Start a Riot, Chapter 8. PG-13, Wille/Simon, romance/drama, directly post-S1.
On his first day back to school after the Christmas break, Simon is informed that he's been suspended for two weeks because of his involvement in the video making the rounds on the internet. Now it's up to Wille and his few allies to recruit as many out of the entire population of entitled rich kids at Hillerska as they can to go full Greta to try and pressure the school to reverse this decision before it ruins Simon's future.
Note: Inspired, most recently, by Netflix's Moxie and Sex Education, and a bajillion other teen movies and TV shows out there where high schoolers stage a school strike/walkout/protest against their school.
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The next time the Crown Prince stepped foot at Drottningholm, it was because he was summoned.
Wilhelm met his mother at her office. That meant he was facing the Queen alone; his father would not be there to mediate this time, to whatever extent his presence could be helpful. He took a calming breath before going in, but he felt a lot more confident this time around than the last time he'd talked to his mother. Probably because he wasn't as angry (though who knew how long that would last; there was always an undercurrent of irritation in his interactions with his mother, especially since the end of the last school term), and also because... well, their plan had actually worked.
For one, they managed to get the school administration to reverse Simon's suspension that same day. Felice had told them, passing the news along from her mother, that the school had been inundated by calls from parents. Apparently, continually getting comments from clients, business partners, and key contacts about how "Hey, isn't that your kid's school on the news?" prompted enough embarrassment among the upper class to get them to reach out to the school and ask them to do whatever it took to get their name out of the national broadcasts.
But moreover, the strike itself had garnered an incredible amount of support from the public, and young people in particular. Wilhelm hadn't been tracking the response himself— that would be like asking for a mental breakdown— but the girls had been exchanging some of their favorite reactions from social media, web forums, press articles, and news sites over a group chat since the night before, and they all seemed pretty excited at how supportive people seemed overall. (Fredrika, especially, was over the moon because her Instagram follower count had finally crossed seven thousand.)
It wasn't that they didn't get any negative comments, of course; it was just that they didn't expect the response to be so overwhelmingly positive. Mostly, Hillerska kids already got a certain amount of (not entirely undeserved) derision from the general populace just from the fact that they were upper-class students of an expensive private boarding school. But even then, Simon's plight had seemed to resonate with young people all over the country, and the Hillerska students' support of his cause garnered them a lot of unexpected goodwill they wouldn't otherwise get. Just as Wilhelm had said himself during the rally, most people would agree that the issues surrounding Simon's suspension were wrong, and unlike most aristocrats and rich people who only worried about their image and status, the people watching in from all around the country had no problem voicing their support online.
Wilhelm kept that support in mind as he readied himself to go into the office. He might technically be facing his mother alone, but he wasn't really. Bolstering him, in spirit, he had Simon, and the girls, and the support of the people. He also felt that Erik would have supported him on this. He had done the right thing. He let that thought buoy him as he opened the door.
As he entered the room, he found the Queen sitting at her desk, diligently putting pen to paper even though it was a Saturday. There was a large folder open in front of her with a giant stack of documents in it, which she seemed to be only a quarter of the way through. She heard him walk in, but she did not look up from what she was writing. "Well, you must be feeling proud of yourself," she said instead of a greeting, which, Wilhelm noted, was something she often chastised him for.
In all honesty, Wilhelm wasn't sure he was feeling proud of himself, necessarily. He was feeling a lot of things about the plan they cooked up and what came out of it, and those feelings were both positive and negative at the same time. It was all more than a little overwhelming, and it hadn't even been a full day since— he was still processing. But Simon was proud of him, and that counted for a lot. "I think it went well, yes," was all he said, guardedly, in response to his mother's comment.
She glanced up at him then and gave him a look, and Wilhelm had to school himself not to squirm under her gaze like he'd been conditioned to since childhood. She quickly went back to the papers in front of her. "You certainly gave the communications team a lot of extra work, but thankfully you had the good sense not to directly contradict anything you've said before," she said, confirming to Wilhelm that her main worry was, indeed, that he'd go rogue and admit to everyone he, and by extension the Crown, had lied when he gave that statement back in December.
He knew how big of a bomb that would be, and that's why he hadn't said it. It wouldn't do anyone any good at this point; it would only drudge up the scandal all over again, and feeding people's mistrust in authority, deserved as it might be, could be dangerous. But it was good to know he had some leverage over his mother. He could do with some of that.
"There is still," the Queen continued, "the issue of you not only appearing at, but also taking an active part in, what was quite explicitly billed as a protest against a private institution." She shook her head. "You know we can't speak on political issues."
Wilhelm scoffed, yet another gesture his mother would usually reprimand him for ("Royals are not so obviously derisive, Wilhelm," he remembered from way before he even knew what the word "derisive" meant). "Seriously? You can go to the G20 Summit in Saudi Arabia and advocate for climate change action in front of a bunch of oil tycoons, but I can't stand up in support of a classmate?"
