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Wilhelm had never expected to become king, and never wanted to in the first place.
So it was fine, because Erik was there. There would always be a name to maintain, he learned the hard way, but he had more field to play. That was a certainty when he decided to pursue Simon, even if his head was still a mess. He had to take the chance, as Erik urged him to, because soon there would be no chance at all.
He hadn’t thought far ahead. He didn’t imagine the worst, because the worst was also the impossible. Then a call from Mamma changed it all, and suddenly there was pain in every corner of Wilhelm’s being. It blinded him and deafened him and desensitized him to the point of almost madness, but in the middle of it, light managed to keep itself glimmering in the form of a boy. A boy who, without knowing it, became the sole reason Wilhelm didn’t fall apart.
Simon entailed a lot of things when you placed him in Wilhelm’s life. In the wake of Eric’s death, Simon meant, above all, contradiction: pain was there, a fucking live wire, but there was no way Wilhelm could forget the softness of Simon’s lips and the sparkle of his smile. He clung to them, because what else was he supposed to do with his chest sliced open, and felt guilty once duty started looming on him.
It was mistake after mistake after that. He allowed himself selfishness, and it ended in a sex scandal; he forbid himself his own heart, and the result almost tore him apart. Erik was gone and that should have meant he had no one, but Simon was in his life now, he realized too late, and letting him go meant being truly alone for who knew how long. The prospect of forever had seemed crazy in Simon’s arms, and without them around him it was dreadful.
So, when Simon took him back, kinda, Wilhelm knew that becoming king was never an option. Not for him.
It should have been scarier, to figure out you were in love with someone at sixteen.
“I love you, too, you know?” Simon said one afternoon after everything, almost at the end of the school year, Wilhelm’s room their eternal cocoon. “I want you to know that.”
Wilhelm just kissed him. Hard, and deep, tomorrow suddenly not there anymore. Simon clutched his waist and then his shoulders, caressing but also mapping, their bodies tangled on the unmade bed. Wilhelm channeled words that were too many to say out loud in that kiss, feeling how it awoke the promise they hadn’t really made to each other but was between them nonetheless. Not an I will always choose you , but an I will always choose me . The kiss made Wilhelm realize that only the love they felt for each other made the promise make sense.
“Are you scared?” he asked when they separated.
Simon’s smile was muted, and somehow it still eased the pressure in Wilhelm’s chest. “I don’t know? I think I am, but mostly for you.”
“I’m scared for you. ”
“Yeah? And why is that?”
Wilhelm just looked at him, mouth partially open and eyes narrowed in disbelief. Why? The conversations about a future were plenty after the disaster, Simon dead-set on following a path that made him someone . As a singer, probably, though he also liked science enough to make it a backup plan that included going to university. That was normalcy, that was life. Bjärstad would be left behind, full of bittersweet memories, for a future that promised stability.
“We both know you don’t like the attention,” Wilhelm finally said.
“No, I don’t.” Simon’s hands were a warm weight on Wilhelm’s chest, and his legs were an anchor. “But we can’t always avoid the things we don’t like.”
“I don’t want it to be because of me. I don’t want to—”
“Wille. That applies to you, too. It’s going to come for the both of us, because, as I’ve told you multiple times, you’re not alone. I’ve made peace with that, and you have to as well.”
Simon touched their foreheads together, and this was what always stopped the pounding in Wilhelm’s head: their breaths mingling, their eyes closing with it. Noses shaking while they grazed each other, hands brushing hair and caressing cheeks. It ignited something deep within, letting it get brighter to embrace the both of them. It had felt overwhelming at first, the sheer fact that they were with each other. That they had each other. Now it was only grounding.
“I told you,” Simon started, voice barely above a whisper, thumbs pressing against Wilhelm’s cheekbones, “when we came back from Christmas break, that it had to be about you. Remember?”
“Yeah.”
“And still, I sometimes think that you’re doing it for me. You told me I was the catalyst, I know that, and yet. It tears me apart, sometimes. That— that we may not even be forever, and you’ve already decided all of this.”
It had made Wilhelm want to scream, that conversation, one of many that would follow about how they were so young . Breaking up was never on the table after deciding to get back together, but the condition was clear: Simon wouldn’t be a secret forever. Wilhelm had not decided so himself, but here they were months later, still questioning it. Both of them. And that just wouldn’t do.
