His words ring through my head, I plan to finish what I started, and my core erupts with longing. Mads has always had a way of turning me to jello when I should be able to resist him. But after nearly three decades, he knows every button to push and just how hard to push it. I bite my lower lip and consider what still needs to be done so that I can quickly push naughty thoughts of what I know that man can and will do when he gets his way with me.
“He does have a point,” I mutter to myself. Mads is a target and he may very well be a danger to the family if that target holds. While thousands remained loyal to their “mad king” there are still hundreds who would just as well see him burn for his crimes. I cannot let anyone take him away from this family again. My brows pinch together and that dull ache tries to resurface in my head. For those who would see him burn, it seems they think Mads got off pretty easy with his sentencing. It doesn’t matter that proof surfaced, clearing his name and shortening his sentence. They were still unhappy and no amount of my profuse apologies or promises for better recreational amenities or offerings of economic boons have been enough to please them.
At least once a week since he found himself behind bars, I’ve read headlines and opinion editorials calling for more medieval tactics for a king who cannot abide by his own rulings. I close my eyes and sigh, opening them again and take a step toward the window. In the courtyard, one of our many drivers—Timothy—pulls up and I watch Mads insist to drive himself. They go back and forth for a moment before Timothy finally acquiesces to his king and I chuckle to myself.
Mads looks through the windshield and through the window. I offer him a prim smile but cannot hold it for long and cover my mouth as a proper grin escapes. He smiles and tosses me a wink that melts the rest of the ice from the walls I had built and drives off—the heavy iron gates closing in his wake.
Please come back to me, I think. He must come back to me.
I locate my cell phone on my vanity and punch in our eldest son’s—Rome, the crown prince, and the only one of our five children presently suited to hold such an honor—number. It rings once before he picks up.
“Hello,” he answers.
“Rome?”
“Yes, mother?”
“Have you spoken to your sister Fara recently? I tried ringing her last night and again this morning, but she isn’t picking up. And yes, I checked her socials, shot off a text message too. Nothing.” I take a seat at my vanity and inspect the aftermath of what nearly transpired with Mads. Aside from needing to touch up my eyeliner and lipstick, I look...happy. Bright, even.
“No mother, I haven’t spoken with your youngest and brightest of the Madsen’s clan. But, that’s not unusual,” Rome adds with a sigh. “You know she’s too busy at university, trying to outpace Caleb. She’s too busy trying to be the best Madsen to care about checking in with the rest of us.”
It’s clear he is driving, which more than likely means I am on the car’s speaker.
“What about Svea? I spoke with her yesterday. She hassled me about yesterday’s front page news...about your father and I. She seems to be of the mind that I should take him back.” I know I am fishing but if anyone can give me some insight or perspective, it’s my oldest.
“Hmm,” he mutters in reply.
“What do you think? Should I take him back? Undo the divorce. Goodness, I don’t even know how to begin that process. I guess we just remarry, ha.”
“You do you mother,” he says. “It’s clear you still love him and if anyone is going to do what they want at the end of the day, it’s Mykaella Madsen, Queen of Denmark and wife to the Mad King,” he chuckles. “I know what you need.”
“Oh yea?” I ask, applying a new layer of lipstick before giving myself one last once over. I push my hair behind my ears and smooth it down before leaving my room through the study. Gerrie is dusting the shelves and humming to herself, but doesn’t stop on my account. “And what is that?” I step out of the study and head down the corridor toward the palace’s main foyer. Timothy might not be able to drive crazy old Mads around, but I would like to take a trip to the shops and I know Timothy will be glad to fulfill his contractual duties.
“It’s simple. What would Granny say?” Rome asked.
I laugh, stopping at the main doors. “Really? Granny still wants more babies! She’s been sending new teas and scones each week. I have to check each one to ensure she doesn’t try slipping me herbs for boosting fertility. You guys are all grown. With Caleb and Fara at university, I have free reign of the palace and that woman thinks my forty-year-old butt should pop out more? Besides, I don’t think that old bat has stopped matchmaking.”