§ § § - November 15, 2008

Christian really had intended to drop in on those friends of his, but it occurred to him halfway there that he had no idea which bungalow they were in, or even whether they were all in the same one. He'd already had one run that had, for perhaps the first time ever, failed to clear his mind; he wasn't dressed for swimming, had no interest in horseback riding, and couldn't even find any enthusiasm for watching silly rich tourists casually losing money at the casino. And if he went to the amusement park, he'd far rather have gone with Leslie and the children. In the end he found himself wandering back to his office, just to see what was happening there.

Of course, his employees accused him of taking a busman's holiday, to which he only laughed. "That's all fishtails. My wife is involved in a fantasy right now, and there's really nothing else for me to do. Darius, I'll take those phone messages, and Julianne, let me take a look at whatever e-mails you've received about website inquiries."

Darius dropped a number of pink slips of paper on his desk, while Julianne brought him a paper-clipped sheaf of pages. "Boy, you must be a real horror on vacations, Boss Prince," she remarked with a grin. "Nothing but work. Is Miss Leslie sick of computer talk yet? Do the triplets babble in their sleep about bytes and hypertext markup language and read-only memory?"

"Remind me again of when your maternity leave starts?" he retorted, making her laugh and retreat to her desk. He answered some e-mail messages while going through the website proposals, marking off five that intrigued him enough to take on and bringing up the original messages on his own machine to lay out terms and rates and ask preliminary questions. He returned a call that had come in from Jörgen Olofsson, his manager in Sundborg, and was preparing to contact Allegra Post, his London manager, for an update when someone walked into the shop.

"Can we help you?" Christian heard Darius inquire from his desk.

The voice that responded was familiar enough to freeze him. "Well, I thought that I might...oh, herregud, I had no idea...he really is here." Christian looked up and found himself staring at Ernst Wennergren, whose face was unusually florid. When Ernst saw that he had Christian's attention, he switched to jordiska. "You truly do come here and work. I thought you only supervised and collected the money..." The color in his face deepened. "Ödet ta mej, I never should have said that...I'm sorry."

Christian let out a sigh and said, "Wait there a moment." Using English, he stood up and addressed his employees. "It appears I have something to distract me after all. Darius, go ahead and return these calls, if you would, please...and Julianne, I'm taking five of these website project ideas with me to work on myself. You can do as you like with the rest, but I'd suggest that if you do think they're all worth accepting, you get a little help. There are some applications in Darius' desk drawer; ask him for site designers and choose the four you think are best. I'll look at them later and set up interviews." Julianne nodded, and he folded the five printed messages a couple of times so they were small enough to slide into a pocket. "I may be back later to check on you, so forget your ideas about having a bash in my absence." This he aimed at Jonathan, with a raised brow and a half-grin that made Jonathan laugh and lift both hands in mock surrender. "Otherwise, business as usual."

His employees murmured farewells as he gestured Ernst out ahead of him and led the way across the square without a word. Ernst was no more sure of himself than ever, Christian found himself thinking; he knew without having to look that Ernst was dutifully keeping up with him. Obeying his prince's unspoken royal command? Christian thought with an inward sigh, and continued on toward his running beach, which was usually sparsely populated and thus an ideal place to hash things out.

On the beach he paused to remove his shoes and socks, dropped them beside him and deftly rolled up the black slacks he wore most weekends. It took a minute before he realized that Ernst was staring at him, and he looked up at the other man to see an expression of pure amazement on his face. "Är det nå't fel då?" Christian asked.

Ernst stuttered, "I...no, not wrong...not exactly...only...I never saw you..."

"You've never seen one of the royals casually dressed," Christian said through a sigh, taking a bit of pity on him and filling in the sentence.

"Uh..." Ernst floundered and cleared his throat. "Only in a few photos."

