Defying the Crown

C.G. Macington

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Defying the Crown

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

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Further Reading: Elemental: Forgotten Heritage

Also By C.G. Macington

Act I

Daniel

“Daniel are you still with me?” my therapist Michael asks, glancing at me from across his notebook.

My eyes jerk up to meet his, realizing that he’s caught me drifting away again. I’ve been staring at the abstract painting on the wall behind him, losing myself in the swirls of color and my thoughts.

“Yes, sorry. I’m listening.”

“I don’t think you were,” he says with a frown. “If you aren’t going to take these sessions seriously, why are you even bothering to come here?”

I hesitate, scrambling to find an answer that will appease him. “It’s not that I don’t care. I just sometimes zone out and get lost in my head.”

He pauses for a moment, considering my words. “And what gets you lost in there?”

His question is simple, but the answer isn’t. I could tell him about the constant loop of failures playing in my mind. I could tell him about the loneliness that clings to me like a second skin. I could tell him about the voice that whispers I’m not good enough, that I’m unlovable, that I’m a burden. But instead, I hold that back because I don’t think I want to give a voice to those feelings. That would make them real, and then I would have to deal with them.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about work, and my boss. She has been on my case lately, and it has been stressing me out a bit.”

It’s not a lie, really. Cassandra has been riding me hard ever since I came back from my medical leave last year. She’s always on my back, nitpicking every little thing I do. I can feel my mind starting to spiral just thinking about her, about the leave, about why I needed it in the first place. I yank myself back from that dark path before I go too far down it.

“Well, all in all, I would say that’s a normal thing to be worried about,” Michael says, his calmly reassuring English accent grounding me. “You don’t need to stress yourself out over these things, I’m sure you’re excellent at your job.”

I smile back hollowly, going along with him and nodding my head. I know I’m not excellent at my job. I’m barely holding on, just going through the motions. But I don’t tell him that.

“Have you given any thought to what we discussed our last session? I think that you could benefit from being able to discuss your feelings with someone other than me,” he says, changing the subject.

“Yeah, I have been thinking about it. I don’t know that I feel comfortable talking to strangers online about my life, and what happened.” Talking about what happened last year makes me feel timid and small, and you can hear it in my voice.

Michael sighs, leaning forward with a kind expression. “Daniel, we’ve been seeing each other for over a year now. In that time, I’ve seen you make great strides. Yet, you’re stuck on this until you’ve fully processed it. You can’t move on until you let yourself feel everything your mind wants you to feel. Maybe this website can do that for you; what’s the harm in trying?”

“I’ll think about it,” I reply noncommittally.

“Please do,” he says, glancing at the clock. “Ah, well would you look at that, I think our time is up for today.” Michael rises from his seat and leads me to the door of his small office. “Try to work on some of the exercises we discussed, and I will see you the same time next week. Alright?”

“Definitely, see you next time.”

Stepping out into the rain and heading towards the nearest subway station, I glance around the busy streets of New York City. People are huddled under umbrellas, rushing to get out of the downpour. I left mine at home, so I’m soaked within minutes. The rain is cold, but it feels almost refreshing, like it’s washing away the heaviness of the therapy session.

Descending into the subway station, I wait for the train to arrive at the platform. The sign says it will be here in 3 minutes, but I know better than to trust that. Finally, after what feels like forever, the tired train pulls up and I grab a seat before it’s taken. My mind already drifts off, even as I vaguely hear the garbled announcement of the train’s destination over the ancient crackling speakers.

As much as I hate to say it, Michael’s not wrong. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut, and every time I think about what I did I spiral and get locked up in those emotions. I haven’t processed it, more just avoided it as much as possible. Apart from my job, I don’t have a lot of people in my life. Growing up as a foster kid, bouncing from home to home didn’t do me any favors when it came to having a family to turn to for support.

The only people I really have are my best friend Jayda and her long-term boyfriend Caleb. Coincidentally, they are also my roommates in our cramped 2-bedroom apartment. Life isn’t cheap in New York, but we’ve made the best of it and made it affordable by splitting the rent three ways. They have both been there for me over the years, ever since we met each other at the coffee shop job I had after I aged out of the system.

I’m distracted from my thoughts as I hear the announcement for my stop and quickly get up and move toward the door. The train stops and a rush of people flood out of it, carrying me along with them. I weave through the crowd, finding my way out of the station and into the lobby and creaky elevator of my shabby apartment building.

The old brick building is as run down as it can be without being condemned by the city, and it probably has more rats living in it than people on any given day. But, when the only other option is being homeless, it’s still better than that.

Slotting the key into my apartment’s door and opening it, I’m assaulted by the sound of angry punk music blasting from the kitchen. The kitchen looks like a bomb has gone off, which means that Jayda is baking. She’s in her usual goth outfit, looking as fierce as ever, while also being covered head to toe in flour. She sees me and smiles.

“Daniel, you’re home!” she cries gleefully. “Come help me make cookies, Caleb refuses to be my assistant.”

“It’s not that I refuse to be your assistant, it’s just that I have more self-preservation skills than you, and don’t want to inhale all the flour into my lungs. If Daniel is smart, he will do the same,” Caleb pipes up from the nearby couch. He greets me with a nod, before turning back to the book he has in his hands.

Where Jayda looks like she just came from a punk concert, Caleb is the opposite. If you were to look up hipster in the dictionary, I’m sure you’d find a picture of him as the definition. He’s tall and slim, with a small goatee, black plastic-rimmed glasses, and an ever-present beanie on his head. They make an odd couple, but somehow it just works for them.

“I’d be very careful what you say, or there won’t be any cookies for you,” Jayda says ominously, before turning back to me with bright eyes. “Please Daniel!”

I cave, tossing my wet jacket off to the side and joining her in the kitchen. Jayda is a force of nature, and there really is no opposition to her when she wants something.

She hums to herself happily, measuring the ingredients as I obediently follow her directions and mix them together. As we bake together, she chats about her day and all the little things in her life that she wants to share. Contrary to her appearance, Jayda is probably the sweetest and most bubbly person you could ever meet. She’s also crazy protective of those she loves, which luckily enough includes me.

“So, how did your therapist session go?” she asks, glancing up at me innocently.

“It went like I thought it would; like it always does. He asks me questions; I do my best to avoid answering them.” I say with a sigh, eyes resolutely staring down at the mixing bowl and the whisk in my hand.

“Oh honey, you need to be open to the process. I know after last year, and what Alex did, you don’t want to relive it, but you need to go through it.”

Alex. Just hearing his name makes me feel rage and despair all at the same time. He was supposed to be the one, the guy that was going to be my happily forever after. We built a life together, and then all in one swift moment it all came crashing down like a house of cards.

“I don’t really want to talk about him,” I say, hastily trying to change the subject.

“Well too bad, we’re going to,” she insists. “You need to move on from that asshole; I get he broke your heart, but you can’t let him hold this influence over your life forever Daniel. He’s already hurt you enough.”

In my mind, I know she’s right, but my heart still won’t accept it. How do you get over finding the love of your life in your bed with another man?

“Why don’t you try that website your therapist told you about? Maybe you can find someone who gets what you’ve been through. With Alex and...after that,” she says softly.

“Yeah maybe, I dunno. It just feels weird.”

“Seriously Daniel, you need to try to be happy again. You know we are both here for you, but we want our little ray of sunshine back! You can’t keep living like this.”

“You know what, I think I’m feeling pretty tired from today. I’m going to head to bed early.” I say, hastily tossing the whisk back and stepping away towards my room.

“Daniel, please. We just want to help you be happy again; just let us in.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” I say, rushing behind the bedroom door and closing it firmly then dropping to my bed.

I curl into a ball, holding myself tight. Part of me wants to sob, knowing that they’re right. I’m not happy and I haven’t been in a long time. Another part of me is angry at myself for being weak and showing them that I couldn’t take care of myself.

There is also that quiet voice inside my head telling me that I’m not worth it, and why do I keep trying when it would be so much easier to just give up. That voice comes and goes, and when I let it control my actions bad things happen. Last year was horrible, and the voice was fully in charge then.

I sit up, forcing myself to stop dwelling on it and ignore the voice. I grab my laptop and bring up the website they all want me to sign up for, www.mindsupport.com. The homepage has flashy graphics and talks about being there to support one another with mental health, so basically the same corny lines that the therapist throws out each session. At this point, I already know this site is a waste of time. I might as well just sign up so I can tell them all I did it and get them off my back.

