Simon’s reaction the other night.

Before speaking with Farima, the two passed time at the palace glued to each other’s sides. They walked the grounds hand-in-hand, bundled up from the cold, and tried to nail each other with snowballs. They lay entwined on the oversized couch in the media room and watched movies or spent hours yelling at and shoving each other over video games. They’d go to the music room, and Simon would play piano and sometimes sing. Wille would lie against the window seat with a book, but pay more attention to him than the words printed on the pages.

After Simon’s panic attack, neither of them had been in the mood to talk, so Simon curled up on the bed, and Wille pulled him back against his chest and held him. It should have been comforting. In a way, it was; all he wanted was to feel protected, and he never felt safer than in Wille’s arms. But all he could think about was the enormous guilt settling inside of him.

He should have been the one holding Wille. His job was to take care of others, to take care of his boyfriend, and at the worst possible time, he cracked. Darkly, his mind had wandered to the last time he was in that bed and cracked under the weight of Wille’s title. And then, in his panicked state, he told Wille he’d do it again. What the fuck was wrong with him?

No wonder Wille had avoided him since then. The next morning, they talked a little over breakfast, enough to decide that they weren’t ready to actually talk about all of it yet. Then Wille said something about having some stuff he needed to take care of, and Simon didn’t see him again until dinner.

Their conversation that night was stilted, both emotionally wrung out, but Wille avoided answering anything about what he spent the day doing. And today had been more of the same. So, Simon found himself in the library, staring at his book but not reading, mind racing with what Wille could be doing, what he was thinking, and just how badly he fucked things up between them.

The worst part was that he couldn’t blame Wille for not wanting to be around him right now. He probably felt let down and alone, and of course, the last thing Simon had said on the topic was that he couldn’t stay here if Wille did. Just what his panicked and one breath away from another autistic shutdown boyfriend needed - to be worried about getting broken up with again - way to go, Simon!

It’s not that Simon hadn’t meant it. They both knew their future together lay away from the monarchy. But that was just it. The future they talked about having together only worked outside of the oppression of a thousand-year-old system. And if Wille had spent the last few days rethinking that future, he was also rethinking their entire relationship.

That thought brought Simon out of his head and back to the present. He dropped his head into his book and groaned in frustration - over their situation, over his shortcomings, over not knowing where his boyfriend was or what he was thinking. He raised his head slowly and let out a long breath. It was time to figure out where they stood because this wait killed him.

He glanced at the clock on his phone; it’s nearing dinnertime, and his stomach has already growled once. He was about to text Wille to ask where he was and what their food plans were when a door opening nearby startled him from his thoughts.

His previously MIA boyfriend banged through the library's back door from the terrace, rubbing his hands together and breathing on them to warm them up. He noticed Simon sitting in the chair before him, stopped short, wide-eyed, and cleared his throat.

“Simon, hi,” Wille started. “You scared me. I didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

“Um, well, here I am,” he said nervously. Why was this so awkward? They hadn't had an awkward conversation since Wille’s infamous “I’m not like that” bald-faced lie.

Wille finally walked towards him as Simon closed his book and stood from the creaky chair. He reached out and felt a strange relief when Wille’s cold fingers immediately wrapped around his warm ones.

“Why were you outside? It’s freezing,” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, I wasn’t fully outside.” Simon raised an eyebrow. “I was just working on something. Can I tell you about it later?”

“I mean…yeah…sure…but I’m a little confused.”

“Can you just trust me? Please?”

“Of course I can. It’s just been a weird few days, is all.”

Wille wrapped his free hand around the back of Simon’s neck and pulled him gently until his lips touched his boyfriend’s forehead.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I just had…something…I had to do,” Wille sighed into his curls. Well, at least they're speaking and touching; already a marked improvement.

“Not gonna lie. The vagueness isn’t reassuring,” Simon snarked.

“How about this: we get ready for dinner, and I promise I’ll show you tonight?”

“Show me?” Simon pulled back so Wille could see the question in his eyes.

Wille smiled brightly. “Trust. Me.”

He turned and pulled his still very confused boyfriend through the palace hallways until they returned to his rooms, but refused to say anymore. Simon insisted Wille shower first since his skin was still icy and texted his mamma while he waited.

She took the overnight New Year’s Eve shift because Simon was with Wille, and Sara was staying at the stables with some of her co-workers to help keep the horses calm from the fireworks. He realized she had probably just gotten to the hospital, but hopefully, the message would make her smile whenever she had a break to check her phone.

After a few more minutes, Wille came out of the bathroom, and Simon headed in to take his own shower. He stood under the water in thought for several minutes before he remembered how hungry he was getting and that Wille was waiting for him. Besides, why get all in his head about whether they were okay when he could finally pluck up enough courage to actually talk to him about it after two distant days?

When he returned to the bedroom, Wille was dressed warmly, sitting on the bed and texting frantically.

“Uh, everything okay?” Simon said, pointing to Wille’s phone. His head snapped up as if he hadn’t yet realized his boyfriend had left the bathroom.

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine,” Wille started. “I’m just checking on a couple of things.”

“Okay?” Simon responded. The unsettled feeling in his stomach was growing rapidly. It felt like he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him, and he couldn’t decide whether to delay it for as long as possible or get it over with.

“Why are you dressed like that? I thought we were having dinner?” Delay it, then.

“We are,” Wille said, pocketing his phone and heading into his closet. A few seconds later, he came back with some of Simon’s clothes and one of his own sweatshirts, which he knew Simon had been trying to steal every time he was at the palace.

“But we won’t be eating in the kitchenette or dining room. Get dressed; I can hear your stomach growling from here,” he said, smiling.

Well, this was a little confusing. Wille seemed stressed but oddly...playful? And the change after barely seeing him and feeling like he was miles away was jarring. But he just wanted to know what was going on in Wille’s head and where they stood, even if it was bad, so he dressed quickly and turned, ready to accept his fate over dinner.

Wille grabbed his hand and pulled him along, out of his room and back the exact way they had come before.

“We’re going back to the library?” Simon asked, realizing they had just walked this path an hour earlier.

“Kind of,” Wille hummed in response, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

He pushed the door to the library open and walked them to the back wall, straight to the door Simon saw him come in earlier. Wille held it open and walked them onto the terrace. Simon had never been out here, but he knew it ran along the back side of the palace, between two wings, and faced the private gardens. It was one of the only places that felt truly concealed on the grounds, nestled away from view from visitors and out of the way of staff.

Wille turned to the right and led them towards the far end of the terrace.

“I was going to cover your eyes,” he began, “but there are some ice patches in a few places - I almost busted it earlier - so that didn’t seem like the romantic moment I was going for.”

A romantic moment? Did that mean it wasn’t time to completely freak out just yet?

They reached the end, and Wille turned to face a little nook that Simon hadn’t realized was there. Simon’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the shining glass structure tucked into the corner. It looked like it had been a greenhouse at some point, all clear panes and big enough to hold rows and rows of plants but not too large to not be easily maintained. Except now, the whole building looked like it was carved from a diamond.

“Wille…” Simon whispered, “What is this?” He looked over to see his boyfriend smiling at him as brightly as the greenhouse shone.

“Why don’t you go inside, and I can show you?”

Simon hesitantly walked forward and pushed the door open. He crept towards the middle of the building, spinning slowly to take it all in.

Every greenhouse he’d ever seen had a kind of permanent grime on all the glass walls and always smelled like dirt. The walls of this place were crystal clear, though, and the glass ceiling was so clean he would have thought it was open air if not for the collected bits of snow in some places. He breathed deeply as he looked around and recognized the scent of the “Nordic Noel” candles his mamma used this time of year, a warm mixture of vanilla and cranberry that felt like a hug from a Christmas cookie.

Sure enough, the long tables pushed against the glass walls that once probably held pots of plants were cleared off and laden with flameless candles flickering softly. Every few feet, a real candle burned, explaining the nostalgic scent, and Simon’s heart constricted thinking about Wille asking Linda what kind of candle Simon would like.

The ground was completely clean, and what looked like a large rug lay on top of the cold terrace stone. In the middle of the room was a neat pile of blankets already spread out and large, furry cushions, the perfect spot to cuddle up with your boyfriend. Next to the cushions sat a picnic basket, and ah, that would be dinner, Simon thought to himself.

Something flickered in the corner, and he realized there was a flameless electric fireplace a few feet away, heating the greenhouse and giving the whole area a warm ambiance. What stopped Simon’s breath when he first saw it from the outside, though, was what Wille had done with the ceiling.

Wires ran crisscrossed from wall to wall right below the glass ceiling. Simon guessed hanging pots could have been strung along them at some point, or maybe Wille put them up just for this. Now, though, they were covered in fairy lights, wrapped around each wire, so the whole place was lit up in a soft, twinkling glow. Every few inches, a paper snowflake hung down on a clear line, giving the impression of a gentle snowfall.

As they turned slowly on their string, Simon realized each one had a tiny bit of glitter that would catch the lights just right and reflect them back against the glass and real snow. No wonder the place looked like a diamond from the outside; Wille had created a white winter wonderland in the middle of a frozen terrace.

Simon realized he was still spinning with his mouth parted in awe. He faced Wille, immediately noticing the proud glint in his eyes, excited smile, but nervous finger stimming. It still made Simon’s head spin that the overly anxious and shy boy was the same person as his slightly cocky and bold boyfriend. He found both sides to Wille as endearing and maddening as the other.

“Cozy,” Simon began. Wille’s smile grew. “But when did you…?” he stammered. “How? Why? What is all of this?”

Wille stepped towards him slowly. “When, the past two days. How, with a lot of elbow grease and help from a couple of very confused Royal Court aids. Why, because we were supposed to spend tonight together in an isolated, snow-covered forest, and this is the best I could do instead.”

He was right in front of Simon now but kept his hands clasped, fingers flicking silently against each other. “What,” he inhaled deeply, steeling himself before continuing, “My life is complicating everything with us again. And I heard you the other night, I did. But I don’t always have the words to tell you what I think. So…I tried to show you.”

Simon shook his head back and forth and could feel his eyes shining with tears he was determined not to shed. “You’re impossible,” he whispered.

The doubt flashed across Wille’s face instantly. “Like, in a good way?”

“In the most infuriating way,” Simon said, launching himself into Wille’s arms.

To his credit, Wille sprang into action as soon as Simon moved and wrapped his arms firmly around the other’s waist, pulling him until they touched from chest to toes. And then they were kissing frantically, desperately.

Simon had one hand clawing into the back of Wille’s neck, willing him to be somehow closer and the other dragging roughly through his hair. Wille bit down on Simon’s bottom lip in response and scrambled until his hands were finally behind Simon’s coat, under his sweatshirt, and rubbing all over the skin of his back.

This they could do and do well, Simon thought as he started working his way from Wille’s mouth to his jawline. He knew they would have to talk still – he wanted them to talk still – but after the distance of the last 48 hours, he also knew that conversation would go a thousand percent better if they found their way back to each other physically first.

And Wille seemed to agree, as he had managed to push Simon’s coat off, throw it to the ground, and walk them backward towards the nest of blankets. God, Simon loved it when Wille was confident like this. He was always the most attractive person Simon had ever seen, but when he shed his uncertainty and took control, he transformed into the hottest person, too, and Simon couldn’t get enough of him.

Before he registered the movement, Wille slid his hands under his ass and picked him up by the back of his thighs. Simon locked his legs around his boyfriend’s waist and trailed his mouth lower until he could bite down on his neck. Wille tightened his grip and lowered to his knees before sitting back against a stack of cushions, pulling Simon on top of him.

“Please tell me you were a horny teenager when you packed that romantic as hell basket?” he murmured into Wille’s skin.

When Wille didn’t immediately answer, he pulled back to look into his eyes and smirked at how glassy he had found them.

“What?” Wille asked, quietly and dazed. Simon leaned in and kissed him again, hard.

“I said,” he began, pulling away while simultaneously tugging on his hair, “Please tell me you put supplies in the basket.” He canted his hips forward and down at the end of his sentence to drive home the message.

Wille closed his eyes and breathed shakily. “Fuck…baby…yeah, I did.”

As soon as Wille called him that, Simon dug his fingers into Wille’s scalp and reattached himself to his neck. The pet name did something to Simon, and Wille only used it during sex because of it.

He remembers how they discovered it together over a year ago in his dorm room at Hillerska.

“Uh, what did you just say?” Simon had asked, startled but still very much holding Wille’s dick in his hand.

“Sorry, it just slipped out,” Wille stammered. “Do you, um, not like it?”

Simon pulled away a little and thought for a moment. “I never thought I liked it. It sounds weirdly possessive for being so sweet.”

“Mhmm,” Wille hummed, looking up at the ceiling, trying to play it cool.

Simon thought for another 10 seconds, which felt like an eternity to Wille. “Call me that again. I want to see something.”

“Okay then,” he said shakily. He gathered all his strength and then looked right into Simon’s eyes. “It is a little possessive, but I guess I didn’t think you’d mind since you’re the one that’s had your hand on my dick this whole time, baby.”

Simon pulled his hand back immediately. “Oh shit,” he said, wide-eyed, before crashing back into Wille. So, baby had stayed, but only during sex, because they were both a little too possessive to use it casually.

But tonight, under the snowy and lit-up sky Wille had created just for him, it flipped a different kind of switch in Simon. Because Wille did all of this for him. He spent the last two days worried he was losing Wille again: and honestly, fuck that. He didn’t belong to the monarchy. Or to Sweden. He belonged with him.

And if Farima, the Royal Court, or even Wille himself thought that the last week had changed that simple truth…then Simon would have to remind him.

He kneeled back off Wille’s lap so they could move more easily. “Good. Get them,” he demanded. He pulled his sweatshirt off and ran his hands up Wille’s sides while he leaned over, digging through the picnic basket.

His boyfriend sat back triumphantly after a minute, a bottle of lube and a condom next to them on the blankets. His eyes raked over Simon’s now naked chest, hands following a second later. Simon returned the sentiment and yanked Wille’s sweatshirt over his head before dragging his nails slowly down Wille’s chest.

“I missed you the last couple of days,” he said innocently, grazing his nails back up and digging them into Wille’s collarbone.

Wille’s hands were rubbing firmly all over Simon’s thighs and hips, and when the pain on top of his collarbones hit, he grabbed Simon’s ass and pulled him down harder.

“Yeah?” he breathed out, kissing along the underside of Simon’s jaw. “I’m right here, baby. What do you want?”

And damnnit if he didn’t always know what Simon needed.

Ordinarily, he would have said, “I’m right here, baby. I’ll take care of you.” Because Simon always took care of everyone else and never put himself first, so it didn’t take long for Wille to realize that all Simon really wanted was to feel safe enough to hand over the control for just a little while and finally let someone take care of him.

It took Simon longer to accept that letting go wasn’t just okay but really fucking good for both of them. Because Wille had no control over his own life, and it left him anxious and full of self-doubt. Having a space where he could explore calling the shots and receive nothing but enthusiastic praise for it had helped him grow more confident in all aspects of himself.

But the real magic of their dynamic was that they both knew that Wille’s semi-domineering was just a huge turn-on to Simon, and Wille was only in charge so long as Simon wanted him to be. Sometimes, Simon took all the power back, and Wille would give it up to him instantly.

They hadn’t talked about external circumstances that seemed to bring that need out in him, but Wille had made a few connections in his head. Typically, Simon would be dealing with some insecurity, and if he felt better about it by climbing into Wille’s lap and using him until neither could form a coherent sentence, who was Wille to suggest a different way to cope?

So, he wasn’t surprised after all the uncertainty thrown at them the past week that when Simon initiated sex again, he wanted it on his terms. Wille knew it would be a little rough, and a lot possessive, but he would literally be along for the ride, and he was more than okay with it.

He saw Simon register the subtext of his question in the way his eyes darkened as he lowered his chin, gaze piercing straight through his own heart.

“You know what I want,” Simon spoke lowly. “Don’t be gentle. I‘ll stop you if I need to, promise.” And then he dove back into Wille’s neck, immediately biting down and sucking hard.

If Simon was a little obsessed with how Wille could flip from anxious to commanding, then Wille was addicted to how Simon could do the same. Everyone else saw Simon as someone who stood his ground but was unfailingly soft and gentle.

And he was. And Wille was so in love with him for it. But he was also confident in himself and his body in a way Wille could only envy. He knew exactly how to move and touch to drive Wille insane with desire. One look could make him buckle, and he didn’t think a day would come when he didn’t want Simon with everything in him.

Wille yanked Simon’s sweatpants down to his thighs, and Simon raised to pull them the rest of the way off while Wille removed his own pair. Simon stared at him for a split second before Wille got his hands back on him and tugged him down again, crashing their lips back together while blindly feeling for the lube.

All he could focus on while they moved together and he snapped open the cap was the steadiness of knowing, with everything in him, that he’d never want anyone else. He got to work prepping Simon with that singular thought in his mind: show him how much you want him, how much you need him, and don’t leave any room for doubt.

He licked up the middle of his chest. This is my home now.

He slowly scissored his slicked-up fingers. I won’t let them come between us again.

He grazed his teeth across the length of his collarbone. I’m never leaving you.

He crooked his fingers and pressed upwards. I belong with you.

“Wille,” Simon breathed out against his neck, signaling he was ready. He pulled his fingers out and held himself with one hand and Simon’s hip with the other, turning over control and leaving it all up to the boy hovering above him.

Simon held eye contact while he took a steadying breath. He had heard everything Wille said to him, and he had some things to say, too. If a conversation was what they needed, then he would let their bodies talk.

He sank down until they were fully connected. My heart is entirely yours.

He dug his nails into his scalp and neck. I won’t let them take you away again.

He raised up and slammed down over and over. You won’t lose me.

He bit his shoulder to stifle a long moan. You belong with me.

His legs burned, but he refused to slow down or let Wille flip them. He grabbed his boyfriend’s shoulders and pushed him down as flat against the cushions as possible. He clawed into Wille’s chest to help keep himself upright and threw his head back when the change in angle hit just the right spot.

“Fuck…Wille…there,” he panted towards the glass ceiling.

Wille’s body was reacting on pure instinct, hands clutching hard at Simon’s hips as his own hips snapped to meet him halfway. And it was good that this was all working for him because he was so entranced by the sight of Simon above him, skin glistening with sweat, set against the pitch-black night sky, that he couldn’t have adjusted anything if he wanted to.

He could think of nothing except how goddamn beautiful Simon looked moving on top of him like that. He often thought of Simon as ethereal, but not even that word would do him justice at that moment. His face was twisted in ecstasy, and he was backlit by the candles and fairy lights, giving his whole body a glowing aura. Wille was entirely caught in his current, lost in a sea of Simon, willing and happy to drown in it.

Simon’s movements began to falter, and he fell forward, putting his full weight on his palms and pressing into the other’s chest. Push me under, Wille thought darkly; just stay with me. He reached up with one hand and pulled him down by the back of the neck until their foreheads touched, and they breathed erratically into each other’s mouths. They kept moving together until Simon was whimpering his name over and over as he stilled and spasmed.

It was Simon’s siren song, luring Wille to the blissed-out state he had just entered. Wille would follow Simon anywhere, so he did.

After a minute of holding onto each other and panting into the limited space between their bodies, their breathing had calmed down enough that Wille gently lifted Simon and turned him to lie down against the cushions. He quickly pulled off and tied up the condom and tossed it into the trash bag he packed in the basket before grabbing a wipe. He carefully ran it over Simon, then roughly over himself, and added it to the trash bag.

The whole cleanup took maybe 45 seconds, but it already felt like he had been away from Simon for too long. He hastily grabbed another blanket and laid down, pulling it to cover both of them. Simon immediately assumed his favorite position: head on Wille’s shoulder, nose and lips pressed into his neck, an arm and leg thrown over his chest and hip so he could pull himself as close as possible.

Wille followed, angling his body towards him, slotting his leg between Simon’s, wrapping one arm around his waist to rub the small of his back while the other cupped his jaw. He brushed his thumb across Simon’s cheek and kissed his forehead.

“I love you,” he said quietly before kissing the top of his head.

He felt Simon smile against his neck before placing his own quick kiss there. “I love you back.”

They lay entwined under the soft lights and paper snowflakes and watched the real snow fall onto the glass ceiling. As they both fully returned to their bodies, Wille was relieved that the nervous tension he’d felt since they had learned about the article had lessened. It hadn’t gone away, and probably wouldn’t for a while, but with Simon in his arms and knowing they were so wholly each other’s, he could finally take a deep breath.

But it didn’t necessarily mean Simon was any better now, and the scratches and bruises littering his upper body just told Wille how distant his boyfriend must have felt to stake such a visual claim. They had used sex to avoid serious conversations in the past, and it was a mistake Wille was hellbent on not repeating.

“I’m really sorry I left you alone yesterday and today,” he said softly, thumb still rubbing Simon’s cheek.

“I think I would have understood if you just told me you needed the space,” Simon began, pulling back from his neck and resting his head on Wille’s shoulder. “But between the disappearing act and being cagey about what I now know was this surprise, you honestly felt miles away.”

Wille unconsciously tightened his hold. “I didn’t feel like I needed space from you, exactly. I just needed to let my mind run a mile a minute, and I do that best with something to occupy my hands. I just kind of go on autopilot and go into my head.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you knew what would help you and did it. Can you just clue me in next time?” Simon said with a small laugh.

“Ugh, yeah, I know, I really am sorry,” Wille huffed, throwing his head back in faux frustration. “I stayed up almost all night after we talked to Farima just worrying about everything, and for some reason, I decided us being stuck here and not on our trip was making everything worse, so I just wanted to do something for you to try and make up for it and just, you know, show you how fucking much you mean to me and how in love with y- “

Simon raised up on his elbow, turned Wille’s head towards him, and kissed him hard to stop the anxiety spiral his boyfriend was starting to have. Wille hummed in surprise but quickly deepened the kiss, running both hands down Simon’s sides until they settled on his lower back and he could pull him across his chest.

He settled on top of the other, knees on either side of his torso, and pulled back from the kiss. Wille looked a little breathless already, causing Simon to giggle and give him another peck. He laid his hands over Wille’s heart, rested his chin on them, and looked up into his eyes.

“Had to shut that anxious ramble down before you worked yourself up,” he said softly.

Wille smiled down at him and laughed lightly. “Thank you,” he started, running one hand up Simon’s back and into his hair. “I meant it, though. I’m sorry I made it worse. I’m sorry I always make it worse…” he trailed off, twirling curls between his fingers.

“You. Do. Not. Always make it worse. Don’t ever think that,” Simon said firmly. “This is fucking beautiful and the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, especially knowing you did it all on your own.”

Wille smiled shyly at the compliment, and Simon seized his opportunity.

“Wait. You did do it all on your own, right?” he asked lifting his head so they were eye to eye. “You didn’t, like, make some poor royal aid spend New Year’s Eve cutting out snowflakes and packing a sex picnic, did you?”

“Simon,” Wille said, eyes crinkling with laughter, “älskling, what the fuck is a sex picnic?”

“Uh, this! You’re the one that made some intern put lube and condoms next to the cheese and bread!” He said indignantly, body shaking as he laughed.

“Oh my god, no! No,” he said, trying to even out his breath. “It’s bad enough that someone has access to my trash. I did not subject anyone else to anything to do with our sex life. I packed it all myself.”

“Whaaat, I am so proud of you,” Simon said gleefully. Wille rolled his eyes. “I should have known, though. You do have a sandwich-making kink.”

“I DO NOT,” Wille cut himself off when he saw the look of absolute mirth on Simon’s face. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Damn, babe, you can’t give me even an hour to recoup? That was a rough one.”

The laughter died in Wille’s throat, and Simon saw the panic flash in his eyes. “Hey, no, stop worrying,” he said, raising his hand to cup Wille’s cheek. “I’m the one that did that. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”

Wille nodded. “Are you okay?” Simon asked tentatively.

He hadn’t actually considered that Wille would have a problem with how they were with the other tonight. They’d been a little rough in the past, and Wille loved it, but now Simon was kicking himself for not asking before.

“Yeah, are you kidding? That was insane,” Wille breathed out. “Insane in the best way,” he added quickly. “It’s just that…I’ve noticed you tend to go into that possessive headspace when something is wrong. Like when you doubt something about me or yourself, it may make you feel better to see…proof…of us. That we were together.”

Simon huffed and looked at the ceiling to give himself a minute to think about what Wille said and how he really felt about it. It’s not like he didn’t know he did that. But damn, his stupid caring boyfriend and all the stupid therapy he had been going to for pinpointing precisely what Simon had been doing so well.

“Do you want me to stop?” he finally asked, barely whispering.

“No, älskling, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I like it like that. You do not need to be feeling that way for us to do that, as far as I’m concerned,” he said, poking Simon in the cheek to get him to smile. “I just want to make sure we’re addressing what you felt that brought that out in you is all.”

Simon stared down at his hands on Wille’s chest. Wille liked it when Simon put pressure on his heart like this. He said it grounded him and reminded him to breathe - something he was trying to remember to do himself at that exact moment.

“Take your time, love,” Wille whispered.

“I guess…” Simon began, still staring down, “I still feel really guilty about making you take care of me the other night when I should have been caring for you. And I know you said the next morning that it was fine, that you weren’t mad at me, and that you didn’t want to talk about everything Farima said yet.”

He angrily wiped at his eyes before a lone tear could escape. He was not falling apart again.

“But then you spent two days kind of ignoring me and being distant when you were around, and I just felt like maybe it wasn’t okay. Maybe I disappointed you?” A tear did escape, and Wille wiped it with his thumb.

“You could never disappoint me, Simon. And we take care of each other. You needed me, so I was there, and I need you to understand that’s healthy and let it happen.”

He finally made eye contact, and the adoration written all over Wille’s face brought on a few more tears.

“But I said I couldn’t stay here if you did,” he said, barely audibly.

“I heard you,” Wille replied. “I knew that. I was just really happy you finally told me yourself.”

“I don’t understand…”

“What don’t you understand?”

“How are you so okay?!” Simon said, pushing off Wille’s chest to sit up. Wille followed and placed his arms a little behind himself, leaning back on his palms so they were closer in height.

“About what part? Because if you think I’m okay with you saying you’d leave me, it’s only because I’ve lost you before, and I won’t let it happen again.”

“Yeah, that. What Farima said. The pressure they’re already starting to put on you. August. Your mom. Just all of it. You were a wreck, and then suddenly, it’s like a switch flipped, and I don’t know if I’m proud or scared.”

“A switch did flip.”

“Okay? What?”

“You and Farima told me the people we can’t let gain control are running primarily on keeping people like you, your mom, our friends - literally everyone I care about - out of this country and limiting the influence of people like you already here.”

“How…?”

“I can’t care for myself for shit. But pull it together for other people? For the people I love? For the person I love the most? Done. Kind of easy, apparently.”

“Wille, what the fuck?”

He sat up fully and held Simon around the waist, settling him on his lap so they were almost nose to nose.

“You face enough discrimination already. I don’t want to live in a place that embraces that racism. I don’t want that for Linda. Or for you. Or our k-, your kids.”

Simon realized his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t close it even if he wanted to.

“But this doesn’t change any of our plans right now.”

“How could it not?” Simon exclaimed.

“Well, the election is nine months away. We have time to plan and maybe play politics like Farima mentioned. But even if they win, I’m not supposed to return to royal duties until after we graduate. That’s a year and a half away.”

“So, what, we just wait?”

“I think we can. We told the public I was finishing school away from public life. There’s no reason for that to change, even if August is removed. I know we both wanted me to make it official as soon as possible…”

Simon bristled.

“And I’m not saying that still won’t happen. I’m just saying there’s time. And even if I don’t renounce my title immediately, it’s not like I’ll be working after I turn 18 anyway. I’d like for us to at least let the next few months play out. Maybe waiting until I’m 19 instead of 18 will give my mom more time to figure out the best transition.”

“But Farima doesn’t think your mom will still be in power.”

“I heard her. But I spent the last two days thinking about all of this. And I think she can leverage the knowledge of me stepping down with the Riksdag to give her time to get everything in order so we don’t go into a crisis. Parliament doesn’t want a crisis either. So, if they know I’m not an option, they may not force her out until they’ve jointly made a plan. And by then, public pressure might have died enough that they let her finish out her natural reign.”

“Holy shit. You really thought it through. Like, the political moves and everything.”

“I know I’m not a good prince, but I was still raised one, you know,” Wille said, smiling.

“It’s kind of hot.”

“Well, should have known. You do have a competency kink.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Better that than a delicatessen one.”

“Ooh, big word. How competent," Wille snarked. “I know it’s still a lot,” he said, suddenly serious.

“It is. And I’m still scared.”

“I am, too. But do you think we can agree to let some stuff play out and let this bombshell news settle? Can you stay with me here maybe a little longer than planned if I promise it’s not for good? That it won’t change our plans in the long run?”

Simon leaned down until their foreheads were pressed together and wrapped his hands around Wille’s neck, threading into the back of his hair. He breathed deeply and let the question wash over him. He didn’t want to answer too quickly without gauging how he felt about everything Wille had said.

But once Wille asked it so plainly, it really didn’t seem like a hard choice anymore. Their immediate circle was the only ones who knew Wille was planning to step down in May, so waiting until the following May wouldn’t make a massive difference to the public or in Wille’s life since he wouldn’t be working either way. And Simon wasn’t about to lose this over holding onto a title he would never claim for an extra year.

After a minute, he pulled away so they could look into each other’s eyes. “Yeah, I think I can, as long as it’s not for good. We don’t belong here.”

“No,” Wille exhaled, closing his eyes in relief, “we don’t.” When he opened them again, they were glassy with unshed tears.

They met in the middle, unsure who moved first, and kissed their new promises into each other’s lips. One pulled a little to the left. The other followed immediately. One parted their lips. The other was already waiting to deepen it. One gave a little more of themselves one day. The other did the next.

It was a practiced push and pull; a bond strengthened over their many months in possession of the other’s heart, a foundation carefully laid after too many early missteps. They took care of each other. Under the twinkling lights and snow, they both finally felt at peace for the first time since they learned about the article.

“So, what is this place?” Simon asked when they finally parted to catch their breath a minute later. Wille opened his mouth to answer, but a loud growl from Simon’s stomach interrupted him.

“Uh, hungry, my love?” Wille giggled.

“YES! You heard it back in your room, and that was a whole hour and orgasm ago,” Simon said, pouting.

“Well, hop up, and we can finally have our sex picnic.”

Simon slid off Wille’s lap and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, making a little cocoon for himself. Wille shuffled over and pulled the picnic basket to them before making a big show of opening it and presenting the contents.

“As you can see, we have the finest assortment of cheeses, breads, nuts, veggies, and, of course, clementines. Also, if you're feeling fancy, some smoked salmon and chilled sparkling grape juice. And soda, macaroni, and cookies because I know you.”

“Wow, you really went all out. So, is it kinky because you make the sandwich while naked?”

Wille looked down and realized he was very much still naked while flourishing the food in front of Simon like some weird mating ritual. His cheeks flushed slightly, but the approving look from his boyfriend shifted his embarrassment into cockiness.

“Damn right. Best sandwich and sandwich maker you’ll ever have.”

“Wouldn’t dream of trying another.”

They smiled dopily at each other until Simon’s stomach growled again, making them laugh. Wille laid out the spread between them, then wrapped himself up in his own blanket before sitting across from Simon.

As they ate, Wille explained how he had cleaned the space over the last two days, only soliciting help from some of the palace staff to get the necessary products from the storerooms. The aid that helped him gather everything, a newer employee forced to work the holidays named Fredrik, insisted on climbing the ladder and hanging the wires, lights, and snowflakes himself lest their Crown Prince fall and hurt himself.

Fredrik ensured the candles, fireplace, blankets, and cushions were bought that morning, and Wille spent the day decorating the space to create their little snowy wonderland. The kitchen packed the basket, Wille added their supplies, and Fredrik took it to the greenhouse and lit the candles and fireplace while they were showering.

“To answer your earlier question, this was my grandmother’s greenhouse,” Wille said once they had finished eating. “It used to be down in the gardens. But before I was born, my grandfather had it moved up here because my grandmother had a bad knee, and she couldn’t walk over the rocks on the path very well. But she loved the library and her plants, so he put her two hobbies next to each other.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, I guess he had that in him. I really don’t remember him well. But it’s been empty up here all my life, so I decided it should have a new use,” he said, stretching to kiss Simon’s forehead.

“Thank you. I really love it. And I really love you.”

“I really love you too.”

“One more thing.”

“Anything, älskling.”

“You never denied making an intern cut out all these snowflakes.”

Chapter Text

There were more protestors along the fence than there had been the day before. Since New Year’s Day, it seemed the number doubled with every sunrise.

By now, the crowd had grown to hundreds, with more arriving every hour. They carried signs ranging from polite requests to dethrone Queen Kristina II to actual threats that SÄPO confiscated before taking down the protestor’s name.

Some protestors supported Wilhelm as Crown Prince, while others demanded the end of the monarchy. The one thing almost every protester agreed on was their unwavering support for Wilhelm and Simon together.

Among the sea of people lining the sidewalks in front of Drottningholm slott were several dozen pride flags, signs celebrating queer people, and even printed pictures of Wilhelm and Simon taken from their friends’ social media accounts. Dagens Nyheter interviewed several people in the crowd, those supporting the monarchy and those firmly against it, and published an article the day before about Swede’s near-unilateral support of LGBTQIA+ rights and how that applied to the Royal family as well.

Of course, not everyone was supportive. The Nordic Resistance Movement (NMR) had been relatively quiet since burning the pride flag in Bjärstad last April. Still, with the video in the news again and open support for both a gay and an immigrant person sweeping the country, they staged a counter-protest.

Although their numbers were small, they gathered wearing white shirts and black ties, with their flags and signs opposite the other protestors. It was jarring for the other protestors, as the NMR didn’t seem to have a stance on the monarchy or its involvement in the scandal: they simply detested Simon for being born the way he was and, by extension, Wilhelm for involving himself with him.

The Dagens Nyheter article included a quote from their self-appointed leader, who said they were demonstrating “in opposition to the gay lobby and infiltration of non-Nordic peoples.” The public and news channels were quick to condemn the group and their beliefs, but the uneasiness that they were bold enough to bring their hate to the home of the Royal Family was felt by those within and outside its walls.

The RC tried to hide the NMR’s presence from Wille and Simon, though they did seem to forget that they had friends and one very protective mother who would immediately see the news and call to check on both boys. Farima assured them that they were monitoring the protest and its participants, and that a joint SÄPO and Stockholm Police force removed their counter-demonstration, citing safety concerns.

It really shook Simon, though. He was targeted by the group already, and the last seven months free from being harassed had lulled him into what now felt like a false sense of security. Technically, he was supposed to have already gone home, but they still had a few days until school started again, and despite how repressing Drottningholm slott was, it was at least safe. The last thing Simon or Wille wanted was for the NMR to track him back to Bjärstad and leak the Eriksson’s new address.

So, Simon stayed, and the NMR didn’t return to the palace, but plenty of other protestors did. The boys passed the days since their elaborate New Year’s Eve date glued to each other’s side again, with a renewed sense of commitment and understanding settling between them.

They braved eating breakfast together in the family’s private kitchen rather than Wille’s room one morning, a decision they both regretted when Kristina and Ludvig came bustling in when they were halfway through their omelets. Ludvig did a confused little shuffle when he spotted them, unsure if he should speak, leave, or sit down. Simon caught Wille’s gaze when Kristina rolled her eyes at her husband and walked around him into the kitchen, and both boys suppressed a laugh behind their forks.

Kristina poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table, immediately pinning Wilhelm under her sharp gaze.

“As you know, today is Epiphany, and we will leave right after lunch to go to the cemetery to lay the flowers.”

“That’s still happening? Despite, uh, everything?” Wille questioned, waving his fork towards the window and the protestors circling them.