"Even a prince finds it a little peculiar to walk a beach in dress slacks and shoes," Christian pointed out dryly, trying to temper the words with a smile that clearly had no effect on poor Ernst at all. He gestured at his one-time friend. "Well, take off your shoes at least. I thought this might be a good place to chat. It's rare that I find many people here."

Ernst stepped out of his sneakers, looking perhaps a little more overweight than usual in the khaki shorts and t-shirt he wore. Christian had to repress a smile; the shirt was obviously brand-new, sporting as it did the message OFFICIAL SOUVENIR OF FANTASY ISLAND. He remembered badgering Leslie once about those silly t-shirts and her laughing admission that they were the brainchild and livelihood of one of her high-school classmates. He gestured at it. "I have one of those foolish things myself."

Ernst looked astonished. "You?"

"Me," Christian said with a resigned shrug. "Leslie gave it to me one Christmas as a gag gift. I probably should have worn the damned thing today." Picking up his shoes on Ernst's startled laugh, he started down the steps that led to the sand. "Come with me."

"What happened to this beach?" Ernst wondered, picking his way down in Christian's wake, making the prince wonder if Ernst ever went barefoot back home.

"This section gets more marine detritus than any other beach on the island, for some reason," said Christian. "Watch where you walk. I've seen a few shark teeth in the sand here. Past that spit with the trees, it gets much better."

When they got there, they saw a few vacationers sunning themselves and some kids playing in the surf; most of them were native islanders and were accompanied by a couple of leaping, barking golden retrievers. "We have company," Ernst remarked.

"None that's interested in us," Christian assured him, then realized something and turned around, making Ernst stop dead. "Herregud, Wennergren, stop it, will you? There's no need for you to walk behind me. What the hell do you think you are, a Middle Eastern wife? I thought we were friends once. Walk beside me, for fate's sake."

He waited till Ernst had taken the few steps necessary to catch up, then started along the waterline, enjoying the wash of waves across his bare feet every several paces. Ernst kept up, though he still looked uncomfortable; the silence between the two stretched until Christian got impatient with it. "Well, you must have come looking for me," he said, hiding his true feelings. "I thought perhaps you had something to say."

Ernst let out a heavy sigh. "To be honest with you, I was sick of Ivar's company. Pelle didn't seem to mind, but I'd had enough of it. I really never thought Claesson would come here with us. Pelle had no trouble talking me into it, but Ivar...herregud, I wanted to tell Pelle a hundred times to forget it and just come without him." Ernst's gaze wandered off into the distance somewhere, while Christian waited, surprised and cautiously hopeful at Ernst's sudden loquacity. "I can't believe I was friends with him as long as I was."

"How long were you friends with him?" Christian wanted to know.

"Till we got our completion certificates." Ernst hesitated, then tossed the prince a skittish look. "Well, I thought we were friends at least..."

Christian snorted. "I wouldn't put much past Ivar. He's not very different from the way I remember him. Daredevil, cocky, too sure of himself, too certain that he was immune from things that would affect mere mortals. He had little discretion and even less tact."

A startled laugh boiled out of Ernst, and Christian grinned in response. "You really do remember Ivar well, don't you? So...who really put that fishtail in that teacher's desk?"

"I did it, but I wasn't lying—Ivar's the one who found it, though I don't know where. You and Pelle weren't willing to go that far, but you both thought it was just as funny as Ivar and I did. Now that I look back, I think it's a miracle we weren't caught." Christian thought it over as his and Ernst's chuckles waned. "Where in hell would Ivar have procured a fishtail, anyway? It's not as if he had access to a trawler in someplace like Sjöstrand or Klarhamn."

"He probably stole it out of the kitchen at his parents' house," Ernst suggested. "You remember his father was a high-priced lawyer in Sundborg—dealt with celebrity divorces. They had two cooks; I recall Ivar bragging about it. I think what surprised me, even back then, was the fact that you actually volunteered to put that fishtail in that teacher's desk. It stunned me. A prince, pulling a prank like that?"

"I was also a young boy, you know," Christian reminded him mildly.