I make an account with the username mindovermatter and start navigating the site. There’s a forum where people post their stories, and there’s the typical tragic stories like “help me, I’m so stressed, I have exams, I’m broke, I don’t know what to do”. None of these people know what it’s actually like to have issues and not know where to turn or what to do. They don’t know the real feeling of helplessness and impotence when you feel trapped.

I bring up the create a post tool and write up a little about me blurb and my story. I might as well put something on here, otherwise Michael might call my bluff about signing up. Quickly writing it up I hit send, then slap my laptop shut.

I can feel the siren call of my bed and after today I need the sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

---

New Post by Mindovermatter:

19Sep2024 21:42

Hi,

I don’t even really know what to say here, so I guess I’ll just start by telling you about myself and my story. I’m an American and live in New York City. I’m twenty-four years old, a guy, gay, and latino. I wouldn’t say I’m hot stuff, but I also don’t think I’m bad looking either. I’m about 5’10”, 160 pounds, and very little to no muscles to show for those 160 pounds. I also suffer with depression, and because of this my therapist suggested I come here.

I grew up in the foster system, and being a gay kid in the foster system didn’t do me any favors. Most families didn’t want me, and I was bullied at every school I went to. I bounced from foster home to foster home until I aged out of the system, and then didn’t have a home. Luckily, I met some friends who helped me find a place, a minimum wage job, and took care of me. For the first time in my life, I felt appreciated and worth something.

With their support, I was able to get a better job. I started taking care of myself, doing the things I liked doing, and eventually I even thought I found love. I met this guy named Alex, and I thought he was perfect. He was quiet and calm, yet passionate and ferocious all at the same time. He had this way of building you up and making you feel like you were the most important thing in his life. He made me feel like I was special and loved and, at least for a while, I felt like I was worth something and that life was worth living.

That’s when things came crashing down, and I realized that I’d been living a lie. I came home after a year of us dating to find Alex in my bed with another guy. Some random he found off Grindr apparently, not that I really wanted to know that. He broke my heart and then left me. I discovered after the fact that he had been seeing guys behind my back for the entirety of our relationship. I guess I was his running joke, and he laughed about it with his friends. At least, that’s what one of his friends drunkenly texted me after he left.

I went from feeling like I was the center of his life and valued, to realizing that I was nothing more than a booty call and a joke. Everything that made me feel valued and like life was worth living was taken away from me, and I spiraled into a deep depression.

Suffice it to say that this didn’t go anywhere good, and I became a little too familiar with a sharp knife. After that I spent 6 weeks being looked after by doctors in white lab coats, before being deemed healthy enough to return to the real world.

And that leads us back to here, with me posting on this site. Now you know my story!

Harald

I sit silently, observing the conversation between my father and Prime Minister Carl Hansen. The man's voice is grating as he drones on about economic turbulence and recessions, his nervous energy palpable. I can see the sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his fingers fidget with the papers in front of him. It's a stark contrast to my father's stern, unmoving figure.

“Your Majesty, as you can see from these projections, the country is set to go into a recession if we do not act decisively to address this economic turbulence in the markets,” Hansen says, adjusting his round-framed glasses as he looks toward my father, King Magnus.

I glance up at my father, his weathered face a mask of indifference. Even with his stoic demeanor, I can tell he's as disinterested in this conversation as I am. These meetings with the Prime Minister are little more than a formality, a routine that seems pointless given our role as figureheads in this constitutional monarchy. Yet, here we are, listening to Hansen prattle on about issues he should be handling himself.

“Carl, you know as well as I do that I cannot provide you guidance on how to resolve this matter,” my father says, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

“Your Majesty, I understand your position, yet I felt I should still speak with you about this,” Hansen replies, his gaze flicking nervously between my father and me.

Hansen is a short man, his suit straining against his frame, the thinning hair on his head doing little to conceal the sweat beading on his scalp. He was elected as the best of the worst options, and it shows. He's indecisive, his mannerisms reflecting his uncertainty. It's a stark contrast to my father's resolute demeanor, his clear stances, and sparing words.

“I have every expectation that you and your government will handle this crisis with ease. You have my utmost confidence,” my father says, signaling the end of the discussion. “Now if you don’t mind, my son and I need to depart. We have a prior engagement at a charitable event and it wouldn’t be polite to be late.”

As we stand, Hansen quickly shakes my father's hand, then turns to me. I rush to my feet, extending my hand. His handshake is as weak as his leadership, his palm damp with nervous perspiration. I can't help but grimace, pulling my hand away as quickly as politely possible.

"I strongly suspect that man will not be Prime Minister for much longer," my father says, turning toward me as we walk through the marble-lined halls of Amalienborg Palace, his footsteps echoing authoritatively with each step.

"He does seem to be lacking, not that there is anything we can do about it," I agree, carefully measuring my words. Part of being modern royalty is having the lesson beaten into you that you cannot interfere with politics or have an opinion, but at the same time it's not hard to see the man is not suited for the role. Hansen's nervous energy and constant need for guidance make that painfully obvious.

"Hmm, no we cannot. Regardless, we have other matters to attend to where we can affect change. Have you prepared your speech for tonight's fundraiser?" His stern gaze fixes on me, searching for any sign of weakness or unpreparedness.

I nod, keeping my face carefully neutral. It's often better to say the bare minimum around my father, or it gives him ammunition to use against you later. I've learned this lesson the hard way over the years.

"Good, see to it that you impress them. You're my heir, and you need to make a suitable impression on them." My father is all business as usual, and doesn't mince his words. His tone carries that familiar undercurrent of disappointment that I've grown accustomed to.

Having given his orders, he walks away leaving me alone momentarily, his perfectly polished shoes clicking against the floor. That's quite typical for him, it's always all about the family business and personal relationships come second. My father has always treated myself and my sister like we were his employees, more than his children. Nordic men are also not known to be the most emotional at the best of times, stoic and all that. At least, that's what he told me growing up every time I showed my emotions in public and received a scolding for it. The memory of those harsh reprimands still makes me wince.

The family business really is just showing up to charitable fundraisers, saying a few nice words, then sitting there while random strangers fawn over you. My father has done it all his life, and now I am expected to do the same, another link in the chain of royal obligation.

"Are you alright, your Royal Highness?" my private secretary, Erik, asks briefly looking up from his desk as I enter my residence area of the palace. His concerned expression tells me he's noticed my troubled mood.

"I'm fine, thank you. How much time do we have before this horrible event tonight?"

"By horrible event, I assume you are referring to the fundraiser to save the Black-Browed Albatross?" Erik's pen taps against his notebook as he speaks.

"Yes, that one. What other event could I possibly be referring to?"

"Well I can never be quite sure, your flair for the dramatic makes it difficult to anticipate what you've signed up for today," Erik replied, his usual tone snarky as ever. "The event is in an hour. We should probably get you ready for it; wouldn't want the Prince to be late as the guest of honor. What ever would your father think?"

Erik has been my private secretary for as long as I can remember, even growing up as a child he was a fixture in the palace as his father served my father and we were childhood friends. He was officially assigned to me when I was sixteen years old and began making public appearances, and since then he has been the only person I can rely on and turn to for guidance. He knows me better than anyone, and he knows all the skeletons in my closet as well. Sometimes I wonder if he knows me better than I know myself.

Erik quickly provides the formal attire I'll be wearing for the evening - a perfectly tailored black suit with all the appropriate medals and ribbons - and excuses himself while I get changed. Once I've made myself presentable, and Erik has checked me over and made his necessary corrections to my appearance with practiced efficiency, I emerge and head out from the palace into my private vehicle with my driver, Sven, waiting.

"Your Royal Highness, always a pleasure. How are we doing today?" Sven asks, jovial as always, his familiar smile visible in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm being carted off to yet another event where I have to pretend to be happy and interested in a cause for which I know nothing about. There I'll have to deal with the random well-wishers who want to be seen with the Crown Prince, who will promptly turn around after greeting me and gossip about me. So great, just peachy you could say." I sink into the leather seat, already exhausted.

"So it's just another Friday then?" Sven says, cackling from the driver's seat, his laughter filling the car's interior.