“Yes. The court and I agree it’s best to show a united front among the family to the public right now. We’ve already canceled several appearances in the last week. The longer we hide, the worse... everything... will get,” she finished, waving a hand lazily in the air.

“Is that safe?” Simon asked, looking between Wille and Kristina, then to Ludvig, still hovering near the kitchen island. “It seems pretty intense out there. I’d hate for something to happen to any of you.”

Wille reached across the top of the table and grabbed his hand. He was constantly in awe of his boyfriend’s capacity for caring for people who didn’t deserve his consideration.

Kristina acknowledged his concern with a deep sigh and inclined her head.

“It’s the safest outing we have scheduled, so we chose to proceed with this appearance. The cemetery is closed to the public today. This is a glorified photo-op every year. Giving the public new images of our family standing strong and unified in the face of a smear campaign is worth the extra security and elevated risk.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, taking Wille’s hand into his lap. “Too bad the dead and buried can’t consent to being used to repair the royal family’s image. Though I’m sure they appreciate the flowers.”

“Yes, well, Mr. Eriksson, it is the royal cemetery, so I am quite confident that everyone there would support protecting the family – since everyone there is family or served us and Sweden honorably enough to warrant being buried there.”

“Of course. There are no days off in the royal family. Not even in death.”

Kristina opened her mouth to retort at the exact moment Wille brought their joined hands up and placed a kiss on the back of Simon’s hand. How he could go from wanting to keep his parents safe to tearing into the Queen for using their dead relatives to further her image astounded Wille. He was so, so ridiculously in love.

He kissed Simon’s hand again before turning to the Queen. “You can ask; it’s obvious you’re going to. But I’m not going.”

“Wilhelm…” she sighed.

“No. I wasn’t supposed to go before, so I’m not about to go now to make you look better.”

“This is not about me!” Kristina said harshly. Finally, Ludvig crossed the room, placed his hand on her shoulder, and sat beside her at the table. She took a deep breath before continuing in a calmer tone, “This is not just about me, Wilhelm.”

“For the last couple of days, we’ve had meetings after meetings, strategizing with the court on how to keep August in good standing with the public, despite a few courtiers thinking that won’t be possible. Most of us disagree and are doing everything possible to repair the trust between us and the public, so that you can still have a backup.

But we must plan what would happen if the public does not accept him. Of course, we are. And he is not taking that well. Rickard has prepared a suit to sue the royal court for damages and defamation if we strip August of his titles, land, and income. They are not going down without a fight because they have nothing without us, which is dangerous. After all, if they lose everything, they also want us to.”

Wille let the words wash over him. With the last few days spent without significant developments and in a perfect, blissed-out bubble with Simon, he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have potentially life-changing news dropped on him without preamble. Simon spoke up for him.

“How can he sue for defamation when he’s guilty, and the RC are not the ones who told the whole world it was him?”

The Queen stared at him for a second too long before deciding to move past their earlier tension and respond.

“They are arguing that we broke the settlement terms since everyone involved signed NDAs, and the matter was legally considered closed. Someone inside the court had to leak the information, which means they broke confidentiality. Since the settlement guaranteed the matter would not be made public and gave August official titles, there is a case to be made for losing his reputation and salary. He certainly won’t be able to live or work in Sweden if he is removed from the royal family. They’re being pragmatic. Petty, but pragmatic.”

Simon looked to Wille when Kristina stopped speaking and saw him gazing across the table at her, his lips downturned and brow furrowed.

“So, you want me to go today with him, so the press gets pictures of us all together, so he doesn’t sue us and make you look even more guilty, and so the people swallow the lie that we’re a big, happy family and let him be king?” Wille deadpanned.

“Yes, Wilhelm, I want you to do that because you want to leave your role, and this is the only way that can happen cleanly.”

Wille considered her a moment longer before turning to Simon, who was already staring hard at him. Kristina watched as a silent conversation took place in front of her. Their clasped hands were back on top of the table, and she zeroed in on Simon, squeezing her son’s a little tighter while Wille’s thumb ran back and forth across the other’s knuckles. Her own hands were laced rigidly in her lap, and Ludvig’s were fidgeting with his coffee cup.

“Okay, we’ll go,” Simon spoke into the tense silence.

Kristina’s head snapped up, and she blurted out a harsh “no” at the same time as Wilhelm. The three looked around at each other while Ludvig looked out the window.

She cleared her throat. “Forgive me if I wasn’t clear, Mr. Eriksson. This is a scheduled appearance and a yearly tradition of the royal family. And only the royal family.”

Simon shrugged. “You’re asking a hell of a lot from Wille without considering what would make this easier on him. It’s been a very stressful few days for him - and for both of us. I think we would both feel better if he had some support.”

Wille pulled their hands back into his lap to get his boyfriend’s attention and shook his head.

“No, I could never ask you to do anything else for the court or put you in front of the press again. I won’t do that to you.”

“You aren’t asking – I am.” Simon turned sideways in his chair to face Wille and placed his other hand on their joined ones. He spoke softer, knowing Kristina and Ludvig could still hear him but trying to keep this between him and Wille.

“I know you don’t want to do this, and I know you’re going to do it anyway. I don’t want to be in official pictures or anything, so don’t worry about the press; just let me be there for you.”

“But August,” Wille started.

“August is being August, self-serving and vindictive. But he needs us.” He turned his head to address the table again. Ludvig was finally looking at them.

“I’ll never sign your statement. I’ll never lie outright. But I’ll go and be in the background, and that will still circulate, and it will fit the narrative you’re telling everyone. I can’t stop that, no matter how much I disagree. But I won’t contradict you.”

Kristina considered him for several beats. Ludvig and Wille both held their breath, staring at their respective partners.

“That is very strategic thinking, Mr. Eriksson. You would do that for us?”

“Hell no,” Simon scoffed. “But I’ll do it for Wille. I’ll do it for us.”

Simon held her gaze. She glanced towards her son and found him staring at his boyfriend with watery eyes. She looked back to Simon. His eyes had never left her. Perhaps she had underestimated him and this relationship after all. Ludvig had been telling her in private to take them more seriously. He always noticed things like that and shared his observations with her over dinner.

“Very well. Meet us at 12:30. We’ll take the armored cars due to the protestors. August will ride with us, and you’ll have your own car.”

“We’re enforcing that rule now?” Wille spoke up. Simon assumed he meant that the sitting monarch and heir were not supposed to be in the same vehicle. It was one of those crazy things Wille told him about his life in whispered confessions in twin beds.

“Yes. We were too slack about it in the past, but we can’t afford unnecessary risks right now, can we?”

A few hours later, they found themselves pulling up to Kungliga begravningsplatsen, both bundled in one of Wille’s long coats, scarves, and gloves. Simon had never been to this part of Stockholm or the royal residence that contained the cemetery. But Kristina had been correct. It was away from the public, tucked into a little island at the far end of Haga Park, accessed by a short bridge with a tall iron gate. While ordinarily open for visitors, the cemetery was closed for the day, though the park remained open.

When the royal caravan pulled through, parkgoers turned to stare, but Malin and Joakim assured them the windows in the Queen’s cars were fully opaque, and they could not be seen.

Simon was thankful they were both on duty today. He knew who he would walk with while they all watched Wille.

They exited the cars, and Wille squeezed Simon’s hand when it was time to separate. He leaned back in at the last minute, kissed his temple, and whispered into his ear to tell him if he wanted to leave at any point. Simon nodded, and with a final squeeze of their fingers, Wille turned and joined his family.

Simon watched as Jan-Olof and Farima herded the royals together to go over the plan, instructed the invited photographers on what pictures to take, and directed the court florists who brought the flowers to lay on each grave. Simon laughed darkly when he caught the command to some lower-ranking royal aids to ensure every grave got flowers since the family would only place them on the few they wanted photos of.

Of course, the royals couldn’t even be bothered to use their dead relatives for their damage control themselves. Just another profoundly personal, picture-perfect moment in appearance that was staged and subcontracted out to the most expendable employee.

The small army of people began making their way through the cemetery. They started with photos in front of Wille’s grandparents, or, according to Maddie, “the whole ass King and Queen’s” graves.

Everyone worked in perfect coordination, save for some glares between Wille and August and reminders from Farima to look less hateful. It made Simon’s chest ache, thinking about a young, anxious Wille doing this with only his brother to calm him down.

He saw a future play out in his head of a Wille that didn’t pick himself, that hadn’t been so brave, being chained to this performance for life, a monologue he had to deliver over and over he could never rehearse, staring in a one-man show with a supporting cast that wouldn’t let him exit the stage.

A gust of frigid winter wind swept around them and shook Simon from his spiral. He looked around and realized Malin and Joakim were listening intently to something in their earpieces. They stared at each other, then nodded, and Joakim walked away back towards the entrance of the cemetery.

Malin looked at Simon and gave a tight smile.

“It seems people were alerted to the royal family’s presence here from social media posts, and a crowd has gathered on the bridge.”

“Um,” Simon swallowed. “A good crowd?”

“They climbed the gate, so it doesn’t appear so.”

Simon froze, thinking only of the NMR protesting outside of the palace and their outright hatred of him and Wilhelm. He steeled himself and spoke again.

“How did they even get that far with all the security services here?”

“Only half the guards were up front, the rest forming a perimeter or following the royal family. And no one wants to escalate the situation until necessary, especially given the current public image problem,” Malin explained.

“We were told not to use force unless protestors had weapons or were violent. The guards pushed them back, but they were outnumbered. They’ve held them in front of the gate, but it’s a large and vocal crowd.”

“Is it the NMR?” Simon dared to ask.

Malin patted him on the back. “No, Simon, but even if it were, we’d keep you safe,” she said sympathetically. “They identified themselves as members of Svenskar för Avskaffande when asked.”

Simon nodded mutely. That group had been very vocal at Drottningholm all week but never violent. He felt safer but was conflicted about whether he actually agreed with the issues the group stood for. Morally, he wanted to be with them, holding signs and chanting for a republic. Instead, he was at the royal family’s side, letting his presence trick the masses into swallowing their lies, holding his tongue and opinion safely behind his teeth.

His stomach churned from guilt. He wasn’t sure if he preferred that or the fear it had replaced. Before he could decide, Joakim returned to their side, ever stoic but noticeably tense.

“They’re evacuating the royal family and briefing them on the development. There are at least 100 protestors and only 20 security services. Stockholm police are on the way, but we can’t wait for them because we can’t hold the crowd back that long,” he said curtly.

“We will walk everyone to the cars simultaneously in safety formation. All additional staff will remain further back and load into the vans once the royal family is secure.”

Malin nodded sharply, and Simon heard footsteps rushing towards them. He looked up in time to see his boyfriend a step away before he was pulled into a tight hug. Wille squeezed him once and muttered “fuck” into his hair before pulling back and facing Malin and Joakim.

“I expect Simon to be protected as much as the rest of us,” he demanded.

“We know that, Crown Prince,” Malin said with a slight smile.

“No matter what,” Wille added, looking between his two guards.

“Their appointed leader spoke with the lead guard on site and assured us the group is peaceful and wants to exercise their right to protest. I hope it’s true. They seem very angry, and no one wants this to get messy,” Joakim said.

“Messy?” Simon questioned. “Would you hurt them?”

“If they try to hurt any of you, yes.”

“But they’re just demonstrating for what they believe in. And against the lies the public is being told. And they’re right!” Simon spoke, his voice rising at the end.

“And as long as that’s all they do, it will be fine,” Malin said calmly. “Let’s just hurry and hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Simon looked around wildly at the three people in front of him. When he agreed to this outing, it was already against his morals, but out of a desperate need to protect Wille and not leave him alone again as he had during his panic attack. But he never thought it would put him in danger, or, and possibly worse, standing opposite the people who actually shared his beliefs.

Wille leaned closer. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “Just keep your head down and walk as fast as you can. Don’t stop or react, no matter what you hear or see. Promise me?”

“But Wille,” Simon started.

“Simon, please,” Wille cut in. “They’ve run evacuation drills with me since I was 3. Please, just get to the car. I cannot have you get hurt.”

“He’s right, Simon,” Malin spoke gently from their side.

Simon exhaled a shaky breath and nodded. “I promise,” he conceded.

Joakim put his fingers to his earpiece and listened for several seconds while Malin explained the formation the guards would take around them to Simon.

All too soon, Joakim jerked his head, and they began marching toward the cars, several more guards running to join them as they went. From his peripheral vision, Simon saw a similar cluster consisting of the Queen, Duke, August, and at least 10 guards moving perpendicularly to them. They would meet at a broad path ahead of them that led to the iron gate at the front of the cemetery, currently occupied by at least 100 demonstrators.

The other group went in front of them, as protocol dictated, because crisis be damned, if Jan-Olof was present, they were going to follow the archaic traditions. Though Simon could admit, it made logical sense to ensure the current monarch’s safety above all others, even though most of his worries currently lay with the people that supposedly were the threat.

As soon as they reached the path’s opening to the gate, Simon could hear the chanting and see the crowd in the distance. He briefly spotted the cars, slowly backing down the path to get closer, but the protestors surrounded them, making it nearly impossible to move. He couldn’t understand what they were saying yet, but they grew louder and louder with every step their cohort took.

He felt Wille immediately tense next to him. Then, he placed his hand on the small of his back and pushed him to walk slightly ahead. Wille kept his hand there, and Simon was unsure if it was a possessive gesture born from care or a frustrated grip to keep him moving.

As they approached the line of cars, the protestors marched toward them, creating a gauntlet for them to run to reach the vehicles’ safety. Before he could register it, the mass of people was on them, and the guards in front were moving demonstrators out of the way with broad sweeps of their arms.

Most of the crowd focused on the group containing the Queen and August, chanting that they were monsters, predators, and accomplices and that Sweden deserved to be free of them. They resisted the guards surrounding the monarch, getting louder and bolder as everyone inched closer to the cars.

Those around Simon and Wille took an entirely different approach. They turned and walked alongside the boys, offering them statements of support: “We’re sorry this happened,” “You deserve better,” “We all support you,” “No one here will hurt you,” “August will pay for what he did,” “Sorry Crown Prince but your mom is a bitch.”

Simon snorted when he heard that and glanced into the crowd. A person who appeared in their early 20s, with long black and red striped hair tied at their nape, grinned back at him, then raised their hand and saluted him. Simon smirked at the stranger, then felt Wille press on his back more firmly.

It was another weird position for Simon, this harsh juxtaposition between where he was and where he wanted to be, realizing the demonstrators were mainly doing this because of, and even a little for, them. They said they were helping them, and they probably even believed that. However, Simon could feel the panic radiating off of his boyfriend as he balled up the back of Simon’s coat in his fist and knew the protestors were unknowingly traumatizing him.

Wille, for his part, thought he was holding it together remarkably well, given the circumstances. The protestors around them seemed docile compared to those surrounding his family ahead of them, but he knew crowds could change instantly. His heart was hammering in his chest, head buzzing so loud he could barely discern the yells around him, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other – his entire focus on the point of contact between him and Simon, where his fist gripped the other’s coat, the exact stretch of skin that tightly cradled his entire world.

He was painfully aware of how he had failed to protect Simon in the past. He knew it would take multiple sessions with Boris for him to overcome his guilt for putting Simon in this position. He knew Wille needed him, but he was still beating himself up about the panic attack despite their New Year’s Eve heart-to-heart.

At this moment, he felt similar to when Simon and Farima told him about Sweden Democrat’s campaign on anti-immigration and nationalist ideals: he felt panicked about what was happening to him, but his panic was far outweighed by his determination to protect Simon.

His boyfriend was his cheat code, the only thing that could override the programming in Wille’s brain that kept him stunted and unsure in sudden, high-stress moments. He couldn’t calm down. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t do the thing required of him. But if Simon was threatened? Near-instant software patch, rewiring his neural pathways.

Wille would be the calmest, most intimidating person anyone had ever seen. He would say whatever was needed. He would do the thing. He would stand between Simon and the threat, take all of it himself, anything to keep harm from reaching his person.

At that moment, it meant he had his head down as he had been instructed for as long as he could remember, but his eyes were darting around to ensure no one got near Simon. He trusted Malin and Joakim with his body. But every single security services guard would prioritize him. So, yes, he trusted them with his body and his physical well-being. But he didn’t trust them with his life.

Because his life was six inches in front of him, wrapped in his coat and tethered to him by a fragile fist, and he wouldn’t risk his life again. So Wille trudged on, alert, ready to shove Simon down and jump on top of him so that guards would jump on top of him, adding the wall of bodies protecting Simon.

He was so focused on keeping them walking and safe that the noises around him didn’t register until the sirens were close enough for the red lights to reflect off his shoes. He jerked his head up and saw the line of Stockholm Police cars at the gate. The protestors around them pushed forward, and at the same time, cops began pouring out of their vehicles.

Simon tensed beneath his hand, and he felt his sharp inhale and ragged exhale. The police officers marched towards the mass of people with batons drawn and mouths barking commands. They clearly did not have the orders not to escalate, as security services did.

A step ahead of him, Simon faltered and began muttering, “Oh shit, shit, shit,” quietly. Wille pressed into his back and reminded him to keep moving in a gentle voice.

Joakim did not employ the same softness.

“Both of you, keep your heads down, and do not stop until you’re in the car. No matter what,” he barked.

After that, everything happened in slow motion, but when Wille tried to replay it, it was so blurry that his brain didn’t have time to catalog precisely what he saw.

The shouts of the protestors drowned out those of the police until all he could hear was a chorus of angry voices. The first rows met the line of law enforcement and were immediately pushed to the ground, cops stepping over bodies to reach the Queen. Those who fought against the onslaught or tried to rise from the submission forced upon them were hit with the batons or the sole of a thick uniform boot.

Despite Joakim’s instructions, Wille and Simon could not avert their eyes from the melee before them. Everywhere their gaze landed, gloved hands were slicing through the air, forearms thrown in front of shocked faces, legs kicking out until they connected with another body.

Every demonstrator who fell or retreated from the force ignited the crowd's righteous fury even more. A few people began pushing through security services in earnest near August, who started screaming at them to back off before curling in on himself to become a smaller target.

The first cluster of security services and royal family members were almost to the cars, and protestors circled the vehicle to block them from entering. Cops tried to break their line, but they linked arms and held firm until the baton strikes and pepper spray began raining down on them.

The last thing Wille saw before all hell broke loose was the guards close in around his mother and father since their access to the cars was blocked. In rapid succession, several protestors grabbed for August; he fell to the ground, and the police descended on the spot where August once stood. Distantly, Wille thought it would be impossible to tell who they were hitting based on the way the cops were flailing their batons with little finesse.

All of the protestors and police were to the right of the row of cars, and Wille and Simon, with their guards, were still at the back of the mass of bodies. Malin shouted for the group to turn and go to the left of the cars, but they met little resistance once they changed direction.

Their little cell was jostled by several newly arriving police officers running to join the chaos, but the protestors remained true to their declared mission and were focused solely on the Queen and August.

They reached the second armored car in the queue, and a guard ripped the back door open while others peeled off to surround the vehicle. Malin pushed Simon’s head down as he scrambled into the back seat, and then Joakim shoved Wille’s entire body until he was collapsing half on top of Simon while the door slammed behind him.

Two guards ran to the car in front of them, and Joakim climbed into the driver’s seat and Malin into the passenger’s seat. The rest of the guards turned and ran in the other direction at a superhuman speed. Or maybe their car had just started flying down the path, but it was impossible to tell with the buzzing in Wille’s head and the staccato of his heart.

Simon turned on his knees to see out the back window and shouted to no one in particular, “They’re beating them...we can’t leave...they’re going to kill someone!”

“We can’t go back,” Joakim spoke sternly from behind the wheel. “Our job is to keep you two safe. Don’t worry, Simon; the remaining security services will protect everyone else.”

Simon spun back around. “I’m not fucking talking about the protestors I mean the fucking cops!”

Wille covered his ears and put his head between his knees. He couldn’t pinpoint one particular emotion or moment it became too much; it just was. It was fear for his parents they had just left behind, guilt that Simon was caught in this because of him, anger at the demonstrators for creating the situation, confusion for knowing they were right and what he witnessed at the hands of the officers he always thought were there to protect people, panic manifesting physically in his body as he shook and rocked and squeezed his eyes tighter to keep it all out.

Joakim and Simon were still shouting at each other, and he vaguely heard Malin trying to interject and calm them down.

It was too much. It was everything. He needed it out. Everything. Out. Out. Out.

He tugged on his hair as hard as he could and raised his head with a guttural scream. Everyone in the car froze and fell silent.

Suddenly, he felt Simon’s hands wrap around his wrist and pull gently. His grip on his hair didn’t falter.

“Wille,” Simon whispered, “Wille, mi amor, let go. Please don’t hurt yourself.” He pulled his wrists again, and Wille relented.

He slumped sideways, and Simon wrapped his arms around his shoulders and tucked Wille’s head under his chin. He rocked them slowly and hummed a song Wille didn’t recognize.

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Malin’s voice cut through the fog in his mind a few minutes later.

“Your parents are okay, Wilhelm,” she said slowly and gently. “The guards radioed, and they’re in their car not too far behind us.”

“And August?” he breathed, eyes still shut.

“He’s being taken to the hospital. I don’t know more.”

“It’s bad then. You can tell me.”

“Why do you say so?”

“You called them my parents.” he opened his eyes and looked directly into Malin’s. “You called me Wilhelm.”

The next few days passed around them, but they weren't living the events. They were ushered into Drottningholm, and the Queen and Duke returned to hug and ask after them. Members of the court rushed around gathering news and drafting statements, but the sounds never quite reached Simon or Wille’s ears.

They were underwater, held down by the pressure of something so transparent and weightless that it shouldn’t be able to exert that much force, yet it was relentless. They could see the people above them, see their mouths moving, but it was all distorted - the sounds were muffled, and the images hazy.

Shaky videos that showed the police beating unarmed protestors with the royal family caught in the middle spread through the country almost as fast as revenge porn of and recorded by the same royal family. The news reported a peaceful demonstration was derailed by a small group of agitators, resulting in a member of the royal family and two dozen protestors being taken to the hospital for injuries. The Stockholm Police issued a statement condemning extremists’ violence against the monarchy. Svenskar för Avskaffande issued a statement condemning police violence against demonstrators. The Royal Court issued no statements.

Simon and Wille were not asked to attend any meetings, and they didn't ask to, either. The surface they can’t break was a blessed barrier from the people, the updates, and the noise. The only thing more unsettling than living underwater were the moments when they were thankful for it - for the reprieve from the chaos happening on land.

August returned from the hospital the next day, a Friday. He had a broken nose and cheekbone, a black eye, two cracked ribs, and a myriad of straight-line bruises on his side and arms. Simon bumped into him in the private kitchen and questioned why he was at the palace and not home, and he told him the court didn't want to risk anyone seeing him. Simon said his bruises were suspiciously baton-shaped; August nodded.

On his way back to Wille’s room, with their dinner in his hands, he overheard two aids talking about Rickard threatening to sue the Stockholm Police for injury and damages, but was just looking for a payout. It’s unsurprising, but the injustice of it all clawed at his insides, demanding he fight to get his head above water.

Because, of course, the first time there’s such clear evidence of police brutality against a person with enough power to do something about it, that person is a sex offender that the public wanted to beat up anyway. And it’s all too easy for the people who don’t want to acknowledge it to shove the blame onto the protestors, despite so many being injured, because they started it, didn’t they? It’s even easier for August and Rickard to only care about replenishing their bank accounts.

Simon tried to kick up and breach the surface, to take his first deep breath since they left for the cemetery, hoping it would clear his head and allow him to become an active participant in his life again. But hundreds more protestors lined the fence around Drottningholm, and Wille clung to him but could only apologize for putting Simon through this. He’s pulled back under.

On Saturday, as scheduled, the palace reopened for tours for the first time since before Christmas. Only three minutes later, a bomb threat was called in. SÄPO moved with speed and precision, and before Wille or Simon knew what was happening, they were in a car leaving through a tunnel they didn’t know existed.

They held each other silently in the back seat while their caravan sped through the dark countryside away from Stockholm. Eventually, the cars pulled over, and they startled apart when someone knocked on the back window. Farima opened the door and gave them a weary smile before asking them to join her for a debrief. Apparently, the royal court held meetings anytime and anywhere.

“You’ve both been very brave the past two days,” she started. Neither of them felt brave, but Farima continued anyway. “The royal family is being taken to a secure location until the threat level is lowered.”

“It will be for several days, at least, if not a couple weeks. Simon,” she turned to address him, “You will be taken back to Bjärstad now for your safety as you were supposed to return home tomorrow regardless. We have a car for you, and two security services guards will stay in town should they be needed,” she added, motioning to another black vehicle parked facing the opposite direction on the other side of the road.

“They will monitor your house and move your family into the secured hotel we discussed before if there is a threat. You have protection from SÄPO for as long as needed, so you, your family, and the Crown Prince feel safe. Do you have any questions?”

Simon stared at her blankly. He probably had a hundred questions, but his brain hadn’t processed everything yet. There was actually a time when he thought he needed security and was mad Wille or the court hadn’t foreseen it and protected him. Now they were going above and beyond, mostly to appease Wille if he had to guess, but he couldn’t bring himself to be thankful for it when this wasn’t supposed to be their life anymore.

He felt his boyfriend shaking next to him, his hand gripping his own tighter by the second. He tried to think of a practical question about logistics, cost, or his safety.

“Where are you taking Wille?” he asked instead.

Farima frowned and shook her head, but her eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Simon, no one is allowed to know. Even I won’t be there.”

There was no use fighting that; he knew it was a battle he couldn’t win. Wille nodded like he was a few steps ahead of Simon, but he always was when dealing with the court.

“The Crown Prince won’t have his cell phone, as a safety precaution, but he will have a secure device with no internet access. I already programmed your number to it, so you can still text and call, just no video or social media.”

“I know his number,” Wille whispered into the wind. It was the first thing he’d said since the guards burst into the media room and dragged them away from their movie marathon.

If possible, Farima’s eyes turned sadder. “I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye. Then we really must go.”

She stepped away and walked to the car that would take Simon home. Or back to Bjärstad. Over the months, it had become harder to think of any place without Wille as home, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on that thought for too long.

Simon turned so they were face to face and reached out to grab the hand that he hadn’t been holding. He needed to say something, do something, to calm his boyfriend’s mind. He stared up into Wille’s worried eyes, unable to form a thought, and wished his own mind wasn’t so waterlogged.

Wille saw the fear all over Simon’s face. Despite all their promises to each other and months of building a solid relationship, in the back of his mind, he always feared they would end up here: him unable to tread the water that was his life and Simon too weary from keeping them both afloat.

He remembered reading once that drowning was one of the most peaceful ways to die. At some point, your body tired out, and your brain knew the liquid-to-gas ratio in your lungs was insurmountable. Then you would have a rush of endorphins - body weightless, mind at ease as you welcomed your watery grave like an old friend.

If he were a stronger man, he would cut Simon loose so he could save himself. He knew he was the weight tied to Simon’s ankle, dragging him back under. But he was weak, selfish, and in love, and he couldn’t bear to watch him float away from him again.

Besides, Simon was the strong one who had already made the impossible choice to swim and not sink twice in their relationship. Wille had no doubt he would do it again. He admired him for it, even. But before, he knew Simon was saving himself and giving Wille the space to do the same.

And he had. And he was proud of it. But he didn’t think he could do it a third time, not after knowing what their life could be together. This would be the moment his brain knew this was insurmountable, and he’d stay down.

He nodded in resignation. Simon saw his eyes shift from worried and searching to soft but detached.

“No,” his voice cracked.

“It’s okay, Simon,” Wille replied, lips twitching into a sad smile.

“No,” Simon repeated, voice stronger. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to, älskling.”

“I have to go back home, but I’m not leaving you.”

“You should,” Wille sighed, lowering his eyes to stare at their joined hands.

Simon let go and ran his hands up the sides of Wille’s neck until they were hooked under his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheeks. He nudged him until Wille raised his eyes again.

“You should just leave with me,” he said softly. “But I know you can’t yet, so it’s okay. Well, no, none of this is okay. But we’re okay.”

Wille wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist and pulled him close until their foreheads rested against each other.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” Simon said. "You don’t deserve everything that keeps happening to you and hurting you, but you deserve to be happy. We deserve the life we want together.”

Wille nodded into Simon’s curls and hugged him tight against his chest. They stood on the side of the road, wrapped around each other, breathing each other in, until Farima called for Simon from across the street.

They tilted and found each other’s lips, a desperate, deep, but slow kiss that held all the promises they had made to each other, all the pain of their situation, and all the plans they would fight to fulfill.

Simon broke the kiss with an ‘I love you’ said against Wille’s lips. Wille always beat him to it, saying those words so freely and often that Simon rarely said them without a ‘too’ tacked on. But this time, he needed Wille to hear it first.

Wille laughed wetly, trying to keep the emotions at bay. “I love you more.”

“You really don’t,” Simon replied with a final kiss, then turned and walked to Farima. He looked back at Wille as he opened the car door, their eyes locked. They stood motionless, pinned in place from the pain mirrored on both their faces, separated by two country lanes and two conflicting lives, but so wholly each other’s.

With a final mouthed ‘I love you,’ Simon climbed into the car. He knew the emotions of the past two days would hit him sometime during the drive home. He knew their lives would be turned upside down for the foreseeable future. He knew too much responsibility would fall on Wille, and he would grapple with the guilt of leaving it behind all over again.

But as the car sped away and the royal caravan left in the opposite direction, he also knew they would weather the storm only if they did so together. It wasn’t sustainable long-term, but now that Wille had been in Simon’s life for over a year, he understood better where to give and take and their relationship’s worth.

He wouldn’t lose Wille. He wouldn’t leave him or let Wille be a martyr to protect him either. He didn’t want to be underwater but would stay where Wille was until they could both come up for air. For now, they would drown, but they would drown together.

Chapter Text

Simon ran his fingers along the rack of clothes in front of him, cataloging the feel of each distinct texture: rough wools, soft velvets, worn cottons, and rigid corduroys. With this many choices, he could have a new style for every emotion he had experienced recently, not that he was shopping for himself.

Still, he contemplated what look would best accompany the giddy nervousness and outright fear battling for dominance in his chest. Probably Wille’s soft pink sweater with the spiky leather jacket his hand just landed on.

The pang in his chest intensified. Wille. God, he missed him more than he knew was possible. Although they had technically gone longer between in-person visits than the five weeks they were at now, never had the weeks apart been so turbulent.

“Hellllllloooooo,” Maddie said, waving a ring-laden hand in front of his face, “Earth to Simon.”

He shook his head to banish thoughts of his boyfriend so he could focus on his friend in front of him. The friend who had him pinned with a knowing quirk of her eyebrow and a slight frown.

“Sorry, Mads, zoned out a little,” he replied.

“More like zoned in to thinking about someone.”

He gave her an exasperated look from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m just saying, Wille spends almost all of his time lamenting about missing you and complaining about everything that’s happened,” Maddie began. “I can’t help but be worried about you, too.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, I do,” he sighed. “It just feels so big, I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to talk to me, but are you at least talking to someone?”

He exhaled and looked around. No one else was in the tiny vintage shop Maddie had dragged him to in Linköping, and the employee who had greeted them had been in the back for the 15 minutes they had wandered.

“Yeah, I talk to my therapist, Mika, every week,” he said quietly. “And they help a lot. It’s just like, what else is there to say besides everything is unfair and sucks?”

Maddie hummed and nodded sympathetically.

It seemed like every day since Simon had to leave Wille on the side of the road before they were both whisked off in opposite directions was more challenging than the last.

Wille, his parents, August, and a skeleton staff of royal court members were in an isolated, secure location with two dozen security guards for eight days. Simon didn’t ask where they had been, but Wille said he couldn’t have told him if he had tried anyway.

The cars drove for so long and made so many turns that they were impossible to track, which was the point. Eventually, they pulled into a large estate with no other lights in sight once the sun went down. The cars remained, giving the impression that the royals were there, while they boarded a helicopter and were transported to a different safehouse under the cover of night.

Malin explained that the actual location had an underground garage with more cars. New security service guards had been taken to the safehouse while they drove in circles through the Swedish countryside. The guards in the caravan stayed at the false location to keep up the ruse, except for each royal’s main guard, who followed their charge in the helicopter.

Simon had to admire the intricacies of the plan. Despite being heartbroken over being separated, with no timeline for seeing each other again and only voice calls to sustain them, he was glad Wille was safe. He could admit he never really thought of Wille as being in real danger until the article was released, and he saw the public’s anger, both the fringe extremists who wanted to harm them and the general protestors who thought they were helping him but were making him collateral damage.

They texted constantly, Wille from an old phone with a full slide-out keyboard and tiny screen with no internet access, apps, or camera. Malin told him to be happy it had a full keyboard because when she got her first phone, she had to hit each number several times to get the letter she wanted. Wille called her old, and Malin threw the crust of her sandwich at him when no one was looking. It was the most normal Wille had felt in 48 hours.

The second day Wille was in isolation, Simon returned to school and to a slew of questions from other students asking what had really happened in the cemetery and where the royal family was. The choir director took pity on him and let him, and by extension Sara, Rosh, and Ayub, stay in her room during lunch and breaks to avoid the attention.

Every night after school, Simon would call Wille, and they’d talk all about their days while Simon did his homework and eventually fell asleep with Wille still on the line. Wille told Simon he had one side of the second floor to himself while August had the other, so they didn’t have to see each other. So far, it was working.

There were some books to read, but most he’d already read in school, so he went through the others quickly. He finally found some board games and cards at the top of a closet and painfully realized they were Erik’s favorites from when they were kids, and this place had probably last been supplied in case of emergency when they were young. By day four, some guards finally broke decorum and agreed to play with him since they were all bored out of their minds and stir crazy.

He didn’t see his mom often. She was always in hushed meetings in a room with a thick metal door that Wille suspected doubled as a bunker. His dad rarely sat in on that kind of meeting, so on day six, he emerged and asked if he could join the game of Clue that Wille, Malin, and three other guards were playing. Everyone had already picked their characters, so he graciously played as Mrs. Peacock, beating them in back-to-back games.

Simon filled him in on his school days, mainly leaving out how much the other students were trying to get information from him. He figured Wille had enough to worry about. He was able to ease some of the tension by recounting the truly disgustingly sweet story of Rosh and Maddie’s first (and second, third, fourth, and fifth) kiss from the night she and Ayub stayed over at Felice’s after Christmas. Rosh planned on withholding the details for as long as possible so she didn’t have to deal with his and Ayub’s jokes, but she figured desperate times called for desperate measures.

Maddie began sending him updates about her, Felice, and Alex. The International School started a week later, so Wille only missed a day. Unfortunately, his security was doubled, and they had to follow him in the halls and into classrooms. Before, they were stationed outside the school and in an office monitoring the cameras.

But at least Wille had his old phone back once they returned to Drottningholm slott. He immediately video-called Simon, and they both stared at each other, a little teary-eyed when the call connected. They talked for hours and fell asleep propped up on each other’s pillows.

The security at the palace had been ramped up, with extra guards all over the grounds and a large group of SÄPO on site to monitor potential threats. Wille said he overheard his mom say they were hemorrhaging money on extra staff and overtime fees. The court was worried about how people would react if it got out how much taxpayer money was being spent on security for a crisis of their own making.

It was stressful and hectic, but at the very least, it was survivable. The final blow came on the Monday after they returned to Drottningholm.

Wille returned from school to the tensest atmosphere in the corridors he had ever felt. He had a new daily routine of dropping by his mother’s office when he got home to get updates on any threats or security issues.

That day, as he rounded the corner to the hallway holding the Queen’s office, he almost walked directly into the Prime Minister of Sweden. She stepped back from him and extended her hand for a quick greeting of "Crown Prince” before continuing on her way.