She looked at him again, her gaze razor sharp. "He's not just a classmate, and we both know that."
Wilhelm met her eyes as unflinchingly as he could. "We know. The press doesn't."
His mother shook her head and put the pen down with a sigh. "They're not stupid, Wilhelm," she said in the same tone she took whenever she scolded him about slouching while at state dinners or when he complained about having to learn some random greeting in some other language— the You should know this already tone. "You think they won't put two and two together when you're suddenly on national television defending the boy you were rumored to be in a scandalous video with just last month?"
And yes, of course he knew they'd figure it out, but that wasn't the point. "It doesn't matter what they think," he threw back, keeping his chin up as he said the words. He never thought such a thing would ever come out of his mouth, and at the moment he wasn't sure if he could live by that maxim, but he was going to try. It was the only way for him to survive this entire mess— or, really, his entire life as a member of the royal family— without going insane.
"Of course it matters! You've grown up in this environment, Wilhelm. You know how this works." Ah, there it was, the You should know this already statement to go with the tone. His mother squared her shoulders and pushed herself to her feet, work queue set aside for the moment. "Public perception is everything!" she continued.
She crossed her arms in a very matriarch sort of way, lips pressed together tightly, as she regarded him with obvious dissatisfaction. "Honestly, if you insist on going through with this, I would say it's in your best interest to say something."
Wilhelm's jaw could have hit the floor. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he blurted out, stunned. Normally he tried not to swear around either of his parents— save himself the lecture and all— but he rather thought this circumstance warranted the emphasis. "Now you want me to come out? You practically twisted my arm last time to get me to lie to the entire nation!" he all but yelled at his mother.
His mother's breath left her lungs in a huff. "I did not force you to do anything," she retorted incisively. "I gave you the best advice I thought was applicable, and then you made your own decision. Would I rather you not do this at all? Of course. That would make things easier for everyone," she stated, then shook her head. "But if you had chosen to tell the truth, we would have had no choice but to figure out how to proceed from there."
Wilhelm wanted to scream. Sure, she was technically correct, but she knew very well that one did not simply dismiss advice from Her Majesty, the Queen of Sweden. Even if you were the Crown Prince. Perhaps especially if you were the Crown Prince.
She seemed perfectly comfortable pretending her "advice" was no different from anyone else's, however. She knew when to apply the full weight of her royal title and when to stash it away; had it down to an art form, really. That had to be a fraud of some kind, Wille thought. Manipulation of emotional currency. Wilhelm didn't think he'd ever be able to just... make that shift so automatically.
"My point is," she continued in a no-nonsense tone, "it's always better to take some sort of stance. Otherwise, they'll speculate regardless."
"So let them!" Wilhelm threw back, louder than he'd intended. Already the frustration he'd told himself he would hold at bay was starting to creep up on him; it always happened with his mother, especially recently. "If they're going to talk about it anyway, then why does it matter what I say or what I do?"
"Because we only get one chance to get ahead of this," she replied pointedly, her eyebrows arching high on her forehead as if to underline the words she was saying. "You can't let other people set the narrative about your own life."
"What narrative?! I don't even know what I—" What I am, Wilhelm had been about to say, but he cut himself off abruptly before he could. He was not about to discuss his sexual orientation with his mother, the Queen, thankyouverymuch. That was not a thing that was ever going to happen.
It did annoy him when she started throwing around PR terms like "narrative," however. This was his life. There were no narratives. Wilhelm barely had a grasp on his own identity, let alone any labels that may or may not apply to it; he wasn't exactly thinking of how to best explain it to the rest of the world just yet. "I don't understand why I need to say anything. I'm sixteen! It's not like I'm going to get married tomorrow. It's none of their business until I make it their business."
"If you flaunt it for everyone to see and then pretend that they're just imagining things, they're going to make it their business," his mother insisted. She rounded the desk and leaned back against the opposite edge so that there was only empty space separating them.
Wilhelm wanted to pull at his hair. He'd never said anything about pretending— pretending was precisely what he did not want to do anymore. He just wanted to live his life without having to explain his every move to the entire world. Why was that so much to ask?
"It's not like I'm going to be making out with him in the middle of Humlegården— I wouldn't do that even if I were with a girl!" he countered, trying to keep his composure, but failing. She just really knew how to push his buttons. "I'm not an idiot. I'm not about to invite them into my relationship; that's the last thing I want."
He took a deep breath again and let it out slowly, just as he had before coming into the office. "There's gotta be some middle ground here, right?" he asked, almost begging. "What's so wrong with, like, holding hands with him between classes, or... inviting him here to hang out during school breaks, or... taking him to a concert and laughing the next morning at all the headlines talking about Crown Prince Wilhelm and his 'good friend' Simon." He did the air quotes with his fingers and imagined that Simon would chuckle at that if he could hear him.