I sigh to myself, rubbing my temples to relieve the headache I can feel building behind my eyes. I can already tell it's going to be a long night, filled with fake smiles and even faker conversations.

* * *

I politely laugh along as the elderly woman regales me with her tale about wine, pretending to be amused by her not-so-subtle bragging about being able to afford thousand-dollar bottles. She's the widow of some oil magnate, and the charity organizers clearly invited her hoping she'll write a substantial cheque. She's just one of many similar guests; looking around the room, I can count the number of non-billionaires on one hand and still have fingers left over.

Desperate for an escape, I excuse myself from her monologue about vintage wines, catching Erik's eye across the crowded ballroom and subtly gesturing for him to rescue me.

"How much longer do we need to stay before it's considered polite to leave?" I whisper to him when he arrives at my side.

"Not enjoying yourself, I take it?" he asks, though he knows the answer.

I fix him with a look that I hope conveys exactly how much I'm not enjoying myself.

He sighs, resignation clear in his expression. "You need to stay until after you've made your speech, then we can quietly make our way out of here."

"This speech had better come soon," I grumble under my breath, tugging at my too-tight collar.

"It would appear you're in luck then," Erik replies, his eyes focused on the stage.

I turn to see the event host has taken her place behind the microphone, and the elegant chatter of the room dies down as she begins to speak.

"Ladies and Gentleman, I would like to thank you all for attending this year's gala event." The audience offers polite applause before falling silent again. "As you are all aware, we are here tonight to bring light to the endangered status of the Black-Browed Albatross, and to raise funds to aid in protecting them. I have the distinct pleasure to introduce tonight's guest of honor, his Royal Highness Crown Prince Harald."

She turns toward me with an expectant smile, gesturing for me to join her. I plaster on my best royal smile - the one I've practiced countless times in mirrors - and make my way to the stage, shaking her hand and murmuring thanks before taking my position at the microphone.

This is always the worst part of these events. Despite years of practice and countless hours of etiquette training beaten into me since childhood, public speaking still makes my palms sweat and my heart race.

"Thank you for your warm welcome tonight," I begin, my voice steady despite my nerves. "On behalf of my father, King Magnus, and the rest of the Royal Family, I would like to emphasize how important this event is to us. The preservation of Denmark's native species is always a priority, and one we truly believe is vital for our nation."

The audience applauds, and I continue with the carefully crafted speech the palace writers prepared. I've memorized it so well that I go into autopilot, my mind wandering even as my mouth forms the words. It's not until I'm wrapping up that I hear what I'm actually saying, and my blood runs cold.

"With your continuing support tonight, we can help preserve the arctic seals native environment for generations to come. Thank you." I step back from the podium into deafening silence, before scattered, uncertain applause begins.

The host looks like she's been slapped, but quickly recovers her composure as she returns to the microphone. "Thank you again your Royal Highness, Prince Harald, for that wonderful speech in support of the Black-Browed Albatross," she emphasizes, trying to salvage the situation.

The audience laughs, and I can already feel the headlines forming. My father is going to be livid - he despises any hint of embarrassment to the Royal Family, and I've just provided plenty of fodder for the tabloids. I'll be lucky if he doesn't lock me in the palace for a month after this disaster.

Erik materializes at my side as I leave the stage, efficiently whisking me toward the exit as I mutter hasty goodbyes.

"That...could have gone better," he says diplomatically, his face twisted in sympathy.

That's putting it mildly. It's just one more piece of evidence proving what I've always known: I'm a disappointment as both a son and an heir. Father will make sure I don't forget this particular failure anytime soon.

* * *

Denmark National Tribune

September 20, 2024

By Dane Andersen

Crown Prince Gaffe: Prince Harald doesn’t know the difference between a bird and a seal!

Yesterday his Royal Highness Crown Prince Harald attended a charitable fundraiser in Copenhagen to support the protection of the endangered Black-Browed Albatross. While expressing his family’s strong support for their protection, the Prince failed to recall which animal he was trying to protect and instead referred to Arctic Seals. After making this embarrassing error, he quickly fled the event.

The Palace issued an official statement, claiming that the Prince felt unwell during the event and made a regrettable error. They insist that he misspoke, and that the Royal Family is very passionate in the preservation of the Black-Browed Albatross.

This public gaffe highlights yet another stumble for the Royal Family as King Magnus attempts to solidify his legacy within the nation. Prince Harald has often been described as sickly, and has a checkered history with the public since his mother’s death and his assumption of a public role at the age of 12. Rumors of the Prince’s mental health issues have abounded over the years, and it seems that this event proves that these issues may not be in the past.

Attendees of the event stated that the Prince seemed disengaged and uninterested in the fundraiser. More than one guest overheard him speaking to his secretary, asking when they would be able to leave.

Sigrid Frederiksen, chair of the anti-monarchist league, had this to say. “This is yet another clear example of why this outdated institution needs to be abolished. Denmark does not need a monarchy, nor do we need an unelected Prince who doesn’t know the difference between a bird and a mammal. The people of Denmark deserve better!”

Karl Larsen, head of the Danish Monarchist Society disagrees. “The Royal Family contributes greatly to the Danish society and culture. We should not be discussing throwing away our heritage over a simple error made by Prince Harald. People make mistakes, and our Royals are simply people too.”

Regardless of the controversy and debate, it’s clear that all may not be well in the halls of Amalienborg. Only time will tell if the Crown Prince is up to the task of leading the country as King Magnus ages and his health deteriorates.

For the Palace’s official statement, turn to page 10...

* * *

I sit there as my father roars at me, his face livid with veins bulging in his neck. "Do you understand what you've done?"

I can feel myself shrinking under his glare, his anger making me feel like I'm a little boy all over again, that same scared child who could never measure up.

"Yes," I reply meekly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"No, I don't believe you do. If you did, then you wouldn't be sitting here acting like nothing had happened!"

"How else am I supposed to act? I can't help that I misspoke, and I can't go back and change it," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremor I feel building inside. "I know that I've put us in a bad light, but it will pass. The media will find some other spectacle to report on in a day or two, they always do!"

"No Harald, what you've done is shame the Crown by your actions. We have a standard to uphold, and we must be flawless! Any improper actions or allegations of incompetence threatens not just your reputation, but the reputation of the Royal Family as a whole. Royalty is divine, not mundane, and how you acted was worse than mundane," my father lectures, sneering at me with that familiar look of disappointment that I've grown far too accustomed to seeing.

My throat feels tight as I force out the words, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"You're right, it won't," he says, his voice suddenly eerily calm and calculated in a way that sends chills down my spine. "If it does, I think it might be time I revisit the line of succession. Perhaps your cousin Oskar would be a more worthy successor than you to take the throne? At least we don't have to worry about allegations of his mental competence. He would have the strength and constitution to take over the throne, both things you seem to be lacking."

I freeze at his threat to disinherit me, my blood running cold. He's never gone this far before, nor has he ever been this cruel to me. He's always shown himself to be an uncaring father, especially after my mother died, but I have never seen this side of him. The calculated cruelty in his eyes makes my stomach turn.

"Father, I don't know how they got wind of my issues. I didn't tell anyone, and you made certain that the doctors and hospitals kept their silence." I can hear my inner panic start to come out in my voice as I say this, my words tumbling out faster than I can control them.

"It doesn't matter how or why, all that matters is that you stop this nonsense immediately. I've had enough of this for today; I'll leave you to reflect on your actions and the harm you've caused this family."

He storms out of the room, the heavy door slamming behind him with a finality that makes me flinch. I'm left alone with my younger sister, Ella, who looks at me like a bomb has just gone off. It's silent for a moment as we both try to process what just happened, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I can't believe he just said that." Ella says, breaking the cold silence first, her voice tight with anger.

"That's our father, he always wins the parent of the year award." I reply, trying to hold my feelings in as I feel myself going teary-eyed, though I can't quite keep the bitterness from my voice.

"Our father is an asshole" Ella cries, jumping up to come and hug me as she sees me begin to lose it. "He's always been an ignorant ass, and tonight just proves it. Don't let him get to you!"

"I try not to, but then things like this happen. I'm not perfect, and I don't think I will ever be able to live up to his unrealistic expectations." My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate how weak I sound.