Confused, he pushed open the door to his mother’s office to find the Queen, Jan-Olof, Minou, Farima, and the head of legal in an intense debate. They all froze and looked at him when he entered the space.

In a moment of pure teenage angst and annoyance, Wille tipped his head towards the ceiling and groaned.

“What is it now?” he nearly whined.

They refused to tell him that day. Jan-Olof insisted it was a minor hiccup he didn’t need to worry about; the court would handle it. He made eye contact with Farima, who pursed her lips and gave him the slightest nod.

He knew, then. Farima had been right. The Riksdag had asked the Queen to abdicate.

He locked himself in his room and screamed into his pillow until he was hoarse. It was the first night in over a month that he hadn’t spoken to Simon. He texted him the following day and apologized, saying he thought he might be coming down with something and had crashed when he got home. Simon’s understanding and offer to send the royal chef Linda’s “sick soup” recipe only exacerbated the guilt tearing through his body.

One week later, the Queen summoned him for a meeting. It was his mother’s fall from grace, but he walked the halls to her office like he was going to his own gallows. He might as well have been.

She delivered the news solemnly, fighting to appear unaffected despite the slight quaver of her voice.

“They insist it is the only way to appease the people.”

The rope hung before him, beckoning him to accept his fate.

“The court and I have been fighting them for days, but they will not concede.”

He slowly climbed the steps and looked out into the crowd, finding instead an entire nation.

“I threatened them with the news of you stepping down, like you suggested.”

The hangman slipped the noose around his throat.

“They think they can leverage that into a vote for dissolution, but would rather focus on restoring stability.”

So many people stared back at him; would no one step forward to save him?

“It was a good plan, gubben, and I’m sorry it has come to this.”

Someone pushed through the motionless bodies, and he saw Simon shout for them to stop – he was saved.

“We’ve decided I’ll officially abdicate to you on your 18th birthday.”

The trapdoor opened beneath him, and the world went black.

He opened his eyes, not to the afterlife, but to his mother’s concerned gaze. He was still in her office.

“I did everything I could to fight this, Wilhelm,” she spoke softly. “I tried to keep this burden from you.”

Several tears escaped and ran down her cheeks, black lines of eye makeup and regret ruining the mirage of perfection. Wille wondered if they were for him or simply her ego.

“And Wille, he’s handling it so well, or as well as he could be?” Simon sighed. “I know we have a plan. I know we have to sit tight and wait, so there’s no point in stressing about the what ifs over a year away.”

Maddie held a sweater to his chest, frowned, then put it back on the rack. “But?” she questioned.

“But I’m still scared,” Simon whispered.

“It’s only human to be, dude! This is a lot hanging over y’all’s heads.”

Simon laughed darkly and Maddie put her hands on both his shoulders so they were facing each other.

“But,” she chided, “Y’all have each other, and what y’all have is one of the deepest connections I’ve ever seen. And y’all both have all of us to lean on, too. As long as y’all stay honest and communicate, you’ll make it work.”

“Thank you, Mads,” he smiled.

“But of course, mon petit chou,” she replied, reaching for another sweater.

“Your what?”

“My little cabbage.”

“WHY would you call me your little cabbage!?”

“It’s a general term of endearment! Like sweetheart!” she exclaimed. “Don’t ask me to explain the French to you, dude. I just know what they teach me.”

“Well, as long as Wille doesn’t try to call me that,” Simon giggled. “Still can’t believe he gets away with taking a foreign language he’s already fluent in. Stupid ass prince.”

Maddie quirked her eyebrow then smoothed her expression before Simon could notice.

“Yes, right, French. That class we have together,” she said, nodding her head. “I’m sure he’ll stick to älskling anyway. He freaking loves calling you that.”

“Well, I love it when he calls me that.”

“We’re all very aware.”

“Maybe Rosh will call you that too.”

“She can call me whatever she wants.”

“MADDIE.”

“SIMON.”

They stared at each other before breaking into laughter at the same time. Every time they hung out, Simon became more thankful for her friendship. Maddie had always been kind and acted normal around him at Hillerska, but she was primarily Sara and Wille’s friend, so they didn’t have a chance to get close before the end of the year.

When she joined them halfway through their start of summer trip to Felice’s lake house, he realized they could be great friends in their own right. Maddie was so quick-witted and could banter with anyone. It was especially great to see how relaxed Wille was around her. After she and Sara had hashed out their differences and fallen back into their easygoing friendship, Simon knew anyone that loyal and vibrant was worth having as a friend.

Her developing relationship? romance? thing? with Rosh was an added benefit. They both deserved someone as deeply good as each other, which was, incidentally, how they found themselves in this vintage shop to begin with, browsing for something for her to wear on her date this weekend. Valentine’s Day was Monday, the worst day of the week for a romantic holiday, so pretty much everyone was celebrating on Saturday.

Simon noted the sheer amount of clothes hanging over Maddie’s arm.

“I thought you just wanted something for your date?”

“Oh, I have plenty of options. Besides, I look good in everything,” Maddie grinned. Simon snorted. “Most of this is for my design work.”

“But...it’s already made?” Simon questioned.

“That is exactly the point, my friend,” Maddie sing-songed. She turned to face him with a serious expression.

“So, fashion schools in New York are hella competitive, so I’ve been trying to think about my angle, you know, a signature to build a brand around and stick out from other applicants.”

She pulled a faux fur cropped jacket from the rack. “Do we like this?” she asked, holding it up to Simon, who stared at her wide-eyed. She shook her head. “No, too much. You’re right.”

“Focus, babe,” Simon deadpanned.

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned. “Okay, so, a signature. I thought about things I care about and what I’m influenced by, and finally realized I could combine my love of maximalism, thrifting, and schooling in Sweden into one thing: a zero-waste, eco-chic brand.”

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“All the pieces are made from existing textiles. Everything is upcycled, and nothing is ever thrown out; it’s used somewhere, somehow.”

“I get it,” he said approvingly. “Because Sweden focuses on sustainability, you can use our policy and stuff for inspiration.”

“Exactly!” Maddie beamed. “Thank you to Greta, who will unknowingly help me get into FIT or Parsons.”

“So, you aren’t really looking for a date outfit?” Simon asked.

“I mean…not for me…” Maddie said slowly.

“Absolutely not!” Simon nearly shouted.

“Come on, Simme, it’s a Valentine’s date!” Maddie begged. “Technically, your first one as a couple. And lord knows you both need to dress better than last year.”

Simon gave her a pointed look.

“Let me dress you. It will be so fun, I promise!”

“I hate fashion, Mads.”

“Which is why I’ll worry about it for you!” she grinned. “Okay, you have some style underneath the graphic tees and one singular hoodie. The purple plaid coat? Light tan striped sweater? Multiple cool ass checked pants? There’s plenty to work with!”

He glared at her harder.

“Okay, please trust me. I pulled some things for you, and if you don’t like anything, I’ll add it to my pile for design work.”

“I don’t like this. You scare me.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Wille said, too.”

Late that night, Simon sat by his front door anxiously waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. The RC insisted on Wille getting there after dark when fewer people could spot him. Shopping with Maddie had been a good distraction, but now Simon was alone, with Sara visiting Felice in Stockholm and his mamma at work. He needed Wille to walk through his door about 20 minutes ago.

Finally, his phone lit up with a message, and Simon threw open the door.

“Hi, Joakim. Bye, Joakim.” He shouted to Wille’s guard, who had come ahead to clear their floor. He ran down the hall and around the corner just in time to hear the elevator doors ping, then Malin stepped out with a knowing smile before Wille unceremoniously shoved past her and crashed into Simon, gripping him tight.

After five agonizing weeks, Wille’s arms were wrapped around his waist, one hand pressing firm between his shoulder blades and the other snaked under his sweater, feeling the skin of the small of his back, right where they belonged.

Wille turned his head and kissed Simon’s temple before inhaling the familiar coconut scent of his curls.

“Hi, älskling,” he whispered.

Simon kissed his neck, where his lips naturally fell when his arms were wound around his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Can you say it again?” he spoke against the other’s throat.

Wille laughed and smiled into his hair. “Hi, älskling,” he repeated.

Simon pulled back and looked up at Wille, grinning and giggling now that they were finally reunited.

“That is so much better than my little cabbage.”

The following day, they woke slowly, wrapped around each other, and stayed in bed until they heard the telltale sounds of Linda making a late breakfast after returning from her night shift. They searched Simon’s floor for the clothes they hastily discarded the night before, then entered the kitchen to see Linda cutting up fruit and brewing fresh coffee.

“Good morning, cariños,” she said, smiling at both boys. She inclined her head towards the kitchen table. Sitting in the middle was a purple glass vase filled with a beautiful arrangement of flowers in shades of pink, purple, and red. A little card stuck out from a holder in the center.

“And thank you so much for the flowers, Wille,” she beamed. “I was so surprised I didn’t believe the delivery man at the nurse’s station at first.”

Wille straightened immediately and ran his hand nervously through his hair.

“I’m so glad you like them,” he started. “I hope it’s okay that I sent them. You’ve just done so much for me, and I wanted to do something to show how much it means to me.”

He cleared his throat and glanced at Simon, to find him staring back at him with an odd look. He hadn’t told his boyfriend he would do that, and he suddenly second-guessed whether the gift would be too much. Of course, Wille gave Simon’s family presents for their birthdays and Christmas, but maybe Simon would find it weird for Valentine’s Day? He thought it was a day for showing love, and all kinds of love were worth celebrating.

Before he could worry too much, Linda spoke again.

“Well, you didn’t have to do that, but I must admit it felt nice to get flowers again. And just between us, it was kind of fun to see the look on my horrible co-worker’s face when she saw they were from you,” she added with a laugh. “Now, you both sit down. The cachitos will be out of the oven in two minutes.”

Simon plopped down into a chair and tracked Wille’s movements wide-eyed. Wille fidgeted under his gaze, leaned his head on his hand, and turned away from Linda for a modicum of privacy.

“You sent my mamma flowers?” Simon whispered before Wille could say anything.

Wille nodded.

“You sent my mamma flowers to her work, for Valentine’s Day?”

Wille nodded again.

“Oh, I am going to jump you after breakfast.”

“Wait, what?” Wille asked, taken aback.

“You are the cutest,” he leaned in and kissed Wille quickly, “sweetest,” another peck, “most thoughtful asshole in the world.”

“But still an asshole?” Wille said with an exaggerated frown.

“Yeah, you’re showing me up to my mamma,” he said playfully. “And where are my flowers, hm?”

Wille smiled from ear to ear. “The day is young.”

“You’re impossible,” Simon huffed.

“So would it help or hurt to tell you I also sent Sara flowers at Felice’s?”

Simon groaned and buried his head in his hands.

They spent the day around the apartment, curled up on the couch, talking with Linda until she slept before her night shift. Then, they watched movies and dozed off and on, Simon’s head on Wille’s chest. Linda woke them when she got up to head back to the hospital, and they told her goodbye before heading to shower and get ready for their date.

Wille had been tight-lipped about what they were doing, but Simon knew the RC was still keeping him away from the public. At least he didn’t have to stress over what to wear since Maddie knew their plan and picked out their outfits. Wille used Simon and Sara’s bathroom to shower and get ready, while Simon used Linda’s.

It was silly how nervous they both were, given their year-long relationship, being in love, and doing way more intimate things with way less clothing on before. But it was their first Valentine’s Day actually together, even though they ended last year’s finally closing the distance that had been between them all term with a clandestine make-out session outside of the ball and Simon serenading Wille in front of the whole school.

Wille was ready first and paced in the living room, waiting for Simon to emerge from Linda’s room. He laughed to himself over the butterflies in his stomach and his fast heartbeat. He realized he looked like a bad American teen romcom – the anxious boyfriend waiting at the bottom of the stairs for his prom date to appear and glide down towards him while he gawked at them, all done up for the big dance.

Before he could spin out too much, the door in the corner of the living room opened slowly, and Simon took a hesitant step out. They smiled shyly, inching forward and running their eyes up and down each other’s bodies.

Maddie had done well, keeping their outfits casual and close enough to their own wardrobes for them to be comfortable. Wille wore a thickly knitted blue sweater and a pair of black jeans, tighter than any others in his closet, which Simon was not complaining about. Simon was similarly dressed in a loose knit, two-toned pink striped sweater and purple and brown pants in a checked pattern so small they appeared all one color unless you looked at them closely. They both had on a necklace and a couple of rings, something they had each been interested in exploring more.

“Hi,” Simon said quietly, breaking them out of their trance.

“Hi,” Wille replied in the same tone. “You look beautiful.”

Simon flushed and bit back a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

They met in the center of the room and naturally reached out to clasp their hands between them.

“I gotta be honest,” Simon began. “I was a bit terrified of what Mads would force on us, but she did a good job. It’s almost what we already wear, just a little, I don’t know…more.”

“It is,” Wille said with a short laugh, “though she tried to get us both suits, and I said no way.”

“Oh god,” Simon groaned. Wille rubbed his thumbs across the back of his hands. “Well, there’s always next year.”

Wille beamed. “Yeah, there is.”

Thirty minutes later, they pulled up a familiar path they hadn’t seen since last June. The trees lining the drive had borne witness to their reunion, their gasped love confessions carried through the branches that now blew leafless in the winter wind. Their mixed tears had fallen into this very dirt, consecrating the ground.

Simon turned and raised an eyebrow in question. Wille squeezed his hand and shrugged noncommittally.

The car eventually stopped in front of the small church on the edge of the school buildings, and the boys stepped out after the guard opened their door. Simon made a mental note to ask their names since this was the new team alternating days with Malin and Joakim now that Wille’s security had been doubled.

He turned to face his boyfriend, who looked downright giddy.

“Wille, why are we at the Hillerska Chapel?”

“Must you question all my date night decisions?” Wille huffed in faux annoyance. He grabbed the other’s hand and walked them up the steps before opening the carved wooden door and leading him inside.

The center aisle was lined with flameless candles, Simon suspected the same ones from their New Year’s Eve date, placed at the end of every pew. Slowly, hand in hand, they walked towards the front of the chapel. A few steps in, Wille started speaking quietly.

“A year and a half ago, I walked down this same aisle scared out of my mind. I was so uncomfortable in my own skin. Not to mention literally bruised and cut up. Everyone was talking about me, and I just wanted to disappear.”

He glanced over at Simon and saw him staring back with a soft expression. Emboldened by the silent support, he continued.

“I was dreading that stupid choir performance.” Next to him, Simon shook with laughter. “I know. But I hated attention and making a bunch of people perform just because I was showing up? I asked Erik to punch my other eye so I could get out of it. He said no, that jerk.”

Wille didn’t bring up Erik voluntarily too often, and Simon knew it was bittersweet for Wille to relive good memories with his brother. They reached the end of the aisle and stood in front of the steps the choir had performed on all those months ago.

Now the steps were scattered with even more candles in a V formation, funneling them to walk up to the raised chancel. Wille tugged on his hand and brought them to the top stair.

“But then there was you,” he said with reverence, turning them to face each other. “You were standing right here when you unknowingly turned my entire world upside down. I didn’t understand what it was; I just knew I smiled for the first time in days watching you sing.”

Simon blinked back tears and sniffled quietly. “I remember looking at you after Vincent was being a dick, and I was expecting you to be making fun of me with all of them. I was ready to stare you down and challenge you to look me in the eyes if you were going to be such a pompous ass.”

They both laughed wetly at the memory.

“That’s exactly why I was so mesmerized. Only you would dare to do that,” Wille responded.

Simon smirked knowingly. “Yeah, but then you had the audacity to stare at me like no one ever had. I was trying to remember all the words but all I could think was fuck he’s cute.”

“Well, same,” Wille joked.

He unlaced their fingers and ran his hands up Simon’s wrists, then wrapped them around his lower back, pulling them together.

“I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met you. I love you so, so much, Simon.”

Simon crossed his arms behind his boyfriend’s neck and raised on his toes so they were closer to eye level.

“I love you, Wille.”

“I’m really glad I got punched in the face in that club.”

“I’m really glad Erik didn’t punch you again, so I got to sing for you.”

Wille had somehow procured a small bistro table that was placed in front of the altar – the altar that proudly displayed not one but two bouquets of purple flowers. Wille smirked at him when Simon pointed to them and rolled his eyes.

Simon sat down as instructed, then Wille disappeared into the side room to the right of the sanctuary. A few minutes later, he returned with a food tray, and Simon huffed in disbelief.

“Wille, where did you get all of this?”

“Fredrik brought it from Stockholm when he brought the candles and table. There’s a little kitchenette back there we used to keep it warm.”

Simon groaned and looked up into the rafters.

“Of course, Fredrik set all this up!” he laughed. “Wouldn’t be a date without him and our collection of emotional support candles.”

Wille smiled at him and reached across the table to hold his hand. “As soon as the RC eases the security measures and lets me do more things in public, I will take you on so many dates that Fredrik has no part in.”

“Mmm, I hope so,” Simon murmured, tracing Wille’s knuckles with his ring finger. “I’m not interested in having a third in this relationship.”

Wille spluttered, and Simon cackled in victory. He loved catching Wille off guard and breaking his delicate prince sensibilities.

He took a long sip of his water while giving Simon a pointed look over the brim of his glass. He cleared his throat, picked up Simon’s plate from the tray, and set it in front of him.

“Shut up and eat your pasta,” he teased. “It’s your favorite from that little Italian place we found in Söder this summer.”

“THANK YOU, FREDRIK,” Simon shouted with a giggle.

Wille stared at him, forcing his face to remain unimpressed even though he was dying on the inside.

“He’s not still here, älskling,” he deadpanned. “No thirds in this relationship, remember?”

Simon swirled some noodles around his fork and pinned Wille under a flirty stare. “Better not be,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t share.”

“Yeah?” Wille said, cocking an eyebrow. “Good. Me neither.”

They spent the next hour eating the delicious dinner Wille had brought from their favorite restaurant in Stockholm, savoring the pasta, bread, and dips while talking about everything and nothing simultaneously. When they were done, Wille carried the empty plates back to the kitchenette and returned with a slice of tiramisu and a cannoli for them to split. Simon beamed at him, and they fell back into easy conversation, fingers laced on top of the table and ankles intertwined beneath it.

Once dessert was done, they moved to sit on the steps, surrounded by the candles, so they could lean on each other while they talked.

“You know,” Simon started, “I think you cheated a bit on the rule that we can give Valentine’s presents, but only if we don’t spend money on them.”

“But I didn’t spend any money on your present,” Wille countered.

“Elaborate dinner date still counts as part of the present, Wille,” Simon replied.

Wille sat up straighter, knocking Simon’s head from his shoulder, and pointed at his boyfriend.

“No,” he said earnestly, “because I thought of everything. The candles are all from New Year’s, and the table was already in event storage. The flowers were already being made and set out around the palace. I just snagged two that happened to be your favorite color. And by I, yes, I do mean Fredrik.”

Simon laughed and played with Wille’s fingers while the other kept speaking.

“And as for dinner, in exchange for Fredrik paying for it, I’m working as his unpaid intern for one day. He looked way too happy about that proposal, too; I fear for what tasks I’ll be assigned,” he added gravely before making eye contact with a bewildered Simon and bursting into laughter.

“You,” Simon wheezed, “you did NOT.” He doubled over, silent giggles racking his body.

Wille looked at him smugly and nodded. “Oh, but I did. You said yourself we had to get creative for the 0 kronor budget holidays.”

Simon wiped the tears away as he finally settled down.

“Well, doing free labor is a rite of passage for us commoners,” he quipped. “Guess you had to start learning life outside the monarchy at some point.”

They both froze for a split second, then relaxed back into each other. Wille sighed deeply.

“We should talk about it, right?” he asked. “I just didn’t want to spoil tonight.”

Simon reached over and pushed his hair off his forehead and ran his fingers back until they tangled into the hair at his nape.

“It doesn’t have to spoil anything. But you said in person, so let’s hear it.”

“I only wanted to tell you all the news in person because it’s so much, and even over the phone or video, it’s so much harder to judge how we both feel about something,” Wille rushed. “I didn’t want anything lost in translation; it’s too important.”

“I understand,” Simon said.

Wille stared at the ceiling and then closed his eyes to take a steadying breath. He exhaled and looked back at Simon, who squeezed his hand in support.

“Okay, my mom is abdicating on my 18th birthday, like I told you,” he began. “So, like Farima warned us, whether I took the oath to be king now or when I was done with schooling and the military, I must have a regent.”

The hunt for a regent had been the sole focus inside the walls of Drottningholm ever since the Queen had accepted that she would have to abdicate. From there, they had begun planning how to transition power to Wille, without actually forcing Wille to become King, so that they would have more time to devise a plan for when Wille stepped down at 19. Or, as he and Simon suspected, to talk him into staying.

Legally, the Riksdag removed the reigning monarch under a vote of no confidence and installed a regent in their place. Letting Kristina abdicate was mainly for show and in recognition of her decades of service to Sweden. That way, Wille remained Crown Prince, and the regent filled the vacant monarch role.

Finding a regent in two months was the priority. Notably, if the RC failed to find someone who could be confirmed by parliament, the Speaker of the Riksdag would be given the job. Wille learned that this was out of the question for two main reasons.

First, the Speaker belonged to the Moderate Party, and while a friend to the monarchy, the party had recently joined a center-right alliance with several other political parties to gain power, the largest of which was the Swedish Democrats. If they ultimately wanted to keep the right-wing party from influencing national politics, they couldn’t afford to have them hold multiple positions of power.

Secondly, the RC operated on secrecy above all. While their job as symbolic heads of state was to work with the Riksdag, they wanted to be able to plan, or more importantly, plot against them as needed. That meant keeping actual politicians far away from the regency.

Despite their borderline desperation to fill the role, specific rules had to be followed when choosing someone. Ordinarily, the regency passed through the line of succession, with the Speaker being the last resort. But since the line currently ended with Wilhelm and August was no longer a viable option, they considered anyone who might be fit to serve.

The regent needed to be as closely related to the royal family as possible to justify searching out of the succession line, but Swedish and not a member of another royal family, disqualifying Wille’s Norwegian relatives.

So it had to be someone on the Swedish family tree. Unfortunately, few people were left on Wilhelm’s family tree, and even fewer weren’t involved in the scandal that prematurely ended his mother’s reign.

Because the crown was passed through his mother’s family, staying within the royal bloodline was only logical. Sadly, that line was almost nonexistent due to the early deaths of Kristina’s sickly brother and her cousin Carl Johan. The RC was also hesitant to tie this new era of the monarchy back to the publicly disgraced queen, so any distant relatives were ruled out.

That left Wilhelm’s father, who would have been the perfect historical choice had he not been directly involved in covering up August’s crime and betraying the nation’s Crown Prince. Thankfully, in the RC’s opinion, at least, Kristina had done her duty and married someone from an old, Swedish noble family.

Before surrendering his last name and autonomy to the monarchy to live out his days as Duke Ludvig, Prince Consort to Queen Kristina II, he was born an Ehrensvärd. The Ehrensvärd’s were one of the oldest noble families, with titled descendants dating back to the late 1500s. Technically, Wilhelm’s paternal grandfather had been a baron. However, the titles held no value other than upholding archaic social constructs of importance based solely on some old dead guy owning more dirt than other old dead guys – at least that’s how Simon explained it to Wille.

According to the RC, Ludvig’s family was the only option for a suitable regent. His younger brother worked in finance for one of the top firms in Stockholm and had a wife and kids Wille saw every couple of years when they were invited to a palace holiday. They were part of the city’s elite, but they rejected the attention being connected to the royals could force on their children, so his uncle swiftly rejected the offer.

Ludvig’s younger sister had not even been asked. She lived off her inheritance as a free spirit, popping into different countries on a whim and living there for six months before moving on to the next one. Wille couldn’t even remember the last time he saw her or that she had even been in the country. She much preferred life in warmer climates with no strings attached.

That left only one other family member who was an Ehrensvärd by blood, under 85, over 35, and still living in Sweden: Ludvig’s uncle, Wilhelm’s great uncle, Albert Ehrensvärd.

“Who?” Wille had asked, looking to his father, when the Queen had mentioned him during a meeting he had been requested at.

“He’s your grandfather’s brother,” Ludvig explained, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Why have I literally never heard of him?”

The Queen and Duke shared a look.

“Uncle Albert,” Ludvig began hesitantly, “he left for England to study at university. And as my pappa told the story, he was very different when he returned. Their father was furious and pretty much cut him off. It caused a rift amongst the siblings.”

He had been staring at a spot on the table but finally looked up and made eye contact with Wilhelm.

“He lived out in Lund for a long time. He liked the artistic community there and made a life for himself as a scholar and philanthropist. Once your grandfather died, the family estate, Tosterup slott, down in Tomelilla, was vacant because their sisters had all married, and I was here. It passed to Albert, and he’s been there, living reclusively for at least 20 years.”

“And that’s why I’ve never met him?”

Ludvig paused. Eventually, he replied.

“Yes. He hasn’t been in contact with the family since taking over Tosterup. I believe he came to Erik’s christening, but that was the last time I saw him.”

Wilhelm considered both of his parents, how on edge they looked, and Jan-Olof's sour expression the entire time his father spoke.

“So he’s a hermit, but suddenly he wants to be regent?” Wille said sharply.

The Queen took control of the conversation. “To be perfectly honest, Wilhelm, we are not entirely sure yet. Farima contacted him and has been in communication with him for several days, and at this point, he says he will only speak to you.”

“Me?” Wilhelm gulped.

“You. He wants to speak to you, and then he will give us an answer.”

Wilhelm looked to Farima since she had spoken with his estranged uncle. “Do you even want him to accept? Are you that desperate?”

Farima gave him a considered look before replying. “From our conversations, your uncle seems beyond competent, well-versed on what has been happening within the royal family, and, dare I say, lively.”

Jan-Olof sighed and held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger.

“He is a bit of a, what you’d call loose cannon, to us, which is not ideal given how uncontrollable the optics are for the royal family and court currently,” Farima said diplomatically. “But despite being our only option, I think he is also a good one. And he seems very intent on knowing you before deciding anything.”

So the next day, Wille sat alone in his room, cell phone in one hand and his uncle’s phone number in the other, working up the courage to call.

“And?” Simon asked anxiously. “How did it go?”

Wille hummed thoughtfully before answering. “It was a little strange, at first,” he said, “just talking to this family member I didn’t even know about. But, it was honestly really natural?”

“Yeah?” Simon said hopefully.

“Yeah. He asked me a few questions, just trying to get to know me, but like human questions, not crown prince questions. And he joked around a little then asked me about you.”

“About me?” Simon gaped.

Wille smiled and nodded. “Mhm. He said he’s kept up with everything that’s happened to me the last two years from a distance. He saw my speech at the Jubilee and was cheering us on. He said he’d be honored to meet you.”

“What the hell?”

“I know I was kind of shocked,” Wille admitted. “Like, here’s this estranged uncle who’s like 77 and seemingly hates your family, but plot twist, he’s an ally.”

“Speak, Uncle Albert,” Simon joked.

“Right? So, at the end of the call, he said he wanted to think about it but thanked me for talking to him and being open and said that it gave him clarity.”

“Clarity? Someone spoke to you and walked away with things clearer?”

Wille glared at him. “I’m working on it!”

“And obviously it’s paying off!”

“Okay, so anyway,” Wille said pointedly, “he called Farima two days later and said he’d do it. He’ll be my regent.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah.”

“Will parliament approve him?”

“Shockingly, yes. The Speaker and Prime Minister insisted they want to calm everyone down and restore trust and stability. They think their parties will look bad if they don’t approve of a blood relative regent and take over the position.”

“Because it would be a power grab,” Simon offered.

“Exactly,” Wille replied. “They want to transition power from my mamma to me, not look like they’re plotting a coup against the monarchy.”

“Okay then,” Simon sighed. “So, what’s next?”

“Uncle Albert will spend the Easter holidays in Stockholm to get to know me and everyone in the RC and start working with them. I think he’s meeting the Prime Minister and Speaker then as well. And I told him you were coming since it’s our anniversary too, and he wants to meet you if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Yeah, of course, he’s your family, but also, he’s going to be a big part of our lives. It’d be a lot easier if we got along.”

Wille smiled shyly and leaned in to kiss him quickly.

“What was that for?” Simon asked.

“You said our lives. It was cute. I had to kiss you.”

Simon stopped fidgeting with Wille’s fingers and laced both of their hands together, tugging them to pull Wille until their noses were just a few inches apart.

“It’s ours,” he whispered. “You and me.”

“You and me,” Wille whispered back.

They leaned in simultaneously, closing the tiny gap between them and kissing softly. Wille started to pull away, so Simon grasped the back of his head to keep him from breaking contact. Wille laughed against Simon’s lips at his antics and disconnected their lips with an audible pop.

“Before we get too carried away in a church,” he said, kissing the tip of Simon’s nose, “I want to give you your present.”

Simon pouted then smiled when Wille tilted his head at him. “Fine. Then you get yours. Then please, please kiss me more.”

Wille pecked the inside of Simon’s wrist as he untangled their hands. “Definitely. But again, maybe not in the church.”

He got up from the steps and walked behind the altar, returning with a frame in his hands.

“Before you complain about it, I didn’t spend money on the frame either; hundreds of them are in storage for giving out photos when official guests visit Drottningholm.”

“Convenient,” Simon said, raising an eyebrow.

Wille breezed past the comment. “I was thinking about this day last year. How you put me back together with your words.”

Simon gulped as Wille sat back down in front of him.

“I wanted to show you how much your song meant to me. All your songs matter to me, but hearing that one for the first time in front of everyone,” Wille trailed off. He looked lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head. “So, I’ve been working on this for a bit.”

He turned the frame around and presented it to Simon, who reached for it with shaky hands. Behind the glass lay a picture of the two of them from their time at Hillerska, with words written over it. The photo's opacity had been lowered to make the writing legible.

Simon recognized Wille’s handwriting immediately, but it took his brain a second to register what he was reading. Because the words were in Spanish. At the end of the first line, he gasped softly and looked back at Wille with tears in his eyes.

“It’s our song?” he said, unsure.

“It is. The one you wrote and performed for me on our first Valentine’s Day. I don’t care what anyone says; last year counted.”

Simon sniffled. “It’s our song in Spanish?”

Wille’s face lit up. In accented Spanish, he replied, “It is. My teacher helped with the translation because I’m not yet fluent.”

A full thirty seconds passed while Simon gaped at him.

“You,” he said in Swedish and then switched to Spanish. “You learned Spanish for me?”

“Am learning. But yes.”

The tears spilled onto Simon’s cheeks, and he launched into his boyfriend’s arms. He cried for a few minutes while Wille rocked them and ran his hands up and down his spine. Finally, Simon composed himself and leaned back so they were face to face.

“Okay, that was an embarrassing display of emotion,” he chuckled.

“It was cute,” Wille replied. “I think. I hope.”

Simon lifted his hands to cup Wille’s cheeks. “Everyone always expects me, Sara, and mamma to only be Swedish. To only show the parts of us that they’ll also understand. I can’t tell you what it means that you’d, of all people, want to learn this huge part of me. Thank you, mi amor.”

“Of course I do,” Wille said. “I want to know every part of you.”

“You seriously have to stop before I cry again,” he said, wiping his eyes. “WAIT!” he exclaimed.

Wille eyed him curiously.

“That’s why Maddie was weird about the French! You’re secretly taking Spanish in school now, aren’t you?!”

“Yeah, I am,” Wille admitted. “I tested into Spanish 3 because I started learning on my own last year. I just wanted it to be a surprise when I learned enough to understand you and speak it back.”

“I am so casual about you secretly deciding to learn my other language. Completely unaffected by this information.”

Wille bit his lip and raised his eyebrows.

“Nope!” Simon chimed. “Not falling for that.”

He leaned back out of Wille’s lap and stood.

“Now, would you like your present?” he asked, reaching out a hand to pull Wille to his feet.

“You lucked out,” he continued before Wille could answer. “I was planning on doing this on my keyboard, but now I get to use Hillerska’s fancy piano and take advantage of the acoustics.”

“You’re going to sing for me?” Wille asked excitedly.

“What can I say? My voice is free,” Simon said while sitting on the piano bench.

Wille followed and stood beside him, leaning on the closed top to observe Simon’s face and hands.

Simon fidgeted nervously and looked down when he spoke.

“I’ve been writing this for a few months. In my head, it has some more instruments, but this is it so far.”

He took a deep breath and brought his hands up above the keys. He was always nervous about playing for Wille, especially when it was something new. Although, Wille had unknowingly been listening to parts of this song since he made a stupid comment about co-parenting Simon’s fish, and the next thing he knew, he’d written a verse.

The first note rang out into the chapel, and Simon was suddenly happy this date night was happening here. Nothing could top a real piano in a room designed to amplify its sound.

He opened his mouth and began singing, emotionally moving through the words inspired by and for the person in front of him.

I saw your face and I knew it was a sign

And I still think about that moment all of the time

It was a little ironic that Wille brought them to where they first saw each other and reminisced about it on the night Simon decided to share it with him. He looked at Wille after the line and found him staring at him with the softest expression.

He moved through the chorus and other verses, repeating the primary phrase as the song ended.

Oh, I'm gonna love you for a long time

I'm gonna love you for a long, long time

The final note reverberated through the sanctuary, and before Simon could look up, he felt Wille slide onto the bench beside him. A hand touched his cheek, then his face was turned, and lips were on his. Wille deepened the kiss, and they got lost in each other for several minutes.

They broke apart and rested their foreheads together, trying to calm their breathing. Eventually, Wille spoke.

“You’ve been playing that for me; I just didn’t know it was yours.”

“Mhhmm,” Simon hummed. “That one’s been a long time coming.”

“I can’t believe you hid it right in front of me.”

Simon laughed quietly. “You hear them when they’re ready to be heard.”

“Deal.”

“And I promise not every single gift will be a song!”

Wille brushed their noses together. “This is better than any present. Please keep writing me songs.”

“Every song I write is for you, Wille.”

Chapter Text

The morning of Wilhelm’s 18th birthday, he opened his eyes to see his boyfriend perched beside him in bed, looking down at him and smiling. He was holding a cupcake with matching 1-8 candles balanced in the frosting, their lit wicks slowly melting the wax edges. As his mind woke up a couple of seconds after his body, he realized Simon was singing the same Spanish birthday song he had the previous year.

His heart lurched at the memory of his 17th birthday. They had grown significantly in the last year, individually and as a couple. While he tried to put the rest of that day out of his mind, he reveled in the knowledge that Simon’s beautiful face and soft voice were the first thing he saw and heard for the second year in a row.

He wanted to wake up exactly like this on his next 82 birthdays. Simon promised he would.

When Simon finished the song and held the cupcake up to Wille, he leaned forward and blew the small flames out, holding Simon’s gaze. He plucked the 1 candle from the treat and slowly brought it to his mouth, before swirling his tongue around the base to lick up all the excess frosting. His eyes never left Simon’s, so he saw the exact moment the other’s darkened.

Well, two could play that game.

Simon swiped his finger through the frosting and brought it up to his mouth, copying Wille’s motion and holding eye contact. He licked his finger clean then dipped it back into the sugary cream, before raising it to Wille’s mouth and cocking an eyebrow.

Wille’s eyes widened in momentary shock before he swallowed and obediently opened his mouth. Simon bit into his lower lip and slowly moved his hand closer. The instant Wille dropped his eyes to his lips, Simon acted, darting his finger to the right and running it down Wille’s face, temple to jaw, smearing the frosting across his cheek.

His bright laughter rang out into the silent room at the same time that Wille’s jaw dropped even further. Simon started to sit back and withdraw his hand, but Wille reached out and circled his wrist before he could retreat.

“You little shit,” he said in disbelief.

Simon tried to respond, but only giggles came out when he opened his mouth.