He saw his mother shake her head in immediate refusal as he spoke, so he pre-empted her rebuttal with an imploring look. "What's so wrong with just... being able to be ourselves around a small group of people we trust?" He shrugged. "That's why you sent me to Hillerska, right? To protect me from the scrutiny? To keep me out of the eye of the wider public?"
"You can't just trust people, Wilhelm!" she shot back with a harsh sideways movement of one arm like she was trying to wipe away this entire conversation. She was now fully yelling, which in turn made the last connecting thread on Wilhelm's composure give way.
"You think I don't know that?!" he snapped back at her, no longer caring about how laced with desperation he sounded. "Erik told me I could trust August and he was wrong, Mamma. He was wrong!" His voice broke on the last word and he could feel the tears stinging in his eyes. He hated feeling like he should be mad at Erik; he'd sweep the mistake aside in a second if it meant he could have his older brother back.
His mother's reaction wasn't overt, but Wilhelm knew her well enough, and knew her stoic façade well enough, that he could tell she was affected. She flinched, pulling back until her whole posture screamed "retreat," crossing her arms around her torso in a protective gesture Wilhelm recognized in himself. Her eyes were glassy, too.
She offered no retort, however; it was like the mere mention of Erik had spirited the words right out of her mouth. So Wilhelm continued making his case. "Believe me, from now on, I will think it through four and five times before deciding to trust anyone," he declared, and that was the truth. What August had done... it scarred him. That wasn't something he could ever forget. Or forgive.
"But I can't just go through life being paranoid that everyone will sell me out," he added softly, feeling tired down to the marrow of his bones. "It's a recipe for madness."
His mother stared at him in silence for a long while. Wilhelm wasn't sure what she was thinking; if it was about their conversation or his appearance somehow. He could almost feel her gaze as it lingered over his disheveled hair, his slumped shoulders, his hands pulling at invisible loose threads on the hem of his blue sweater. But the visual inspection didn't feel uncomfortable or judgmental, for once; if anything, it felt contemplative. He could only dare hope his mother was truly thinking about everything he'd said.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she sighed. "Are you sure this is what you want, Wilhelm?" she asked, in a resigned, exhausted tone very similar to the one he'd just spoken with. She still had her arms crossed, but not as tightly as before. "You have to be sure. You have to think ten moves ahead."
She pursed her lips briefly before continuing. "This will follow you for the rest of your life— for the rest of your reign," she added, emphasis making it very clear where her primary concern rested. "If there is any chance that you might change your mind about this in the future, that you don't have to put yourself and Simon through this hardship..." She was clever, for sure. She knew where Wilhelm's priorities lay and that any chance of this backfiring on Simon would give him pause. It's not like Wilhelm hadn't already agonized over it for ages.
But it didn't feel like an outright manipulation this time around. She sounded sincere. And there was a part of Wilhelm, still, that longed for his mother's approval. A part of him that still sought affection from her, despite what she'd done. "...if there's any possibility you don't need to do this," the Queen concluded softly, "then I urge you to consider it. The world will not be kind."
He wanted to believe that she was doing this for his sake. He really did. But it was still difficult to understand her. "See, that is what bothers me the most about this whole thing," he said with a groan, running a hand through his hair. That wasn't quite true; what bothered him the most was not being able to be with Simon, but his mother's recalcitrant insistence that a queer Crown Prince would be rejected by the citizenry was also way up there. "You're the Queen of this entire country, but you seem to think your subjects are all just horrible people!"
It continued to baffle him. He knew, logically, that his mother was not homophobic, at least in a personal sense. If they weren't royals, she probably would not have a problem with any of this. No, the issue seemed to be the shaking up of the status quo, of hundreds of years of legacy, and the idea that her son, her heir, was going to be the one to do it. That's what she was struggling with. But that meant she was bent on upholding a homophobic system, and that made her actions homophobic.
But she didn't have to do that; she'd put herself in that cage all on her own, regardless of what the vast majority of the country actually supported. Wilhelm didn't understand how that made any sense. "You raised me to love Sweden, and I do," he reminded her, steadfast. "And it's because I love it that I trust most people will, eventually, understand and accept me as I am."
"Most of them will," she conceded, uncrossing her arms and resting her hands on the edge of her desk at her sides. Wilhelm had never cared for opinion polls or anything along those lines, but his mother certainly would. She knew he was making a good point. "But," she added, "a not-insignificant number of them will not. You have to be realistic."
"I am being realistic, mother," Wilhelm threw back, annoyed that even when he had the facts on his side, she was still dismissive. "This is going to get out no matter what. It's only because I've been actively fighting against it that it hasn't already." And he was very aware of that, especially in light of her earlier reminder that denying his involvement in the tape had been his own decision when it came down to the wire. If he had been strong enough to resist the pressure, clear enough as to who he was and what he wanted, they wouldn't even be having this conversation. Everything would be out already.