"You don't need to live up to his expectations! He needs to live up to ours, he just hasn't realized it yet. You are going to be okay, I promise" she says soothingly, her arms tightening around me.

Ella is like a carbon copy of our mother in most ways. She inherited her calm and warm demeanour, and her blond hair and blue eyes. She also inherited her fire, making her 5'3" of pure energy and spite that you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. I think it actually pains my father to see her; the resemblance to my mother is uncanny at times. She always seems to be able to see what you're thinking and how you're feeling before you even know. Even though I'm older than her by two years, it feels like she spends more time taking care of me than I do her.

"Thanks Ella. I feel bad for bothering you with this stuff; you've got your own things to deal with as well." I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I've never been able to break.

"Don't worry about me, I have things well in hand" she replies, easily dismissing my guilt. "I'll always be here for you. You've also got the other means of coping the doctors suggested the last time you went in."

I shudder at the mention of the doctors. I'd had a meltdown in public and lost my shit; thankfully Erik had been there to quickly smuggle me away before anyone noticed. That had ended up with me spending three weeks in a hospital talking to psychologists and therapists, all of whom felt obligated to give me advice and tell me that this was normal. Maybe it's normal for regular people, but not for any of my father's children. The memory of those sterile white walls and sympathetic faces still haunts me.

Of all the doctors and medical professionals I saw in the hospitals, only one of the therapists I spoke to actually seemed to want to help me. Now I see Ingrid regularly, and she has helped me keep a lid on some of my more volatile emotions. She's one of the few people who sees me as Harald the person, not Harald the Crown Prince.

"Maybe I'll reach out to Ingrid and move up our next session." I say, already feeling the need to talk through everything that just happened.

"Yes, I think you should. Why don't you try reaching out to her now? I'm sure she'll take your call, it's not too late. I'll give you some space; let me know if you need anything!"

Ella leaves the room, and I pull up the contact list on my smartphone. My finger hovers over Ingrid's name for a moment before I hit it and wait for the call to connect, trying to steady my breathing as the phone rings.

"Hello, is that you Harald?"

"Hi yes it's me. Do you have a few minutes to talk? I really need someone to talk to right now."

"Yes of course. I thought I might be hearing from you after seeing today's newspaper headlines. I've been keeping an eye on things."

"I'm not sure how I should feel about you expecting me to call" I reply anxiously, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve.

"I wouldn't worry about that, I just saw it and assumed that things would get quite heated at home after what you told me about your father. I know how these situations tend to escalate."

"You're not wrong. He threatened to disinherit me tonight." I can hear Ingrid gasp in shock, and she's quiet for a moment. The silence feels heavy between us.

"I'm sorry he said that. How are you feeling? Really feeling?"

"Honestly, I'm halfway between a having a panic attack or just taking a long sad bath where I ponder how my life got this messed up. Maybe both at the same time."

"That's fair, though I wouldn't say your life is messed up. You just have people in your life who put an immense amount of pressure on you. It only seems reasonable that you would struggle with it, anyone in your position would. This isn't a normal situation for anyone to handle."

"Not my father" I reply bitterly, my free hand clenching into a fist.

"I don't believe that for a second. He might not show his struggles, but I'm sure he does have them. Have you talked about this with anyone else apart from me? It might help to get their perspective on what happened. Sometimes fresh eyes can see things differently."

"Yeah, Ella was there when he said it. She called him, and I quote, an "asshole." Her exact words." Ingrid laughs, the sound warm and genuine.

"Your sister certainly has a way with words, and I'm glad you have her to support you. Have you managed to find anyone else you can talk to? You need a support system that doesn't just include your sister, your secretary, and your therapist. It's important to have different perspectives."

"No, you know how it is. Everyone knows I'm the Prince, and I can't trust anything they say to me. For all I know, they are just sucking up to me to turn around and sell my stories to the highest bidder. It happened before when I was in school, and father had to intervene."

"Well, what if you found a place where you could be anonymous and just talk to other people with similar struggles? There are websites and forums where you can anonymously talk to people with problems like yourself. Places where no one would know who you are."

"I don' t think I can just go on there and post 'Hi I'm the Crown Prince of Denmark and I'm depressed and sad and my father hates me'" I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes even though she can't see me.

"I'm going to choose to ignore your sarcasm just now. You know what I mean. This could be good for you."

I sigh, recognizing the firm tone in Ingrid's voice. That's the tone where she shows she has a hard side, and isn't all soft and squishy. She's not going to back down until I give in and let her tell me what she's thinking. I've heard this tone enough times to know what's coming.

"There's a site I heard about from one of my colleagues. I'm going to forward it to you; try it and see what happens. No pressure, just give it a chance."

"Okay, I'll take a look at it. Thanks for listening Ingrid. Really."

"Always. Now go get some sleep, it's getting late. And Harald? Try to be kind to yourself."

The phone line disconnects, and I hear my phone chime with an incoming message.

I scoff at the message. Ingrid is predictably consistent, and from past experience she isn't going to drop it until I do this. I grab my laptop, quickly bringing up the website, and create an account. I pick the username DeprimeretPrins, smiling to myself at my own little joke; it means depressed prince. The chance of anyone knowing what that means outside of Denmark is slim to none. Besides, sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.

The forum is full of posts with lots of stories of people struggling. It seems like everyone on here introduces themselves in the same thread with their backstory, so I might as well do the same. I quickly write up a post, being careful not to expose who I am and remain vague enough. It's actually kind of cathartic to write this all down, rather than bottling it up and waiting for it to explode. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before I begin typing.

New Post by DeprimeretPrins:

20Sep2024 22:35

Hi,

It looks like everyone introduces themselves on here, so I guess I'll do that too. I'm 26 years old, male, and I live in Denmark. I'm 6 feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes, just your typical Nordic guy blessed with good genes, I suppose. Though sometimes these "blessings" feel more like a curse, constantly being noticed when all I want is to fade into the background. I'm also gay and in the closet, my father is deeply homophobic and me being gay would never be accepted.

For most of my life I've struggled with depression and anxiety. I'm forced to cope with the demands that my family places on me, and this causes those issues to flare up. My mother died when I was young, and after that my father became even more closed off and cold than he already was with us. He has high expectations for me especially, and I consistently fail to meet them. He thinks of me as an embarrassment, and at times I can't help but feel embarrassed of myself too. The constant criticism wears you down, like waves against a cliff, until you start to crumble.

My family is well off, so I don't work, but I do spend a lot of time engaged in charitable events. I feel useless more often than not, and I don't feel like anything I am doing in my life has worth or value. At the same time, I also feel powerless because my family expects me to do this and I don't have a choice in it. Every day feels like going through the motions, smiling when expected, speaking when prompted, like some wind-up toy performing for others' entertainment.

A few months ago I fell into a deep depression, which was the result of the pressure of my father's expectations becoming too much. I was at a charitable event and basically lost it and had a meltdown. After that I spent three weeks in a hospital being poked and prodded by doctors, before they finally released me back to my gilded cage. The whole experience was humiliating, but at least it forced everyone to acknowledge that something wasn't right.

The only good thing to come from my time in the hospital was one of the therapists, who is actually the person that suggested I come here. Hopefully this site will help me find and connect with others! Sometimes just knowing you're not alone can make all the difference.

I submit the post and go to scroll away from the page when one of the messages catches my eye. It's from a user with the name MindoverMatter, and his story grabs my attention. Reading through it, I can tell he's had a hard life and it almost makes me feel like I already know him. His stay in the hospital sounds a lot like mine, minus the knife. There's something raw and honest about his words that resonates with me deeply. I post a comment, trying to be witty, before closing my laptop. I'm sure that won't go anywhere, but at least I did respond to someone. Maybe reaching out, even in this small way, is a step in the right direction.

Daniel

"Ms. Sanders, I understand what you are saying. However, what I'm telling you is that this medication is not currently covered under Schedule H of your employer's benefit plan" I say, mentally banging my head against the wall in exasperation. I can hear phones ringing around the large cubicle filled office and my coworkers all repeating word for word the same line as me. The fluorescent lights above flicker slightly, giving me a headache that's becoming all too familiar.

To clarify, I work for a large medical insurance company named Insuricarica processing health claims. By processing, what I mean to say is finding creative ways to deny claims whenever possible to increase the profit margins for our corporate overlords. Yay capitalism. Sometimes I wonder if there's a special circle of hell reserved for insurance companies, right next to people who talk during movies.