“And here I was thinking we were starting my birthday with a real treat,” he said, tugging gently on Simon’s wrist to bring him closer.

His boyfriend leaned to the side to place the cupcake on the bed as far away from them as he could reach, then crawled into the other’s lap and crossed his wrists behind his neck.

"Oh, did you?” Simon murmured. Wille nodded in response and wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist. “Do you think we have time for that? We have to leave for Haga by 9.”

Wille dropped his forehead into his chest with a groan.

“Probably not,” he sighed, the warmth of his breath raising goosebumps across Simon’s bare chest. “What time is it anyway?”

“Just after 7:00,” Simon replied with a smile. Wille’s head popped up immediately.

“I thought we set the alarm for 8:00?”

Simon shrugged innocently. “Maybe I wanted you to have a really good birthday morning,” he whispered, gripping Wille’s jaw and leaning down to lick the icing off his cheek.

Wille barely let him finish before he tightened his grip around Simon and roughly flipped them. Simon squealed in surprise.

“Willllllllle,” he giggled as his back hit the mattress. His boyfriend only hummed in response before grabbing his wrist and pinning them to the side. “Watch the cupcake!” he exclaimed, a little too late as their joined hands smashed the dessert into the sheets.

“Leave it,” Wille murmured into his neck between open-mouth kisses; Simon quickly forgot all about the mess the launderers at Drottningholm would surely hate them for.

Three hours later, their car rolled through the gates of Haga slott and pulled up to the front steps. Albert was standing at the bottom of them, hands crossed behind his back, and a bright smile on his face. He greeted them both warmly and ushered them inside.

“Simon, my boy!” he beamed while offering them tea and pastries from a cart staff had brought into the front sitting room. “It is so good to see you again. And I am so pleased the court relented in letting you be here for all of today’s…uh…festivities.”

Both boys snorted into their tea at his description. Today was supposed to be the first annual Wilhelmdagen, but instead it was…well, something that hadn’t happened in modern Swedish history.

“It’s good to see you again, too, sir,” Simon replied after regaining his composure.

“Ach, please, I told you last time, call me Albert. Or Al, if you’re feeling casual. Or Uncle Albert, if you feel like giving someone’s mother,” his eyes cut to Wille, “a heart attack.”

Simon had met Albert for the first and only time a month prior, when he visited Stockholm over Easter break to see Wille and celebrate their first anniversary. Wille still grumbled that they had been together six months longer than that, even if it wasn’t official and there was that short separation after the video. He argued their feelings for each other only deepened in their absence, so it counted. Simon said they may have, but there was a precise date they committed to each other: April 16, 2021, the day of the Hillerska Jubilee.

So, Simon reluctantly accepted the car Wille sent for him on the Friday break started, since the RC was still trying to keep them out of the public spotlight and hadn’t deemed the train safe yet. Their anniversary was Saturday, and Wille had planned to take him to Haga to meet Uncle Albert and have a private celebration away from the public and his parents.

He wasn’t sure what he expected Uncle Albert to be since he had only been in Stockholm permanently for a couple of weeks, and Wille had only spent a few days with him. He tried to temper his expectations so as not to be disappointed; this was a relative of Wille’s, after all. But when they entered Haga’s grand foyer, a gentle-looking older man was there to welcome them with an infectious smile and insistent hug.

Albert was a few inches taller than Wille, making him well over six feet. His frame looked like he had once been the lanky young man Wille was currently, but time had filled him out ever so slightly. His face was kind, with deep lines from smiling and in the corners of his eyes where they crinkled every time he grinned. His hair was completely grey, with a few wisps of white that brightened his overall complexion.

Where every other royal family member was always dressed conservatively and classic, Uncle Albert wore a full blue and mauve plaid suit. He paired it with a light blue dress shirt and a yellow and purple polka dot ascot. The patterns and colors should have clashed, but every piece looked so carefully selected that it blended into a seamless outfit he carried with confidence and an air of whimsy.

“Simon, it is so good to finally make your acquaintance, my boy,” he said, releasing Simon from the hug and clasping his hand between his own. “Wille has told me so much about you. I feel I already know you.”

Simon was temporarily taken aback, mainly at the shock that Uncle Albert was so utterly the opposite of every other member of Wille’s family. While he shook the man’s hand, he immediately processed three things.

First, he called his nephew Wille, which no one associated with the Royal Family or court had ever done. Second, that meant Wille had asked him specifically to call him that, rather than Wilhelm, which meant he was already that comfortable around his great-uncle, and Albert was comfortable honoring that request. Third and most surprising, every other person Wille introduced Simon to acted as if he were someone to tolerate until Wille eventually cut him loose. In contrast, Albert seemed genuinely thrilled to host him and had taken Wille’s word about the relationship at face value.

“Likewise, sir,” Simon finally managed. “And thank you for having us over during the holidays.”

Albert put his hand to his chest and tilted his head back dramatically.

“Oh, please, no more sirs!” he sighed. “Only two weeks with the court and my ears already want to bleed with every formal title thrown my way. Please, do call me Albert,” he added with a smile.

He walked the boys through the house, and Simon took in all the rich surroundings. Haga was technically a palace, so the architecture and décor were grandiose and old, as if the home had been frozen in time the day it was completed. However, whereas Drottningholm was open to the public and thus felt more like a museum than a home, Haga was a designated royal and private residence.

The family pictures hung on the walls were less formal, most in regular frames rather than the gilded ones Simon was used to seeing when staying with Wille. A pair of house shoes was by a side door that appeared to open onto a courtyard, and a sweater was over the back of an armchair in the sitting room. Albert hadn’t been here long, but the place already felt more alive and lived-in than Drottningholm ever had.

They arrived at a large, ornate, yet state-of-the-art kitchen. Albert opened the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients, dividing them into individual bowls, and placing them on the long island in the center of the room. He motioned for Simon to sit on one of the high-backed bar chairs opposite him and Wille across the island.

“What’s all this?” Simon asked as he settled into his seat.

“This,” Wille said, sweeping his hand over the prepped food, “is our anniversary dinner. You always give me shit for not knowing how to cook, so Uncle Albert said he’d teach me.”

“And he’s been a fine pupil so far!” Albert beamed.

“It’s only been one lesson…”

“And yet my kitchen is still standing, and we have all our fingers, so things could have gone so much worse.”

Simon watched the banter between uncle and nephew with a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. He’d rarely seen Wille interact with such ease around a new person.

Maybe Simon was jaded from being constantly let down by Micke and Wille’s parents, so while he was cautiously optimistic about the budding bond between Albert and Wille, he couldn’t help but fear the anguish it would cause Wille if Albert were to hurt him. He shook his head and put the thought out of his mind. It was their first meeting, and it was going well.

“So, what are the chefs preparing this evening?” he asked them.

“This evening the chefs are preparing a parmesan risotto with rosemary and thyme meatballs and a chocolate mousse with raspberries for dessert,” Albert answered.

“Sounds delicious. And what do the chefs need me to help with?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Wille replied immediately. “This is for you, so you just have to sit there and look pretty.”

“And make sure we don’t burn down the house or lose any fingers! I want to keep my perfect record,” Albert added.

The three of them chatted over the next hour while Albert and Wille worked. It was light-hearted and easy, with conversation flowing naturally from questions and anecdotes to joking together. Simon learned more about Albert's growing up in southern Sweden, his mother, and his sisters, though he didn’t speak much about his father or older brother, Wille’s grandfather.

In return, Simon told him about Linda growing up in Venezuela and their family being scattered between the US, Spain, and Sweden; they had fled the country due to political unrest. He spoke about being viewed as an immigrant despite being born in Sweden, and how Linda kept their heritage alive through language, music, and food, even when people judged them for not assimilating to their liking.

They all swapped funny stories, too. Wille’s only ever featured Erik, and Simon shared how he and Wille got to know each other, with Wille filling in the sweet parts only their friends knew about. Albert smiled at them and listened with rapt attention, with a wistful look.

By the time they were done cooking, Simon wished he could stay in Albert’s presence a little longer, despite wanting alone time with his boyfriend. The man’s spirit was contagious, and being with him brought a level of safety and reprieve to their familial interactions that they hadn’t experienced with anyone but Linda.

However, Albert would hear none of that and told them to enjoy their anniversary together. He had set up a table for them on the patio off the largest bedroom in the east wing of the house - their bedroom for whenever they wanted to stay with him. He, in turn, retired to his room at the end of the west wing, far enough away to be completely private and soundproof, he added with a wink.

Wille carried their food to the patio, and Simon followed with their drinks. It was a cute and quaint space, as quaint as part of a palace could be, featuring a gazebo in the center of a small garden surrounded by trees and tall hedges.

They ate and talked, holding hands over the table and hooking their ankles together under it. When Simon grew quiet after dessert, he looked into Wille’s eyes and told him he didn’t know he could love someone this much; he saw only the same love and adoration staring back at him.

So, now it was the second time Simon had stood in the halls of Haga, but the first had been decidedly warmer and more pleasant. However, he was delighted to be in Albert’s company once more. They finished their tea over small talk about what Simon had been up to in the month since Albert last saw him, and birthday well wishes for Wille.

A few minutes later, the royal aide assigned to Haga as Albert’s secretary, much to the man’s chagrin, stepped into the sitting room and greeted the boys with a perfunctory “Crown Prince, Mr. Eriksson,” and a head nod.

“I just wanted to inform His Royal Highness that Mr. Lindegren has arrived and is waiting in the office as instructed.”

“Thank you, Isak,” Wille replied in his Crown Prince voice. “I don’t think it bears repeating, but please do not inform anyone outside this room about this meeting.”

“Of course, Crown Prince.”

“Your discretion and loyalty to me and my uncle is appreciated and will be remembered.”

Simon saw the slight flicker across Isak’s face as the Crown Prince’s words washed over him.

The tone and sharp eye contact conveyed what was unsaid: indiscretion and disloyalty will be remembered even more.

Albert clapped his hands, breaking the tension. “Excellent, then. Isak, if you could escort the boys to the office, I will meet you both in the foyer when you’re done,” he added, looking at Wille and Simon.

The office was near the sitting room, since the rooms frequently used by guests were clustered together in the front of the smaller palace, but on the opposite side of the entry. No more than a minute later, Isak gave a courtesy knock on the thick, carved wooden door and opened it for the boys to enter. The room inside wasn’t too large, but like all the royal residences, it was no less grand with towering bookcases, plush curtains and rugs, and ornate furniture.

A man who appeared to be in his late 40s to early 50s, with blonde hair with just a touch of grey on the sides, and wearing a finely tailored suit, stood in front of the desk holding a leather briefcase. Following royal protocol, he slightly bowed his head but waited for Wilhelm to address him before speaking.

Wilhelm walked towards the man with his back straight, eyes bright, and smile fake - the Crown Prince of Sweden in all his masked glory.

“Mr. Lindegren,” he extended his hand to greet him, “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us today in a private location.”

“Of course, Your Royal Highness,” Mr. Lindegren responded. “I was so pleased you reached out to my office.”

Wilhelm turned and placed his hand on the small of Simon’s back, but kept his eyes on the man. Anyone could fake politeness to a prince, especially when they wanted to work for him. Still, he found it was much harder for middle-aged men to hide their discomfort with physical touch. Frankly, he had no interest in a professional relationship with someone who had a problem with his sexuality.

“This is my partner, Simon Eriksson,” he said with authority.

Simon stepped forward to shake the man’s hand, but almost stumbled at the word partner. They had discussed the term in the past and agreed it felt like the right way to classify what they were to each other, but this was the first time either of them had referred to the other in front of another person that way.

Mr. Lindegren smiled at Simon and shook his hand firmly. “Mr. Eriksson, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, sir, and please, Simon is just fine,” he added.

Wilhelm gestured to the small couch and accent chairs under a large window and suggested they all have a seat. He and Simon sat next to each other on the couch, not touching but close enough to place a hand on the other’s knee or lace their fingers together should they need to ground each other for any reason. Mr. Lindegren settled in one of the chairs across from them, laying his briefcase on the coffee table between them.

The man looked like he wanted to start the meeting, no doubt used to leading these types of conversations, but instead folded his hands in his lap while he waited to be addressed by the Crown Prince again. Simon’s lips quirked in a tiny smile, thinking about how against his instinct this must be for Mr. Lindegren, following the lead of a barely 18-year-old, and not for the first time, he felt the one fun part about Wilhelm’s position was watching old white people realize they held no power with him.

“I asked you to meet with us today because I require my own legal counsel – separate from the royal court,” Wilhelm began. Mr. Lindegren nodded as he continued. “I found your card in my brother’s room, and there was a meeting date and location written on the back in his handwriting.” Wille unconsciously fiddled with Erik’s watch as he spoke.

“Erik always told me it was important for us to look out for ourselves and each other; we couldn’t trust anyone but family. Now that I’m legally an adult, I need to know my options and ensure the right things are in place to care for myself and my loved ones.”

“But you feel you need a lawyer not tied to your family? Or the royal court?” Mr. Lindegren questioned, leaning forward slightly.

Wille paused for a moment and glanced at Simon. His boyfriend nodded in encouragement.

“Anything we discuss here is covered under attorney-client privilege, right?” Wille asked.

“Well, legally speaking, only if you formally become my client. I have some contracts with me, so if by the end of this talk you want to retain me as your legal counsel, then yes,” he replied.

“But, Your Royal Highness, please rest assured, even if you do not want to hire me as your lawyer, anything you say will stay between us. My reputation hinges on discretion.”

“It’s not like it’s a secret anymore,” Wille started. “You’ve seen all the articles. You know what today is.”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll understand why I can’t trust my family or the court; why I need someone whose only job is looking out for my best interests.”

The statement hung over them. The lawyer looked between the two boys in front of him. They were 18, technically men, but he could only see two teenagers who had been in over their heads for too long.

He leaned back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his hands in his lap, trying to appear more casual than the loaded question he was about to ask. After all, the last thing he wanted was to upset or spook either boy, especially before sharing everything he knew with them.

“To be clear, you feel you can’t trust anyone close to you. Do you want to continue this conversation in private? Or would you like your partner to be a part of this?”

Wilhelm shot his hand out and laced his fingers with Simon’s, but his voice was not unkind when he spoke. If anything, he was impressed that the man had asked directly and referred to Simon in the same language he had previously.

“Simon will be involved, and I want complete transparency between us. All of these decisions have been made jointly, after months of discussion between him and me.”

Simon spoke up for the first time since sitting down. “Wille and I operate as a unit. We see each other as equals. I know you’re used to high-profile clients, and it doesn’t get more high-profile than the Crown Prince for you, but anyone we work with has to respect our dynamic.”

“I understand and appreciate the honest communication. That’s something us lawyers value.”

“Well, you can thank both of our therapists for helping us with that,” Simon said, smiling. Mr. Lindegren nearly snorted but covered it quickly with a cough.

“You are both very unique teenagers. I hope we get the opportunity to work together. Though in the spirit of transparency, I must tell you up front that I cannot give legal advice to someone that is not my client, nor are they protected under privilege,” he added, gesturing towards Simon.

“Of course,” Wille started. “I want you to sign both of us as clients individually, so there is no issue with sharing information when the three of us meet. And if there’s ever a conflict of interest, I want someone you trust from your firm to represent Simon in your place. As of today, I have access to the trust my paternal grandparents and maternal grandmother left to me. I will pay your retainer for both of us from this money because the royal court cannot access it.”

“And I will swallow my pride and let him do this because the last few months have shown me that having my own counsel is a necessary evil,” Simon said.

“Well, I’ve been called worse,” Mr. Lindegren joked. The atmosphere in the office eased just a little at the casual humor. “And I assume you need my services to protect this money?”

Wille nodded. “Right. I don’t know all my options for what to do with it, or where to put all of it. But most importantly,” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “I want to make sure it goes to the right people and places if something happens to me.”

The lawyer considered the Crown Prince briefly, his eyes tracking how the other’s breathing had sped up slightly, how his thumb anxiously rubbed over his partner’s knuckles, and how his teeth were sunk into his bottom lip.

“You are an impressive young man, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “You both are. And if you are ready to decide, I would be honored to serve you each.”

The two boys glanced at each other and smiled softly. Simon nodded minutely, and Wilhelm let out a deep breath.

The lawyer presented them with a client contract, which they read together. They had asked Farima for a copy that the royal court lawyers used to cross-reference, and after asking a couple of questions, they signed the documents.

When Mr. Lindegren had tucked them back into his briefcase, he sat back in the chair and cleared his throat nervously.

“I felt a bit as if I knew you already, you know,” he began. “Not from the news or press releases or anything.”

Wilhelm inhaled shakily. “Is that because my brother was your client? When he was…alive?”

Mr. Lindegren nodded solemnly and saw how Simon squeezed the prince’s hand harder.

“Crown Prince Erik spoke about you all the time,” the lawyer said gently. “Like you said, he thought you had to look out for yourselves, and he also came looking for legal help when he was 18. I met him several times, but I swear he talked more about you than he did himself in the almost three years I knew him.”

“I figured you worked together, if he kept your card hidden in his room, it’s just a lot to keep learning things about him after all this time. Did he…did he come to you at 18 because he wanted out?” Wille said, voice wavering at the end.

“I’m afraid privilege doesn’t end in death, Your Royal Highness,” he saw the prince deflate a little as he spoke. “But, I can tell you everything your brother and I discussed was to protect and support you.”

At that, Wilhelm’s eyes snapped back towards the lawyer, blinking rapidly.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The man smiled sadly at the younger prince – he would always be the younger prince in his eyes, even without an older prince to hold the crown’s weight off his shoulders anymore.

“I wanted you to decide if you wanted me to be your lawyer on your own, without more influence than the card you found already provided.”

“Thank you,” Wilhelm said earnestly.

“Well, as fate would have it, I was going to schedule a meeting with you as soon as you turned 18 anyway. You can imagine my surprise when my secretary told me you had called me first.”

Wille quirked an eyebrow and quickly looked at Simon and back at his lawyer.

“You needed to meet with me? For what?”

Mr. Lindegren reached back into his briefcase and pulled out two large manilla envelopes, one a good deal thicker than the other.

“I was unable to meet with you alone until you came of age, and Crown Prince Erik’s biggest stipulation was that I meet with you alone, should he not be here to discuss this with us. Though I’m sure,” he looked to Simon, “that he would understand you wanting your partner here now.”

Wille practically beamed when someone else confirmed that Erik would have accepted Simon’s importance in his life.

“I fear this may be a sensitive topic, but as your brother’s lawyer, I am also the executor of his will.”

Simon heard the sharp inhale of Wille’s breath and felt him press his knee against his seeking support. He slid over the few inches that had separated their bodies and brought their clasped hands into his lap to join with his free hand. Before the lawyer could continue, he turned to his boyfriend and spoke.

“Wille, if you don’t want to do this right now, we can schedule another meeting. It’s okay if it’s too much for today, right, Mr. Lindegren?” he added with a slight challenge.

“Absolutely, Simon,” he replied. “I had a legal obligation to inform His Royal Highness of the will, but if you would rather discuss this later, we certainly can.”

Wille's ears were muffled, but he understood what the other two had said. He looked down at his lap, Erik’s watch on his wrist lying across his thigh, and Simon’s thumb swiping across his hand right above it. He swallowed once, then looked back into his lawyer’s eyes.

“It’s okay, we’re all here already, and I think it will be worse knowing it exists but having to wait to know what it says than just doing it now.”

“Very well,” the older man said, reaching into the thicker envelope. “The two trusts you mentioned from your grandparents – Crown Prince Erik also received them. I understand that you received three-quarters of the sum your grandparents set aside for the two of you, and your brother was allocated one-quarter since he would inherit the crown and thus be supported for life by the court.

Now, one quarter of the amount is still substantial, in the realm of 50 million krona. Crown Prince Erik set aside about 10 million to fund his foundation for a few years, without using money from the court, while they established new patrons. The rest he heavily invested, and I must say he sure had a knack for it, given the rate it’s grown in only three and a half years, and he left it all to you.”

There was a beat of absolute silence before Wille gasped and Simon snorted simultaneously. They looked at each other with wide eyes, and Simon cracked again.

“I’m so sorry this isn’t funny, I swear,” he said, trying to control his voice. “These numbers are just fucking insane.”

Wille’s face split into a wide grin, watching his eat-the-rich boyfriend realize how rich he was. He turned back to the mildly confused lawyer.

“I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Erik knew I had my own trust even bigger than his. Why did he leave it all to me?”

At that, Mr. Lindegren reached into the second envelope, retrieved a smaller, letter-sized envelope, and held it out for Wille. His breath hitched when he recognized his brother’s seal on the back and his name across the front in familiar, impeccable cursive.

“Your brother’s second stipulation,” the lawyer said, as Wille’s shaky hands took the envelope from him. “I don’t know what this says, but I hope you find what you need in it. I’ll take my leave now so you can have some privacy. But you have my number if you have any questions or need anything. And we’ll set up a meeting to get started on your matters soon.”

Wille stared at the envelope in his hands as if it were a canteen of water after being lost in the desert.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Lindegren,” Simon said on their behalf. “We appreciate what you’ve done for us so far.”

“It’s my pleasure, Simon.” He gathered his briefcase and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he faced them again and spoke earnestly. “Happy birthday, Crown Prince Wilhelm. We’ll be in touch.” With that, he walked out of the office, leaving Wille reeling.

“Simon,” Wille whispered.

“I know,” his boyfriend responded immediately, “I’m here. What do you need?”

He had already turned his entire body to face the other, tucking his legs under himself on the couch. He kept his grip on their joined hand and watched Wille’s other hand shaking with the envelope clasped tightly in his grip.

Wille finally turned his head to look at Simon, and his overwhelmed, watery eyes met the others. He started shaking his head in tiny, unconscious movements, as if he denied its existence enough times, the envelope would disappear.

“I don’t know if I can open this,” he choked out.

Simon released his boyfriend’s fingers, pulled him to his chest with one hand, and threaded the other into his hair. He kissed the top of his head while Wille took exaggerated breaths against his sternum.

“It’s okay, mi amor,” Simon murmured. “You don’t have to open this right now if you don’t want to. It’s okay if you aren’t ready.”

“I used to dream he left something for me,” Wille said quietly. “That I’d go through his room again, and this time there would be a letter, or I’d suddenly get an old voicemail out of the blue. For months, all I wanted was to somehow hear from him again, but I gave up on thinking it would happen a while ago. Now that I have it, I’m terrified to open it.”

“What are you afraid of, Wille?” he asked to encourage the other to keep talking, not because he couldn’t understand his boyfriend’s feelings.

Wille sat up and mirrored Simon’s position on the couch, their knees touching. He placed the envelope between them on their legs. He clasped both of their hands together and looked into Simon’s eyes.

“Once I read it…it’s really over. He’s really gone,” he said, tears escaping and running down his cheeks. “And that’s so stupid because I know he’s been gone for a year and a half. But as long as I don’t read this, part of him is still here with me. And I don’t know if I can lose him all over again. Not today,” he sobbed.

Simon kept hold of one of Wille’s hands, but used his other hand to cup Wille’s jaw, swiping his thumb across his wet cheek, and tilting his head down until their foreheads touched. He held him there, letting him quietly cry, wiping the tears as best he could. At one point, he realized his cheeks were a little wet too.

Eventually, Wille sniffled and pulled back so he could see Simon. He could tell the other had cried a little, and while Simon's crying was usually the most devastating thing to him, this time, it made his heart glow warmly to know he was so loved and cared for that his pain was Simon’s pain, too. He smiled sadly at his boyfriend and dropped his shoulders, exhausted at the sudden outpouring of emotion.

“How about this?” Simon began, “Let’s agree not to make a decision about reading it right now. We still have a huge and taxing day ahead of us, and I don’t think going into it even more unsettled will help anyone. If you want to read it today, you can do it when we get back to Drottningholm tonight - how does that sound?”

Wille thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he sighed. “Man, all this therapy is paying off in so many ways,” he joked half-heartedly.

Simon laughed wetly, raised Wille’s hand, and kissed the inside of his wrist. They were dealing with an even more dramatic birthday this year than the year before, but handling the challenges together with so much trust was truly a testament to how well all the therapy had been working.

Last year, they had tried to weather a storm like two sailors who didn’t speak the same language and were trying to save their ship single-handedly. Now, they were arguably in a worse storm. Still, they navigated through the turbulent waters with a practiced ease, learning to anticipate each other’s moves so that when one realized they needed help, the other was already there, steadying the ship.

They met Albert in the foyer as planned, and Wille nodded his head sharply at his uncle. Simon assumed Albert knew what the meeting had been about and that it had gone well based on his responding nod. The three exited Haga and walked to their car. Albert elected to ride with the boys despite it technically being against protocol, and soon, they were heading to Kungliga slottet in Gamla Stan.

Simon held one of Wille’s hands firmly between his hands and pressed the entire side of his body into the other to remind him he was there. Otherwise, he let Wille go into his head to process the meeting with Mr. Lindegren and prepare for the upcoming ceremony.

To his immense credit, Albert seemed to already know his nephew needed quiet support. When the car pulled onto the main road leaving Haga, he reached over and patted Wille’s back between his shoulder blades, then rubbed a soothing circle before withdrawing his hand.

Wille closed his eyes at the contact, but inhaled a deep, steadying breath at the same time. The simple gesture almost brought tears to Simon’s eyes. He had witnessed his boyfriend all but beg for contact from his parents, only to be met with indifferent distance, and now the uncle he had known for all of two months saw him and met him with care the way he most needed it.

Much too soon, the car crossed over the bridge to Gamla Stan. Immediately, the sidewalks on both sides of the streets were filled with people, and the blocks leading to Kungliga slottet were lined with metal barricades.

According to the RC, the Swedish people had wanted to celebrate the first Wilhelmdagen, but it seemed it didn’t matter if this was a more somber event; they were out in droves regardless.

The closer the car drew to the palace, the thicker the crowd became. Many people waved Swedish flags or carried flowers to place along the outer wall. Some people were crying, holding signs in support of Queen Kristina, while others crudely mocked her fall from grace. An even larger number of people waved rainbow flags or carried signs supporting Wilhelm; one group even had on t-shirts with a picture of Simon and Wille together with “KINGS” across the front in purple text.

Finally, the vehicle rolled through the gate and stopped before the imposing entrance. The crowds were far behind the closed gate, but the cheers were loud. A line of security service guards stood waiting for them, and much to Wille’s relief, Malin and Joakim walked towards the car to escort them inside.

Before they exited the car, Albert turned to them and said slyly, “Don’t forget, boys, it’s all fake.” With that, he climbed out and turned to face the crowds, waving at them jovially.

Wille squeezed Simon’s hand, steeled himself, and followed behind his uncle. Simon watched from the open car door as he plastered on his fake Crown Prince smile and raised his hand to acknowledge the throngs of people who wanted to glimpse their prince. The cheers intensified, and Albert patted Wille on the back once more before walking into the palace.

After another few seconds of waving, Wille lowered his hand and extended it into the car. His eyes met Simon’s, and immediately his smile turned soft and real. Simon took his hand, exited the vehicle, and laced their fingers together while the guards flanked them.

It was a historic sight: a Crown Prince coming of age walking into the palace where more history was about to be made, hand in hand with his working-class, half-Latino, very male boyfriend. The screams from the crowd somehow roared even louder, but neither turned around, instead walking to face their next challenge together.

Once inside, they followed the guards into the smaller ballroom on the main floor. It was a grand space, with ornate columns along the walls and intricate wall designs in blue and gold. The ceiling was vaulted with detailed murals spanning its length, and numerous chandeliers circled the large crystal chandelier in the center of the room.

The space was decorated with finely set tables, each boasting large flower arrangements of lily of the valley, May’s birth flower. A long table ran the room’s width at the front, and an elaborate buffet of the finest traditional Swedish foods flanked a three-tiered birthday cake in the middle.

The ballroom was nearly full, with a who’s who of government ministers, Riksdag members, and Swedish nobility milling about. Although for an 18th birthday celebration, the mood was somewhat subdued.

They paused just outside the doors and waited for one minute before they saw the queen and duke approaching from a side room.

Wille’s parents stopped in front of them. Kristina was wearing a pinched expression, and Ludvig was looking tired and resigned. He stepped forward first and addressed him.

“Wilhelm, happy birthday, son,” he said, leaning in to hug him.

“Mamma. Pappa,” Wille responded stiffly. He had told Simon his relationship with his parents had been icy since Kristina stopped crying over being forced to abdicate and moved on to anger. Simon thought he may have undersold the strain.

Kristina finally made eye contact and acknowledged them. “I hope you’ve had an enjoyable birthday so far, Wilhelm. Let’s get inside to put this day behind us and go home.”

Simon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at the queen in front of so many people, but Wilhelm had no such qualms and laughed bitterly.

His mother scoffed and then gestured at their still clasped hands. “And let go of each other,” she said quietly and harshly. "It is already improper to have someone not engaged in attendance at a royal function. Do not embarrass us further by drawing attention to yourselves.”

“Of course, mamma,” Wille’s voice was daggers, “we wouldn’t want to embarrass the family.”

Kristina opened her mouth to retort, but Ludvig stepped between them.

“I believe it is time to go inside and welcome our guests,” he said placatingly.

The group waited until the music had softened and the queen’s guard signaled for them to walk. Wille gripped Simon’s hand so hard he was sure he would lose blood flow.

Albert leaned forward as they crossed the threshold into the ballroom and whispered, “Give them hell.”

Wilhelm was actually in the mood to give them hell. Still, hardly anyone approached Simon and him to speak to them save for the prime minister, a couple of out members of parliament, and his cousins, Ludvig’s brother’s children, whom he hadn’t seen since two Christmases ago. He was temporarily annoyed he wasn’t given the opportunity to piss off his mother by flaunting Simon, but then Simon reminded him he hated making small talk with these people more than anything and he quickly regained his composure.

Surprisingly, it seemed many attendees avoided speaking to the queen. Apparently, no one knew what to say to a disgraced monarch and the loose-cannon Crown Prince after all their dirty laundry was aired out to the public.

Not soon enough, Albert approached the lectern and cleared his throat near the microphone to get everyone’s attention. He warned Wille before that he had been asked to give a short speech in honor of his birthday and formally introduce himself. Wille was just happy no one had dared to ask him to speak.

Theoretically, everyone in the room knew who Albert was now. The Riksdag had voted the day before to remove Queen Kristina II from power and install Albert Ehrensvärd as the regent in her place. However, everyone viewed the vote as formally going into effect after Kristina’s upcoming speech.

He introduced himself anyway, in the humble but lighthearted way that Simon had come to associate with the man. He then thanked everyone for being there to celebrate Crown Prince Wilhelm and shared a few earnest words about how touched he was to have gotten to know his nephew personally over the last couple of months.

It was a lot to take in for Wille, and it turned the attention to him, which made him instinctively uncomfortable. He kept a polite smile on his face and zoned out to get through the remainder of the speech without his anxiety spiking. Simon kept hold of his hand and crossed his other arm over his own body to rub the inside of Wille’s forearm with his free hand.

The sound of light applause broke Wille from his trance, and suddenly, Farima was in front of him, saying it was time to record the queen’s speech. The two followed her out of the ballroom and down a long corridor until they reached a pristine sitting room. The late afternoon sun shone through the windows, giving the room a pleasant glow.

A velvet loveseat was angled in front of a fireplace with a baroque style mantel, and a couple of photography lights and large cameras faced the setup. To the side, a makeup artist was touching up the queen’s face and hair, while the duke spoke softly to her.

Only the royal family, Simon and Albert, the senior members of the royal court, the prime minister, camera operators, and guards would be present for the speech. Kristina had elected to have it taped rather than given live, as she wanted the opportunity to clean up any tears shed or words stumbled over due to emotions. But looking at the tense set of her shoulders, hard line of her eyes, and pursed lips, the only emotion capable of overtaking her was rage.

In just a few more minutes, Kristina would sit on the elegant sofa, fold her hands delicately in her lap, and give the people one last show. She would detail growing up in the public eye and serving as Crown Princess before becoming Queen with two young princes of her own. She would highlight the best parts of her reign, always praising the Swedish public and detailing ad nauseam how there was no finer country or people.

She would speak about losing her son, Crown Prince Erik, for the first time, and it would surely garner an outpouring of sympathy. She would barely address the elephant in the room and side-step the more unsavory parts of her tenure. But she would apologize to Crown Prince Wilhelm in front of the nation, if not the whole world, and to her people for letting them down.

She would end by sharing what she had learned, alongside her husband, Duke Ludvig, and her hopes for her son as he prepares to become king. She would also say that she knows the people will care for him the way they have for her.

She would allow herself to dab the corner of one eye with a delicate handkerchief. With a last thank you and good bye, she would finally say the words out loud: “It is at this time, with a heavy heart but clear head, and an overwhelming amount of gratitude and certainty in grace, that I, Queen Kristina II of Sweden, hereby abdicate my position as head of state and reigning monarch, in favor of my son, Crown Prince Wilhelm of Sweden, who will be represented through regency until the time he can swear the oath of office and uphold his birthright as the next King of Sweden.”

It would be the performance of her lifetime. And like all great performances, parts of it would even be authentic. But Wille knew which words she would be forcing out from behind her teeth with blatant disgust, all while keeping up the image of a demure and humbled dignitary.

He had asked for a copy of her speech to prepare himself to listen to it. He knew it by heart. But as he watched his mother position herself on the sofa and take a calming breath, he didn’t think he could stomach it.

His feet took a step backward of their own accord, and Simon looked over at him with a question in his eyes. The movement caught the queen’s attention, and her gaze snapped to Wille’s, cold, sharp eyes looking straight through him.

If he thought he would see any trace of his mother, he was sorely mistaken, but truthfully, he hadn’t seen that version of her since she apologized to him for failing to make this go away the night she told him she was asked to resign.

Her worry for what this would do to him and remorse was soon replaced with anger and a sense of betrayal. A year ago, she had been falling apart over Erik’s death in ways she hadn’t allowed Wille the courtesy to. Her tentative promise to seek help and repair their relationship took a backseat to her all-consuming grief, and before she could get a handle on it, the article came out exposing her and August. It was almost enough to pity her, had every wound not been self-inflicted.

As they held eye contact, Wille thought that he would stay and try to make amends with her if she showed an ounce of concern for anyone or anything but herself. Instead, she shook her head slightly at him, then dropped her piercing gaze to his and Simon’s still intertwined hands. Wille huffed out a bitter laugh and gently tugged on Simon’s hand to get his attention.

“Can we go?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down. Simon’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Uh, are we allowed to do that?” he questioned. “I mean, I’m all for it, but is Jan-Olof gonna like, chase us down the hallway?”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to watch this and don’t need to.”

“Yeah, okay, lead the way,” Simon said softly.

An hour later, they were back at Drottningholm, which was almost empty save for security and a handful of housekeeping staff. They changed into comfortable clothes, turned their phones off, left them in Wille’s room, then wandered out to the gardens when Wille said he couldn’t stare at a palace wall that day.

Simon spread a blanket he had grabbed out of Wille’s closet on the grass, and they sat across from each other, Wille’s legs straight out in a V, and Simon sitting between them with his ankles crossed behind his boyfriend’s back.

He leaned in, kissed the other slowly, gently, and then pulled back. “Can I give you your birthday present now?” he whispered.

“Huh, I thought this morning was my present?”

“Oh, shut up,” Simon whined, smacking his boyfriend playfully on the chest. He reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out a small box with a slightly crushed bow on top.

Wille took the box from him with a quick peck to his lips and began untying the bow. He slid the loop off the box and then carefully removed the lid, revealing a silver necklace. The chain was simple and not too thick, and hanging from the middle was a small, circular pendant with an S engraved on it.

He titled the box to grasp the necklace and held it flat in his palm to look at the pendant more closely. When he saw the letter, he swallowed thickly and raised his eyes to meet Simon’s.