"But I can't do that forever," he continued. "All I can do is try to give myself— and Simon— some time." And, really, that's all he was asking for, wasn't it? Time. Time for everyone to adjust, as Simon had said. Time to process, time to think, time to gauge people's reactions, and then make decisions based on that reaction. Not just based on... fear and feeling overwhelmed and jumping to the worst possible conclusions.
"You'll never be able to win over everyone," his mother insisted. "It's just not possible."
She said that like Wilhelm didn't know that already. That's not what he was saying at all. "Well, then, why even let it bother us?" he posited instead. "Isn't that the whole point of the huge PR machine we have behind us? To minimize the discontent? Isn't that kind of your whole thing?" He gestured in her direction, throwing her hypocrisy back at her: when it came to her opinions, "public perception is everything;" but when public perception was on Wilhelm's side, well, then it just wasn't enough. Was he getting that right?
"I don't understand why this has to be such a big deal," he continued with a groan, rubbing his eyes with one hand. His head hurt. "We can get it to a point where, sure, it makes headlines for a while, but then... I don't know, Prince Andrew over in the UK says or does something terrible, and people here will just be relieved that the worst thing I ever did was fall in love with a boy."
The Queen sighed. "I wish it were that easy."
Wilhelm tugged at his hair just so he would have something to do with his hands other than wave them angrily at his mother. "It's only hard because you're making it harder!"
"Well, I'm your mother," she snapped back. "It's my job to worry about your life decisions."
He couldn't help but scoff at that one. "Funny, I thought your job was being the Queen of Sweden." Embittered by her refusal to see things from his perspective, he shook his head, making his way toward the window. He could see the lake outside, and it reminded him of Hillerska. That made him think of Simon, wonder what he was doing right at that moment while Wilhelm was stuck in a circular argument with his mother.
His gaze stayed fixed on the water, the wintry sky reflected on its glossy surface. He breathed deeply again, in and out, before speaking up. "I was going to say it, you know," he admitted in a low, subdued tone. "That I lied during that interview. That it was me on the video." His hand almost went up to his mouth so he could chew on his thumbnail, but he realized halfway through the movement what he was doing, and instead put both hands inside his pockets. Looking agitated would only make him more agitated.
"But I didn't because... I don't think it will make anything better," he added with a half shrug. "And honestly, I'm not ready. I'm not ready to put a part of me that I don't think I even understand yet myself out there for everybody to scrutinize and speculate on. Not right now."
He turned back around, away from the window, to look at his mother. "But I will," he promised, serious. "Someday. Because I... will be King"— it still felt surreal to say it— "and I understand that whether I like it or not, I owe myself, my identity, to the Swedish people." He shook his head. "Not every detail, maybe. Some things are, and should stay, personal. But the important parts... those, they do have a right to know."
The Queen was watching him, her expression inscrutable, but letting him say his piece. He squared his shoulders. "And this is important, Mamma. It's a part of who I am," he affirmed, wondering if maybe behind her guarded expression, his mother was still hoping he was wrong about this. That this was just some kind of experimentation he'd eventually grow out of.
It wasn't. He wasn't certain of many things regarding the situation he found himself in, but he was certain of this. Certain that his feelings for Simon were real, whatever that meant for him as far as labels were concerned. What they had was real. Perhaps the only real thing in Wilhelm's life.
"And yeah, maybe I won't end up with Simon for good; that's always a possibility. And maybe I'll never like another boy but rather end up marrying some... heiress from Montenegro or whatever," he said, though the idea sounded ludicrous to his ears. What he felt for Simon was so intense, so big that he couldn't comprehend how it even had room inside his chest. Surely a feeling so strong could never just... fizzle out, right? But, intellectually, he understood some of his mother's concerns. He was young— they both were— and neither of them was thinking about forever. Things could change in the future; he knew that.
"But the part of me that fell in love with him is not going to disappear," he said. And that was why, if he was going to go down this road, it had to be about more than just what he was feeling right now or about a relationship that may or may not go the distance. "That wasn't something he did; it was in me. It was a part of me all along." He loved Simon so much, and at the moment he wanted to be with Simon as long as Simon would have him, but his coming out had to be about him, about who he was, and that's why he needed time to understand himself before making any kind of public statement.
The Crown Prince was meant to be a role model, indeed, even in this aspect of his life— especially in this aspect of his life. If he was going to put his sexuality out there for people to dissect, he wanted it to mean something, to help people who were struggling with their own as much as he had.
That meant he couldn't mess it up. It's why he needed time. "And I want to be able to share that on my time. At my pace."