"I've never been treated so badly before! I'm going to be speaking to my attorney!" The line goes dead as she hangs up on me. I resist the urge to bang my head on my desk, knowing it would only draw unwanted attention from my colleagues.

As if my life wasn't already sad enough, I do this job Monday to Friday from nine to five. It's depressing and soul sucking, but in this economy I don't really have many choices. You take what you can get when you can get it. The alternative is no job, no money, and no crappy apartment in a rundown building in a bad part of town. And trust me, I've seen enough of being without those things to last a lifetime.

I look at the clock, and see that it's finally noon. Half my day in this penal colony has passed, and I'm now eligible for my legally mandated unpaid lunch break. Sending a quick message to my team, I quickly sign out and head to the sad corporate lunchroom. The walls are plastered in inspirational posters and corporate slogans, basically all the things someone higher up thought would motivate us peasants. My personal favorite is "TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK" written in Comic Sans, because nothing says professional quite like that font choice.

I grab my sad brown paper bag lunch from the break room fridge, dodging Karen from Accounts Payable who always wants to tell me about her latest MLM scheme. The tables are mostly full of my fellow corporate drones, all of us wearing the same defeated expressions and business casual attire that somehow makes everyone look equally miserable. I spot an empty corner table - my usual spot where I can scroll through my phone in peace while picking at whatever leftovers I managed to throw together this morning.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting that sickly artificial glow that makes everyone look like they're one deadline away from a nervous breakdown. Another poster catches my eye - "SUCCESS IS A JOURNEY, NOT A DESTINATION" - which feels like a cruel joke when you're stuck processing denied claims all day. At least they didn't write that one in Comic Sans. Small mercies, I guess.

I pull out my slightly squished sandwich and try not to think about how I have another four hours of mind-numbing spreadsheets ahead of me. Sometimes I wonder if this is what social workers mean when they talk about "stable employment" - death by a thousand paper cuts in an office where the highlight of my day is when the coffee machine actually works.

Sandy from Human Resources glares at me from the table across the room. She's hated me ever since I forgot her Secret Santa present last year; I'm almost eighty percent certain she's the reason my bonus was lower this year. That woman can hold a grudge like nobody's business, and considering she's the one who processes our year-end reviews, I probably should have tried harder with that gift.

"How are you Sandy?" I ask, trying to be polite. My mother - or what I remember of her before she gave me up - always said kill them with kindness. Though in Insuricarica's break room, that strategy seems about as effective as using a water gun against a forest fire.

"We don't need to talk; neither of us want this conversation" She replies bluntly, standing up to pack her lunch bag and going to leave the room. The way she aggressively zips up her designer lunch bag makes me wonder if she's imagining it's my neck.

"Always a pleasure." I mutter under my breath, watching her storm out like I'd personally offended her entire family tree.

My phone chimes and I glance at it to see a notification pop up for a new message on the support website Michael forced me to sign up for. Another one of his "healthy coping mechanisms" that he insists will help me process everything that happened with Alex.

I click into it and can see multiple replies, mostly from bots, advertising Sexy Single Latinas in my area or Incredible Crypto Investing Opportunities - Guaranteed Returns. Clearly they don't know their target market if they're commenting on my post. I'm both gay and broke. Like, eating-ramen-for-dinner-three-nights-a-week broke. I stop at the last comment though, and it makes me unexpectedly laugh.

From DeprimeretPrins

20Sep2024 22:45

So I read your post and feel like you and I have a lot in common. I do have one extremely pressing question though, which I think needs an answer immediately if we are to be internet stranger friends. How was the Jell-O in the hospital, and did they have pudding?

Out of my entire post, the most important thing this guy picked out was that I was in the hospital, and therefore that had to mean that I had eaten either Jell-O or pudding. I'm not sure whether to be shocked or amused. His dry sense of humor is almost disarming, and makes me smile. It's refreshing compared to the usual pity-filled responses I get when people find out about my hospital stay. I quickly bring up the comment bar, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for just a moment before I dive in with my own brand of sass.

From: MindOverMatter

21Sep2024 12:10

So out of all the things I wrote, you decided the Jell-O was the most important aspect of the post? This either implies poor decision making and prioritization skills or a complete obsession with Jello-O. Which do you think it is?

Also, yes there was Jello-O. I ate it all. They "ran out" of Jell-O during my stay; I'm sure they were lying. It was a Jello-O conspiracy. Pudding is the devil; no one likes it. The texture alone is enough to make me question humanity's decisions as a species. IF we are to be judged on our creations, then pudding would indicate that we should not be the dominant species on this planet.

Sincerely,

Your Internet Stranger Friend

PS: Sexy Single Latinas can go away now, it's not happening ladies. Wrong tree, wrong bark, wrong everything.

As my lunch break finishes up, I start heading back to my desk only to find the path blocked by Cassandra. She's 5'2" and at least 200 pounds, though I suspect that's a conservative estimate. Her receding hairline is accentuated by the thick jowls that quiver as she walks, reminding me of a bowl of particularly active Jell-O. At the same time, she acts and talks like she's Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter series, which is fitting since they both share that same fake sweetness that makes my teeth hurt.

"Daniel sweetie, would you come see me in my office? We need to have a chat." She says, voice sickeningly sweet with a southern accent that's as authentic as the designer bag knockoff she carries.

"Sure Cassandra" I say, following her into her cramped office and taking the seat across from her. The desk and walls of her office are plastered in random photos of her extended family and her dogs; it feels like she has tried to make her office into her home. The overwhelming smell of vanilla air freshener makes me want to gag.

"Thank you for coming to see me. I just wanted to go over your performance recently. I pulled several recordings of your calls, and looked at your KPIs and I have to say that I am disappointed."

Her face doesn't look disappointed. In fact, she looks like she just won the lottery, hit the jackpot, and found a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory all at once.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I thought my performance was perfectly acceptable." I reply neutrally, channeling every ounce of customer service voice I can muster.

"Well honey, things change. Your claim denial rate might have been enough to scrape by a year ago, but with new targets from management you're under performing badly. We expect a denial rate of at least fifty percent, and you're barely cracking twenty eight percent. You need to do better, or you might not have a job here if things continue like they are."

That little not so subtle threat lingers in the air between us like a bad smell, and I take a second to control my facial expression. I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing how she has upset me, though my stomach is doing somersaults worthy of an Olympic gymnast.

"I see, well I suppose I will need to think about this and how I can do better. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Cassandra's smile drops from her face, the facade of sweet southern hospitality gone faster than free donuts in the break room.

"No darling, you can get back to work now."

I nod and leave her office, numbly navigating back to my cubicle and flopping down onto my firm worn out office chair. The ancient cushion squeaks in protest, probably plotting its own resignation.

"You cool bro?" Piper asks, his head popping up over the cubicle divider like a particularly concerned meerkat. Piper is my next door work neighbour, and is probably the only person in the office that I actually get along with. With surfer vibes and long tangled blond hair he looks completely out of place in the office, but he has been here for longer than I have and somehow hits top performer targets every month while making it look effortless.

"Yeah I'm fine," I say absentmindedly, shuffling papers around my desk just to look busy.

"Really, cause you don't look fine," he says, raising an eyebrow. "What did the Dollar General Barbie have to say that has you so upset? You look like someone just killed your houseplant."

"Oh just the usual doom, gloom, and torture. Basically threatening to fire me if I don't increase my rejection rate. Apparently they want us to reject fifty percent of our claims now," I reply, trying to act nonchalant as I'm feeling a rising feeling of panic inside. My hands are shaking slightly as I continue to reorganize the same stack of papers.

"Fuck, she is the Wicked Witch of the West isn't she? Can you imagine paying what our clients pay for the shitty health coverage we provide then half of them getting told that their claims are denied for some bullshit reason every time they try to use it?" His usual easy-going expression morphs into one of genuine disgust.

I snort, trying to hold back my laughter at his indignant response. My anxiety eases slightly at his righteous anger on behalf of our clients. "Funny enough I can, our health insurance goes through us as well remember? They reject all my claims almost every go around. Last time I tried to get my prescription filled, it took three appeals."