“I was thinking we’ve had some fun playing around with style with Maddie recently, but you barely own any jewelry, even though I know you like wearing it, and it still needs to be subtle, so I thought maybe –“

“I love it,” Wille interrupted excitedly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Is that, um, is that an S on the pendant?”

Simon ducked his head and nodded shyly. Wille smiled brightly and lifted his boyfriend’s chin with a finger under his jaw.

“You like me sooooo much you want me to wear your initial all the time,” he said, laughing.

Simon reached under the collar of his hoodie and pulled out a matching necklace with a W engraved, where Wille’s had an S.

“Maybe I love you sooooo much that I want to wear your initial all the time,” he said softly.

Wille swallowed thickly for the second time in as many minutes.

“That’s really cute, and also a tiny bit possessive, which I find really hot…”

Simon smirked and shrugged his shoulders.

“Will you put it on me?” he asked.

After Simon clasped it, he spun the chain until the pendant lay flat just under the base of Wille’s throat. He pressed his thumb onto the S, pushing the disc until it left a slight indentation in his boyfriend’s skin.

“Thank you for being here for all of this shit today,” Wille sighed. “I’m sorry the meeting with the lawyer got more serious than planned.”

“I want to be here for all the shit on all the days. Do you want to talk about the lawyer stuff or not yet?”

Wille tucked his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and chewed on his lower lip while he thought. He had already decided, but now that the moment was here, it was overwhelming again.

Eventually, he pulled his hands out of the front pocket, the envelope clutched in his hand.

“I want to read it,” he said quietly. “I need to know.”

Simon placed his hands on either side of Wille’s neck and ran his thumbs across his jaw.

“I’m really proud of you. Now I need you to tell me honestly, and know I want whatever is best for you, okay? Do you need to do this alone, or do you want me to stay with you?”

Wille fisted his free hand in Simon’s hoodie and pulled him closer.

“Please stay,” he whispered. “I always want you to stay.”

Simon nodded and kissed him quickly before clambering out of his lap to sit beside him, an arm slung around his waist and his head on his shoulder.

With shaky hands, Wille broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the folded piece of stationery. He opened it slowly and ran his finger over Erik’s crest at the top of the page. He smoothed the page out, then began reading out loud.

Wille,

I’ve been 18 for a week now, and I’ve been trying to write this letter for the entire seven days. I’m currently sitting at the lake at Hillerska—I thought maybe a change of scenery would help get this out. My third year starts the day after next, so only a few students are here right now, and most are coming tomorrow.

I was supposed to come back tomorrow too, but I knew I had to write this, and I couldn’t do it sitting at home with you in the room down the hall. You’re currently royally pissed off at me because you thought we’d have one more night together before I left again. You yelled that I thought I was too cool to hang out with my 14-year-old brother now, and that leaving home has changed me.

Wille, you’re my favorite person to hang out with. Weekends and breaks at home with you are some of the happiest times I can remember. I’m sure coming to Hillerska did change me in some ways, but more so, I think it’s all the extra pressure mamma has been putting on me the last two years leading up to my turning 18.

I try to shield you from a lot of it, and maybe that means you think it’s easy for me to be a prince when you struggle with it so much, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Mamma already pushes you so hard and doesn’t see how unhelpful it is. You’re barely 14, you should get to be a kid still.

It may sound wrong, but I hope you keep thinking it’s easy for me. And as hard as this is to write, I hope you always think I was too cool to stay one more night - because I’ll never tell you it was to finish this letter. I want you never to know it existed.

Here’s the plan, little brother. In 2 years, you’re going to get to come to Hillerska too. I think it could be good for you. You know, get away from mamma and pappa a bit, be surrounded by your peers, spread your wings a little bit. Oh, you’ll have wings then. Did I not tell you there was a caterpillar metaphor in here? Well, there is. You’re currently a lowly caterpillar, inching along, trying to find your way. But you’re such a good person: funny, kind, and thoughtful. I know you feel wrong in your skin right now, but I think a place like Hillerska, with the right people around you, will help you come into your own. Just like…you guessed it…a caterpillar becoming a beautiful butterfly. Find your place and fly away, little brother.

Okay, this is getting away from me. I may or may not have downed a bit of whiskey for liquid courage here. I’ll never tell. Okay, so the plan. You’ll grow into yourself here. You’ll realize all the quirks you think you hate right now are your biggest strengths. And as you get older, I can share more with you and help you handle mamma better.

So, when you’re finally 18 and I'm a dashing 22-year-old, I’ll tell you all of this in person. We’ll sit in the lounge in Haga and share a drink, and I’ll tell you everything I’ve set up for you. We’ll both be honest about what we want this life to look like.

Unfortunately, little brother, if you’re reading this, that isn’t what happened. And I’m so fucking sorry. I would never leave you voluntarily, so whatever happened, know I fought to stay, and unless I’m like married when you get this, you were the last thought I had. But seriously, I can’t imagine letting someone lock this down in the next 4 years, so let’s go ahead and say you were the last thought. Awww, look how sweet. Okay fine, I’m a little drunk now. And definitely using humor to cope. I mean, who wants to evaluate all the ways they need to handle things in case of their untimely demise? No one! But that’s our life, so I’m working with what I got.

Speaking of what I got: a shit ton of money from our grandparents. You are getting a shit ton too, actually a shit ton more than me, because you know King shit, but our lives are expensive, and Stockholm is expensive, and going somewhere is expensive, and I never want you to have to worry about that. So I left almost everything to you.

By now, you’ll have met my new lawyer. He seems like a good dude. He has all the documents and can help you access everything and see how I invested. My financial advisor is on all the paperwork. Give her a call, too.

~But Erik, I’m a prince, why do I need all this money? The crown will take care of me, and I get a salary from the court.~

Okay, fair. All facts. Here’s another fact, Wille. You’ve been begging mamma to let you live a normal life since you were 8. You talk about things you want to do that are impossible for us, like living in another country for a few years, going to public school, or camping at Coachella with friends to say you did it.

You hate being a prince, little brother. And that’s okay. In an ideal world, we’re sitting in the lounge in Haga on our second or third drink now, and I just told you I’m giving you all my money. You’re singing my praises as the best big brother in world and I’m all noooo stop nooo keep going and you call me an idiot and I call you a loser and then I drop the bomb that I think you should give up your spot in the line of succession and go get that life you’ve been dreaming about your entire. life. Because it’s on me to secure the line and become king, and I can do it. I don’t even really mind it, even if it’s not easy or always enjoyable. And one of us should break out and live for ourselves.

But you’re reading this instead. Which…fuck…I can’t even write this. It means you’re the Crown Prince now. And there is truly NOTHING that scares me more than you being Crown Prince or King, little brother. Not because I don’t have faith in you or think you can do it. You have the biggest heart, and the monarchy could use some heart. It’s because I can’t imagine a more soul sucking trap for you and I want more for you than this.

I can imagine what mamma and the fucking court is saying to you. That you’re the only option. That it’s your responsibility. That I would be disappointed in you if you quit.

Wille. Listen to me. Or read this or whatever. BULLSHIT. Do not listen to them. If you want to take on this role and be King, do it. I hope you thrive. But don’t do it for me – you must do it for yourself. But if you want out…leave baby brother. Don’t even look back. Mamma will understand in time. Pappa will support you.

There’s always August after you. And if not him, we have random extended family members. And if not them, then it’s on the Riksdag to find someone, not you. It’s not all on you. The Swedish monarchy has been around for over 1,000 years. It can survive you. But I’m terrified you can’t survive it.

Not because you’re weak or incapable, but because the characteristics it takes to withstand the crown would snuff out everything bright and wonderful in you. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and it’s one of my favorite things about you.

That’s all I needed to tell you, but now I don’t want to end this letter, and I really don’t know how to. I hope you know how much I love you, how proud I already am of you, and how much I love being your big brother. Whatever you do, whoever you become, I know it will be special. I hope to God I get to see it.

Be happy, little brother, however that looks. I hope we aren’t reunited for a long, long time.

I love you forever,

Erik

Wille wiped his eyes again as he finished reading. He had been crying the entire time, but wasn’t expecting to laugh so much. He should have – it was so Erik. Simon held him tighter and whispered how much he loved him and how he knew he would have loved Erik too.

Eventually, Wille felt drained, and they lay back on the blanket, hands clasped between them, looking at the night sky changing colors as the sun started to set. Wille checked his watch, Erik’s watch, it was 18:02, and the Queen’s speech had been on air for two minutes.

While Wille lay in the grass of the Drottningholm gardens, receiving unexpected closure from his older brother, the country tuned in, hoping to receive closure from their queen. Wille said a final goodbye to Erik, while Kristina said a final goodbye to her people. Erik had poured his heart and soul into the letter, giving Wille more than he could have ever hoped for. Kristina offered rehearsed platitudes and crocodile tears that failed to address the severe mistakes that put her there, stepping away in shame.

The evening of Wilhelm’s 18th birthday, the reign of Her Majesty Queen Kristina II of Sweden ended not with a bang, but a whimper.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun was bright, glistening off the peaks of the small caps, quietly lapping at the shoreline. The heat and lack of wind had mellowed the often wild Baltic Sea, its clear blue waters shimmering as far as the eye could see.

Wille and Simon were lying on a large float, touching from their shoulders to their ankles, fingers laced and wedged between their bodies. The gentle rocking from the waves had lulled them into the state just before a person loses consciousness, when they are aware of their surroundings but so at peace that no one could tell if they had drifted off or not.

Their friends were up on the beach; Felice and Sara lounged in beach chairs, their sunglasses pushed up into their hair to avoid the tan lines. Alex was next to them under an umbrella, with a hat and shirt on, reading a book he had been talking about for weeks. Rosh had brought her soccer ball and was attempting to teach Maddie basic footwork, but it was clear the lessons were a ruse to show off in front of her girlfriend. Ayub sat near them, calling out Rosh’s antics and laughing at Maddie’s valiant effort.

It was an unspoken rule amongst the group: Wille and Simon rarely had moments like this, and they would protect their tranquility as best they could. Today, that meant venturing out from Felice’s lake house to go to the beach and enjoy what was forecasted to be the warmest day of their vacation, and letting them float in the sea unbothered.

Unfortunately, it also meant accepting some security. There were no private beaches in Sweden by law, but as everyone had learned over the last two years, most laws didn’t apply to Wille. The agents were discreet and set up a perimeter far away from the group, giving them as much space as possible while still being able to turn away any wayward tourists.

The Royal Court had tried to force them to stay at Solliden slott now that Wille was their only option. But he refused, arguing that if Felice’s home was good enough last summer, it was good enough this summer with some extra security services on-site. They only agreed since the Ehrencrona family home was located on a private lake in the southern part of the island, where the estates were sprawling and tourists were few and far between.

They had been there for a few days, but Sara had driven down with Rosh and Ayub the night before, since they couldn’t get as much time off from work. It was relaxing, safe, and just what they all needed after the stress of the end of their second year and Wille’s 18^th birthday.

A gust of wind blew suddenly, tipping the float precariously and raising goosebumps across both Wille and Simon’s skin.

“ARGH!” Simon exclaimed. “Fuck that’s cold,” he said, turning into Wille’s side to chase his body heat.

Wille laughed softly and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend without opening his eyes.

“It’s Sweden,” Wille deadpanned.

“Yeah, well, it’s summer,” Simon replied. “Sweden should act like it.”

Wille turned his head to look at him and squinted one eye open against the sun.

“Next year,” he whispered conspiratorially, “we’ll go somewhere warm.”

“Hot.”

“You are.”

“No, Wille,” Simon said, rolling his eyes. “Next year, we’ll go somewhere hot. It’s time for your Viking ass to experience a real summer.”

“What about Wille’s ass?!” Maddie yelled from the beach. They were fair game for teasing now that everyone knew they were awake.

“It’s a really good one!” Simon yelled back. Wille turned on his side and clamped his hand over his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Absolutely no more talk about my ass!” Wille shouted, trying to sit up to stare down Maddie.

Simon flailed with him, licking and biting at his palm to get him to let go.

“You’re going to…“ Alex started.

His statement was cut off when the two flipped the float over and splashed inelegantly into the water.

“…Never mind,” Alex said, looking back at his book.

Simon came up from the water, sputtering and cursing, Wille right behind him, laughing. They waded through the water to the beach, where Felice was mercifully standing with their towels. Simon thanked her through chattering teeth, while Wille wrapped his towel around him and hugged him against himself.

“Fuck. You. And. Fuck. Sweden.” Simon muttered into Wille’s chest.

“I said no more talk about my ass, love.”

“OKAY, enough of that,” Rosh said, walking over with Maddie and Ayub in tow.

“Really don’t have room to talk there, dude,” Ayub said, patting Rosh on the shoulder. She glowered at him.

Everyone snickered while Rosh nonchalantly flipped off her best friend. Felice gracefully stepped in.

“Anyone who wants to can stay, but Sara, Maddie, and I have to head back to the house to get dinner ready.”

“Already?” Wille questioned. Felice hummed in affirmation. “Don’t feel like you have to make a whole big meal, or at least let everyone help.”

Ah, he had learned so much about sharing responsibilities since last summer. And, thanks to Uncle Albert, he knew how not to poison people with his cooking.

“That’s okay, Wille,” Sara spoke up from Felice’s side. “We wanted to do something special one night, and I brought what we needed down yesterday.”

Ultimately, they decided to all return to the house to shower and relax before dinner, with explicit instructions to stay out of the kitchen until they were called for.

A couple of hours later, Wille was lazily running his hands up and down Simon’s back while they lay intertwined in their bed. Simon turned his nose into Willie’s neck and breathed deeply, then pulled back to look his boyfriend in the eye.

“Isn’t it kinda crazy?” He whispered.

“Isn’t what kinda crazy?” Wille whispered back.

“That we’re back here, in the same bed in the same vacation house, a whole year later.”

Wille smiled down at him. “If I think about it,” he started, “it’s not crazy at all.”

Simon quirked an eyebrow at him, and Wille continued.

“Well, last year was so overwhelming because we were just riding the high and being together again. And…celebrating…all the plans we were making for our future.”

“Celebrating,” Simon snorted.

“Shut up,” Wille said, without any heat behind it. “So, maybe a lot of other things were crazy this year, especially recently, but us? Going strong still? Not crazy at all. Probably the one sane thing in my life.”

Simon cupped his jaw, tilted his chin down, and kissed him until all thoughts of sanity evaporated like the sun removing sea water from their skin.

Saying things had been crazy in Wille’s life recently was a bit of an understatement. But when was it not?

Maybe it was his own fault for thinking things would be easier, or at least calmer, after his mother abdicated. He knew better. He knew things didn’t magically get easier in their family just because an issue was addressed publicly.

If anything, his entire life had shown him that what was given to the public was the tip of the iceberg. It was strategic. Rehearsed. Political. What happened behind closed doors was real. It was emotional. Impromptu. War.

Perhaps it was childish to hope this would be the moment his parents were just his parents. His mother officially set down the mantle of Queen. Wille dared to think she would feel a sense of peace, free of its weight. That without the millstone hanging around her neck, she could give him the time and attention he had craved but never received. That if his father was no longer bound to silently following his Queen, he could speak to and up for his only remaining son.

But he was 18 now. The country saw him as a man; most thought he was capable of being their King because he hit an arbitrary milestone. It was time to stop being naïve and recognize his parents for who they were: a disgraced monarch and her enabler. It was too ingrained in them to pivot to parenthood now. Besides, he wasn’t a child anymore, and he hadn’t been their child even longer.

It would certainly hurt less if he stopped being surprised by the disappointment, though.

What hadn’t surprised him was her behavior on his birthday. It hurt, and he was angry she couldn’t set aside her own feelings to at least be pleasant to him. But after talking it through with Boris, he decided he would give her grace for that day, as he knew she was grappling with huge emotions.

But every day before and after…

It seemed that the Royal Court had planned for Kristina to be a mother for the last year of Wille’s schooling significantly more than Kristina had. The months-long debate about where a former Queen and Consort could live was just the beginning. There were several royal residences around the country, and any one of them was at the disposal of the royal family.

Historically, rulers lived at Kungliga slottet in central Stockholm. It was Wille’s grandfather who moved the current royal line to Drottningholm, as he wanted his children to have more privacy and fresh air, given his late uncle’s health problems. It had been Kristina’s home almost her entire life, but it was considered the home of the current monarch. Had Wille’s grandfather abdicated to Kristina to live out his last few years without working, he would have remained at Drottningholm as a former King and member of their family.

The issue was that there was no modern precedent for a forced abdication, nor for a monarch stepping away amid such public backlash. Taxes subsidized the royal family’s residences, staff, and security, and many already argued it was a gross misuse of funds. Simon certainly did.

In the wake of Kristina announcing she would abdicate, Svenskar för Avskaffande updated their list of demands to include that she support her lifestyle and housing from private funds; they argued that if she were a private citizen, she would be facing jail time, and the public should not be responsible for her upkeep.

“Outrageous,” Kristina said sharply during yet another marathon meeting about what would happen post-abdication. “Surely the people know we can’t live just anywhere.”

She looked around the table at her advisors, daring them to speak. Wille stared at her, willing her to acknowledge him.

“After everything,” her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “After giving my life to this country…to these people…and this is how I’m to be treated?”

“Her Majesty must know the majority of the people do not feel this way and hold her in the highest regard,” Jan-Olof said. “This is a demand from a vocal minority, but we do not have to bow to it.”

“But we have bowed!” Kristina yelled, slamming her hand onto the table.

Everyone in the room sat back a few inches, as if getting a little further away from the Queen’s break in composure would prevent it from being directed at them. Wille leaned forward.

“This was not supposed to happen,” Kristina whispered harshly. “We agreed the Riksdag would never betray me like this.”

The room inhaled sharply.

“Betrayal hurts, mamma,” Wille said quietly.

The room held its breath.

“Don’t talk to me about betrayal,” Kristina sneered. “I did everything for you. For this family. For this country. Talk to me when you dedicate your life to this and you’re punished for it.”

The room froze.

“This was a privilege, not a punishment,” Wille volleyed back.

The room erupted.

Several voices rang out at once.

“The Crown Prince would be wise to apologize to Her Majesty,” Jan-Olof spoke sternly.

“Wilhelm, that is no way to speak to your mother,” Ludvig chided.

A few aids shuffled papers loudly and asked each other questions, futilely trying to get the meeting back on track.

Kristina sat back in her chair at the head of the table as if she had been slapped. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Wilhelm, but he refused to shrink under her gaze.

Finally, Farima broke through the commotion.

“The public will understand Her Majesty and the Duke remaining at Drottningholm, at least for the next year. The Crown Prince may be of age, but he is still in school. No one would expect parents to leave their school-aged son on his own, even if that son is an 18-year-old Crown Prince.”

Wille broke eye contact with his mother and glanced over to Farima, his only ally in this room. It’s not that she was wrong; on the contrary, once again, she was the only person speaking from the perspective of the general public. But with the tension between him and his mother, he didn’t see why she was pushing for them to remain in the same place.

“Drottningholm is my home,” Kristina countered. “It has nothing to do with Wilhelm’s schooling. I am not leaving my home.”

“Perhaps her Majesty could spend some time at Solliden in the first few months after her abdication, while tension is at its highest. It would be a respectable choice for residency once the Crown Prince assumes his responsibilities,” Minou offered.

“I’m never assuming my responsibilities, Minou, as I have told you many times.”

Minou hummed. “Yes, well, regardless of the future, Drottningholm will be considered the Crown Prince’s residence. Of course, this could be settled if the Crown Prince were to issue a statement that he wishes for Her Majesty and the Duke to remain on the premises with him.”

Both Wilhelm and Kristina glared at her.

“Whenever that time comes,” she finished less confidently than she had started.

A couple of hours later, the smell of dinner and the soft clinking of plates and utensils being laid out on a table reached their room, rousing them both from a light nap. Felice called for them just as they finished changing into their dinner clothes, because Felice had demanded that their nice dinner required nice outfits.

The first thing Wille noticed as they descended the stairs was the sound of everyone else’s voices coming from the kitchen, so they must have napped longer than the others. The second thing was some streamers and balloons placed around the open-concept living room. He looked at Simon questioningly, but his boyfriend just shrugged.

As soon as they rounded the corner to the kitchen, he was assaulted by noise and colors.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Everyone shouted simultaneously, popping tubes of confetti, making the small, shiny paper rain down throughout the room.

Wille startled and jumped back, yelling, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

He felt Simon’s hands catch him and push him back forward and heard his quiet laughter just over his shoulder.

Felice stepped forward, pulling a few confetti pieces from her curled hair. “Obviously, we’re a month late,” she began, “but we didn’t get to celebrate your birthday properly, all together. So, we wanted to do something special.”

“Guys,” Wille stammered. “This is…”

“We cooked all your favorites, and mamma sent a few things with me,” Sara said.

“You didn’t have to…” Wille started.

“You only turn 18 once, dude. Just let us throw you a party,” Rosh spoke up from Maddie’s side.

Wille turned and looked at Simon with big eyes. “Did you know about this?!”

Simon wrapped his arms around Wille’s waist and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Of course I did. We’ve all been planning for weeks.”

Wille pouted at him dramatically, his eyes conveying just how touched he was by the surprise.

They sat down for dinner and fell into easy conversation while everyone served their plates. Felice, Sara, and Maddie had really gone all out with Wille’s favorite foods. There were trays of glazed fish and meatballs, Maddie’s homemade mac and cheese, golfeados from Linda, roasted potatoes and vegetables, and a beautiful cake Felice had baked and decorated.

Alex launched into a story about a little spring he found when he went on a walk while Simon and Wille napped. Felice perked up and told everyone she used to go there as a kid with her father, and there was a pretty meadow nearby that was filled with wildflowers this time of year. They all agreed they should check it out in the next couple of days; they needed to pick flowers for their Midsommar crowns anyway.

Simon and Sara recounted a particularly funny Midsommar from their childhood. They picked greenery and vines to help Linda, not realizing the plants were poisonous. So of course, they got rashes and spent the day with calamine lotion covering their arms and zoning out from antihistamines. Linda lovingly banned them from collecting wild flora for subsequent holidays.

Rosh and Ayub met Simon the next year at school and swapped stories about how they all became friends, along with funny memories from their young shenanigans. At one point, both Simon and Rosh were laughing so hard they were crying, while Ayub told an embarrassing story about the week everyone in their class thought Simon and Rosh were dating because they jokingly called each other sweetheart.

Maddie slid her chair closer to Rosh and pointed to Simon, saying, “Do I need to be jealous?” Which sent them into another laughing fit.

“Please, if anything, Wille should be jealous of Ayub,” Sara deadpanned.

Ayub held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t bring me into this, bro.”

Wille watched on in quiet amusement, a soft smile on his face, and reached out and rested his hand on the back of Simon’s neck. His boyfriend melted into the touch and placed his own hand on the top of Wille’s knee.

It was moments like this that Wille cherished so much. A group of close friends, people he was safe with who loved him and each other. He didn’t think it was something he could find – he was so used to only being valued for what he, or more so his title, could offer others.

But sitting around the table, dinner and dessert over, laughing and still enjoying everyone’s company, he was overwhelmed with gratitude and affection.

A couple of hours later, the party was in full swing. They migrated to the living room, where Felice set up colored lights and had music playing softly in the background. Maddie broke out a few games she found in a closet, and somehow turned them all into drinking games.

Simon still abstained from alcohol, but after several heart-to-hearts about the topic, he and Wille agreed it was fine for Wille to drink socially. He had promised never to touch any other substances after that night on the football field, and he kept that promise. Simon didn’t ask him to avoid getting super drunk around him, but Wille never did.

Partly because he used getting wasted as a coping mechanism, and he didn’t feel the need anymore. Mostly because after Simon broke down and told him about Micke, he never wanted to worry or scare him the way his father had.

And maybe a little, tiny bit because alcohol made him extra clingy, and drunk Wille couldn’t consent, but just a little tipsy Wille could. And if there was one thing Wille loved more than having Simon like that, it was unabashedly flirting throughout the night and getting him all worked up first.

Currently, everyone was sitting around the coffee table, scattered over the floor and couches, playing a guessing game. One person got a word and had to get their team to guess it, but they had a list of associated words they couldn’t say when giving clues. If they said one of the banned words, someone from the other team pressed a button that emitted a loud sound, causing them to lose a point.

It was guys versus girls, and since Maddie had everyone taking a drink every time they guessed incorrectly, the game was getting a little sloppy.

“No bigger,” Rosh said.

“Uh, water buffalo,” Felice said, unsure.

“Think Canada,” Rosh implored.

BUZZ.

“You can’t say Canada,” Alex pointed over Rosh’s shoulder to her card.

“Damn, it was moose. Okay, next one,” Rosh sighed. “It’s like to do with a couple, when it’s serious.”

“Wedding! Date! Anniversary!” Sara shouted.

“No, it’s a person, not a thing,” Rosh answered.

“Ummm, girlfriend?” Felice guessed.

“Interesting you went there first,” Maddie said under her breath. Only Ayub and Simon seemed to hear her, and they shared a look.

“The other one,” Rosh replied quickly.

“Boyfriend!” Felice yelled.

“That but forever,” Rosh said.

“HUSBAND!” Felice, Maddie, and Sara shrieked in tandem. Wille perked up.

“Time,” Alex called out, picking up the plastic hourglass.

“Okay, so we got six right, minus one, so five points this round,” Rosh said, counting the cards in her hand.

Giggling, Wille dropped his head to Simon’s shoulder and looked up at him. “They said husbands, älskling,” he stage whispered.

Simon looked down at his ridiculous boyfriend and smiled. “Yeah, I heard them.”

Everyone else slowly turned to watch the exchange, smirking and hiding their laughter behind their drinks.

“I wanna be your husband one day,” Wille sighed.

Simon flushed immediately, eyes widening. It wasn’t necessarily news, but he was surprised Wille was laying it all out there in front of their friends.

When Simon didn’t answer, Wille pulled back and stared into his eyes. “Do you wanna be mine?”

“I’m already yours,” Simon said simply. He did love tipsy Wille, but he also loved messing with tipsy Wille by not acknowledging his antics.

Next to them, Felice had reached out and was gently slapping Maddie’s arm, both of them looking at Wille with wide eyes. Of course, he had told them all about the life he dreamed of with Simon. They just weren’t sure Simon knew exactly how serious Wille was about it.

“No,” Wille pouted, “do you wanna be my husband one day too?”

Simon thought about joking and downplaying the moment as typical tipsy Wille behavior. But when he answered, his voice came out shockingly sincere. “Yeah, one day.”

Everyone froze. Ayub had his drink halfway raised to his lips, Felice and Maddie were clutching each other’s hands between their bodies, and Sara’s mouth dropped open while her eyes bounced back and forth between her brother and her future brother-in-law, apparently.

BUZZ.

"GAY!"

Alex pressed the button at the exact moment Rosh leaned her head back and shouted.

The atmosphere broke, and everyone relaxed, laughing loudly and making their funny little comments.

Neither Simon nor Wille heard them, though. Wille leaned up and softly kissed him, lingering for longer than he usually would in front of their friends. They finally broke apart when several pieces of popcorn hit their cheeks. Startled, they looked around sheepishly, only to find Rosh staring at them unimpressed and slowly tossing popcorn into her mouth.

“That’s it,” Maddie exclaimed. “Y’all are way too soulmate. I’m reading your birth charts, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Wille groaned. “You know I don’t believe in all that, Mads.”

“You don’t have to believe it,” Maddie shrugged. “But I find charts insightful and honestly with all this,” she waved her hands through the air dramatically, “weird, opposites attract, star-crossed lovers shit y’all have going on…I’m dying to know what they say.”

“Oh, come on,” Simon fake-whined, looking at his boyfriend and batting his eyelashes. “It’s just for fun.”

Wille leaned in and whispered directly into Simon’s ear. “You don’t play fair, but neither do I.”

Simon suppressed a gasp as Wille pressed a kiss behind his ear and dragged the hand that had been resting on his knee up, squeezing his inner thigh dangerously close to a spot he should not give attention in a room full of their friends.

“If y’all are done with all that, type in your birthdays and place of birth into this app. I’ll find a notebook so I can write the charts out,” Maddie instructed, sliding her phone across the coffee table.

They entered the information, then Wille went to the kitchen with Felice to grab more snacks and refill everyone’s drinks. Simon smiled softly at him when he sat back down a few minutes later with a bottle of water for himself.

When Rosh and Ayub settled on either side of the coffee table, Simon looked at them questioningly.

“What?” Rosh defended. “I can’t watch my girlfriend be all cute, talking about something she loves?”

“Thanks, babe,” Maddie replied, scribbling on the paper she had found somewhere.

“I’m just here to confirm my long-standing suspicion that you’re soulmates,” Ayub said, taking a sip of the beer Wille brought him.

Felice, Sara, and Alex settled next to them on the couch but were only half paying attention, leaning in to watch TikToks on Felice’s phone.

“Okay,” Maddie said, turning one sheet of paper towards Wille and Simon. “We’ll start with an overview of both of your charts individually, then how they mesh together. So, this is Simon’s.”

She slid the paper a little closer, and they leaned in to read the words and symbols she had scrawled. It might as well have been hieroglyphics to Wille.

“Simon is a Scorpio, that’s your sun sign. It’s determined by the day you’re born and shows your core identity. Scorpios are really intense, craving depth in all areas of their life, which tends to make them very driven and protective of the people they have deep connections with. On the other hand, it also makes them suspicious, secretive, and stubborn.”

Simon and Wille exchanged a glance – Wille giving him an ‘I told you so’ look, while Simon shrugged nonchalantly.

Maddie smirked at them and continued. “Scorpio is a water sign, which is an emotional sign, so they’re more compassionate, intuitive, and crave security. It’s also a fixed sign, so think of it as being resolute in convictions and their truths.”

“So extra stubborn,” Rosh asked, quirking an eyebrow and laughing. Maddie glared at her.

“Everything else is determined by the planet’s placement relative to the location of where you were born. So, your moon sign is Gemini, and that deals with your emotions, instincts, or habits. Gemini moons are highly emotionally intelligent, resilient, and value independence.”

“Dude, you’re sooo emotional,” Ayub teased.

“Shut up,” Simon muttered.

“Anyway,” Maddie drawled, “one thing that is interesting in your chart is that you have a Sagittarius stellium. A stellium means you have three or more of the same sign, so those core traits are amplified. For Sagittarius, that means truth-seeking, adventurous, direct, and moral. You can see that a few characteristics repeat throughout your chart, and I think we can all agree they are pretty accurate to your personality.”

“Yepp,” Felice and Sara said at the same time, neither looking up from the phone.

“There’s a lot more; we can go into more detail later if you want, but that’s the gist,” she finished with a nod. She pulled Simon’s chart back and slid the other piece of paper forward.

“Now, Wille. Your sun sign is Taurus, so you crave security, which means you are persistent, determined, loyal, and steady, because you want to create a solid life, and everything you do is in pursuit of that. You also value comfort. On the flip side, that means you are highly stubborn, possessive, and self-indulgent.”

“Taurus is an earth sign, which kinda obviously means they are the more grounded and material-focused signs. Like Scorpio, it’s also fixed. Lots of double doses of stubborn,” Maddie said exasperatedly, but with a smile.

“Your moon is also in Taurus – this is going to be an ongoing theme. So, emotionally, you need safety, comfort, and consistency. You, my friend, also have a stellium, and what do you know…it’s because you have four Taurus placements. That’s actually kind of insane.”

“Uh, in a bad way?” Wille laughed nervously. Simon leaned into his side a little more.

“No, none of it is bad. Every trait has positive and negative manifestations. Yours are just much more narrowed to certain traits, like being steady but immutable, loyal but possessive, or comfort-seeking but materialistic. Lovingly, I don’t think any of these things are news to any of us.”

“Nope,” Felice said, popping the p.

“Not at all,” Alex said at the same time.

Rosh and Ayub both tried to hide their laughs in their drinks, and ultimately choked a little bit.

“Aw, that’s okay, mi amor,” Simon said softly, cupping Wille’s cheek. “We’ll just both be the most stubborn people in the room together.”

“Yeah, about that,” Maddie turned their charts and drew a few lines and circled points on each page, then slid them back across the coffee table. “Your charts read like a classic, 2000s rom-com of perceived opposites attracting, but a really intense one that could be volatile when you’re on opposite sides.”

“Um,” Simon huffed. Wille looked distraught, folding his hands on top of the coffee table and leaning forward.

“Don’t worry,” Maddie chided.

“Oh, Mr. Doesn’t Believe In This Anyway is absolutely worrying,” Rosh laughed.

“Now, we know Wille’s Taurus stellium means he wants stability and is loyal as fuck. Interestingly, his Mars placement, which rules conflict and sexual expression, is in Cancer, meaning Wille is a big ole softie with the person he trusts and wants to build that safe life with.”

“That’s true,” Simon said, placing a quick peck on Wille’s cheek.

“Simon’s Mars is in Pieces, which is the most understanding and open sign, which is really compatible with Wille’s Cancer placement, because they can be very emotional, and Pieces is empathetic to it. They’re also both water signs, so there are a lot of similarities in expression and desire.”

Wille turned his head and looked at Simon with so much love that Ayub tilted his back to down his drink because it felt like he was intruding.

“But here’s the fun part,” Maddie said conspiratorially. “The zodiac chart is a circle, and signs placed directly opposite each other on the circle are considered mirrors of each other and extra compatible. Scorpio and Taurus are mirrors, and work really well at filling the gaps in the other.”

“I’m sure they do,” Felice muttered.

Simon glared at her, and Maddie stuck her hand up for a high five without taking her eyes off the charts.

“Well, let’s call a spade a spade,” Maddie continued. “The hallmark of Scorpios is their intensity and passion. In relationships, they want obsession and devotion. They are highly guarded, so when they let someone in, they do so entirely and expect the same in return. That passion and search for depth means they’re viewed as the most sexual sign, but of course that’s very individualized.”

“Damn straight,” Wille said, holding his hand out for a high five without looking at Simon.

BUZZ.

“GAY!” Rosh yelled again.

“Sorry, finger slipped,” Alex smirked from the couch.

“There might not be a better match for an intense Scorpio than a Taurus with a Taurus stellium,” Maddie said seriously. “Wille basically came into this world wanting to settle down in a house with a picket fence, a dog, and two kids. His entire motivation is comfort and loyalty.”

Wille leaned off the coffee table and looked at Simon, only to find him staring back already with a soft smile.

“What’s interesting, though, is someone who so desperately wants security, ease, and comfort, probably couldn’t ask for a more ideal life than being born into royalty,” Maddie said, pausing for effect.

“The fact that Wille seems fundamentally at conflict with that life is evident in his other placements needing deep connection and emotional safety. His loyalty lies with what, or who, offers that, and as we all know, that’s Simon, not the monarchy.”

Simon and Wille were still staring at each other while Maddie spoke, and she couldn’t hide the smile at watching them take in the information while also so deep in their own bubble. She huffed a quiet laugh, then continued.

“Simon wants someone to be down-bad, own his heart and soul, writing their devotion in blood, obsessed with him…and Wille is so painfully loyal to the person he wants to build this secure life with that he’ll spend forever with a single-minded focus on them and their happiness because that means his life is stable.”

Rosh and Ayub were smirking at each other from across the coffee table, while Alex, Felice, and Sara all tore their gaze from the phone to watch the end of the conversation.

“The fact that you two insane idiots are craving the one thing the other wants so badly, and found each other at 16, is truly terrible for the rest of us who have to witness this for the rest of your lives,” Maddie finished, leaning back against the edge of the couch with a deep sigh.

“So basically, we’re perfect for each other,” Simon said slowly, eyes still on Wille.