His mother looked like she was about to say something, but Wilhelm wasn't going to let her refute that. She'd lost that right when she hid the truth about August from Wilhelm to get him to do her bidding. "But if you keep pushing me to keep it hidden," he continued before she could get a word in edgewise, "to lie about it, and it hurts Simon— or anyone I love— then I'm going to go public with everything," he warned. "Whether I'm ready or not, I don't care. I'll go straight to social media. We've seen that it works, haven't we?"
The Queen's brow betrayed her surprise. "Well, that's a threat if I've ever heard one," she retorted, clearly referencing their previous conversation when Wilhelm had given her "notice" that he wasn't just going to sit on his hands while Simon's life was ruined. "You know, you may think you're all grown up, but the fact is you're still sixteen." And there it was again, the double standard: When it came to matters of public perception, he had to be mature. Responsible. A grown-up. But when he wanted to do something she disagreed with, he was just a child who needed to be managed. Un-fucking-believable. "I am still your mother, and I have every right to take away your phone, your computer—"
"Right, and you're also going to keep me away from anyone who has a phone or a camera for the rest of my life? Sounds doable," he interrupted her sarcastically. He wasn't going to fall for it this time. "What else? Are you going to pull me out of school? 'Cause you saw what happened yesterday. I'm pretty sure I could walk outside the palace gates and yell for someone to record a statement, and a journalist would just pop out of the mist."
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed them at chest level, not defensively, but to clench them around something other than air. His jaw tensed. "So unless you're planning on explaining to the Swedish people why you're keeping their crown prince locked away in a tower like freaking Rapunzel until the day he ascends the throne," he added, signaling brusquely toward the door, at the rest of the palace, with one hand, "I don't think this idea of yours is going to hold much weight."
Despite the level of control the institution of the monarchy exerted over his life, if there was one thing Wilhelm had learned from the Hillerska Strike for Justice, it was that he wasn't completely resourceless. It was about time his mother learned that lesson, too.
The Queen let out a "ha" sound under her breath, choosing to call his bluff. "You won't do that. You know how important the Crown's reputation is, Wilhelm. Taking your grievances to the public will only make things worse."
"I don't want to do it. It's the last thing I want to do!" Wilhelm shot back somewhat anxiously. It wasn't a nice feeling, to be here basically threatening his own mother for some minuscule degree of freedom. He did not feel good about this. Still, he felt he had to do it. "I'm telling you what I do want, though, and you're not listening. So what else do you expect me to do?"
He covered his face with his hands for a moment, closing his eyes to tamp down the edge of dizziness that was starting to fog up his brain. Then he straightened up and fixed his mother with a determined stare. "You keep telling me that I'm going to be King, so I have to own it. Well, this is me owning it. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Once again, the Queen regarded her son and heir solemnly, mulling thoughts Wilhelm knew he could barely fathom. Her mouth was closed primly, her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't look angry, for once; just contemplative, if Wilhelm had to hazard a guess.
After a minute or so of complete silence, still without uttering a word, his mother pushed away from her desk and carefully walked toward him, kitten heels clip-clopping against the parquet floor. Wilhelm waited, unsure what her reaction was going to be, and too drained from this entire argument to bother being apprehensive.
When she reached him, she looked up at him and reached up to caress his cheek softly with the back of her hand. It was a familiar gesture. Wilhelm closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. It crossed his mind that Linda cradling his cheek the day before had felt ten times warmer than any time his own mother had done this as far as he could remember, but if this was the most affection he was allowed to get from the Queen, he'd still take it. How sad was that?
"Oh, my darling," she said quietly, her gaze soft, almost sorrowful. "I just don't want your life to be harder than it needs to be."
Wilhelm breathed out heavily, his shoulders dropping as he met her eyes, weary. "Having to hide who I am all the time will not make it any easier, Mamma," he whispered in response, heavyhearted. He just wanted her to understand him, to support him, to choose him over the Crown, at least once. Just once.
His mother studied his expression carefully, silently, for a little bit. He couldn't read her expression, but he thought he saw a little sadness there. Melancholy, maybe. Perhaps a sliver of pity, though he didn't know if that was a good thing. He met her gaze regardless, begging her to be on his side without outright saying the words. Then she pulled her hand back, and he steeled himself for disappointment.
Instead, she sighed. "I swear, Wilhelm, after all the grief you've given me about this, you better marry this boy," she quipped, almost in a mutter, shaking her head as she turned and made her way back to the desk.
His first thought was that he didn't know what was with people this weekend making jokes about him and Simon getting married. For fuck's sake, he was sixteen! And this was his mother, no less! The Queen of Sweden! She hardly ever joked about anything. Did she even mean it to be teasing? Regardless, he could feel his face getting hot and he knew he had to be blushing, much to his eternal embarrassment.
He was about to turn to the nearest wall and hide his face against the Rococo wall panels when the underlying meaning of her words actually clicked in his brain.