Ernst seemed jolted, stumbling a little over one of his own feet before regarding the prince with discovery etched on his features. "And you wanted to fit in too."

"Too?" repeated Christian.

"Yeah...I guess I spent my whole school career looking to belong," Ernst admitted, his gaze straying again. "I'll tell you a secret, Christian. I didn't really want to be in on that fishtail prank, or all those movies we watched when we became teenagers, or anything else Ivar and that damned Kalle Stenström liked to pull. But I wasn't the most outgoing guy in the universe, and Pelle and Ivar and even Kalle seemed to accept me as long as I didn't rock the boat or try to come up with some original idea, as long as I did as they wanted. Familiarity, you know...you want to stick with what you know, and not risk your neck on something strange and new." Christian nodded. "So I stayed in the group all the way through school, but many times I hated myself for it, for my weakness and lack of backbone."

Christian felt a little guilty at hearing Ernst articulate some of his own thoughts. "Ah, well...I suppose most of us have that issue at some point in our lives."

Ernst threw him a skeptical look and demanded, "When in hell did you ever have such a problem? Even I, the tagalong, could see enough to know that you always had that cool self-confidence. You couldn't be rattled, and I can remember Kalle and Ivar trying on a lot of occasions in the last couple of years of primaskolan. Maybe it left you on one side and the rest of us on the other, but you never hesitated to refuse to do something if you didn't want to. You didn't care what they would think of you if you swam against the current; you just sailed your own ship. And you didn't feel as if you had to defend the decisions you made. You were so damn calm and self-assured. Herregud, Christian, I tried all through högskolan to talk my father into sending me to that exclusive private school you attended, but he always told me he couldn't afford it." Ernst kicked at the sand in frustration. "But I imagine you never would've believed that, would you?"

Christian was staring at him in astonishment. "You...you really didn't enjoy those escapades of theirs? I..." He hesitated, met Ernst's gaze and decided there was no point in being delicate at this late date. "I knew you went along with their antics because you didn't want to be left out of things, but I never thought you realized why you were doing it."

Ernst let out a low growl. "Oh, I knew all right. I remember thinking it would have been far better to have attended school with you. I would have had a true friend, rather than those who merely allowed me to hang around because I agreed with everything they said."

Christian caught his breath and gaped at Ernst for so long that Ernst reddened again; the prince smiled apologetically and shook his head in wonder. "I never dreamed that was possible. I simply thought...that I was irredeemably set apart because of my station in life. It was certainly that way in högskolan, but I suppose you know all about that." His mind shifted tracks before Ernst could speak. "What of...well, I'm sure Kalle and Ivar were predictably cocksure all through högskolan, but what about Pelle?"

"I don't really know about Pelle," Ernst admitted. "You reach an age where you don't talk to one another so much. Once or twice I almost found the courage to ask Pelle if he really cared about Ivar's and Kalle's friendship that much, but I never managed to actually do it. In any case, for a while he was just as obnoxious as they were."

"Yes, I remember that," Christian said, and they grinned wryly at each other. "It made me think that he didn't have much in the way of a backbone either, if he felt he had to be like Kalle and Ivar before they'd accept him."

"I think that's what Pelle's really feeling so guilty about," Ernst said slowly, as they began walking again. "That he tried to become a clone of Ivar and Kalle, and as a result he alienated you as a friend. And by the way, Christian, I don't know what you went through in högskolan. You were the sort who shouldn't have had trouble making friends, and I imagined you surrounded by girls as well."

"Remind me to tell you about those years sometime. For now, let me just say that perhaps if I really had had girls surrounding me, my father might have left well enough alone. Of course, on the other hand, I might never have met Leslie either; so perhaps in the end it was all worth the price I had to pay." He studied Ernst curiously. "You didn't speak of your children's mother."