“I mean, as long as you can get over both of you being stubborn as hell, always thinking you are right on every topic, and the frankly concerning levels of jealousy y’all are inclined to…”

“So we’re perfect for each other,” Wille said loudly, cutting her off.

“Good morning, Wille,” Simon whispered into his boyfriend’s ear.

“Urghmmmm.”

“Try that again?” Simon asked with a giggle.

Wille cracked his eyes open and blinked against the bright morning sun pouring in from the window above the headboard. He brought his hands up, covering his eyes with one and running the other through his hair. He opened his mouth to speak, only to find it so dry and sandpapery he had to swallow several times before trying again.

“It’s not a good morning,” he rasped.

Simon leaned in and pecked behind his ear, then dragged his lips down Wille’s throat, leaving several open-mouth kisses before gently biting his earlobe. He felt more than heard Wille’s sharp inhale.

“Simon…” Wille groaned.

“You were just tipsy last night, as you reminded me several times; how do you have a hangover?” He asked, leaning up on his elbow.

“I blame the last drink Maddie gave me right before we came to bed. It tasted like straight juice and hit me in the middle of the night.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Simon cooed, inching closer to his neck again. “That’s too bad…”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Not even a little,” Wille said breathily.

“So, it could still be a good morning,” Simon whispered again, taking the skin beneath Wille’s ear between his teeth.

Wille’s hands automatically moved, settling into Simon’s curls at the back of his head and the small of his back.

“Älskling, my head is pounding.”

Simon detached from his neck and stared thoughtfully into Wille’s eyes.

“That’s not the only thing that could be pounding,” he said as seriously as he could manage.

They blinked at each other for a beat, then both broke simultaneously.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Wille said, wincing as their bodies shook with laughter.

“Oh, so you spent all night being ridiculous and turning me on, just to pass out, and you don’t even remember doing it!?”

A few moments suddenly flashed through Wille’s mind, jumbled and hazy. He tried to hold each image long enough to form a memory, but they were fleeting. That last drink really was a mistake.

What had happened after Maddie did their birth charts?

There was a game of Never Have I Ever that ultimately ended when Simon put his finger down after Maddie made what she thought was a joke about a sexual position, only for everyone to realize there was a lot more space to…experiment…when they weren’t stuck in a twin bed at Hillerska or Simon’s house.

Felice then turned up the music and demanded they dance. It was a goofy group activity until Simon and Felice got on the coffee table and snaked around each other. Wille suddenly remembered what Simon had once told him about dancing being a huge part of Latin American culture. He might not have looked like someone who could move like that, but Wille could only stare slack-jawed as Simon slowly spun, rolling his body and hips as the colorful lights cast his skin in a rainbow of hues.

That’s where things took a turn. He knew he pulled Simon off the table and against his chest. He ran his hands down Simon’s back, trailing lower until he slid his hands in his boyfriend’s pockets, squeezed, and whispered into his ear.

He knew Simon held out as long as he could, dancing with him in the living room with their friends, while Wille kept telling him all the things he wanted to do when they got to their room.

He knew Simon looked up at him questioningly, and Wille told him he’d only had three drinks all night and was just tipsy, and it wasn’t his fault Simon looked like that while dancing like that, and any man would be begging to go upstairs. Simon agreed, and Maddie handed him her drink, and he stupidly threw it back in one gulp as Simon climbed the stairs.

What he remembered more clearly was how everything felt when he was still in that light, clingy zone when they got to their room: the line of course hair as his fingers trailed down Simon’s stomach, Simon’s weight pressed back against his chest, the sharp sting when Simon dug his nails into the tops of his hands, Simon’s pulse under his tongue when he hooked his head over his boyfriend’s shoulder and licked up his neck.

Wille stilled as it came rushing back, then he groaned loudly as the pieces connected.

“Because I said I liked making you nervous…” Wille trailed off.

“Mhmm,” Simon hummed. “And I said, how can you tell?”

“And I said your heart was pounding…”

“And then?” Simon teased.

Wille flushed and looked at Simon sheepishly. “And then I said that’s not the only thing that could be pounding.”

Simon laughed out loud and reached out to push his boyfriend’s hair off his forehead.

“And after I wrangled you out of your jeans and made you brush your teeth, I leave you alone for two minutes to get myself ready for bed…and you go and pass the fuck out.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Wille said far too innocently, given the subject matter. “You know I’m clingy when I drink. And, well, I always want you that bad, but you know, lower inhibitions and all that.”

“If you passed out, then you weren’t clear-headed enough, and we didn’t need to do anything anyway,” he said kindly.

“But I wanted to,” Wille whined dramatically.

Simon glared at him in faux annoyance. “All I’m hearing is you owe me an orgasm the second you feel better.”

Wille slowly ran his hand up Simon’s spine, then down his side, feeling for the flutter just under his ribs that drove him crazy. When he felt it, he smirked. “Have I ever failed you there?”

Simon’s eyes darkened as he shook his head. Wille rolled over and walked quickly to the bathroom, Simon following. They brushed their teeth in tandem, touching from shoulders to ankles, and smiled at each other in the mirror.

After, Simon crawled back in bed while Wille splashed his face with water and downed a pill for his headache. He felt almost like a new person a few minutes later when he climbed over Simon and settled against their pillows.

“We’ll have to be quiet. I think everyone else is still asleep.” Wille murmured, reaching out to cup Simon’s jaw.

“I know it’s hell on earth, but I do miss being able to be as loud as we want in your room at the palace.”

“Actually,” Wille said, sitting up quickly, “I have something I wanted to talk to you about. About the palace being hell, I mean. I was just waiting for the right time.”

Simon quirked an eyebrow. “Is this your idea of the right time?”

Wille laughed softly. “No, not really, you just happened to bring it up.”

“Well, go ahead. I won’t be able to concentrate until I know what’s going on in that head of yours,” Simon said, sitting up next to Wille.

Wille sighed and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. After taking a deep breath, he spoke lowly. “It kind of snowballed after the conversation we had about my talks with Boris, and my parents’ role in all of it.”

Ultimately, everyone agreed that Kristina and Ludvig would stay at Drottningholm. Still, the idea weighed heavily on Wilhelm every time he walked into their private kitchen, where he was greeted with harsh stares, or passed his parents in the hallways in silence.

It often felt like Erik had never left them. His memory guided every interaction and decision as if he were sitting in the corner of the meeting room - it clung to every inch of their home, giving them no reprieve.

Wille used to think he was the only one who felt Erik’s presence like a ghost. But the more time passed, and Kristina looked to the chair he used to occupy before speaking, or Ludvig looked up quickly when he first saw Wille, only for his eyes to dim immediately, it was clear they were all haunted.

And yet, somehow, in the month leading up to and after his birthday, Wille had become the ghost. He drifted through their private wing unencumbered but ignored. Both Bernadotte brothers now haunted Drottningholm.

It became normal for no one to speak to him on the days he didn’t leave the palace for school or to see his friends. The staff never spoke to the royal family unless spoken to first. While Wille used to offer polite acknowledgements to a few of their long-term employees, the more his parents retreated from him, Wille equally retreated from everyone else.

Simon and all of their friends noticed – how could they not? They all reached out more, offering distraction, but knowing it couldn’t fix what was causing Wille pain.

Maddie and Felice took him shopping, encouraging him to pick out clothes, accessories, or little things for his room that actually felt like him, since he had his own money that hadn’t come from royal funds now. He joined several gaming sessions with Ayub and Alex and finally felt like he had good, non-toxic male friends who didn’t want something from him. Rosh texted him frequently about their respective soccer teams, and even Sara made an effort to send pictures of horses from work, given she wasn’t one for chit chat.

And every night, Simon was there. Or as there as he could be, from Bjärstad to Stockholm. He FaceTimed with Wille for as long as he could – sometimes for 15 minutes during exams and sometimes hours on end once summer began.

It was during one of these hours-long conversations that Wille finally broke down and told Simon about all the things he and Boris had been working through.

“He, um, he suggested we talk about medicine now that I’m old enough to do it without my parents being involved.”

Simon’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “He understands your life really well. What kind of medicine?”

Wille exhaled. “Something for anxiety. And the panic attacks.”

Simon nodded on Wille’s screen, so he continued.

“Boris thinks we’ve made a lot of progress with behavioral management, but said a lot of people with anxiety disorders need to help their brains on a chemical level to live more peacefully. And that’s regular people, not under the stress of all this,” he finished, waving his hand in the air.

They both laughed darkly, but Simon could tell how nervous Wille was from the way he kept looking over his phone, rather than directly at him, and the tense set of his shoulders.

“You know I always support you, Wille,” Simon said softly. “I want you to be the happiest version of yourself. Not always, I know there are ups and downs in life, but if adding a medication to your routine helps you carry the insane pressure you’re under, then I want that for you.”

Wille sniffled quietly and wiped at his eyes. “I thought it would be easier to talk about this over video, but now I just wish you were here.”

“I wish I were, too,” Simon replied. “Why did you think it would be easier this way?”

“Because that wasn’t the only thing Boris and I have been talking about. And I’m scared for you to think differently of me,” Wille whispered.

“Mi amor, is there anything I could do or say that would change how you see me?”

Wille shook his head before Simon finished his question. “No, never.”

Simon smiled at him brightly. “Okay, then. So why do you get to be the only one so deeply committed in this relationship?”

“I don’t. It’s just. I’m just too much. I’m,” he groaned and swiped a hand down his face slowly. “My own family isn’t speaking to me, älskling, because it’s easier to project their anger onto me than admit these are the consequences of their own actions.”

“Well, at least Boris got you to understand that. But I’m not them, Wille. You’re never too much for me.”

“Even if I’m autistic, too?” Wille gasped. He was crying in earnest, tears streaming down his cheeks now that the dam broke. “Because I’m already riddled with anxiety, and have a temper, and sometimes my grief still totally overwhelms me, and my mamma hates me, and my pappa won’t talk to me, and I’m still a fucking prince, and I already put you through so much shit, and now…and now this.”

Simon sat momentarily stunned, and Wille barreled on, chest heaving. “And it’s hard. Everything around me is hard. And you said love shouldn’t be hard, but I am hard.”

“Wille,” Simon said kindly but firmly. “Wille, look at me.”

Red-rimmed eyes snapped up to meet his own through their screens.

“You are not hard. Circumstances in your life have been hard. But loving you is not hard. Do you understand me?” Simon asked.

Wille pushed both of his palms to his eyes and exhaled sharply.

“You, as a person, are so easy to love that I couldn’t stop if I tried. And I tried,” Simon added with a playful huff.

Wille’s lips quirked. “Is this going to change anything with us, though?”

“I’m going to be completely honest with you because you deserve it, okay?”

“Um, okay?” Wille audibly swallowed.

“I made a plan with Mika for how to bring up the possibility of you being on the spectrum in November.” Wille’s eyes widened while Simon spoke. “I was going to talk to you about it over Christmas, but then things went to hell, and there hasn’t been a good moment since. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask Sara; she gave me some advice as another person I love with autism.”

“Really?” He asked quietly.

“Really. Think of it this way,” Simon started. “You might not have been diagnosed, but you’ve been autistic since the day I met you. And I fell in love with your autistic ass, didn’t I?”

Wille made a choking sound and laughed wetly.

“Well, when you put it like that,” he joked with a shrug.

“Thank you for telling me,” Simon said with sudden seriousness. “I’m sorry you’ve been holding all that in and worrying it would change how I look at you. Did you really think it would, though? I mean, after everything I’ve been through with Sara?”

“It’s not that I thought you wouldn’t understand the diagnosis,” Wille said slowly, “More so that it would be the final straw after putting up with so much already.”

“My love doesn’t have a threshold, Wille,” Simon implored. He pursed his lips to the side, the way he always did when he was turning something over in his head.

“I know you’ve talked to Boris about the issues with your family, but I’m really worried about how they’re hurting you over and over again.”

Wille laughed darkly. “Yeah, Boris doesn’t think it will get better until mamma and I get space from each other, and only if she does the work and earns my forgiveness. So, guess we’re looking at another year of shit and then maybe after I go to university she’ll like me again.”

“But your parents aren’t your only family,” Simon said gently. “Not anymore.”

Simon didn’t know just how right he was. When Wille arrived at Haga a few days later for his weekly cooking lesson with Uncle Albert, it took the man only eight minutes to realize something was deeply, profoundly weighing on his nephew.

They had both come to look forward to their weekly lessons more than either let on to the other. So far, Albert had taught Wille basic knife skills, a few base stocks to build any sauce from, and they were working their way through different doughs. Albert loved teaching, and Wille loved learning.

The lessons were a cover for getting to know each other better – and they were both aware. It was just so much easier to talk about their personal lives and emotional states when they had something to do with their hands and didn’t have to look at each other. The gnocchi they were prepping knew their secrets, but neither of them minded.

Albert was cutting the long sheet of ricotta dough into little squares when he cleared his throat.

“You know, Wille, given everything you’ve shared with me…I’m not sure it’s possible for you to heal while living at Drottningholm.”

Wille hummed and continued stirring the roux while slowly pouring in cream.

“From my perspective, you seem trapped in a place that holds all of your and your parents’ grief, resentment, and memories. I don’t see how you can move on in that environment,” Albert added sadly.

“I agree,” Wille replied. “But they won’t move until someone forces them to. I think mamma feels like leaving the palace means leaving Erik behind. It’s like we’re all just…stagnant; stuck in the last day the four of us were together there.”

They both worked in comfortable silence for another minute until Albert set his knife down and turned to face Wille.

“Would you leave the palace?” He questioned.

“Yeah,” Wille laughed breathily. “I can’t wait to graduate and get out.”

“Then why don’t you live here for your last year?”

Wille dropped the whisk into the sauce. “Oh shit!” He exclaimed, mildly burning his fingertips when he plucked it out. “Are you serious?” He asked in disbelief.

“Of course!” Albert replied immediately. “Only if you want to, and you can take all the time you want to think it over. But it would give you some space to breathe, away from the tension at home.”

Wille nodded as he refocused on the sauce.

“It’s already a secure residence. You and Simon already have a room here. It’s significantly closer to your school, and to Kungliga, for when you need to attend any meetings.”

The older man paused, and Wille looked up to see his eyes grow sadder.

“And,” Albert said softly, “If you’re worried about leaving your brother behind, he’s just over the bridge here. You can go talk to him whenever you like.”

Wille let go of the whisk again, not caring if it stayed against the side of the skillet or fell back into the sauce. He took a step and wrapped his arms around his uncle, holding on tight. Albert made a slightly startled noise, surprised by the sudden show of affection, but hugged him back fiercely.

It was clear from the moment they met that his nephew craved physical connection: a casual hug, a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back. He, too, grew up in a stiff, noble family that lacked warmth, and could only imagine how much more severe it must have been for Wille.

Still, he didn’t want to push him or try to fill a void Wille wasn’t ready to fill, so he kept his familial affection light. But based on the way Wille was clutching his back and hiding quiet tears against his shoulder, Albert feared he had miscalculated the extent of his loneliness.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he said, rubbing his hand across his nephew’s back to soothe him, “I’m so sorry they don’t see you. It’s a flaw in them – not in you.”

Wille gasped quietly and pulled back to wipe his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. “God, I’ve cried so much this week it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s human,” Albert countered. “And humans are often ridiculous.”

Simon was right. He had other family, and he was not alone.

“Whoa,” Simon breathed out. “When did this happen?”

“Just a couple of days before we got here. I wanted to really think it through and not jump to say yes just because things are so bad at home.”

“Well, what are you thinking now?”

“I’ve considered every angle, and I think I want to do it,” Wille said softly. “I think it could be really good for me.”

Simon beamed at him. “I do, too.”

“Uncle Albert was sure to mention that we already have a place there, and it would stay whether I moved in or not.”

He couldn’t help but pick the teasing back up after Wille was so vulnerable and strong. “So, it’s not quite as ostentatious as Drottningholm, but we’ll still have a whole wing to be loud as fuck in?” He said, flopping back down onto the bed.

Wille laughed, lying down, rolling over on his side, hooking a leg between Simon’s, and grazing his fingertips over his bare chest. “Yes. But we still have to be quiet here. Think you can do that, baby?”

The air shifted between them again. Simon gasped softly, and Wille leaned, determined not to make this the first time he failed Simon.

The next couple of days passed in easy warmth. The group swam in the lake, visited the nearby town for ice cream, lounged around the house during afternoon rain showers, and soaked up the fleeting summer sun at the beach.

On Midsommar’s Eve, everyone made the trek to the meadow Felice had mentioned. The sight was beautiful: a break in the trees led to an open green space, a quiet stream ran along the edge to the spring, and a blanket of brightly colored flowers stretched across the ground. It looked untouched by time and civilization, and each person paused to take in the serene scene before spreading out to collect flowers.

Wille and Simon were on the far side of the clearing, away from their friends. Simon held a basket while Wille clipped wildflowers and placed them gently in the container. Simon seemed deep in thought and distracted, and eventually Wille asked what was on his mind.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Simon said slowly, “that maybe I want to reevaluate my relationship with alcohol.”

Wille stopped and straightened immediately; he wasn’t expecting that at all. “Did I make you uncomfortable the other night, or by being hungover in the morning?”

“No, no nothing like that,” Simon said, shaking his head. “I appreciate how careful you are, given my history, and there’s nothing wrong with you letting loose safely. Besides, you’re kinda cute when you’re extra clingy and lovey,” he smirked.

“Only for you,” Wille smiled back.

Simon inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “I’ve been thinking I don’t want my trauma from Micke to control me. Or to let the fear of being like him stop me from trying new things.”

Wille tilted his head adorably and looked at Simon, slightly confused but openly. “So, you want to try drinking?”

“It sounds weird when you say it like that,” Simon shrugged.

“No, älskling, it’s not weird. I just want to understand exactly what you want and how I can help you.”

“It’s not that I want to get drunk for the hell of it,” Simon began. “I’ve just been so scared of this thing that took my dad away from me, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized if it wasn’t the alcohol, it would have been something else.”

Wille reached out with his free hand and laced his fingers with Simon’s, then nodded at him to continue.

“Micke is just an addict. And he always will be, even if he stays sober. He won’t stop being an addict, just a…non-practicing one,” he said, laughing darkly. “And I’ve been so worried that I would be like him. That if I let myself go there, I wouldn’t be able to stop either.”

“You aren’t Micke,” Wille said softly. “And I’ll support any decision you make; you know I will. But don’t worry for a second that you’ll be like him. You already show so much more care and thoughtfulness to yourself and the people close to you than he ever has.”

Simon’s eyes shone with tears he refused to let drop, so he looked down and his and Wille’s entwined hands and ran his thumb over the back of his boyfriend’s hand instead.

“Obviously, I’ve been talking this through with Mika,” Simon said, looking back up a minute later.

“I guessed as much.”

“And we jointly decided that when and if I ever wanted to experiment, I needed to be safe. I think here, in a secure house with no one coming or going, and only with the people I trust most, who won’t take advantage and will take care of me, is as good a time as any.”

“You know everyone will understand and support you.”

“I know they will,” Simon said with a small smile. “And besides, it’s Midsommar. Time to be a real Swede and celebrate with some Aquavit.”

The next afternoon, their Midsommar spread was complete. Felice had laid out all the food on the long table on the back deck, while Sara and Alex filled buckets with ice and bottles of water, beer, and sparkling wine. Maddie and Ayub were in charge of mixing pitchers of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic punches with sliced fruit, an Aquavit mix, and an elderflower cordial.

Rosh, Simon, and Wille set up all the flowers and supplies for making crowns on a smaller table and hung up the leftover streamers from Wille’s birthday to add some atmosphere since they didn’t have a traditional maypole. No one really minded. While they all normally celebrated Midsommar with their families and communities, a group of 18-year-olds were happy to skip the songs and dances in favor of food and drinks with their friends.

Everyone gathered around the flower table and began working on their crowns, casually talking and sipping their drinks. Wille had grabbed a water, and Simon didn’t take anything. He hadn’t told anyone besides Wille what he was thinking. He didn’t want it to be a big deal, or to field a bunch of questions only to decide he wasn’t ready.

The atmosphere was light, matching the white and cream summer clothes Felice insisted everyone wear. Halfway through wrapping his wire base with a mixture of purple and white flowers, Simon turned to Sara.

“Can I try a sip of that?” He asked, pointing to her raspberry vodka punch.

She looked at him blankly for a split second, then shrugged and handed him her cup. As he took a sip, he felt Wille’s hand rub his lower back in reassurance.

He suddenly understood exactly how Wille accidentally had too much of one of Maddie’s drinks…it was delicious. There was a faint aftertaste of what he assumed was the vodka, but otherwise it was bubbly and fruity.

He hummed, then took another small sip, biting into a raspberry that burst with layers of flavor, and handed the cup back to his sister. As he turned back towards Wille, he noticed Ayub looking at him. His stomach immediately sank; not because Ayub would judge him or because he did anything wrong, but because he just didn’t want anyone to turn this into A Thing.

But Ayub, ever the best of friends, just sent him a small smile and then returned to his own mangled crown. Rosh noticed his struggle and reached over with a laugh to help him.

When they sat down to eat a little bit later, flower crowns adorning all of their heads, Simon grabbed a bottle of water from a bucket and poured himself a cup of raspberry punch. Rosh caught his eye from across the table and quirked an eyebrow subtly. He nodded at her quickly, and she immediately turned to ask Maddie and Felice a question, effectively pulling all the attention to the other side of the table.

He settled back into his chair with his drink, and Wille’s hand immediately found his thigh under the table. Simon slid his hand over his boyfriend’s, lacing their fingers on top of his leg, and squeezed tightly.

Conversation flowed from there, everyone sharing memories of former Midsommars and playfully making fun of the more ridiculous stories. Eventually, the conversation turned towards how they all felt about their upcoming third, and last, year of upper school.

It was weird, they all agreed, to know the routine they had known their whole lives was about to change. It was also exciting, and each had their own reasons for wanting to reach the next phase of life.

At one point, Simon realized he had only seen Wille drink water and non-alcoholic strawberry punch. When everyone was engrossed in a debate about whether Maddie and Felice would stay in Sweden or leave for another country for university, Simon turned to him.

“Are you not drinking?” He asked softly, so only Wille could hear him.

“No,” Wille replied simply.

“How come? I didn’t mean you couldn’t.”

“I know,” Wille shrugged. “But I don’t need to just because everyone else is, or to have fun.” He reached out and stroked Simon’s forearm. “And, I want you to feel like you can do whatever you want today. Even if everyone else gets drunk, I’ll be sober, and I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Simon whispered, before leaning in.

He kissed Wille gently, but pressed forward more when he felt the other’s hand grab onto his shirt.

“BUZZ!”

“GAY!”

They spring apart, and the others burst out laughing. Simon and Wille looked at Alex and Rosh incredulously, then Simon playfully huffed, “What the hell was that?”

“What?” Alex said nonchalantly. “I left the button inside; I had to improvise.”

A couple of hours later, the party was in full swing. The Swedish summer sun was still out, though the temperature had dropped enough that everyone had grabbed a sweater or blanket. The string lights that wrapped around the pergola were twinkling softly, and the streamers were blowing gently in the breeze.

The music had been turned on, and the table had been mostly cleared to make room for a card game Maddie convinced them to play involving a standard deck, spoons, and a lot of frantic slapping of the table while trying to see through tears from laughter. The lack of coordination made the game messier, which just made everyone laugh harder.

Simon had paced himself, but felt pleasantly floaty. He tried a few sips of all the different options, gauging what he liked and didn’t like, but had only finished the whole cup of that first drink. He didn’t want to get drunk and was learning what his limits were.

But the main thing he had learned was that alcohol on its own was kind of gross.

Ayub promised to make fun of the face he made when he tried his Aquavit for the rest of their lives. Simon wasn’t sure why that was a traditional Swedish spirit; dill clearly belonged on food, not in liquor. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he spat that sip right back out while Wille chuckled and rubbed his back.

The punches and sparkling wines, however, were quite lovely. Felice mixed two of them for him and conspiratorially winked when she told him it was her secret recipe. He couldn’t lie; her concoction was delightful.

And the whole time, Wille was there. Not hovering or babying him – just checking in with a look or touch and quietly handing him water and snacks. He told Simon what he thought he would like based on his flavor preferences, then mixed something with orange juice from the kitchen, which quickly became his favorite of the day.

When they started their next card game, a box set Rosh brought, everyone tried to make the funniest combo of cards. The person whose turn it was picked their favorite, and Simon realized the orange drink he was sipping on was definitely going to his head when he couldn’t stop laughing at the dumbest joke Ayub had made.

Wille leaned in and whispered fondly, “You okay over there, älskling?”

Simon nodded and wiped at his eyes. “I’m great,” he replied wistfully.

“Mhmm, I see that,” Wille laughed.

Simon turned to face him fully, but forgot to lower his voice when he spoke. “Did you know you’re really pretty?”

Wille flushed and looked around at the table to find their friends watching the exchange, amusedly. “Uh, you may have mentioned it before,” he stammered.

“You really are,” Simon sighed. “Like your amber eyes. And your stupid, swoopy hair. And your BACK-“

“Okay, love!” Wille cut in while everyone tried to hide their laughter. “Do you want some more water, maybe?”

Simon sat back. “Oh, do I need to stop?”

Maddie cleared her throat and restarted the game, and everyone loudly joined in, trying to give them some privacy. Wille sent her a small smile.

“I’m not saying that; you get to make your own decisions. It’s just been a bit since you had some water, and I don’t want you to feel sick, because it takes a while before everything hits you,” Wille said kindly.

“I don’t want to get drunk,” Simon confessed quietly. “It’s fun right now, but I don’t want to feel out of control.”

“Then it might be time to switch to water, just to be safe.”

“Okay,” Simon whispered, setting his cup down on the table.

“Do you want to go start the fire with me?” Wille asked. “We could take a minute just us.”

Simon nodded and smiled immediately.

Wille stood up, grabbed his blanket from his chair, and offered Simon a hand. “We’re going to go to the fire pit,” he said to the table. “Come join whenever you’re done with the game.”

They walked down the steps of the back deck hand in hand and followed the short winding path to the side, where several outdoor couches circled a stone pit. Simon settled onto one of the couches with the blanket, while Wille opened the circuit box on the side of the pit and turned the electric fire on.

When the flames rose a few moments later, Wille turned and sat in front of Simon, so they faced each other.

“How are you feeling?” Wille asked, playing with Simon’s fingers.

“I feel good…giggly,” Simon said, smiling widely.

Wille mirrored it. “You’re cute.”

“How cute?” Simon said coyly.

“Muy lindo,” Wille said nonchalantly.

Simon’s mouth dropped open, and he playfully pushed Wille in the chest. Wille laughed brightly, and Simon leaned his head back, groaning.

“I thought you liked it when I spoke Spanish, amor?” Wille said, using Simon’s pet name for himself against him.

Simon snapped his head up and gasped. “I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING!”

Wille startled. “And you needed to give me a heart attack because of it?” he said, dramatically clutching his chest.

“Shut up,” Simon deadpanned. “It just didn’t occur to me to teach you slang as you learned Spanish, but I just realized there are a couple of hilarious coincidences.”

“Ooooh, are you going to teach me to call my mom a bitch?”

“You don’t need me for that,” Simon replied. Wille snorted. “No, it’s just that every Spanish-speaking country has its own slang, or unique phrases. So, what’s the official name of your security services?” He rushed out excitedly.

“Uh, SÄPO?”

“Right. And sapo in Spanish means toad. But in Venezuela,” he was downright giddy at this point, “it means snitch. It’s an insult.”

“You mean to tell me…you’ve known my guards are called snitches in Linda’s native language, and neither of you ever told me?!” Wille laughed in disbelief.

Simon was in stitches. “She looked at me weird the first time I called Malin that, but I didn’t make the connection until right now,” he wheezed.

“Some people get horny when they drink. You get better at languages,” Wille said in awe.

“Wait, you’re going to love this one,” Simon replied. “Do you know what coronar means?”

“I’d assume to crown?”

“You know it, Crown Prince.”

“Hate you.”

“Love you too,” Simon teased. “In Venezuela, it can mean to get laid.”

Wille’s eyes went wide. “There’s no way…”

“Dead serious. So, want to go inside to coronar?” Simon smirked.

“I heard that,” Sara called out from the sidewalk. Apparently, the group was coming to join them, but they were so absorbed in each other that they hadn’t heard them yet.

“The question remains,” Simon called back.

Everyone settled on the couches, scooting closer to the fire to warm up in the chilled night air. Wille sat back against the corner of the sofa and parted his legs, so Simon could sit between them and lean back on his chest. As soon as Simon got situated, Wille wrapped his arms around his waist, and Simon placed his hands on top of his boyfriend’s.

“So, Simon is just as clingy, if not worse than Wille, when he drinks, then. Go figure,” Rosh joked, wrapping her arm around Maddie’s shoulder.

“You’re one to talk,” Simon retorted. They smiled at each other across the fire. The twists and turns life took for them to both end up here, stupidly in love with two people from the school Simon absolutely didn’t want to attend, and that Rosh made fun of until his very last day there.

Conversation was casual and a little quiet around the fire – the night winding down slowly. They would all leave the next afternoon: Simon, Rosh, and Ayub in Sara’s car, heading back to Bjärstad, and Alex, Felice, and Maddie in Wille’s armored one, going to Stockholm.

Their lives really couldn’t be more different. Ayub and Sara had to get back to their jobs at the pizza place and stables, respectively. Rosh had the second half of her intensive soccer camp every afternoon, hosted by a couple of women’s minor league professional teams for scouting and development purposes, and worked a kids’ camp in the mornings. She was hoping to impress them so she could play when they graduated, but couldn’t afford to do their full-day sessions.

Simon wasn’t working this summer, which still felt weird since he had every year since he was 14. But the Royal Court advised against it, given the heightened tension and interest in him and Wille in the few weeks since Kristina abdicated. They tried to offer him his usual salary for the summer, but he and Wille both staunchly refused.

Linda promised him it wasn’t necessary anymore; she had reached 15 years at the hospital and received a pay raise, and they made a little money from selling their old house. Instead, he was using the time to work on his songs and improve his piano and guitar skills. Applications for the music programs he was interested in were due soon, and he wanted to be prepared.

On the other hand, Alex, Felice, Maddie, and Wille had no responsibilities to get back to, and definitely weren’t concerned about making money. In fact, all but Wille were planning to spend the next month out of Sweden before school started again. Alex was visiting family in Shanghai, Felice was going to France and Italy with her parents, and Maddie was going home to New York.

While Kristina and Ludvig were planning an extended holiday for July, Wille opted to stay in Stockholm, not that he was asked to go. Instead, he was going to move into Haga while they were gone, start an SNRI, and take a few well-deserved weeks to decompress from the stress of the last six months and his fractured relationship with his parents. From one palace to another, but the atmosphere couldn’t be more different on the inside.

They were definitely an odd group, a mix of ethnicities and social classes, with a stark contrast between their thrifted and designer clothes, all scattered around the same fire. But their convictions aligned, and they were held together by a shared love of two people that grew into a very real love between eight friends.

Simon smiled softly, wrapped in Wille’s arms, watching their friends laughing. He tilted his head and looked up at Wille to find him already looking down at him.

“I love the life we’ve made,” he said softly.

Wille beamed at him. “I do too,” he said, kissing Simon on his forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Wille replied.

“BUZZ!”

“GAY!”

Chapter Text

Simon had been thinking a lot about home.

What even was home now? Where was home for someone born from two countries and cultures? And in the deepest parts of his mind, buried under years of stubborn independence, a thought flickered repeatedly: maybe the real question should be who was home?

He thought he used to know, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

It was a simple enough concept when he was younger. Home was the little house he grew up in on the other side of town, which he shared with Sara, Linda, and Micke. It was filled with music, and rapid-fire Spanish and Swedish, often in the same sentences. It was the smell of his mamma’s cooking, cartoons on the TV, and laughing around the table after dinner.

There was nothing fancy about home. Even as a child, he knew their thrifted collection of furniture and clothes was different than the more polished looks he saw in shows or when he’d catch a glimpse of a neighbor’s rooms through open doors and windows.

Even so, the refrigerator door was full of pictures of the four of them, drawings he and Sara had done, and postcards from their family, spread out between Venezuela, Spain, and the US. Needlepoints that his abuela had made hung on the walls, and blankets that Linda’s sister had knitted were draped over the couch.

Home wasn’t much by some people’s standards, but it was everything to Simon, because it was just as much about the people inside their little house as it was the knick-knacks, smells, and sounds that filled it.

But over time, home came to mean something much darker. Micke became less and less of a physical presence as he spiraled into addiction, yet he was still the main fixture in their home, controlling their moods and nerves even in his absence.

When Micke was gone, Linda was wracked with worry and exhausted from the extra shifts she was taking on to keep them afloat. The house was quieter, safer even, but the gap his pappa left was like a wound that never healed, reopening every time he returned.

Because the only thing worse than not knowing where Micke was were the nights he was home. The smell of cooking was replaced by liquor, sounds of cartoons with slurred insults, and laughter with whispered assurances between him and Sara as they hid from the screaming matches in one of their rooms.

Home became a turbulent place that offered no reprieve from the challenges Simon and Sara faced at school, and its meaning shifted irrevocably.

If you had asked him before he started lower secondary school where home was, he would immediately and happily say Sweden. But when he got to school, most of the other kids looked at his darker skin tone and black curls questioningly.

“Where are you from?” They would ask skeptically, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

“Sweden!” He would answer.

“No, like where were you born?” They would implore.

“Sweden?” He would answer, less confidently.

“You don’t look Swedish.” “You don’t sound Swedish.” “Go back home.”

He had heard it all. Most kids backed off once he had Ayub and Rosh next to him. They were all “othered,” according to their classmates, but most didn’t want to take on three at once.

It didn’t matter, though. The damage had been done.

It didn’t matter that he did extra Swedish lessons every week, trying to lose the accent he had when speaking, even though it was his native language. He tried speaking less and less Spanish at home, but Linda would just stare at him until he said it correctly, determined to raise her kids with an appreciation for her home country.

It didn’t matter that he tried to stay out of the sun as much as he could during the summer, so his skin wouldn’t get even darker. Or that he tried straightening his hair to have one less noticeable physical difference between him and his classmates.

The measures did nothing to stop the comments. Instead, he felt even more different and knew he was hurting Linda every time he tried to bury the half of her in him.

By junior high, he was over it. How could certain kids not handle someone who looked different from them? Sounded like a personal problem to him. So some people scoffed when they heard him switching to Spanish around his mamma or sister? Not his fault he was smart enough to be multilingual as a young teenager.

On the first day of grade 9, the teacher had them introduce themselves by stating their name, where they were from, and a hobby they enjoyed.

“Hey, I’m Simon. I’m from Bjärstad, but I’m half Venezuelan, and I like to sing,” he said proudly.

Home would always be Sweden, since he was born and raised there, but it was impossible for Simon to think about home without thinking about Linda; so home would always have a double meaning for him. Two parents. Two languages. Two cultures. Two homes.

He loved Sweden, despite the months-long lack of sunlight and the near-constant chill in the air. It was his pappa’s country, and had embraced his mamma, and was the only home he had ever known.

He wanted to travel and explore, but he had never considered living in another country full-time. He wanted to be where his friends and family were; he wanted to stay home. Apart from the juvenile bullying from a handful of classmates, Simon never really considered that Sweden wouldn’t want him back.

Sure, after the video, there had been hate comments, but he thought the majority stemmed from his daring to “corrupt” Wilhelm, and they would have been the same whether it was him or another boy in his place.

Perhaps it was the last remnants of child naivety, but he truly believed anyone harboring racist beliefs was a tiny minority, or at the very least too afraid to be hateful out in the open where their neighbors, co-workers, and friends could see.

But as he, Linda, Sara, Ayub, and Rosh walked into their polling station, the sinking feeling of despair that had been growing the closer they got to election day settled low in his stomach, a now permanent reminder that, according to many Swedes, they didn’t belong there.