"Ah, I almost forgot. Well fuck her and fuck them. If she fires you, maybe that's a sign there are better things out there for you then! Either way, this place isn't the final destination for you or me," Piper replies decisively, before ducking back down behind his cubicle wall, leaving me with that small nugget of hope to cling to.

"Thanks Piper, I guess we'll see what happens," I reply softly, finally letting my hands rest on my keyboard.

* * *

I collapse onto my bed face-first, still in my work clothes. The memory of Cassandra's smug face haunts me like a particularly annoying ghost. My phone buzzes - probably Jayda asking about dinner plans - but I can't bring myself to check it yet.

Instead, I roll over and grab my laptop from the nightstand. The forum loads up instantly. My fingers hover over the keyboard before I start typing:

"Today was absolute garbage. My boss threatened to fire me because I'm not heartless enough to deny people's insurance claims. Sometimes I wonder if there's any point trying to be a decent person in a world that rewards being awful."

I hit post before I can overthink it. Usually these kinds of rants disappear into the void, but within minutes a notification pops up. It's DePrimeretPrins - or whatever his real name is.

"I understand completely. Currently dreading a meeting where I have to sit through hours of people talking AT me rather than WITH me. They all expect me to just nod and agree, even when their ideas are terrible. Sometimes being 'professional' feels like slowly dying inside."

I sit up, surprised at the quick response. My fingers fly across the keyboard:

"At least you're important enough to be in meetings. I'm just a cubicle drone who's apparently not evil enough for corporate America. Though your meeting sounds mind-numbingly boring. What's it about?"

His reply comes faster this time:

"Trade policies and economic forecasts. Riveting stuff. I'd rather watch paint dry. And trust me, being 'important' just means more people watching you fail. At least in your cubicle you can roll your eyes without making headlines."

I laugh despite myself. There's something weirdly comforting about commiserating with a stranger who seems just as trapped as I am, even if we're trapped in completely different ways.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider my reply. I want to match his wit and snark, but in my own charming way of course.

"At least your day can't be worse than mine - unless you're stuck in a meeting with Satan's middle manager too? My boss told my team today that all of our reports need to be color-coded by 'emotional resonance.' Whatever that means...maybe I need to get my chakras aligned to understand it?"

I hit send with a smirk, feeling pretty pleased with myself. Take that, anonymous stranger on the internet. Your turn.

His response pops up a few minutes later:

"This might be too forward, but would you want to continue this conversation over text instead? I'm enjoying our banter but I feel that this might be better done in private. No worries if not, I know swapping numbers with internet strangers isn't exactly recommended."

I pause, my thumb hovering over the screen. He's right, giving out my number to some random guy online is probably a terrible idea. Then again, terrible ideas are kind of my specialty.

I think of the long empty evening stretching out before me, another microwave dinner with Jayda and Caleb lost in their couple bubble. What's the worst that could happen? If he turns out to be a creep, I can always block him.

"Eh, you seem relatively sane. For now. Here's my number - don't make me regret this!"

I type out my cell and hit send before I can second guess myself. My phone buzzes almost immediately.

Unknown Number: Let the regret begin! 😉 I'm Harald by the way.

I save the contact, chewing my lip as I debate my next move. "I'm Daniel. So...come here often?"

A knock at my door interrupts my texting and I hastily click send.

"Come in," I call out, not looking up from my screen.

Jayda bursts in, her platform boots thudding against the floor. "I heard about the Cassandra situation. That absolute witch." She plops down next to me, the bed creaking under our combined weight. "Want to hear my foolproof plan to dispose of her body?"

"Do tell. Also how did you hear about it; I didn't tell anyone about it yet?" I close my laptop, already feeling lighter.

"Easy; Piper texted me about it. He's actually a nice guy, despite the fact he thinks he has a chance with me and refuses to give up. Anyway, back to the Cassandra situation. So first, we drug her morning coffee with antifreeze - it's sweet, she'll never notice. Then we wrap her body in copious amounts of chicken wire before dumping her in the Hudson where the fish and sharks will rapidly consume her leaving no evidence of the crime." Jayda's eyes gleam. "The wire ensures the body sinks and stays down when it, you know, bloats. More than it already is, that is. "

"Someone's been watching too much Criminal Minds." I nudge her shoulder.

"Please, this is pure Forensic Files knowledge." She holds up a paper bag that smells like heaven. "But before we commit the perfect murder, I brought dinner. Your favorite from that Thai place on 9th."

"You're an angel." I peek inside the bag. "Pad see ew?"

"Extra spicy, just how you like it." She pulls out containers and plastic forks. "Though I still think we should consider my murder plan. I also know how to dissolve a body in lye."

We sprawl across my bed, sharing noodles and plotting increasingly ridiculous ways to off Cassandra. By the time we're scraping the bottom of the containers, my sides hurt from laughing at Jayda's detailed scheme involving three chickens, a rubber duck, and somehow making it look like a tragic shuffleboard accident.

"Feel better?" She asks, gathering up our empty containers.

"Much." I lean against her shoulder. "Thanks for always knowing exactly what I need."

Jayda bumps my shoulder with hers. "Hey. We're a team, remember? You, me, and Caleb against the world. Whatever happens, we've got your back."

I smile, feeling a rush of affection for my best friend. "I know. I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

As if summoned, Caleb appears in the doorway, a bottle of vodka in hand and a mischievous grin on his face. "You know what this calls for? Dancing and bad decisions."

Jayda's eyes light up. "Hell yes. We're going out tonight." She turns to me, her expression brooking no argument. "And don't even think about saying no. You need this."

I groan, burying my face in a pillow. "Guys, I appreciate the thought, but I'm exhausted. It's been the day from hell."

Caleb waves the vodka bottle. "Which is exactly why you need to blow off some steam. Come on, when was the last time we all went out together?"

I rack my brain, realizing it's been months. Between my soul-sucking job and Jayda's erratic coffee shop shifts, our schedules rarely align for more than quick meals or movie nights on the couch.

Jayda pokes my side. "See? You can't even remember. That means it's been too long." She hops off the bed, pulling me with her. "Now come on, let's get you out of those work clothes and into something that screams 'I'm young, I'm hot, and I'm ready to make questionable decisions with a sexy young finance bro."

Caleb nods sagely. "Amen to that. I'll call an Uber."

I let Jayda drag me to my closet, too tired to put up much of a fight. She rummages through my clothes, tossing aside anything she deems unworthy.

"Nope, nope, definitely not, oh hello-" She holds up a pair of black skinny jeans I forgot I owned. "These are perfect. Pair them with that transparent net shirt where you can see your nipples and your doc martens and you'll be irresistible to all the boys."

"Yes ma'am." I give her a mock salute before stripping off my slacks and button-down. As I shimmy into the jeans, I have to admit they do make my ass look fantastic. Maybe this isn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we pile into the Uber, Jayda in her signature goth getup and Caleb in his usual hipster attire. The vodka gets passed around as we head towards the club, the burn in my throat a welcome distraction from the day's events.

By the time we reach the club, I'm buzzing pleasantly, the stress of work and Cassandra's threats feeling far away. Jayda grabs my hand, grinning wildly.

"Ready to dance your ass off and forget about the corporate world for a night?"

I grin back, letting her pull me towards the pulsing music. "Absolutely."

We push our way through the writhing bodies, the beat pulsing through my bones. Sweat glistens on skin as the crowd moves as one to the thumping bass. Jayda and Caleb dance close, lost in each other's eyes, while I let the music take over, my body moving of its own accord.

After a few songs, I gesture towards the bar, mouthing "drink" to Jayda. She nods, still wrapped up in Caleb. I weave my way off the dance floor, the press of bodies giving way to cool air as I approach the bar.

"Whiskey sour," I call to the bartender over the din. As I wait, I feel a presence beside me. Glancing over, I'm met with the sight of a handsome older man, salt and pepper hair artfully tousled, suit jacket straining against broad shoulders.

"Hey there," he purrs, eyes raking over my body appreciatively. "Can I buy you that drink?"

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling out of my depth. It's been so long since I've flirted with anyone, let alone a gorgeous man like this.

"S-sure," I stammer out, internally cringing at how lame I sound.

He smiles, signaling the bartender. "Two whiskey sours." His eyes find mine again. "I'm Liam."

"Daniel," I manage, taking a large gulp of my drink as soon as it's placed in front of me.