"First and only wife," Ernst said with a smile, then kidded, "at least so far." Both he and Christian laughed. "Her name's Tanja, and we'll celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary next year. I know, I married young, but I was fortunate enough to find her in my college years. I attended Premier University, and though I know that's also where Ivar went, we had no classes together since we were studying entirely different courses. Being on my own made things different, and I had to fend for myself, think for myself, everything. It changed me." He shrugged. "Of course, I felt like a fool when Ivar and Pelle showed up at the venue where Aina and I were showing some of our horses. Frankly, I don't even know what the hell they were doing there."

"Was it a large event? Perhaps they appeared because they recognized your name among those who were showing. Though I admit, the equine world in Lilla Jordsö isn't very large, and I don't recall either Pelle or Ivar showing much interest in horses."

"You either," Ernst remarked. "Why is that?"

"No Enstad has ridden a horse since my grandmother was killed in a fall from one, a few months before I was born," Christian said. "It may be just as well. In a country as small as ours, even the royal family has to pick and choose its hobbies."

"Apparently, without horses, you picked and chose quite a variety of them," Ernst commented with an easy laugh that warmed Christian. "Prince Carl Johan and Prince Rudolf in horticulture, Princess Anna-Kristina with her cats, Prince Roald with his martial arts...and you with your computers! How did you get into that, anyway?"

The conversation bloomed and flowed wonderfully as Christian and Ernst turned at the end of the beach and wandered back the other way; by the time they reached the stand of palms, they had exchanged e-mail addresses and agreed to keep in touch from then on. "It's good to call you friend again, Christian," Ernst said and smiled. "Listen, the next time you and your family are back in Lilla Jordsö, please, come and visit. We have plenty of room and you'll be more than welcome."

"Your father's horse ranch northeast of Sundborg, right?" Christian asked, and Ernst nodded. "Ach...do you realize I never saw it?"

Ernst made a noise of realization. "That's right...you mentioned to Pelle that we never visited you at the castle nor invited you to visit our homes. Then we'll give you and Princess Leslie and your children the full tour when you visit."

Christian smiled and said, "I'd like that, and I'm sure Leslie will too." He drew in a breath, then added, "You might like to see our home here as well."

The reward he got for that was Ernst's grin. "I'd enjoy that. I presume you don't live in a miniature castle?" Christian scoffed in disgust and they both laughed.

The day's final serum dose at Julie's café saw Margareta eyeing the vial with distaste as she picked at a slab of yellowtail with her fork. "I could barely choke down that second dose," she complained. "I'm afraid my stomach will reject this last one."

"With force, perhaps?" Christian said and grinned a wry grin at her. "Margareta Hjördis Benita, I'm truly amazed at you. The ever-fearless one who marches right in because she scorns trepidation in others...afraid? And of the taste of a serum that could spell the end of a lifelong dependence, at that?"

She glared at him with such venom that both he and Leslie burst out laughing. "You could always ask Rogan if you can mix it with your coffee," Leslie offered, giggling.

Margareta's gaze shifted to her. "What, and spoil perfectly good coffee?" Again they laughed; this time the princess joined in. "I realize it sounds silly, but now that I think about it, it isn't really just the taste. That is...it is the taste, but that's the least of what worries me. I know, I know." She showed her palms to a still-grinning Christian. "We were told over and over again, warned of the risks, the drawbacks, the side effects...and I know also, I jumped right in and insisted on doing it. I'll see it through. But I never signed a contract that stipulates I had to pretend to like the idea of hallucinating, or being poisoned, or tasting it!"

"You might, however, be a little less vocal about your dislike," Christian said, his eyes alight with amusement. "Unless you're simply attempting some comic relief."

"It might have helped if you and Aunt Leslie were eating with me," Margareta said, glancing at their empty place settings. "Why didn't you?"

"To keep Mariki from giving us grief," Leslie said, rolling her eyes. "If we eat anywhere other than at the main house, without good reason, she gets all offended and wants to know why we're shunning her cooking. She wouldn't consider this a good reason. And anyway, Father will be there, and we usually use the time to catch each other up on anything that's happened during the weekend that one of us wasn't around for. You can join us if you want. Mariki's likely to push dessert on you. If you take anything, even a little fruit, it'll shut her up and you won't have to endure her carrying on."