He looked in her direction, wide-eyed— her back was to him as she fiddled with the documents on her desk. He spoke regardless, probably a little hoarse but entirely too loud, as he was compensating for the thundering sound of his heartbeat in his ears, fueled by a burst of sudden hope that he hadn't experienced through this entire conversation. "...Is that a yes?" he asked, waiting for a reply on bated breath.
She looked back at him from the corner of her eye, over her shoulder. "It's a 'you've left me no other choice,'" she clarified sternly before going back to the papers. "Your father did suggest I may have to give a little, so..." she offered by way of an explanation for her change of heart. She trailed off, sounding a little annoyed at having to capitulate, but Wilhelm couldn't be bothered by it any less as long as she was allowing him what he'd asked for.
After passing a few pages back and forth, she finally closed the folder, papers stacking together with a loud thud. She turned to him again, addressing him directly in her more rigid, disciplinarian tone. "Regardless, until you're ready to make a statement, you have to keep things perfectly respectable," she decreed, all no-nonsense practicality. "And I mean everything: public appearances outside of school, interviews, social media..." She paused momentarily as if reminding herself of all the public avenues they'd have to keep an eye on.
"We might need to get everyone at Hillerska to sign a confidentiality agreement," she added, almost more to herself than to him. "Your little rally from yesterday might actually give us the perfect excuse for that if people really think someone is going around the school recording students in the privacy of their dorm rooms."
Wilhelm frowned, his excitement faltering already at the turn the conversation had taken. "Someone was," he reminded his mother pointedly. After all, he'd been the one recorded for posterity in an intimate moment by his own bastard of a cousin. He would know.
"But he wasn't caught, was he?" she returned just as sharply. "And now we can use that to our advantage." Wilhelm finally understood what she meant, and he hated that she made it sound like this whole "letting August get off scot-free" thing had all been part of some grand plan to eventually allow Wilhelm to be with Simon. It wasn't. She'd been rolling with the punches as much as Wilhelm had, and she'd made wrong decisions along the way, and protecting August had been wrong. Just because she was (even reluctantly) on Wilhelm's side now, that didn't make what she did before any less hurtful.
That said, he wasn't going to antagonize her when he was finally getting what he wanted, so he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. There'd be time to figure out where he and his mother stood later. For now, all he cared about was Simon, and being able to live his truth on his terms.
If she noticed his discomfort, she didn't mention it. "But it's important you give yourself some plausible deniability, Wilhelm— no, I'm not going to make you deny anything," she intervened before he even had a chance to complain. "I understand you're very much opposed to that. But we need to give the communications team a cushion to work with if we want them to dodge direct questions. Too much of that and people start losing their trust in us. That would be disastrous."
Wilhelm thought about that and... felt it made some sense. After all, that was more or less the same reason why he hadn't revealed the truth about the video himself. He didn't want to undermine the people's trust in the Crown, for their own good as well as his own, because he'd need the goodwill when he finally did decide to come out to everyone. And he did believe some good could come of Sweden remaining a monarchy, as long as the monarchy changed with the times. He could be that change— or a step toward it, at least. But that meant he couldn't have people thinking he was shady or deceitful. He didn't want to alienate his subjects any further. He had to play this carefully, even if it involved the kind of PR maneuvering he despised.
It's like he told Simon the day before: he hated it, but he had to live with it. He couldn't change it; he could only try and make it a little easier for himself.
He glanced toward the window again, toward the lake, for just a few seconds before formulating a response. It was a way to keep his focus on the only real thing that came out of this entire excruciating episode. The only real thing he had in his life. "And if I do that... I can be with Simon?"
"Yes," his mother said, and as Wilhelm let that single, magical word wash over him, he felt his eyes start to water again. "On a limited capacity," she added, emphasizing the keyword there to clarify her meaning. "But this is a big risk you're taking here, Wilhelm; you have to be responsible. More than ever before."
She rested her weight back against the edge of the desk again, pinning him in place with a stern look. "And if anything goes wrong— anything— you come to me immediately. Do not handle anything on your own. I'm serious. One centimeter past the line into the obvious, and the game is up. For all of us."
Wilhelm swallowed hard. If there was one thing to be said about having his mother in his corner, aside from the obvious fact that she was his mother and he wanted her to support him, was that she was much more seasoned at dealing with the politics of media than he was. Maybe she didn't know much about social media, but she knew how the media machine worked at the fundamental level, and she was much steadier in the face of the turns of the tide than Wilhelm felt he would ever be. He was in over his head as it was, flailing at the waves to keep himself above water. His mother's experience, regardless of any other tensions that still existed between them, felt like an anchor he was completely untethered to just a day ago.
He nodded. "I understand, Mamma."
She acknowledged his acceptance with a tip of her head. "And I hope you understand as well that we will have to look into Simon and his family. Don't groan at me—" He'd been about to do just that, and had to hold the reflex back once he got called out.