Liam chuckles, leaning in close. His expensive cologne fills my nostrils. "Nervous?"

I laugh shakily. "Is it that obvious?"

"It's endearing," he murmurs, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. His face is inches from mine now, his intentions clear.

Panic rises in my throat as memories of Alex flash through my mind. I jerk back, nearly toppling off my barstool.

"I-I'm sorry," I choke out, shame heating my cheeks. "I can't do this. It's too soon and I'm not ready for this..."

Liam straightens, disappointment flickering across his chiseled features before being replaced by a polite yet cool mask. "No worries. Your loss though, we would have had a lot of fun." He winks, knocking back his drink before melting into the crowd.

I stare into my glass, the amber liquid blurring as tears prick at my eyes. What the fuck was that and why did I chicken out? Will I ever be ready to move on?

The tough looking bartender catches my eye as I blink back tears, her brow furrowed in concern. She leans over, her voice raised to be heard over the music.

"Hey, you okay? Don't let that guy get to you. He's a regular here and trust me, you dodged a bullet. Pretty sure you'd catch something nasty from him." She winks conspiratorially.

A surprised laugh escapes me and I feel some of the tightness in my chest ease. "Thanks for the warning. Guess I should be more careful who I let buy me drinks, huh?"

She grins. "Stick with me, kid. I'll steer you right."

I raise my glass in a toast. "To dodging bullets and not catching STDs!" 

We clink glasses and I down the rest of my whiskey sour, the alcohol burning away the last of my embarrassment. Setting the empty glass on the bar, I flash her a grateful smile before turning to head back to the dance floor.

Jayda spots me and waves me over, her face flushed and glowing. "There you are! We were about to send out a search party!"

I force a laugh, letting her pull me into the crush of bodies. "Just needed a drink to keep up with you two."

Caleb slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "Stick with us, we'll keep you young!"

I let the music take over again, my body finding the rhythm. But even as I lose myself in the beat, I can't help but feel a pang of emptiness as I watch Jayda and Caleb dance, wrapped up in their own little world. The love they have for each other is so tangible I can almost reach out and touch it.

I close my eyes, trying to push away the ache inside me. Maybe one day I'll have that again. But for now, I'll dance until I can't feel anything at all.

Harald

I slouch in my chair, watching Carl Hansen's latest attempt at wrangling the coalition partners into a budget agreement dissolve into chaos. The Prime Minister's round glasses fogged up as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief for the fifth time in ten minutes.

"Perhaps if we redirected funds from the infrastructure portfolio..." Carl's voice trailed off as his Finance Minister Larsen cut him off with a sharp wave.

"We've been over this already. The bridges need repair now, not in five years and it cannot be put off any further."

I fought the urge to massage my temples. Father should have been here, guiding them, but he'd delegated this to me as "practice." More like punishment for the fundraiser disaster.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I snuck a glance while the Energy Minister Petersen launched into another tirade about wind farm subsidies. Daniel had responded to my comment.

"At least your day can't be worse than mine - unless you're stuck in a meeting with Satan's middle manager too? My boss just told my team that all of our reports need to be color-coded by 'emotional resonance.' Whatever that means...maybe I need to get my chakras aligned to understand it?"

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Heads swiveled toward me, Carl's nervous energy temporarily redirected as he blinked rapidly in my direction.

"Your Highness? Did you have something to add?"

Heat crept up my neck. "No, my apologies. Please continue."

As they resumed arguing, I typed quickly: "This might be too forward, but would you want to continue this conversation over text instead? I'm enjoying our banter and I feel that this might be better done in private. No worries if not, I know swapping numbers with internet strangers isn't exactly recommended."

My heart pounded as I hit send. This felt different, more real somehow. I'd never reached out directly to someone from the forum before. What if he said no? What if he said yes? What if he somehow figured out who I really was?

The reply came a minute later, which felt like an eternity: "Eh, you seem relatively sane. For now. Here's my number - don't make me regret this!"

I stare at Daniel's contact information on my phone screen, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Our brief exchanges had been the highlight of an otherwise dismal week. His witty comebacks and self-deprecating humor were a breath of fresh air in the stuffy world of royal protocol and political maneuvering.

As the budget meeting droned on around me, my mind wandered to our previous interactions. The way he'd commiserated about his boss's ridiculous demands, the clever quips about the absurdities of adult life. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt a genuine connection with someone who knew nothing about my title or family name.

It was refreshing, exhilarating even, to be seen as just another person navigating the ups and downs of existence. With Daniel, I wasn't the Crown Prince or the face of a nation - I was simply a fellow human being trying to make sense of it all.

My thumb hovered over his contact, a sudden impulse to reach out directly nearly overwhelming me. What would I even say? "Hey, it's me, the guy from the forum who also happens to be next in line for the Danish throne"?

I shook my head, a wry chuckle escaping under my breath. No, I couldn't risk revealing my true identity, not yet at least. But maybe, just maybe, there was potential for something more with Daniel. A friendship, a confidant, someone who understood the weight of expectation and the struggle to find one's place in the world.

I settle for a simple message instead, deciding my real first name isn't a risk to share: "Let the regret begin! 😉 I'm Harald by the way."

A response comes in quickly and I have to stifle another laugh at his message: "I'm Daniel. So...come here often?"

As the Energy Minister's voice rose in another impassioned plea, I slipped my phone back into my pocket, the ghost of a smile still playing on my lips. For now, I would savor the connection we'd forged, the brief moments of levity in an otherwise heavy existence. And perhaps, with time and trust, it could grow into something even more meaningful.

* * *

Erik

I shifted in my seat, unable to keep my eyes off Harald during the budget meeting. The afternoon sun caught his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his brow furrowed in concentration. Even in moments of tedium, he carried himself with an innate grace that came from years of royal training.

The Prime Minister droned on about fiscal responsibilities while I pretended to take notes. My pen traced meaningless patterns across the page as my thoughts wandered to forbidden territory. The slight curl of Harald's hair at his neck. The way his hands moved when he spoke. The rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face.

My chest ached with the familiar weight of these feelings I'd carried for years, ever since we were just friends and teenagers. They were as much a part of me now as breathing, and just as automatic. I'd learned to live with them, to pack them away in a corner of my heart where they couldn't interfere with my duties.

A sudden snort of laughter broke through the monotony of the meeting. Harald's phone lay face-down on the table, but I caught the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. Something had caught him off guard – something that brought a spark of joy to his eyes I hadn't seen in months.

The coalition partners exchanged irritated glances at the interruption, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from Harald's face. Color rose in his cheeks as he composed himself and apologized, yet that light remained. Whatever message he'd received had pierced through his carefully maintained facade.

I knew his secret, carried it like a precious stone in my pocket. The weight of it grew heavier each time I watched him force himself into the mold his father demanded. But this moment – this unguarded flash of genuine happiness – made me wonder what had finally managed to crack through his walls.

The meeting dragged on, but Harald's fingers kept straying to his phone, typing what looked like a longer message. His eyes held a warmth I hadn't seen since before his last anxiety attack, and despite the bittersweet ache in my chest, I found myself hoping that whatever – or whoever – had caused this change might help him find his way back to himself.

The meeting finally adjourned, and I watched as Harald practically leapt from his chair, his long strides carrying him out of the room before anyone else had even gathered their papers. I took my time, nodding politely to the coalition partners and the Prime Minister as they filed out. My mind was still back in that moment, replaying the way Harald's face had lit up at whatever message he'd received.

I made my way back to the office given to representatives of the Crown in the government buildings, my steps measured and unhurried. I knew I'd find him there, probably already engrossed in his phone. The thought made my heart clench in a familiar way, a mixture of fondness and resignation.

As I pushed open the door, I caught a glimpse of Harald's profile, his head bent over his phone as he typed furiously. The intensity of his focus was almost palpable, and I had to take a steadying breath before I could trust my voice.

"Anything interesting?" I asked, aiming for casual as I settled into my own chair across from him.

Harald's head snapped up, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes before he schooled his features into a neutral expression. "Just catching up on some messages," he said, his tone carefully even.

I nodded, pretending to shuffle through the papers on my desk. "Of course." The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I swallowed them down. It wasn't my place to pry, no matter how much I longed to be the one he confided in.

