Regardless, I’m jumping up on a dining room chair, the slobber-covered ornament in my hand, as Snarf Snarf barrels in the room.
He squeals and snorts, trying to paw at the furniture, rocking the chair back and forth.
My eyes dart to the doorway where Aksel is standing, arms crossed, amusement dancing on his handsome face.
“Well!?” I cry out. “Call off the bloody pig!”
He gives me a self-satisfied smirk, the kind that only my husband can pull off, then slowly shakes his head. “I don’t think so. You see, I knew this would happen. That day you returned from the Tivoli with that little shit in your backpack, I knew the day would come when the pig would turn on you.”
“He’s turned on me a million times before,” I tell him. “But I think this time he’s out for blood.”
As if to make a point, Snarf Snarf headbutts the chair and I nearly go tumbling off, trying in vain to keep my balance.
Then Aksel decides I’ve had enough, strides over and calmly plucks me off the chair so I’m in his arms.
I laugh, putting my hands around his neck. “My hero, the king.”
He grunts and then carries me out of the room.
Snarf Snarf trots behind us, but he’s intimidated by Aksel, as so many people are. Not just because he’s the King of Denmark, but because he’s tall, stern, and formidable. Only I know the hidden sweet, mushy side of my man, a side he likes to keep hidden from everyone. Including the pig.
Especially the pig.
As he carries me down the hall, I whisper in his ear, “How about you take me straight up to bed?”
He grunts again and gives me a burning look, his glacial blue eyes brimming with intensity. “You know I’d do anything for my queen…”
He doesn’t have to finish the sentence.
While we have help around the palace, we are in the middle of putting Christmas decorations away with the children, and the two of us are leaving tomorrow morning for Oslo to celebrate New Year’s Eve with friends. Jetting off upstairs for a quick screw would definitely be noticed and frowned upon, even if we are the King and Queen.
Damn. I have to say, even though I’ve been married to Aksel for three years now, the fact that I’m the queen still manages to leave me blindsided. Having married into this royal family still takes some getting used to. I still feel like me, just a girl from Australia. I don’t feel I’m special, that I have any sort of power. I just happened to fall in love with a king.
“Well, at least we get to have our first vacation alone in years,” I tell him as he carries me into the living room, where the kids have managed to knock over the Christmas tree, needles and remaining decorations spilling everywhere.
“Shit,” Aksel mutters under his breath, lowering me to the ground. “All right,” he booms. “Who did this?”
All four kids freeze in place.
There’s Clara, holding a box full of decorations, her expression already aghast that we might consider her a culprit.
Then there’s Freja, who is lying on the floor near the tree, who either attempted to stop the tree from falling or just gave up on life.
Then there’re the twins, Lars and Emil.
Both of them are standing beside each other like the kids from The Shining, evil smiles on their faces, their hands behind their backs. They’re even dressed the same, which was never my idea, they just want to look the same to make us confused. Luckily, it’s pretty obvious who is who, even though both of them look especially guilty right now. Maybe guilty isn’t the right word for it. Proud?
“It was them,” Clara cries out, pointing at the twins. “They did it!”
Lars looks at Clara and goes “Raaaaawr!” with his hands out, mouth open, running toward her like he’s going to bite off the tip of her finger.
Clara screeches, dropping the ornaments, and runs to the safety of the sofas.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I say, running after Lars and scooping him up. He squirms in my arms, making him hard to hold. He’s two, and getting larger by the day.
Aksel knows what to do. He goes and scoops up Emil under one arm, then comes over and take Lars from me, doing the same. Both of our boys kick and scream, but Aksel carries them like he’s bringing in groceries (not that he does that), and then leaves the room.
I sit down on the floor beside Freja and sigh. “I was only gone for a few seconds,” I tell her. “You couldn’t have watched them?”
Freja narrows her eyes at me. “They bite, you know.”
“Yeah!” Clara shouts from the couch, peering over the edge of it with big eyes. “You shouldn’t have left us alone with them.”
“Well, I was being chased by a pig.”
Freja giggles.
“Speaking of,” I say, looking around. “Where did Snarf Snarf go?”
Down the hall, from the opposite end of the palace, I hear a faint yelp. Probably from Maja.
I sigh again. “I guess someone found him.” I get to my feet and then haul Freja up to hers. “Come on, let’s fix the tree.”
“What’s the point if we’re already taking it down?” Freja asks.
“Because it’s getting needles everywhere,” I tell her, bending down to lift up the end of it, the tree shedding all over my sweater.
“And why are we taking it down to begin with?” Clara asks. “We usually keep the decorations up until New Year’s Day.”
“Because you know that your father and I are going to Norway for New Years and won’t be back until the second. If we take down the decorations now, it’s much easier this way. Besides, it’s the twenty-ninth, and we put everything up on the first. That’s a long time to be in the Christmas spirit. Aren’t you over it?”
“No.”
“No!” Clara yells.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, well over it or not, just do what you can to