"It's standard procedure," she continued. "Unless he's killed someone, it should be fine. Everyone has unflattering entries on their record. We just need to be prepared for any eventuality."
Wilhelm winced. This was one of the things he was worried about: having to put Simon and their family through the background investigations. The digging up of every negative thing that had happened in their lives. Given what little he knew from Simon and Sara about their estranged father, he couldn't imagine all of that would be pleasant to relive. Still, better to deal with it now and formulate a plan in case any of it leaked, than have it drudged up by the press and be caught flat-footed by it.
He bit back his complaint. Just because he and Simon could be together now (at a private level, at least, but not in secret), didn't mean they could just breeze through the necessary formalities. There would always be some balance between openness and privacy; it was just a question of what level of exposure they were both comfortable with. He'd just have to make sure to explain everything to Simon very clearly.
"Can I be the one to tell him, at least?" he asked, resigned that it had to be done at all but hopeful that it was not an unreasonable request. "I would rather you not sic Minou on him unexpectedly."
"She'll be charmed to know what you really think of her," the Queen commented dryly, and had he been talking to anyone else, Wilhelm might've rolled his eyes. He'd said far worse to Minou's face more than once, so she probably held no illusions as to what the Crown Prince thought of— well, of her job, mostly. They didn't interact much on a personal level; he always just saw her as an extension of his mother, so to speak.
"But yes, you may," his mother continued, pushing just slightly away from the desk and joining her hands in front of her. Her posture was perfectly pristine still, but noticeably less tense. "And once the formalities are done, perhaps it would be a good idea to invite them over for dinner with us. The household can arrange it. Maybe for Easter?" she suggested tentatively.
To say that he was shocked by the offer would be an understatement. He'd expected, at best, that his mother would be tolerant of his relationship with Simon for the optics— after all, she couldn't look like she was not supportive of her son— but it would never have occurred to him that she might attempt to actually build a relationship with Simon and his family.
That was more than he ever dared hope for, and he found himself getting unexpectedly emotional. "Really?" he asked, almost afraid that asking for confirmation might break whatever miraculous spell his mother was under.
The corners of her lips crinkled up in the smallest of smiles, somewhere between amused and yielding. Wilhelm couldn't remember the last time she'd actually smiled at him. Genuinely smiled. Before Hillerska, probably. It had been at least a good few months. "Well, if he's going to be a fixture in your life, we might as well get to know him," she rationalized, but Wilhelm didn't care about her reasons; it was enough that she was trying. It meant the world.
He was so overcome with appreciation and hope that he barely recognized his feet starting to move and taking him across the room toward his mother. Next thing he knew, he was throwing his arms around her and hugging her tightly in a way he hadn't since he was a pre-teen. She was clearly surprised by the gesture, too, given that she let out an "Oh!" as he collided against her. For a second he worried she might pull away, chide him for being too sentimental, say that it was unbecoming. But she didn't.
"Thank you, Mamma," he breathed out shakily past a lump of emotion in his throat. He didn't know where this left him with his mother; it certainly didn't absolve the way she handled things before, or make up for not understanding him and dismissing his needs, let alone placing such high expectations on him all his life. It didn't erase the distance put between them by the weight of the Crown, which Wilhelm was sure would still be there in the future.
But the fact that she was at least willing to give his relationship with Simon a chance, give Wilhelm a chance... that mattered. And he was allowed that, wasn't he? He was allowed to revel in the possibility that his mother might care for him more than she did her title, at least for a little while.
She didn't hug him back, exactly— even discounting her position as monarch, she just wasn't a particularly huggy person— but one hand lightly rubbed at his side while her other hand softly carded through the hair at the back of his head. "I do love you, my sweet boy," she whispered into his ear, as his face was pressed against her shoulder. "I'm sorry I have to be strict with you. I just want you to do well."
"I know," he muttered back, voice muffled by the fabric of her blouse and the cushion of her shoulder pad. Somehow, he felt both happy and sad at the same time. Happy that his mother had finally said what he'd been longing to hear for so long. Sad that it took this long for her to say it. That it might take even longer for him to hear it again. It wasn't fair, but he ached for it regardless. She was his mother, after all.
He squeezed her tight for a moment just because he could, because he didn't know when he would get to do this again anytime soon, then relaxed his hold. "Okay," the Queen said as they pulled back, her voice still soft and conciliatory, "you go back to school. I'll take all of this to the media team, get them prepared."
Wilhelm nodded in acknowledgment. His mother combed her fingers through his hair a couple of times, making sure it looked presentable, then brushed a stubborn tear away from the corner of his eye. She smiled at him again, a little wistful. He took that as his cue to head out.
He paused as he reached the door, leaving it half-open as he turned back to look at his mother. She hadn't moved. "Mamma?" he called tentatively. She looked at him, expectant. "I miss Erik so much," he said, his voice breaking.