As the afternoon wore on, I found my gaze drawn to him again and again. The way his fingers danced across the screen of his phone, the slight curve of his lips as he read something that pleased him. Each stolen glance was a tiny knife in my heart, a reminder of the feelings I could never voice.

I loved him. I had loved him for years, through every triumph and every struggle. But I knew, with a certainty that settled like lead in my stomach, that my love would always be unrequited. Harald was destined for greatness, for a life that had no room for a loyal secretary with a foolish heart.

So I sat, and I watched, and I ached. And I promised myself, as I had a thousand times before, that I would be content with this. With being by his side, even if I could never truly be with him. It was enough, I told myself. It had to be enough.

* * *

Harald

The comforting aroma of Ella's homemade Frikadeller meatballs wafted through the dining room as I entered, the warmth of the candlelight softening the room's grand edges. Ella bustled about, her blonde hair swishing as she set out steaming plates.

"There you are, big brother," she teased, her blue eyes sparkling. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost on your way from your royal chambers."

I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. "Very funny, Ells. You know I'd never miss your cooking, even if affairs of state tried to get in the way."

She grinned, pulling out a chair for me with an exaggerated flourish. "Well then, Your Highness, please take a seat. Dinner is served."

I settled into the proffered chair, breathing in the comforting scent of the meatballs and potatoes. It smelled like home, like the rare happy memories of childhood when Mother would cook this same meal.

Ella took the seat across from me, passing the basket of bread. "So, how go the trials and tribulations of princedom today? Slay any dragons? Rescue any damsels?"

"Ha, I wish." I tore off a hunk of bread, staring at it. "No, just the usual - disappointing Father, as per usual."

Her smile faded and she reached across to squeeze my hand. "Harald, you could never be a disappointment. Father just doesn't see all that you are."

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. "I don't know, Ells. Sometimes I wonder if he's right about me. If I'm really cut out for this whole heir apparent thing."

"Well I have no doubt." Her voice was fierce, eyes flashing. "You, big brother, are going to make an incredible king one day. Never forget that."

I shook my head, pushing the meatballs around my plate. "It's not just about being king, Ella. It's about being me. The real me."

She tilted her head, studying me with those perceptive blue eyes that always seemed to see right through me. "What do you mean, Harald?"

I took a shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I'm gay, Ells. And Father...he'll never accept that. I can never be who I truly am, not with the throne hanging over my head."

To my surprise, Ella just smiled softly, not a hint of shock or judgement on her face. "Oh, Harald. I know. I've always known."

My jaw dropped. "You...you have? But how?"

She laughed lightly. "Call it sisterly intuition. Also you don't do a good job of deleting your web browsing history. And for the record, I love you all the more for it. It's a part of what makes you, you."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I blinked them back. "But Father-"

"Father's opinions on the matter don't concern me," she cut in, her voice unwavering. "Or anyone else for that matter. The people would love you for your truth, Harald. They'd respect you all the more for living authentically."

I let out a shuddering breath, feeling like a weight had lifted from my chest. "You really think so?"

"I know so." She squeezed my hand again, her smile radiant. "The world is changing, big brother. And when you're ready, I'll be right there beside you, cheering you on as you show everyone the incredible man I've always known you to be."

I fidgeted with my napkin, feeling embarrassed at my reaction to her unequivocal support. Her unconditional love felt amazing, and yet I still wondered if it would be enough if the truth was exposed about me.

Deciding to change the subject to something lighter, I took a deep breath. "So in other news, I...I made a friend. Online."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? That's wonderful! Tell me more."

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "We met on a forum Ingrid suggested. We've been talking a lot, about everything really.  Mostly about life, and personal stuff..."

Ella leaned forward, her interest piqued. "Personal stuff? Like what?"

I shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Just...struggles, I guess. Things I don't really talk about with anyone else."

Her expression softened. "Harald, that's huge. I'm so glad you've found someone you can open up to."

But then her brow furrowed slightly. "Just...be careful, okay? Remember who you are. I don't want you getting hurt or taken advantage of."

I nodded, understanding her concern. "I know, Ells. I'm being cautious. I haven't told them who I really am."

She tilted her head. "What do you mean? Who do they think they're speaking to?"

I swallowed hard. "They don't know I'm...you know, a prince. I just told them that I come from a wealthy family and don't work, apart from being involved in the family's charitable ventures."

Ella reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "Harald, you don't have to hide who you are. If this person is a true friend, they'll accept you, all of you."

I withdrew my hand, my head moving side to side. "Things are more complicated than that, Ella. I'm different from everyone else. I'll never measure up - not in Father's eyes, not as heir to the crown. Here, in this one space where my identity is unknown, I don't have to stress about people cozying up to me just because of my social status and royal background. I will just be myself to him, and if that isn't good enough then I guess that's just a sign for what's to come down the road."

My voice cracked on the last word and I blinked back the sudden sting of tears. Ella's face crumpled with sympathy.

"Oh, Harald. Don't you see how incredible you are? You have such a good heart, such strength. Anyone would be lucky to know the real you."

I wanted to believe her, I did. But the doubts lingered, the fear of judgment and rejection.

"I don't know, Ells. It's just...it's easier this way. To keep that part of myself hidden."

She sighed, but her eyes were full of understanding. "I get it, I do. But promise me you'll think about it, okay? About being yourself, fully and unapologetically. Because the world deserves to know the amazing man and big brother I see in front of me."

Her words wrapped around me like a warm hug, soothing the frayed edges of my nerves. I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. "Thanks, sis. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Ella grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Probably wallow in self-doubt and never leave your room."

I laughed, the sound surprising me. "Probably."

She leaned forward, her expression turning playful. "So, this new friend of yours. Is he cute?"

I felt my cheeks flush, and I ducked my head. "I don't know. We haven't exchanged pictures or anything."

Ella waggled her eyebrows. "Well, maybe you should ask for one. You know, for research purposes."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. "You're impossible."

She shrugged, unrepentant. "Just looking out for my big brother's love life."

I shook my head, but the warmth of her support, her unwavering love, settled into my bones. For the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of hope in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this. I could be myself, even if it was just with one person for now.

And with Ella by my side, cheering me on, anything felt possible.

Daniel

The morning light pierced through my eyelids like a dagger, my head throbbing with every breath. I rolled over and fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. My eyes widened as I saw multiple messages from Harald.

"Good morning, Daniel. I hope you slept well."

I couldn't help but smile despite the pounding in my head and the nausea roiling in my stomach from last night's overindulgence. We had only been chatting for a few days, but somehow Harald's thoughtful messages never failed to lift my spirits and bring a grin to my face, even in the depths of a wicked hangover. There was just something about him that drew me in and made me feel special.

I typed back, "Morning, Harald. Or is it evening there? I'm a bit worse for wear after last night. Jayda and Caleb dragged me out to the club."

"Yes, it's late in the evening for me. Oh? Do tell. I'm intrigued," he replied almost immediately.

I chuckled, my fingers flying across the screen. "Well, you definitely don't know this but I love to dance. The music was pumping, the drinks were flowing... it was a great night. Even if I am paying for it this morning."

A few moments later, my phone buzzed with his response. But this time, it wasn't just a text. Harald had sent a picture. My breath caught in my throat as I opened it.

There he was, smiling at the camera, his blond hair tousled and his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He was incredibly handsome, with chiseled features and a jawline that could cut glass. I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Your turn," he wrote. "I showed you mine, now you show me yours."

I hesitated, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. I looked like death warmed over, my hair sticking up at odd angles and dark circles under my eyes. But something about Harald made me want to take a chance.

I snapped a quick selfie, grimacing at the camera, and hit send before I could second guess myself. "Don't judge," I wrote. "I warned you I was hungover."

My hair was a disheveled mess and there were dark circles under my eyes from the late night out with Jayda and Caleb. But hey, this was me - Daniel Ramirez in all my unfiltered glory.

My phone buzzed again almost immediately. I opened the message, expecting a witty retort or playful jab at my disheveled appearance. Instead, what I saw made my heart skip a beat.

"If that's you hungover, then you have nothing to worry about. You look great, Daniel."

I felt a blush creep up my cheeks as I read his words. Before I could even process the compliment, another message came through. It was a selfie of Harald, his face contorted into an exaggerated grimace, his blond hair sticking up at odd angles.