The last two months leading up to the election had been…intense. The Swedish Democrats were campaigning hard to gain seats and help secure a right-wing majority in the Riksdag, having made gains in the previous election but not enough to break into the right-wing alliance.

The left-wing Social Democrats were the largest political party in the country and won the most seats in the 2018 elections; however, their overall seat total still decreased. The second-largest party, the Moderates, also lost seats but retained enough to remain the second-largest party, keeping the second-largest number of seats.

Their losses were the Sweden Democrats’ gain 4 years ago, and the party soared to holding the third-highest number of seats. Their success, however, was stunted when the rest of the center-right parties rejected their proposed alliance because of their extreme beliefs.

Without a united right, the left-wing was able to gain support from the Moderates and re-elect their progressive Prime Minister, which blocked the Sweden Democrats from gaining more parliamentary power.

It wasn’t that the Sweden Democrats had come out of nowhere. Right-wing politicians had been winning more and more elections globally, ushering in hateful rhetoric and policies that made bigots think they could have the same outcome in their country if they organized; so they had been slowly creeping into mainstream politics for a while. But since the previous elections, it seemed people were suddenly emboldened to say the quiet parts out loud.

What was once too prejudiced to openly claim, that Sweden was suffering under a “plague” of foreigners, that crime was tied to immigration, and other languages and religions should be banned to “preserve a singular Swedish culture,” were now the primary campaign points people loudly clapped for.

The NMR held more and more “demonstrations,” gatherings said to show pride in a national identity but actually meant to intimidate anyone who didn’t fit their narrow definition of a “true Swede.”

Party leaders were all over public radio and television, blaming immigrants for every issue the country faced. Angry-looking strangers gave Linda dirty looks in the grocery store when she spoke Spanish to Simon and Sara. Neighbors and people they knew from their community were suddenly displaying Sweden Democrats signs or buttons, leaving them wondering if every positive interaction they previously shared was a lie.

Bjärstad was a working-class community, and though there was a relatively small population of immigrant families, the town had always been united, far more so than white-collar areas in the country, where neighborhoods were segregated by class.

Besides a couple of seemingly one-off incidents over the years, the immigrant families never felt unwelcome or targeted in their community. They took care of each other, but didn’t have any major issues assimilating into the small town while maintaining their unique cultures, religions, and languages.

In fact, the immigrant community kept Bjärstad running in many cases. The one gas station in town had long been owned and operated by the same family that originally came to Sweden after WWII. The pizza parlor, the bakery, and the butcher were all owned by immigrant families, too.

Linda was beloved at the hospital for her gentle manner with patients. Ayub’s grandmother was a fixture in the community and had helped organize many charity projects from her living room to benefit the local women’s and children’s shelter. When the Church of Sweden’s building flooded, and they couldn’t hold services or meetings for two months while it was being repaired, the local mosque and synagogue divided their calendars to ensure the church always had a room available for whatever they needed it for.

How was it possible that so many of their neighbors were actually so prejudiced? How were they so comfortable telling so many members of their community that they weren’t welcome in the only home many of them had ever known?

They’d all talked about it ad nauseam at this point, going back and forth between anger and disbelief. Wille, Felice, Alex, and Madison were sympathetic and listened to their rants, but they understood they couldn’t truly know how it was for Simon, Sara, Rosh, and Ayub.

Eventually, no one wanted to rehash the same grievances, despite the buzz of anti-immigrant sentiment becoming constant.

As Simon stared down at his ballot, he was almost numb to it. He just wanted this part of their lives to be over. The stress of the last two months weighed on him in multiple ways.

The sharp uptick in rhetoric was only part of it. Almost worse was the knowledge that the results of this day would determine Wille’s future. Their future.

He hated that it mattered just as much to him as the far more serious and important immigration discourse. But he couldn’t help it; he and Wille were as tied together as two 18-year-olds could be, and as he filled out his ballot, he wondered if the country would vote differently if they knew what the outcome could do to their beloved Crown Prince.

After he tucked his finished ballot into the provided envelope, he snuck a quick picture of the sealed paper and texted it to Wille.

One step closer to being free 💜 

He could only close his eyes and beg the universe for that to be true.

A few days later, Simon sat in the living room with Rosh, Ayub, and Sara, watching the election coverage. Linda was working nights again and had kissed them all goodbye on the tops of their heads an hour earlier when she left for her shift.

The preliminary results were going to be announced in a matter of minutes, though the finalized numbers would be released in two more days. That was really just a formality for small, local elections, though; no one could remember a time when the parliamentary seats changed from the initial announcement.

Simon had felt sick to his stomach all day. By nature, he wasn’t much of a worrier. He believed one should focus on what they could control, but that life was generally unpredictable, so it was pointless to fret nonstop when you could take action instead.

He finally understood how taxing it must be to be Wille now. He knew, logically, that nothing he did could change the outcome. But the constant what-ifs, replaying every scenario over and over in an attempt to get ahead of what was to come, left him with the worst headache he’d had in years.

Ayub and Rosh made him go to the school canteen to try and eat lunch, but his nerves were so frayed he knew he couldn’t stomach anything beyond water.

It didn’t help when one of the jerk third years stood on his seat and yelled out, “We’re taking back our country tonight! Go back home while you can!” Several of his rowdy friends cheered, while everyone else looked on in shock.

Sara plopped down in the chair next to him then and darkly slid her phone across the table. On her screen was an article detailing all the reported incidents being investigated as hate crimes since the election four days prior. They all sat in silence for the rest of their break.

Now, sitting on the couch in the living room, his sister and two best friends beside him, he thought he might just puke. Wille had been texting him all day, small reassurances and check-ins, and he knew, despite his boyfriend’s bravado, he was even more nervous.

At the top of the hour, the news reporters began speaking, recapping the last few days of exit polls, predictions, and campaign promises. Finally, two maps of Sweden with voting municipality lines drawn filled the screen.

The one on the left showed the results of the previous election, with shades of red, blue, green, and yellow indicating which party had the majority in each area. It was mostly red, representing the Social Democrats, with large sections of light blue for the Moderates and yellow for the Sweden Democrats. Very few areas were marked with dark blue, dark red, or green, the colors of the smaller political parties. 

The map on the right showed the same municipality lines, but on a plain, white background. It would be updated as votes were announced, so the public could visualize how many seats were flipped or remained in the same party.

As the reporter began reading, Sara reached over and clasped her hand around her brother’s.

The results started with the counties surrounding the larger cities. Voters in Stockholm, Gothenburg, and a few university towns overwhelmingly supported the left-wing candidates; in fact, the left won by the biggest margins they had ever seen in those municipalities.

Next came a few major suburbs, several of which went to the right-wing, but polls showed that was likely. Shockingly, two suburbs around Stockholm were flipped, their outlines filling in red where they had been blue.

Rosh let out a huge sigh of relief and leaned back to rest casually on the couch for the first time all evening.

“That’s good, then, no?” She asked the room. “I mean, the only surprise so far has been gaining a few seats we didn’t expect?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Simon breathed out. “It’s still really early, though.”

“Dude, the polls had the socialists winning, and that was without flipping those suburbs. We’ve got this,” Ayub cheered.

“Maybe,” Simon replied, hopefully.

The next results announced came from some more industrial areas that had long been Social Democratic strongholds.

“I’m gonna get a drink – we all know it’s red there. Anyone want anything?” Rosh asked casually, already walking into the kitchen.

“Oh fuck!” Ayub called seconds later.

Rosh stopped, turned around, and stared at the TV in shock.

“No way…” she whispered.

Dozens of municipalities that were red on the current map lit up a bright, sickening yellow. She leaned onto her forearms on the back of the couch, while Simon, Ayub, and Sara all sat up and pressed closer to the TV.

More results were announced as they sat in stunned silence. They hadn’t even begun to process so many socialist seats flipping, and flipping to the democrats at that, before another county was announced as being won by the right-wing for the first time…ever.

“What is happening?” Sara asked to no one in particular.

“There’s a lot left,” Ayub said placatingly. “Don’t freak out yet.”

The next few minutes did little to calm them. Värmland remained red, but only by 373 votes. Five central counties that the left typically counted on flipped to the right one after the other. It was clear that many, many people across the country who normally voted for the socialists had chosen differently this election. And more often than not, every color that changed from one map to the other went from red to yellow.

“Can I freak out now?” Simon stuttered after the right-wing won their fifth county in a row.

“There’s still the north. It’s red, it will be okay.” Rosh replied.

“And the southern swing counties?” He questioned, running his hands over his face harshly.

“I don’t understand,” Sara began. “The socialists are still ahead by seat count?”

“Yeah,” Simon sighed. “It’s going to come down to who the moderates decide to back, between the socialists and the democrats. The socialists had the majority last time, and the moderates backed them to vote in the Prime Minister and their government. But if the democrats gain a lot of seats…they could ally and block out the socialists.”

“So, we don’t just need the socialists to win, we need them to win by a big enough margin that they keep blocking the democrats from getting more power?” Sara asked.

“Right, but it doesn’t look good so far,” Simon said darkly.

A couple of hundred kilometers away, in a cozy sitting room in Haga slott, Wille paced in front of the TV while Albert lounged in an armchair, futilely trying to keep his nephew from rubbing a hole in the rug.

“I’m going to be sick,” Wille muttered.

“Please not on the rug; it’s Turkish,” Albert replied.

Wille stopped and faced his uncle, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’ve only lived here for a few months, and you already care about the rugs?” Wille deadpanned.

“Oh, dear boy, I’ve always cared about the rugs. The work is exquisite.”

Wille huffed.

“Have you ever been to Turkey? It’s a lovely place.” Uncle Albert asked.

“No, I have not been to Turkey,” Wille said, exasperated.

“Such a rich history. And spectacular furnishings!”

“Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”

“I don’t particularly care, but it did get you to stop and breathe, which is what I do care about,” Albert offered.

Wille looked to the ceiling and took another deep breath, raising his shoulders up and dropping them on a long exhale. Albert was right; he did need to breathe. He lowered his head again to find his uncle looking at him expectantly.

“Now, do you want to share why you’re so worried about the parliamentary election?”

“It’s just..” Wille trailed off. He didn’t know how much he could tell his uncle – how much he should tell him.

No one had told Albert that Wille planned to step down in May. The court argued that it could jeopardize the older man's agreement to serve as regent, and that he hadn’t been media-trained to the extent of other royals, so they didn’t want to risk him slipping up and saying something he shouldn’t.

Wille felt guilty every time he danced around the subject. Despite normally disagreeing with every decision the court made, he did understand this one. Besides, he had only known Albert for about five months, so he hadn’t been rushing to tell him his biggest secret until he knew he could trust him.

But now he had moved into Haga with him. Albert had hugged him tight when he showed up with red, puffy eyes because his parents hadn’t tried to stop him from leaving. And he continued their weekly cooking lesson, asked frequently about Simon, and made sure Wille was doing his homework and taking his anxiety medication every night.

Albert wasn’t just a family member in the abstract sense of someone with whom he shared some blood but had no other relationship. Albert was his family. The supporting someone through anything, trusting them to catch you when you fall, and loving unconditionally kind; the kind of family that he hadn’t had since Erik left the earth.

But still, old habits die hard.

“It’s just upsetting to think about having to play nice with these right-wing assholes, is all,” Wille sighed.

Albert hummed, unconvinced but letting it go for now.

The reporters announced the results in northern Sweden, the map showing the socialists won overall, but the right still flipped a few seats. Wille paled, finally sinking onto the couch and wrapping his arms around himself tightly.

“Ice cream always helps,” Albert said, interrupting Wille’s spiral. “Would you like some?”

“It will make me throw up,” Wille replied grimly.

“Have you suddenly developed lactose intolerance? Or would you like to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I can’t,” Wille whispered.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Albert volleyed. “If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll respect your decision. But something tells me this runs deeper than you’re letting on.”

“Just…” Wille sighed.

He stopped abruptly, sitting up as the reporters announced the final results. The swing counties, which had been left-leaning for a while, were all won by the right. In the silence, the voice from the TV echoed cruelly throughout the room.

“In a historic election, the Social Democrats actually retained the largest percentage of the popular vote with 30%, and gained seven seats overall, but the margin isn’t enough to claim victory for the left-wing,” the reporter droned on.

“For the first time, the Sweden Democrats are the second largest political party, overtaking the Moderates. But with reports that the Moderates are willing to ally with the democrats for this cycle, the combined total votes for the right-wing parties stand at 176, with the left-wing at 173.”

Wille stopped breathing altogether.

“This is a massive shakeup in the Swedish government, with the socialists losing the majority for the first time in over 20 years, and marks the first time the Moderates, famously in the center of the political scale, openly align themselves with right-wing ideologies.”

He gasped, choking on air as he tried to force it into his lungs, and lowered his head to his knees to stave off the impending panic attack.

“As always, results will be recounted and confirmed in the next 48 hours; however, as it stands right now, Sweden has joined the ranks of developed countries voting in right-wing leaders,” the reporter concluded flatly, as if their words didn’t just crush millions of people and one very anxious prince.

Wille felt Albert’s hands touch the edge of his knees, letting him know he was kneeling in front of him and there to help. His uncle knew about his anxiety and had been excellent in helping him manage it, but he had never been privy to a full-blown panic attack. Wille still preferred to fall apart without any eyes on him. Too many eyes had seen too much of him already.

“Breathe, Wille,” Albert said softly, lifting a hand to grasp his shoulder.

Wille raised his head, arms still clutched around himself, and shook his head violently.

“No,” he croaked. “No, you don’t understand…”

“Then help me too.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it,” he chanted, rocking himself with jerky movements.

“What can’t you do?”

Wille closed his eyes tightly and shook his head again, willing the world to be a different one when he opened them once more. But it wasn’t.

Albert was still in front of him, one hand grounding him on his shoulder and looking at him with a face full of worry. Simon was still the love of his life, and Wille knew he would be freaking out just as much as he was right now. And Sweden, their home, had just betrayed both of them.

“I can’t be king,” Wille whispered.

“Okay, then don’t be,” Albert replied, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

But the dam had just broken, and Wille couldn’t hold it all in anymore.

“No, I can’t be king. But I can’t step down now. But I can’t stay. I can’t lose Simon. I can’t have both. I don’t even want both. But I can’t let this happen,” he rushed out.

Albert stood quickly and walked to the bar cart sitting in the corner of the room. He lifted the lid of the crystal pitcher and poured water into a matching crystal glass, then filled another for himself.

In truth, he could really go for a scotch right now. The cart, with various liquors in crystal decanters, a matching water pitcher, and glasses, had belonged to Erik. Wille told him Erik kept it in their joint parlor at Drottningholm, and he would often find his brother relaxing in an armchair with a glass of something after a long day.

Erik started letting Wille join him with small glasses when he was 15, a decision he told his brother he regretted when Wille began sneaking into clubs at the same age. Even so, Albert was inclined to give his nephew one of those small glasses now, for the nerves.

Though he wasn’t a parent, Wille was under his care, and he was trying to do right by him in a way neither of them had known growing up. So water it was. He returned to the couch, handed the water to a glassy-eyed Wille, and sat on the opposite end, giving his nephew space for this conversation.

They sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes while Wille sipped the drink and waited for his breathing to return to normal. Finally, he inhaled deeply and turned to face his uncle.

“Last summer,” he began slowly, “I told mamma I wanted to renounce my title and live a normal life, or as normal as I could, being…well, me.”

Albert nodded gently, so Wille continued.

“I hate royal life. I hate being a prince. I know that sounds so spoiled and selfish, given how unimaginably privileged I am, but I hate the attention, and the pressure, and the way both the public and the court think they have a right to me. I’ve hated it my whole life.”

“When Erik…died…and suddenly I was Crown Prince, it just got so much worse. It was killing me. It was killing Simon. It did kill our relationship at one point.” He laughed darkly. “Okay, at more than one point.”

His uncle huffed out a short laugh.

“I fucking hate August, but I came to terms with giving him the crown, because I realized I had to love myself more than I hated him.”

“That’s incredibly brave of you, you know,” the older man said.

“It didn’t feel like it. But it felt better than anything else. They announced that I wouldn’t be taking on public duties until I graduated, so they could slowly shift everything to August without making the public too suspicious. I felt like I could finally breathe – that I was finally happy. I couldn’t ever imagine my future; like, it was all planned for me, but when I pictured myself in 10 years, it was just blank.”

He sniffled quietly and took another sip of water.

“I could see it then, what I wanted. I actually let myself dream: what I’d study, where I’d live, what I could do.” He looked down at his lap, and his voice quieted. “Who I would be with. The family we could have.”

A tear escaped, and he wiped at it aggressively.

“And then the article came out, and your mother stepped down,” Albert said sadly, the context he had been missing slotting into place like puzzle pieces, finally revealing the full image of the young man he only partially saw before.

“Exactly,” Wille said, looking up again. “Now I’m all that’s left. If it’s not me, Sweden will face a constitutional crisis. I was going to step away at 18; I already put it off a year to let this election play out.”

“I see,” Albert sighed deeply. “You don’t want to leave the government to reshape itself in the hands of the right-wing.”

“I can’t,” Wille replied plainly. “I can’t in good conscience alter Swedish politics forever while they are the ones that would benefit. Everything they want to do harms Simon. And not just him, but everyone like him. Their beliefs are toxic.”

“So you seem set on not stepping down then?”

“But I don’t want this role, the job. I don’t want to be king; besides, I wouldn’t have any governing power, so I don’t even know how I would change anything, other than holding on for four more years and praying the left-wing wins, and stepping down then. But what if they don’t? What do I do then?” He looked at his uncle, chest rising rapidly and eyes pleading.

“Where is Simon in all of this? You said you can’t lose him.”

Wille groaned, set his glass down on the coffee table, and rubbed his hands over his face harshly.

“That’s the other factor. The monarchy is the one thing our relationship can’t survive, and I already asked so much of him when I didn’t step down last May. If I tell him I can’t step down again, he’ll walk away. It will kill both of us, but he’ll do it, and he should.”

Albert looked at him hard, eyes darting all over his face, taking stock of the young man who sat before him. He had already been through so much - too much. And here he was, talking about willingly putting himself through more because his morals demanded it.

If only he had been half as brave as his nephew at his age.

“I know it’s oversimplified, but is it fair to say it’s the monarchy or Simon, for you?” Albert asked, laying it all on the table.

“Kind of, yeah,” Wille relented. “But is it so wrong to know he’s my person and choose him? Choose us? I wasn’t doing it for him when I decided this a year and a half ago…but now, so what if I am? I know we’re young, but he’s it for me.”

Albert smiled softly as Wille spoke, and though he nodded along, his eyes looked sad.

“I don’t think it’s wrong to choose him,” the older man said quietly. “And just because you’re young doesn’t mean you don’t know.”

Wille watched as a tear escaped his uncle’s eye, rolling slowly down his cheek before the man removed his brightly checked pocket square and wiped it. As a rule of thumb, he never pondered the romantic lives of the people around him, especially someone who, by all accounts, was a hermit for the last two decades.

His heart rate suddenly spiked as a dark thought crossed his mind. Why had Uncle Albert isolated himself and cut contact with their entire family? As Albert cleared his throat and sniffled once more, the answer hit Wille square in the chest.

“What was their name?” He asked gently.

Albert turned his face slightly, gazing across the room, and stared wistfully at a blank spot on the wall, his mind clearly elsewhere. Wille watched the emotions cycle through his eyes as memories played behind them.

“His name was Ian,” Albert whispered moments later.

His – Wille’s heart skipped a beat. Was – his stomach sank.

“My father and I never saw eye to eye,” Albert began. “I think he sensed a…weaker constitution…in me than he thought appropriate. I applied to university abroad, desperate to escape my family, and just a few weeks after graduation, I was off to England.”

“I met Ian that first year at Cambridge. I knew I was attracted to the wrong people, according to society, at least, but there was little chance to explore that in my small boarding school in southern Sweden. But in the anonymity of a new country, with liberation movements starting around us, I found myself over there.”

Albert hadn’t taken his eyes off the spot on the wall, and Wille hadn’t taken his eyes off his uncle.

“And I found Ian, so far from what I expected him to be. He was Scottish, brusque, with the most beautiful auburn hair, and could drink anyone under the table, but he had grown up on a farm, raising small animals, and caring for his four younger sisters. He was gentle, and kind, and funny, and a truly terrible singer - though it never stopped him.”

He wiped at his eyes again, then finally turned to face Wille.

“I knew he was my person, too. But the world didn’t accept that, so I stayed for as long as I could, putting off the inevitable, and came back to Sweden with a degree I’d never need and a broken heart.”

“How did you do it?” Wille dared ask.

“I didn’t,” Albert said with a small shake of his head. “I went to Lund, and continued getting useless degrees because I could, and because I could be free there. It was an artist’s haven, and many of us found connection and community there that we couldn’t elsewhere. I simply buried it. There were others, but never love.”

“What happened to Ian?”

Albert smiled softly again and exhaled deeply.

“He returned to Scotland, sent me letters I couldn’t stand to answer. Put it off for a while, but eventually got married to a nice Scottish girl, like the good Catholic he was expected to be.”

“No…” Wille gasped.

“It was a different time, dear boy. I couldn’t fault him.”

“But, still…”

“He was a good man, even stopped sending me letters when I told him I couldn’t bear knowing he was someone else’s husband,” Albert said. “He tried to make it work, made it eight whole years. But they never could have a child, and his wife blamed him for not loving her enough.”

“Then how…?”

“He told me all himself,” Albert smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in an hour. “Showed up at my door in Lund one autumn day, and he never left again.”

Wille smiled widely at the joy in Albert’s voice.

“We lived in my apartment, and he fit right in with my misfit group of friends. When my father died, and the estate was vacant, I asked him if he wanted a quiet life with me in the country, and maybe some sheep to make him feel at home.”

“So, not quite a hermit for the last 20 years then?” Wille grinned.

Albert laughed boisterously before settling again and fixing Wille under that sad, knowing look.

“We had 30 wonderful years together, the best times of my life, filled with more love than many get in a lifetime. We did keep entirely to ourselves, as the family had written me off as soon as I went to Lund, but we had almost two decades to make up for, so we didn’t mind.”

Wille knew it was coming, but it still cracked his heart open when the older man spoke again.

“He died seven years ago,” Albert whispered. “So, no, not a hermit for 20 years, but definitely since then. I miss him every day, and truthfully, I was expecting to wither away alone until we could be reunited.”

The pain radiated from Albert like a living thing, guarding him and keeping others from coming too close. Wille could feel it settle low in his chest, right behind his ribs. He recognized some of that grief; it nestled itself next to the spot that he carried for his brother.

“I thought that, until you called me that day, sounding so hopeful but in over your head. You’ve given me another purpose, reminded me that there’s plenty of life for me still, if only I’d decide to claim it.”

Wille shook his head slightly, overwhelmed by his uncle’s story and the emotional rollercoaster this night had been.

“But why come? Why leave the peace of your home with Ian to step into this hellacious circus?”

“Because the world is not the same world I grew up in, and I watched you be braver at 16 than I ever have been. If I could help you have the life I lost for so long, and if doing so could help other people like us, then I couldn’t say no, now could I?”

“I guess not,” Wille smiled in spite of himself.

“So, now that we’ve both been honest with each other, I have two questions,” Albert said.

Wille nodded for him to ask.

“In an ideal world, if it cost you nothing, what would you do about your future?”

He contemplated the question for a moment, but in truth, he had the answer ready to go. He had spent the last few months leading up to the election turning over every outcome in his mind.

“I would wait until the left-wing regained power, then abdicate and trust in however the Riksdag handles it. And I’d do it all with Simon, then we would step away and live our quiet life together, though probably without the sheep.”

They both laughed at the thought, then sobered when Albert cleared his throat to ask his second question.

“And what are you willing to lose?”

“Anything but Simon,” Wille answered immediately.

Albert smiled at his nephew’s eagerness and commitment.

“Then we make a plan for how you can have both; get your lawyer, financial officer, advisor, whoever we need to be involved to make it airtight. But you understand that a time may come when you have to choose one over the other, and never lose sight of which one that is.”

It was well past nightfall when the car Wille had sent to pick up Simon finally rolled to a stop in front of Stenhammar slott. He had tried to leave Bjärstad earlier, but he couldn’t get out of after-school choir practice since he was the soloist, and he still had to run home to grab his weekend duffle bag.

And, okay, to be fair, he wasn’t totally packed yet when the driver buzzed their intercom to tell him he was in the lobby. He had hastily zipped up the duffle, then unceremoniously shoved his writing notebook next to his school notebooks in his backpack. It was highly unlikely he’d have time to write or do homework this weekend, but it felt wrong not to bring them along.

Technically, he should have packed the night before. And, technically, he had packed most things then, save for what he would need to get ready for school that morning. He was just so anxious about this weekend that he was completely frozen, unable even to start the task until it was almost midnight, and he couldn’t put it off any longer.

In the end, the panic of not making it because he never packed finally outweighed the panic of what would happen in the next two days. Barely.

Another black town car was parked in front of the entrance, indicating that Wille was already inside, which made sense given that he had left Stockholm two hours before Simon left Bjärstad.

It was actually why Wille suggested meeting at this random palace in the middle of nowhere. They needed a secure location where they could be alone, without royal court ears overhearing them. Stenhammar was almost exactly halfway between both of their homes, so they would have more time together since neither would have to travel the full distance.

Or, they would have, had Simon been ready and left on time.

He was just so nervous about what this weekend would turn out to be. He had to assume Wille was too, but he could only do so because his boyfriend had been uncharacteristically silent about his thoughts and feelings since the election results were announced.

That night had been…rough. Simon curled into Ayub’s side when the final numbers were read, and Rosh hugged them both over the back of the couch. The three cried silently: for themselves, their families, their communities. For Wille. For Sweden. Sara hopped up immediately and began making tea and cookies, needing something to do with her hands and trying to escape the high emotions.

They stayed like that for over an hour until Simon’s phone finally rang, a disheveled-looking Wille on the other end of the video call.

He and Wille tried to talk about their feelings that night, but they probably shouldn’t have in hindsight. It was too fresh, and they hadn’t processed everything it meant yet, so they mostly sat in silence.

When Wille did try to speak, he mentioned he‘d have to meet with Farima as soon as possible, and Simon started sobbing all over again.

It wasn’t that Simon was mad at Wille. He knew, logically, that this greatly complicated Wille’s plan to step down next May. The problem was the little voice in the back of Simon’s head saying this meant he wouldn’t step down, that this was the beginning of the end for them.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get that voice out of his head over the last week.

Wille still texted and called him like normal, but they were both clearly avoiding the subjects of the election and their future. It made everything feel stilted in a way it hadn’t between them since the times they tried to talk while they were broken up.

So, yeah, Simon was not at all cool, calm, and collected as he stepped out of the car his royal boyfriend sent for him and walked towards the random palace they were crashing at this weekend, because Wille apparently had a surplus available to him, so he and said royal boyfriend could decide the fate of their relationship.

It was fine. He was chill.

Before he reached the bottom step, the large, ornate doors swung open, and Wille barreled down the stairs, wrapping him in a tight bear hug without so much as a hello. Simon immediately wrapped his arms around Wille’s neck and turned his face in, inhaling his scent at the base of his throat. His boyfriend felt the movement and squeezed him tighter.

It was not fine. He was so not chill.

Eventually, they separated, and Wille grabbed his duffle bag out of the trunk, waving the driver off when he hastily tried to grab it from the Crown Prince. Simon slung his bookbag over his shoulder, and they walked inside hand in hand.

They dropped the bags just inside the door, and Simon marveled that no one else swooped in to collect them. Wille gave him a short tour, though they skipped a lot of rooms since the place was massive; small for a castle, maybe, but still massive.

“No security anywhere?” Simon questioned when they entered their third room, without encountering any staff.

“Nope,” Wille said proudly. “It was my condition. When I told Farima we needed a place for just us for the weekend, she said it had to be a royal residence on such short notice, and apparently, all the palaces in a 3-hour radius of Stockholm were fighting over who got to host us.”

“Who got to host the Crown Prince, you mean?” Simon snorted.

Wille bumped their shoulders as they walked.

“Sure, that too. Guess that’s the dream for auxiliary palace staff, getting to host one of the royals.”

“You make them sound like the cursed people in Beauty and the Beast, going all out to impress their first-ever visitor.”

“Well, the house manager did say to be her guest when she greeted me earlier,” Wille laughed.

“So what? She just handed the literal keys to the castle to you and peaced out?”

“I mean, she handed them to Malin…”

“Wille.”

“But that was how I got us the place to ourselves!” Wille said emphatically, opening the door to yet another parlor. “Margaret, that’s the house manager, said the grounds were secure here. She and Farima agreed that security could guard all the doors from the outside, and that a team in the gatehouse would monitor the cameras. None of which are in the bedrooms; I already checked.”

“We’re actually alone?” Simon asked, unsure.

“We’re actually alone,” Wille said, smiling.

A couple more rooms on the tour later, their stomachs had interrupted one too many times, and they begrudgingly made their way to the kitchen to fix some dinner. They ate at the smaller table in the residential apartment, avoiding the large dining rooms and industrial kitchen in the event spaces, and talked normally about how their days had gone – the same soft conversation they had each night over the phone.

When they finished, Wille took their plates to the sink and began rinsing them, the pot, and the skillet they had cooked with. Simon stood on the other side of the kitchen island, watching the other’s back muscles expand and contract under his shirt as he cleaned.

It was kind of annoying that his boyfriend wore such a fitted t-shirt when they needed to focus and have an important talk. Or maybe it was just a regular t-shirt, and Simon was simply 18, in love, and over the long-distance thing.

Finally, Wille had loaded the dishwasher and turned around to face Simon. He stepped forward slowly and gripped the edge of the island, then raised his head until they locked eyes.

They stood, staring at each other, unmoving and silent, for what felt like 10 minutes but was no more than 30 or 40 seconds. Only the island separated them, four feet of wooden cabinetry and a stone countertop, but in the moment, it was a chasm.

Simon spent the last seven days preparing for this conversation, thinking through every possible direction it could go and how he would respond to each scenario. But the longer he looked in Wille’s eyes and saw the weight behind his gaze, the more he realized he was woefully unprepared.

“Are we going to talk about this tonight, or do you want to wait until tomorrow since it’s getting kind of late?” Wille finally asked.

“I won’t be able to sleep now,” Simon said, voice cracking.

Wille quirked an eyebrow at him. Being so anxious he couldn’t sleep was definitely his thing, and Simon was always the steady one.

“Because you’re going to say something I don’t want to hear,” Simon whispered. He cleared his throat before continuing. “If nothing has changed, you would have told me immediately to reassure me, not drag it out for a week until you could do it face to face.”

He wiped at his eyes harshly, realizing too late that tears had welled up. This wasn’t how he wanted to start this conversation: visibly upset and vulnerable. That little voice saying it was over had been screaming for the last two days, though, and the longer Wille stared without speaking to the contrary, the more he crumbled.

“Simon,” Wille said, face scrunching up in distress.

He moved to take a step, but Simon cut him off.

“Just say it, Wille.”

Wille nodded jerkily, visibly inhaling and straightening his posture, drawing himself up into the practiced persona he used when anxious about speaking. It was a performance, not his real, raw self.

Simon hated it. He hated that Wille was put in so many positions that he needed it to cope. He hated that Wille relied on it so much that he could recognize it easily. He hated that Wille had never once used it against him. He hated that he knew what it meant before Wille said anything.

“I’ve been thinking about this since Farima first brought it up to us last January,” Wille began, voice too even and flat for the way his knuckles were turning white against the countertop.

He paused, giving Simon space to acknowledge the statement or respond in some way, but he remained silent. Wille sighed heavily, like the next words had to be pried from his throat.

“I had come to terms with leaving my role when it didn’t change anything or harm anyone. It goes to August, great, the monarch has no real power, so what does it matter if it’s him or me? And even after the article and August being removed, I figured it wasn’t on me, and there was a plan in place in parliament for this situation, and it was okay for me to turn it over to them.”

“I know all of this,” Simon said curtly when Wille stopped to breathe.

“I just need you to understand,” Wille implored.

“Understand what, Wille?” Simon ground out.

“That the parliament I’d be turning it over to isn’t one Sweden has ever seen before, and it would absolutely change things and harm people now. And I can’t live with myself if I do that, Simon - I just can’t.”

“But you couldn’t live with yourself when you were forced into being Crown Prince either,” Simon countered.

“No, I couldn’t,” Wille admitted. “But for the good of the country, I have to try. I know it’s a sacrifice, but I think I can do it…and I want you to do it with me.”

Simon’s breath caught, and his eyes widened as Wille spoke. This was it: the beginning of the end.

“How can you ask that of me?” He asked quietly and firmly. “I have been very clear for a year and a half that the one thing I couldn’t do was stand by you while you destroyed yourself for the monarchy. And now you turn around and put it back on me again?”

“That was when I would just be a puppet for the court! This isn’t for the monarchy. It’s for me. For the immigrants in this country. It’s for you!”

“So I’m supposed to thank you for being a masochist just because the cause is noble!?”

“You’re the one who told me I could change so much if I used my privilege and opened my eyes to all the ways this country is failing.”

“Yeah, and do you know how maddening it is to watch you grow into someone I’m so proud of while simultaneously knowing it will kill you and our relationship!?” Simon cried, arms raised to his side. “You can’t expect me to be happy about that.”

“It doesn’t have to kill our relationship. I’ve thought a lot about it-“

“Wille!”

The other stopped talking abruptly, and his stomach dropped when he saw the tears silently falling from Simon’s eyes.

“You said we were getting out. You said it was just an extra year. You promised me, Wille. You promised.”

“I know I did,” Wille said softly, silent tears matching his boyfriend’s. “But it’s not forever, Simon, it’s just until the left-wing regains the majority-“

“How am I supposed to believe that!? You-“

“It’s just a little longer, älskling, I promise-“

“Oh, like you promised it would be when you turned 18?”

“I didn’t-“

“Or 19?”

“That’s not-“

“Or like when you promised me you wouldn’t leave me alone after the video and then denied me to the whole country?”

Wille’s eyes went impossibly round as he snapped his mouth shut, his retort dying on his lips. That was almost two years ago now, and he thought it was all behind them.

They stared at each other, chests rising and falling rapidly, until Simon broke the silence with a sniffle as he rubbed angrily at his wet cheeks.

“I need some air,” he said bitterly, turning and leaving the kitchen before Wille could even try to stop him.

He headed in the direction he thought led to the front door, desperate to escape the heavy weight that had settled between him and Wille. Stenhammar really was a maze for no reason. Finally, he saw the grand entryway ahead, and sighed in relief when he spotted his backpack still sitting haphazardly by the door.

Kneeling, he grabbed his songwriting notebook, then continued his retreat without bothering to zip the bag back up. Thank god he packed it even though he didn’t think there would be time to write. His thoughts were so loud he couldn’t even begin to process what had just happened. He needed to get it all down on paper so he could start making sense of it.

He flung open the door and startled when two guards turned to see who was leaving the palace.

“Uh,” he stammered, “I was just going to go for a walk on the grounds.” Belatedly, he realized it sounded much more like a question than a statement.

“Yes, sir,” Guard Number One said robotically. “I’ll have to follow from a distance for your security, sir.”

“I’m a regular person, I don’t need security. And aren’t the grounds closed anyway?’ Simon huffed.

“We were instructed to provide the same level of security to you as to the Crown Prince, sir.”

Simon laughed darkly. The universe was out for him tonight.

“Fine,” he sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Fabian, sir,” Guard Number One Fabian replied.

“Well, Fabian, it’s nothing personal, but please stay back as far as you’re allowed to. I just wanted some space and air.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please call me Simon.”

“I’m not supposed to do that, sir.”