He heard her breath catch. She lifted her fingers to her lips, almost as if trying to physically hold back a sob. She looked down at her side at a picture frame standing on her desk. Wilhelm couldn't see the picture from that angle, but he was pretty sure it was a picture of him and Erik when they were babies, maybe an exact copy of one he had in his room.
When her gaze returned to him, her eyes were watery and, he thought, tinged red. "So do I, sweetheart," she admitted with a similar tremble to her words. "So do I."
Wilhelm was still wiping tears from his cheeks when he got to the car. Once Malin was inside as well, and after informing their driver they were headed back to Linköping, the prince pulled out his phone. There was only one person he wanted to talk to after everything that just happened. On my way back, he texted Simon.
It only took a few seconds to get a response, like Simon had been waiting for his message. How did it go?
It was a lot, Wilhelm wrote back, but not in a bad way? He didn't want to give Simon the impression that something had gone wrong and cause him to worry for the next two hours. Wilhelm was just... still trying to wrap his head around it.
I'd rather tell you in person, he wrote again. Can I stop by yours?
Of course, Simon texted back right away, the words followed by a heart emoji.
Wilhelm smiled down at his phone, pressing the screen to send a red heart right back. Then he flipped his phone closed and leaned back against the leather seat back of the town car. He closed his eyes and let himself dream of happiness, freedom, and love.
.
.
Author's notes!—
I JUST WANT HER TO HUG HIM AT LEAST ONCE, OKAY? (She didn't quite manage here, but it better happen in season 2!)
Sooooo, surprise!: This is a stealth prequel to A lovely way to spend an afternoon. Kinda. Sorta? I wouldn't say the two are necessarily in the same continuity, but when I think of how they would've convinced Kristina to let their relationship go semi-public, this is generally what I picture. So I guess that's something? xD Maybe someday I'll do one where Simon is actually present for this argument, and that'll be a true prequel.
When I set out to write this story, I had two main goals (apart from, y'know, just sheer fangirly joy of writing fluffy scenes of my favorite ship): First, to explore the idea that Wille has options, that his hands are not tied just because his mother refuses to support his relationship with Simon- and at the same time use that as the road that leads him to finally accepting and internalizing the authority and the platform he's been given. And second, to highlight the importance of trying. Seriously, if this fic had a subtitle, it would be Trying matters. Because as much as I love the endless wisdom imparted on us by Master Yoda, sometimes trying does count for something. At least emotionally. I think this chapter and the previous one, especially, revolve around that. Hopefully that came across in a way that's not too anvilicious.
The G20 (Group of Twenty) is a conference of the largest 20 economies in the world, created to address different economic issues at a global level. Sweden does not participate individually, but rather as part of the European Union. They hold summits every year; the 2020 summit was meant to take place in Saudi Arabia, but it was held virtually, instead, because of the pandemic. Since the pandemic isn't really an issue in this universe, Kristina got to go and speak at an actual summit that year. Her appearance at this fictional summit was inspired by recent participation of several European royals at the COP26 climate conference- if that isn't a sign that climate change is no longer a "controversial" issue, I don't know what is.
Humlegården is a public park in central Stockholm; it is also the location of the Swedish Royal Library. Prince Andrew, Duke of York, is the third child of Queen Elizabeth II and ninth in the United Kingdom line of succession. Lately he's been in the news for being implicated in the Jeffrey Epstein child trafficking and sex abuse scandal, and... you know what, I'm just going to leave it there. Rococo or late Baroque is a very fancy style of interior decoration that swept through Europe and Russia in the 18th century, characterized by asymmetry, white and pastel colors, sculpted molding, frescoes, etc. A lot of Rococo decorations and pieces can still be seen at Drottningholm, originally commissioned by Queen Lovisa Ulrika as she and her husband, Adolf Fredrik, had to live there as they waited for construction on the Royal Palace in Stockholm to be completed.
Kristina's line about not wanting Wille's life to be harder than it needs to be was inspired by a line from Love, Victor season one. Minou is, I think (don't quote me on this because, as I have mentioned before, this show is terrible about character names), the woman who is in the car with Wilhelm in the first scene of the show, who tells him he has to apologize to the nation for getting in a fight. We do hear her voice in episode 5 when she calls August to tell him about his tuition fees, and I think that's the same actress. I don't know what her actual job is, but I can only imagine she's Kristina's aide in some way.
Next up: Every victory deserves a celebration. =) (Not like that. This is still PG-15, lol.)
I'm not quite sure if it'll end up as an epilogue or a full-on chapter, but the next one will be the last one, folks. I hope you'll like it! In the meantime, kudos and comments are appreciated, or feel free to hit me up on Twitter ( girls_are_weird) or Tumblr ( girls-are-weird) if that's more your speed. Also, quick plug: I've uploaded another YR video to my fandom vlog, and it's a good long one about moments/details I think deserve more appreciation. Be sure to check it out!