"Eat your fish, Magga," Christian said, gesturing at her plate. "Leslie and I are hungry, and we'd like to repair to the main house for our own meal. At this rate you'll be the last to finish, and you know Rogan likes his experiment as coordinated as possible."

Margareta stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Look," he said, and she twisted in her seat just in time to see Rogan sweeping the room with his gaze. The others in the group were twisting caps off vials in preparation for downing their last doses. Margareta groaned, picked up her own vial and unscrewed the cap, then held her breath as she drained it and forced herself to gulp down the contents. Gagging, she reached for the coffee cup that Christian had helpfully refilled and drank as if it were water and she hadn't had any for a week.

"All right back there?" Rogan called from the other side of the room.

"Nothing she can't handle," Christian said with a grin, as Margareta slowly set down the cup and began to breathe deeply. "I might suggest you experiment with the taste of that serum, though, if you expect it to be any sort of success." This comment got him laughter and even some scattered applause from everyone else in the room, and Rogan chuckled as well, leaning against the wall.

When Julie came out and shooed them all out of the café to make room for the evening customers, Christian, Leslie and Margareta left with the first of the departees and made their way to the main house, where they joined Roarke at the table. "I presume you've taken the final dose of Rogan's serum," Roarke said quizzically to the princess.

Margareta's features soured at the mere mention. "Herregud, Mr. Roarke, don't stir up horrid memories," she muttered, making Christian and Leslie break into laughter again and explain what she meant. When Mariki came out with her cart, Margareta asked her if she had something rich and sweet, surprising the cook.

"Cheesecake," Leslie suggested. "That'll do it."

"Then that's what I want," Margareta announced. "As thick and rich as it gets."

Mariki stared at her, then shrugged amiably. "Why not. Cheesecake it is, Your High-ness, and I'll be out with it as soon as I've got these dishes on the table. Swordfish tonight, everyone—except you, Miss Leslie, not with your condition. You're getting salmon."

"I hate you when you do that," Leslie sniped, and again there was laughter. As Mariki departed, she grinned ruefully at Margareta. "I love swordfish, and she knows it. Problem is, pregnant women are advised not to eat it, and Mariki treats that as if it were island law. I'll just have to wait till our new arrival gets here."

"Aren't you planning to nurse, as you did the triplets?" Christian asked.

"Of course, but Dr. Hannaford reminded me that sometimes a mother can nurse one child but not another. So we'll see what happens after I give birth and I find out if the little one takes to it. If not, I'm going to pig out on swordfish." She smirked and Christian laughed along with Roarke.

Toward the end of the meal Leslie agreed to drive Margareta to hers and Christian's home for the night; she told Christian she would check in on the triplets while she was there and then come back. That left Christian at loose ends; at Roarke's invitation, he tinkered with the computer in the study, decided it needed a good scan and defrag, and set about handling those tasks while Roarke busied himself with accounting.

Then Christian groaned. "Ach. Would you excuse me, Mr. Roarke? I wanted to update your version of Windows—it just occurred to me, and this would be the perfect moment, but as fate would have it, I left the disk at my office. I'll return quickly."

"You need not rush, Christian," Roarke said. "You have all evening."

"It won't take long," he said with a smile and departed. Enstad Computer Services was closed for the day, but he let himself in with the master key and began rummaging in his desk for the installation disk he wanted, using the green-shaded desk lamp Leslie had presented to him when he'd first opened this storefront.

He was so startled by a knock on the window that he nearly slammed a drawer on his finger and caught himself just in time. The town square was lit up for the night, but that made it no easier to see who was peering through the glass with his hands cupped around his face. Impatient, Christian shoved the chair back and went over to flip on the ceiling lights; they revealed the startled, sheepish visage of Pelle Fågelsang.