He turned with an exaggerated groan and stomped down the steps. It wasn’t Fabian’s fault, but did security services really have to make a show about treating him equal to Wille five minutes after Wille told him he wanted to stay Crown Prince – and for Simon to support him through it?

It was pitch-black outside, as the castle was nestled between two lakes and surrounded by open fields and forests. There was a small town across one lake, but there wasn’t enough light pollution coming from it to be seen.

To his right, a path curved around the ground, following a long, low wall. A few lights illuminated it, so Simon veered in that direction, content to wander aimlessly while his mind raced.

After a few minutes, he remembered Fabian was tailing him and looked over his shoulder to see how much privacy the guard was giving him. He was pleased to see the man was a good 50 meters back, close enough to never lose sight of Simon but far enough that he couldn’t hear anything if he broke down and started muttering to himself.

Not that he would. He was still reeling from the conversation, and he tended to think until he could write out his thoughts, rather than talk them through, unless he was talking with Mika. Somehow, they had put Simon at ease enough that he sat down on their couch every week and barely shut up for their hour together.

Mika said it was a product of not feeling heard in his childhood: Linda focused on Micke and Sara, Micke focused on his own vices, and Simon focused on caring for all three of them.

Sometimes Simon wondered if Mika knew him better than he knew himself.

Currently, he was wondering if they accepted late-night emergency phone calls. He remembered they said something about having tickets for an event in Linköping tonight; maybe he could just leave a voicemail. He snorted, thinking about how that would go.

“Hi, Mika, it’s Simon. Yeah, so I’m out on a hot girl mental health walk because my fucking idiot boyfriend lied to me, and himself, about not being a prince anymore. And now I think I’m going to lose the love of my life…again…because he’s breaking his promises and hurting us both…AGAIN. Anyway, call me back when you can, so I don’t commit regicide. Thanks!”

He was so deep in his head that he didn’t notice the path turn to wood under his feet until he reached the edge of the long dock. Somehow, his brain stopped his feet from carrying him straight into the water before he knowingly registered that it was about to happen. Wille better be thanking the universe for it, too. The only thing worse than a pissed off Simon was a cold and wet pissed off Simon.

Sighing deeply, he lifted his eyes and looked out over the lake. It was beautiful in an eerie way: the water completely still, stretching as far as he could see, a mirror reflecting the black sky and moonlight so clearly you could almost confuse which way was up.

His first conscious thought was that Wille would love it out here.

That’s what broke him.

He staggered back from the edge of the dock and dropped gracelessly, landing on his knees and doubling over and burying his face in his arms. Then he cried.

He cried for every ‘I love you’ uttered between them. He cried because love was not enough. He cried over the life he wanted that he saw slipping away rapidly. He cried for Wille. He cried because, deep down, he knew this was always the most likely outcome for them.

There were tears from both of them during the argument. But they were the kind that sprang up quietly, without their consent, when the emotions were too big, born of frustration and panic.

These were the deep, wracking sobs of fear and grief, like the feelings were a living thing in his body that he had to expel: a parasite feeding on his pain. Each gasp for air served to reach further down his throat and grasp it, dragging it up with every exhale, until he was coughing and choking as it was finally dispelled.

His body eventually began to settle, breaths deepening and becoming more consistent. There was a hole in his chest where the feelings had burrowed, a gaping wound left behind he feared would never heal.

That was the bottom line. If he lost Wille, he would never heal.

He never told Wille, but Simon thought he eventually could have healed from their last break-up on Wille’s 17^th birthday. He wouldn’t have ever loved someone the way he loved Wille, and he would have always wondered what if, but after a year or two, he probably would have been able to move on – at least enough to create a happy life for himself, no matter how much the memories still stung.

But this. This was a year and a half later.

This was well past chemistry-driven first love. This was whispered plans, wrapped up in one of their beds, about where they could live after university and when they wanted to start a family. This was countless mornings waking up slowly and coming together quickly. This was knowing every inch of someone: mind, body, and soul.

And if it was over now, he knew neither of them could ever move on.

The same lines repeated in his head over and over as he slid the pen out of the notebook and opened to a blank page. He laid it on the dock in front of him and bent over the paper to scratch out his thoughts by the light of the moon.

Don’t

Don’t let me go

Please please please

Do not let me go

Do not let me go

Do not let me go

Please do not let me go

There had to be a way for neither of them to compromise their principles or desires. He had no idea what it could be, but he couldn’t walk back into that stupidly large palace without trying.

Wille couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to stay the Crown Prince?

Well, Simon couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to salvage their relationship.

But he also couldn’t forgive himself if he gave up everything to support Wille, knowing how they both felt about the monarchy.

He stared back across the lake as if the resolution was on the horizon. If he could pinpoint the exact place where the water and sky met, the universe would reveal the answer. His eyes scanned back and forth futilely, but the darkness hid the line and solution.

With a deep exhale, he grabbed his notebook and pushed himself up, turning to begin the long trudge back to Wille.

When Simon entered the palace again, he smiled faintly to himself as he realized his duffle bag had been moved. Wille must have taken it to their room for him. He had pointed it out on the tour earlier that night, so Simon retraced their steps through the maze of rooms until he found the right door.

He stepped into the bedroom silently, unsure if Wille would be asleep and not wanting to disturb him. There was no need, though.

Wille was lying on his side, arms wrapped around himself, on top of the covers in only an oversized t-shirt and boxers. The lights were off in the main room, but left on in the adjoining bathroom, and the small stream it cast illuminated Wille’s face enough for Simon to tell he had been crying; probably as hard as Simon had if his red and puffy eyes were any indicator.

They made eye contact from across the room, each taking in the other’s clear distress in their appearance. Wordlessly, Simon walked to his side of the bed and slowly stripped off his sweater, dropping it to the floor. Still holding Wille’s gaze, he unbuttoned his pants and let them fall until he was matching the other in just their underclothes.

With slow but fluid movements, he crawled onto the bed, as if trying not to spook a frightened animal. He stopped when he got close to his boyfriend, unsure if his touch was wanted.

It was not lost on either of them that they perfectly mirrored another night, one that ended in the most painful goodbye. And now here they were, 16 months later, eyes wide, wet, and wondering if they were doomed to end again.

Simon hesitantly slid his hand across the few inches of mattress that separated them. Wille visibly swallowed as he tracked the movement, but made no move to stop him. Gently, Simon’s fingers wrapped around Wille’s wrist, and he pulled it onto the bed between them, undoing his defensive crossed arms.

He stared at Wille, but Wille stared at Simon’s small hand that was grasping him. Just as he had done so many times before, Simon nudged his fingers until they rested against the inside of Wille’s forearm and tapped him three times. I love you.

Wille inhaled sharply, then everything froze and fell silent for one beat. Simon had just enough time to register the new tears welling up in Wille’s eyes before his boyfriend moved, hands frantically grabbing at Simon’s waist and shoulder, pulling him down.

They both settled on their sides, nose to nose, with their legs intertwining naturally. Wille wrapped him in a tight hug and ran both hands all over Simon’s back, arm, and hip, like he had to keep touching him to prove he was there – that he stayed.

Simon clutched the front of Wille’s shirt with his left hand and snaked the right one under the shirt and around, pulling him closer by his chest and lower back.

Their breaths were heavy, intermingled from open mouths sharing the same space, though they didn’t close the gap. Wille kept moving, his hands never ceasing their devoted tracing of Simon’s body. He tilted forward until their chests were pressed together and they could feel the pounding of the other’s heart as if it was beating inside their own body.

Slowly, Wille turned his face until his nose found Simon’s jawline, and skimmed along it, inhaling deeply as he went. Simon leaned his head back to give Wille more space and squeezed his eyes shut. Just as Wille’s hands kept exploring, he nosed back to Simon’s ear, down his neck, across his throat, up to the other side of his jaw, and ended back against his boyfriend’s cheek.

When Wille restarted the movement, Simon pressed impossibly closer and dug his fingernails into Wille’s chest and lower back. It was driving him wild. The tension between them grew with every pass of a hand and pant of breath until it was a physical weight in the room, held back only by their uncertain future, like neither knew if they were allowed to go there now.

Wildly, Simon thought this was the most intimate moment they had ever shared. They hadn’t even kissed or touched underneath the thin layers separating them, but the way they clung to each other was reverent.

It was everything, but it wasn’t enough to bridge the divide that had formed back in the kitchen.

“Don’t let me go,” he whispered into Wille’s lips.

It was the first words spoken between them in a couple of hours, and it was all it took for the dam to break.

With a groan, Wille tightened his grip on Simon’s upper back and slid his free hand up from his hip until he reached his neck, holding the side and pressing his thumb hard into Simon’s pulse point.

“Simon…” he answered, voice thick.

“Please,” Simon pleaded, “please, don’t let me go.”

Wille shook his head, brushing their noses together.

“Never, älskling.”

Finally, finally, Simon pressed his lips forward, barely having to move before they lightly connected with Wille’s. It wasn’t a full kiss, just a touch of pressure he maintained, signaling to Wille that he wanted it and giving him the control to press back if he did too.

Immediately, Wille kissed him, hard and uninhibited, parting Simon’s lips with his tongue. Simon welcomed him, matching his pressure and tempo.

He would never tire of kissing Wille. He didn’t have much to compare it to, but there was no way other people kissed with the same fervor and dedication – like they could consume the other’s soul through the back of their throat.

Every stroke soothed some of the discontent that had settled in his gut. He wanted to banish that feeling forever. He wanted to be closer.

Simon pulled his hands back and reached for the hem of his t-shirt, but Wille’s hands were already there, and in one swift movement, his boyfriend pulled it up over his head and blindly threw it across the room.

Before Simon could even lower his arms, Wille grabbed the bottom of his own shirt and tore it off, flinging it in the general direction of Simon’s. As soon as his head re-emerged from the fabric, Simon surged up and reconnected their lips, while both of their hands scrambled to claim the newly exposed skin.

They had been careful not to press against each other at their hips before, forcing a little space between only that part of their bodies. Now, Simon untangled their legs and rolled forward, wrapping his top leg around Wille’s upper thigh and aligning them perfectly.

Wille moaned lowly when they touched through their boxers, and it took all of Simon’s willpower to hold still long enough to make sure this was what Wille wanted. Before he could disconnect their lips to ask, Wille ground his hips against him, showing him just how much he wanted it. With a gasp, Simon met his movement, and Wille nipped at his bottom lip now that he had access.

For several minutes, they stayed like that: rocking against each other, kissing deeply, Wille’s hands continuing their journey across Simon’s body. Simon wrapped his arms around him and clawed at his upper back, between his shoulder blades. Wille responded immediately, dragging his hands lower and squeezing Simon’s ass, using the leverage to grind them together harder.

Simon broke their kiss with a whine, kissed down Wille’s jaw and neck, and stopped when he reached the center of his chest. Then he tilted his chin and bit down directly over his heart.

“Fuck…” he heard Wille groan above him.

He turned his head, resting his cheek on the imprint of his teeth on Wille’s bare chest, and felt his pulse racing against it.

“Wille,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

Large hands clasped his jaw as Wille hauled him back up into his space so their foreheads rested against each other.

“I need you,” Simon panted into his mouth.

“You have me,” Wille replied between heavy breaths. “I’m yours.”

“No, I need-“

“I know. I’ve got you.”

With that, Wille kissed him once more on the mouth, then on the forehead, as he pulled back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and walked a few steps to his suitcase, perched on top of a bench under a large window. Simon smiled softly when he noticed his own duffle sitting next to it.

Wille turned around, a small bottle in his hands, and approached the side of the bed slowly. With the light from the bathroom still creating a soft glow, the conflicting looks of love, arousal, and pain were clear in his eyes.

Simon leaned up on one arm and reached for Wille with his other hand. His boyfriend laced their fingers together in midair and brought them to his lips, turning to kiss the inside of his wrist; the same place Simon had tapped him earlier.

“Do you still want this?” Wille asked softly. “We don’t have to do anything; I’ll hold you all night if you just want to be close.”

He shook his head before the other finished speaking.

“I want you. All of you,” Simon responded, pulling gently until Wille’s knees hit the bed. “Do you want this?”

“I’ll always want this,” Wille said, grasping the back of Simon’s neck and crushing their lips back together.

As their tongues moved against each other again, Simon thought fleetingly that Wille’s reply had more than one meaning.

Wille knelt on the bed, dropping the bottle next to his pillow, and slowly covered Simon’s body as the other melted back against the mattress.

Where their movements had been hurried and hard before, something calmer guided them together now. The franticness was replaced with tenderness; no less possessive, but deeper. A manifestation of love, more vulnerable than any physical act alone could be, baring their hearts to each other – bruised but beating.

They moved slowly, each open-mouthed kiss pressed against a new strip of skin a promise and a prayer. When the last of their clothing hit the floor, a stillness settled between them. An understanding that even at their most vulnerable, care and love always led these moments.

Wille reached for the bottle and flicked the cap open, rubbing the lube between his fingers to coat them and warm it up. Simon watched him with dark eyes, and when his boyfriend dropped the bottle again, Simon rolled onto his side, facing away, and looked back over his shoulder.

“Like this?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Wille replied hoarsely, lying down behind him, his chest to Simon’s back.

He knew what Simon wanted and why he wanted it that way. It wasn’t a position they utilized often, but for tonight, it was exactly what they both needed.

Simon stretched his bottom arm up towards the headboard, and Wille snaked his own between the top of it and Simon’s neck. Simon lay his head down on Wille’s bicep, and Wille bent his elbow, bringing his hand to Simon’s chest and pressing against it.

Wille pushed Simon’s legs apart gently with his foot, entwining one of Simon’s ankles between his. Simon raised his top leg and hooked his ankle behind Wille’s knee, opening himself to him.

Slowly, Wille reached down and pressed his slick fingers against his boyfriend, causing him to arch back with a sharp inhale. He took his time, gently moving one finger in and out while coaxing his favorite sounds from Simon.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, peppering kisses across the back of Simon’s shoulder and neck.

By the time two more fingers had joined the first, Simon was writhing and pleading.

“Please, Wille,” he gasped, “I’m ready.”

Wille lined himself up and slid in with painstaking care, one hand squeezing Simon’s hip and the other still resting over his heart. When he was almost fully inside, Simon rocked back, taking him the rest of the way. They moaned and breathed together, adjusting to the deep connection.

After a few slow exhales, Simon began circling his hips.

For all the nonverbal cues Wille routinely missed, reading Simon during sex was never an issue. They just clicked, understanding each other and adjusting before the other had to say anything.

With controlled movements, Wille pulled out almost all the way and held himself there. Dazed, it took Simon a second to respond, but when his brain caught up, he looked back over his shoulder into Wille’s eyes and nodded.

Wille’s hips immediately snapped forward, jostling Simon a little as he cried out. Simon’s free hand joined Wille’s on his chest, their fingers lacing together. Wille ran his other hand from Simon’s hip forward, fingers digging between his waist and the mattress, until he had Simon’s whole body held tightly and pulled back against him as close as he could be. Simon turned his head and buried his nose in the bed, and Wille buried his in Simon’s neck.

He kept a steady rhythm, fucking into Simon slowly and deeply while he was wrapped in his arms. Simon pushed his hips back, meeting him with every thrust, a litany of praise and whines falling from his lips. Wille keened with every sound, hitting that spot in Simon harder the more his boyfriend encouraged him.

The tension and heat grew low in Simon’s stomach until he was overcome with a desperate need to see Wille. Twisting just his upper body, Simon untangled his hand from Wille’s and wrapped it around the opposite side of his head, threading his fingers into his hair and tugging.

Wille groaned, never ceasing his movement, but raised his head and looked down at Simon. And god, he was beautiful; eyes half lidded, a sheen of sweat across his brown skin, lips parted around a moan.

Simon pulled Wille down, connecting their lips in a messy kiss. The angle was a little off, given Simon’s neck was turned over his shoulder, but they licked into each other’s mouths all the same.

After a moment, they pulled back, just breathing the same air as Wille slid in and out relentlessly.

 “I love you,” Simon panted. “I love you so much,” his voice cracked on the last word.

With a whine, Wille bent down and kissed him quickly.

“I love you, älskling,” he whispered back. “More than anything.”

Simon nodded jerkily, momentarily horrified when he realized he was about to cry. Wille leaned down and rested their foreheads together, and a second later, Simon felt the first tear drop onto his cheek.

Neither of them had ever cried during sex. There had been several emotional times, more than one ‘I love you’ said in the throes of passion, but never such overwhelming feelings that they both teared up.

With two kisses to each of his cheeks, Wille raised his head again and latched onto Simon’s throat. Simon moaned, the pleasure so overwhelming, and tightened his grip in Wille’s hair.

Minutes passed, silent tears running out of both of their eyes, simply caving to the onslaught of emotions they experienced in the past few hours, while they moved together, chasing release.

Simon tugged on his hair until their eyes met again, and with a broken “Wille,” uttered into the space between their lips, Simon came, as Wille held him through it.

A minute later, eyes hazy and bones heavy, Simon held Wille’s gaze and smiled softly at him.

“Let go for me,” he commanded, voice barely audible.

Wille buried his face in the crook of Simon’s neck, thrusted hard two more times, and obeyed, chanting Simon’s name into his skin.

They lay there, touching from head to toe, as they breathed and came down. Gently, Wille slipped out, earning a slight wince from Simon.

When Wille sat up, Simon shot his hand out, grasping the other’s wrist.

“Don’t go,” he sighed.

Wille leaned down and kissed his forehead, both eyelids, then his lips.

“I just didn’t want you to get cold,” he said, smile evident in his voice.

He reached for the thick duvet that had been kicked to the bottom of the bed and pulled it up. He settled back behind Simon, scooting back a little to avoid the wet spots, and pulled him back to his chest once more, then wrapped the bedspread over them.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to the back of Simon’s shoulder.

“Yeah, we will,” Simon agreed with a yawn.

And there, naked bodies entwined, protected from the rest of the world by a warm blanket and each other’s arms, they finally rested - at peace.

Simon woke from a deep and dreamless sleep to heated, sticky skin and realized with a lazy smile that not all of it was his. Wille was glued to his back, their legs were stuck together where they overlapped, and the lines across his chest where Wille’s arms still encased him were damp. His smile deepened when he remembered that more than just sweat covered their bodies.

It was disgusting. It was the best he had felt in weeks.

The joy faded as more of the previous night came back to him. Their emotions boiling over in the kitchen. Him on the dock as the heartbreak brought him to his knees. The look in Wille’s eyes as he slowly undressed and crawled onto the bed. Their bodies crashing together in desperation.

They would both bear the marks of their intense reunion, but only he could feel the throb in the deepest parts of him as a reminder that Wille had been there. That he had promised he was Simon’s and would never let him go while buried inside.

All at once, the marks weren’t enough. He was sure that if he turned around, he would see small bruises in an oval on Wille’s left pec, proof that Simon bit down there when the pleasure of them moving together almost overwhelmed him.

But would Wille still feel him the way Simon could?

He wanted him too. He wanted him to ache. He wanted Wille to carry part of him every second of every day, unfading and forever feeling.

Anyone could theoretically mark Wille - if they managed to get past both him and Malin.

Maddie had once accidentally scratched him when trying to paint his toenails, and they realized how ticklish he was. Ayub gave him a bruise on his upper arm when he threw a game controller at him under the assumption he possessed hand-eye coordination.

Even his cheek carried a permanent scar from a random person, a stranger, despite it being the result of violence and not camaraderie.

Likewise, Simon had all sorts of physical reminders of others throughout his life. Some were happy, like the tiny line on his palm from when he, Rosh, and Ayub swore a blood oath of friendship as dramatic pre-teens. Some weren’t, like the scar near his mouth that he tried to forget being given but was reminded of every time he heard glass break.

But Simon had never felt someone the way he felt Wille. And it wasn’t purely a sex thing, though he definitely felt that with every slight movement, or because he had never done that with another person.

It was deeper, a more emotional ache that accompanied the physical one. Wille was imprinted in him - had braided himself around his bones. Simon would never stop feeling Wille, because he was now a part of his very being.

But was he as much a part of Wille? When the scratches and bruises faded, did any of him stay? He worried that just because his marks were earned between gasping breaths and grinding bodies, they weren’t all that different from the more innocent ones that had been scattered across Wille’s body by others.

Did he feel him long after their physical connection ended? Did part of Simon seep through the bite marks and press against his chest from the inside with every exhale? Was he a little unhinged for hoping for it? Was absolutely anything about that feeling normal in an 18-year-old relationship?

“It’s too early to be thinking so hard,” Wille murmured into his neck.

He raised their entwined hands and kissed Wille’s palm.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he whispered back.

“I’m always up before you. It’s my favorite time of day.”

Simon inhaled deeply.

“Though normally you’re relaxed and soft, not all tight like you-“

“I doubt I’m tight right now, Wille.”

“Urghhh” Wille groaned, thunking his forehead into Simon’s shoulder while his boyfriend shook with laughter. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me,” Simon retorted.

Wille paused for a beat too long, and suddenly the illusion was shattered.

“I do,” he finally answered, voice thick with emotion.

Simon tightened his grip on Wille’s hands and pulled them back to his chest, simultaneously pressing back into Wille. He couldn’t handle distance on multiple fronts today.

“Shower first, älskling,” Wille said softly, “then breakfast. We can talk after that, yeah?”

They showered together slowly, neither wanting to rush the gentle moments. Wille washed Simon’s hair, then Simon washed his, and they clung to each other while the water washed away the soap and reminders of their night together.

Thirty minutes later, they had dressed and assembled a simple breakfast, some toast, eggs, fruit, and coffee, and settled at the small kitchen table. They hadn’t stopped touching since the shower, both needing at least one point of contact to remain calm as the tension built back up between them. As soon as they slid into their chairs, they scooted them closer until their thighs pressed together.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Simon spoke.

“I, uh, I’m really sorry I brought up the after the video stuff last night,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay-“

“No, mi amor, it wasn’t okay,” Simon sighed. “I was hurt and freaking out, but that wasn’t a good reason to throw that in your face.”

“Well,” Wille gulped, “if it’s still bothering you, then we should talk about it.”

“But it’s not!” Simon said, reaching out and holding Wille’s hands. “I forgave you, and I don’t hold it against you, so it was unfair of me to say that in anger.”

“Okay,” Wille said, looking down at their hands.

“Was that there last night?” Simon questioned, pointing to a large blue binder in the center of the table, desperate to change topics.

“No, I went and got it from my bag in case you came back to talk last night,” Wille replied, hesitantly.

Simon hummed. ‘Well, what is it?”

“We should finish eating…” Wille started.

Okay, so it was time to do this. Simon pushed his plate away, then raised his coffee mug to his lips before pausing and putting it back on the table.

“I can’t eat anymore,” he confessed. “And coffee was probably a bad idea.”

Wille nodded and pushed his own plate away, half-eaten like Simon’s. Truthfully, he had forced the bites down around his nausea and was relieved he could drop the charade. Hopefully, he would be able to stomach a full meal at some point, but it entirely depended on his anxiety and the impending conversation.

Standing, Wille stacked the plates and took the two mug handles in one hand, then walked to the sink and set the dishes in it. He grabbed two glasses and poured water into them, then walked back to the table and placed the cups on it. He leaned over, grabbed the binder, and sat back down, angling his chair to look at Simon more directly, and finally laid the binder on the table between them.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he began.

“This is a plan for my future, for our future if you’ll agree to it. It’s a rough draft for the next 10 years, but it’s legally sound so far; though I would want your input to finish it or change anything to make you more comfortable with it.”

Simon stared at him with wide eyes.

“And if I don’t agree to it?” He asked, barely audible.

“What do you mean?”

“You said it’s our future if I agree to it. What if I don’t?”

“Then it’s over-“

Simon made a choking noise, and Wille reached out immediately and held his jaw with both hands, stroking his thumbs across Simon’s reddened cheeks.

“Then the plan is over, älskling,” he soothed. “I told you, I’m not losing you again. I’m not letting you go.”

He blinked at his boyfriend several times, processing the words. He tried to think of what to say to that, but before he could, Wille continued.

“Though this is very important to me, and you’ll see I’ve put a lot of thought and research into it. All I ask is that you let me explain everything before you make up your mind. And, please, just remember why I’m doing this, and that I’m willing to walk away from it if you say no.”

Simon considered him for a moment, the determination in his eyes, but the loving way he still cradled his face. He grasped Wille’s hands and placed them in his lap, then looked up at him again.

“And if I say yes? What’s the point of this plan?”

Wille smirked at him, eyes lighting up brightly.

“Simon Eriksson,” he said conspiratorially, “I’m asking you to help me end the Swedish monarchy.”

“YOU’RE WHAT?” Simon shouted, leaning back and raising his hands.

“I’m asking you-“

“No, I heard you the first time!”

“Then what-“

“What the FUCK, Wille?”

Wille put his elbows on the table and leaned his head onto his hands. He had no right looking as innocent and cute as he did.

“I kinda thought you’d be really into this idea once the initial shock wore off,” he said, tilting his head to the side.

Simon gaped at him.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I mean, not like really into it…but intrigued at least…”

“No, Wille, are you serious?” Simon implored. “You want to end the monarchy?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m serious.”

“Oh, don’t you dare try to turn this into foreplay, you asshole,” Simon laughed, swatting at Wille’s elbows until his head slid off his hands.

Wille grinned at him.

“No? Not the right tactic?”

Simon rolled his eyes dramatically. Despite the bombshell his boyfriend just dropped, this conversation was going infinitely better than he thought it would, though the peace felt fragile.

“Basically,” Wille tried again, “whenever I step down, it’s highly likely the Riksdag will dissolve the monarchy and oversee the division of our funds, properties, and duties. So, I made a plan to ensure that happens, and that the right people are in power when it does.”

“And that’s what’s in the thesis you apparently prepared?” Simon said, gesturing to the binder.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” Wille admitted, flipping the cover open to a blank page. “Uncle Albert and Farima did a whole lot.”

Simon’s eyes went wide with shock, and his mouth dropped open.

“They know?” He whispered, then cleared his throat. “They helped you?”

Wille nodded, smiling softly.

“Yeah, Uncle Albert helped me figure out my priorities, and convinced me I would need a solid plan to pull it off, and that would require lots of assistance.”

“What made you decide to tell him? I mean, last I knew, you weren’t even telling him you wanted to abdicate…much less take the whole court down with you,” Simon asked incredulously.

Wille reached out and laced their fingers together on top of the table, rubbing his thumb over the top of Simon’s right hand.

“He told me about his partner,” Wille said softly, “And all the years they lost together because they tried to live separately, to appease other people, even though they both knew they belonged together.”

Simon’s eyes filled with tears at the care in Wille’s voice as he spoke. When he finished, Simon nodded for him to go on.

“His name was Ian,” Wille said, beaming.

Simon sniffled loudly and nodded again, not surprised by the information but overwhelmed by the emotion behind it.

“They were together during university, then apart for 20 years, and had 30 years together once they found their way back to each other.”

“How long ago did he die?” Simon asked gently.

Wille raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know he died?”

“Because there’s no way they left each other voluntarily again, not after two decades apart.”

“Seven years ago,” Wille replied, reaching out to wipe a tear off Simon’s cheek. “After Uncle Albert told me their story, he asked me what I wanted, and what I was willing to lose to get it.”

Simon swallowed around the lump that had risen in his throat.

“This is what I want,” he said, tapping the binder, “but not as much as this,” he moved his fingers to press over Simon’s heart. “This is what I’m not willing to lose.”

Simon looked down at Wille’s fingers, now curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and exhaled shakily.

“You’re talking about a modern-day revolution,” he murmured, still looking down. “How can you be willing to give that up…just for me?”

“Simon,” Wille sighed, lifting his fingers and raising his boyfriend’s chin until they made eye contact again. “You carved yourself into my heart the day I laid eyes on you. I don’t know what else life has in store for me, but I know that I don’t want it without you.”

He closed his eyes while Wille spoke, and felt the tears running down his cheeks, faster with every word.

“I’m afraid there’s no getting rid of me now,” Wille whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re in each other, älskling.”

“Why couldn’t you say all this before I froze my ass off on the dock last night?” Simon laughed wetly. “I thought we were over.”

“That’s up to you,” Wille responded simply. “I don’t want you to feel forced into anything. I just didn’t start explaining it from the right place, I guess.”

Simon pulled back and rubbed at his eyes.

“Okay, tell me your insane plan, then,” he said, laughing again in disbelief.

“Well,” Wille said, flipping to a cover page. Simon saw words printed in black ink on it and leaned up to read them.

Wille + Simon:

An Actual Revolution

Simon stared at the words, then burst out laughing.

“You did NOT name it that,” he cackled.

“Okay,” Wille said indignantly, “You’re the one who called us a revolution in my song! I just ran with the idea…”

“Fine, that’s kinda cute,” Simon conceded.

The actual plan was far more than cute. It was detailed and lengthy. Wille talked for nearly an hour, Simon only interrupting to ask for clarification on specific points or to make a note of something he wanted to discuss further later.

Wille had color-coded everything, and dividers separated each part. It started with a table of contents and ended with fill-in-the-blank dummy contracts for him and Simon to agree on and sign, a symbolic gesture to show Simon he had no intention of blindsiding him down the line if he agreed now.

He started with research to support his stance on ending the monarchy. It included both global and national polls regarding royalty, decades of tax documents and budgets, and a full history of harm the Swedish monarchy had caused its own citizens.

Next was legal precedents, which Simon was shocked to learn Mr. Lindegren had helped provide, but Wille was serious when he said the plan would take help from all his advisors to pull off.

The first half Wille flipped through quickly and contained global cases of other constitutional monarchies and other modern dissolutions: including the seven European nations that transferred political power following WWII, the Nepalese republic that formed in 2008, and failed republic referendum votes in countries like Austria. The whole thing made Simon’s head spin.

The second half, which Wille said was more relevant, included the Swedish constitution, political fundraising laws passed by the Riksdag, the current documents of abdication, and a full legal review of when Sweden transitioned from an absolute monarchy to a constitutional monarchy.

Following that were political reports the court had already prepared on the current political climate in Sweden, additional reports from Farima with projections and tentative plans for the next four years, and all the polling data from the three most recent elections.

The most exciting thing for both of them was the initial plan to return the properties and funds the monarchy currently controlled to the people. Wille had several exciting ideas, such as donating the various palaces to charities for housing and allocating the royal family's and court's yearly salaries to the most underserved areas.

Simon couldn’t help but smile proudly while Wille excitedly talked about his ideas. And, Wille reminded him, they had years to workshop that part of the plan to do the most good. Despite the shock and fear of the day, Simon’s heart soared.

Last was a timeline, and seeing it laid out in black and white brought Simon crashing back down to reality. Wille had a 10-year plan for them. And it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“Walk me through it,” Simon said, running his finger over the list of dates on the page.

“Our initial plans don’t change,” Wille started, “That is crucial to me.”

Simon nodded along, still trying to process everything.

“We finish this school year and graduate in June. We go to university abroad as we’ve talked about, and we have our four years together, having as normal a college experience as we can. I said I’m not taking on duties until after school, and I mean it.”

“Okay,” Simon breathed. “What happens while we’re gone?”

“There’s an election in 2026, it would be the fall of our final year of uni. Until then, we use what resources I have to oppose the Swedish Democrats and support the left-wing, but also just more social causes in general. We start laying the groundwork for becoming a republic. And we throw out the rulebook that says members of the royal family shouldn't take political stances. I start influencing what I can, how I can, but subtly.”

Simon looked up at his boyfriend for the first time in several minutes, eyes still wide and unsure.

“And what happens when we graduate college and come back to Sweden?”

Wille breathed deeply, chest rising and falling dramatically.

“Then, we have to make a few sacrifices,” he sighed. “I’ll have to work as a royal, but I’ll do everything in my power to give you the normal life and privacy you want. But behind the scenes, we work nonstop to get a referendum on the 2030 ballot and ensure it passes. Also, that the right people win the 2030 election, because we’ll have to work closely with them to dissolve everything. If it all goes well, we will transition all power and officially abolish the monarchy a year later.”

They sat in silence for a minute, Wille watching Simon closely for any indication of how he felt about all of this.

“The timeline goes through 2032. What do we do in that last year?”

“That’s just for us to fuck off to wherever we can’t be reached and not be bothered for an entire year. I think we’ll have earned it after all the work of the three years before, don’t you?” Wille said with a smirk.

“This is insane,” Simon groaned, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“I know it’s a lot, which is why I want you to really think about it before we agree on anything,” Wille said, gently pulling Simon’s hands down and holding them between his own. “I want you to ask all the questions, make suggestions, give me your hard nos, everything you can think of.”

“I’m just worried. You’ll have to do a job you hate for at least three years.”

“It will be a sacrifice, like I said,” Wille replied. “But I’d rather be in control of my destiny, I guess? Like create the ideal circumstance and be the one to end it the right way, with full transparency and cooperation from parliament.”

Simon straightened in his chair suddenly and blinked several times.

“You don’t just mean you’ll have to work as a royal. You mean you’ll have to be king, don’t you?”

Wille not saying no immediately was enough of an answer.

“Yeah, älskling, I’ll have to be coronated to pull this off,” Wille finally said softly.

“Why?” Simon whispered back, panic growing under his skin again.

Wille sighed and ran his hand through his hair, clearly feeling energy shift too.

“Both Farima and Mr. Lindegren insist it’s the only way to do this. First, the public will expect it after putting it off for so long. Second, I’ll need the full power and control of the court to work to end it.”

“And,” Wille paused to exhale slowly, “While everything will be done legally, if any person or political party wanted to investigate the money trail or try to charge me with anything as retaliation, I’ll only be protected from legal action if I’m the reigning monarch.”

“Somehow that’s the part that makes the most sense, and I can blindly support in all of this,” Simon huffed.

“Well, that’s progress,” Wille joked.

“You could be the last King of Sweden,” Simon said in disbelief, staring blankly into space.

“I would be the last King of Sweden,” Wille replied.

They spent the rest of the day poring over the binder, adding sticky notes to every page with suggestions or questions, and typing up a list of non-negotiables for them to enact it together. There were also long stretches of quiet, Simon taking it all in still, and needing the mental break to process.

The biggest question left was: what happens if the left wing doesn’t win the election in 2030? What happens if they can’t get the referendum on the ballot, or if it fails?

Easy, according to Wille. Same plan as if Simon shot down this initial one – they walk away. They give it an honest try, to the best of their ability, and if what they want isn’t the will of the people, then they wash their hands of it, knowing they did everything they could, and continue on with their lives privately.

It was harder for Simon to accept that answer.

Hours later, they had finally settled down after making dinner and cleaning the kitchen. They hadn’t talked about it since before they started cooking, needing a pause in the heavy conversation.

Now, they were in the residential living room, on the couch in front of the fireplace. Wille was on his back, stretched across the cushions, and Simon was curled into his side. Their legs were tangled, and Simon had his head on Wille’s chest, tilted up so his nose pressed into his boyfriend’s throat. Wille’s arms were wrapped around him tightly, and he occasionally raised one hand to scratch Simon’s scalp lightly.

The lights were off, the warm glow in the room coming only from the fire blazing softly in the hearth. Wille’s eyes were closed, though he was awake, and Simon watched the flames flicker while he turned over everything they had discussed today.

Because Simon was once again thinking about home, and what he was willing to sacrifice for it.

Home was a difficult concept for him at the moment. It had recently let him down and hurt him in ways he didn’t think possible when it embraced hatred and bigotry.

But maybe home could be better. Maybe with the right push, home could be a place that instead embraced the people who made it unique and diverse.

Maybe home could be a place free from the constraints of oppressive systems, and maybe Wille could be freed once and for all from them, too.

Or maybe, Simon thought, home was someone else’s collarbone; and as he snuggled against Wille again, pressing his cheek into him harder, Simon knew he was home.