“You said I needed time, that I deserved time,” Wilhelm whispered. “And I had it. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You just— you’re just like the representation of it, you know? I— I don’t know how to explain it.”
Indeed. How to explain that Simon was a lifeline somehow thrown at Wilhelm, the only one that was worth risking everything for? How to burden Simon with that knowledge, with that responsibility? You’re my chance to truly leave it all , Wilhelm wanted to say. You’re the only person I would dare to do it for. It did sound like he was doing it for Simon, but no, not really. Wilhelm had always needed a push towards things, reassurance that he wasn’t jumping into nothingness. Simon might leave his life someday, but Wilhelm would still have followed the path he truly wanted. And that was enough.
Eyes closed again, he tried: “Okay, so maybe it is for you. At least a little.”
“Wille—”
“But I’m fine with it. I want it. There was always a limit to the time I would have before I faced this. We’re sixteen, damn it. Maybe it shouldn’t have come this early. But it’s here. And I made my decision. Me , and you’re included there.”
“I get it,” Simon accepted. “I always have. It’s just— yeah, you’re right. I am scared. For you.”
Wilhelm kissed him again. Would always kiss him in moments like these. “We have to stop being scared for each other.”
“I love you.”
“And I love you. We have a plan, remember? We have to focus now.”
The plan had evolved over the months.
With how Simon described it in the calls they exchanged while on Christmas break, Wilhelm thought it was Ayub’s most precious brainchild. There was a lot of tentativeness in those first days of contact, but Simon was too kind for his own self-preservation, so he told Wilhelm about what he, Rosh and Ayub had in mind. It was weird, and kinda funny, but it had potential. It focused a lot on petty revenge, but August deserved pettiness. At least, as much as Simon was capable of feeling. Wilhelm wanted blood, but another scandal would bury his chances of actually getting it. A systematic approach would be needed, Sara concluded weeks after, and that was it.
“This is all so crazy,” Ayub concluded one day, the four of them in Simon’s room, taking a break from homework.
“It’s fucked. That’s what this is,” Rosh added from the floor.
Somehow, all their conversations ended with this : Wilhelm’s decision, and what it entailed.
“Aren’t you all supposed to be glad I’m doing it?”
Next to him on the bed, Simon sighed. “We are, Wille.”
“It’s just—” Ayub always sounded so livid about it. “Well, we’re just here chilling, you know? And you’re the fucking prince. You won’t be soon, but that’s the point .”
Rosh started to cackle. Simon’s second sigh was deeper, longer, head down in surrender. Wilhelm smiled sheepishly at the room, the warmness in it preventing him from spiraling.
“It is crazy, I guess,” he conceded. “I just don’t know what else to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything, Wille,” Simon huffed. “This asshole is just exaggerating.”
“Hey! I’m expressing my feelings!”
“You’re expressing them too much .”
Now Wilhelm joined Rosh mid-laugh, because what else was there to do, honestly. Erik was still in the back of his mind, telling him to get used to it , but Erik never had a choice, and never had the reason to look for one, either. If Simon came into Wilhelm’s life, the lifeline of a boy that he was, letting him go meant soul suicide. Erik might have been fine with that, but Wilhelm knew his brother, the one who had advocated for a freedom he himself would never have. It was Wilhelm’s chance now, to go one step further.
“It’s just bullshit,” Rosh said after calming down. “You don’t want it? Leave it. Your parents either get it and come with you or don’t love you. Not as much as they should, at least.”
It was that simple, and it wasn’t. Being prince was never Wilhelm’s wish for his future, but it was all he knew. This room, this house, this people , offered more. Rosh was right, and Simon’s head was tilted downwards again, as if he too had reached the same conclusion some time ago. The choice, Wilhelm had knew now, was unfair as fuck, but he made it anyways.
“It’s okay,” he breathed. “It will be okay.”
One of them figured out that passing the year with exceptionally good grades might be the first step to start building a future. It was probably Simon.
Wilhelm tried to stick to it, he truly did, and it resulted in the headmistress praising him every time they crossed paths in the school’s hallways. It always included some variation of You’re brother would be so proud of you , which sent Wilhelm into deep introspection, searching for memories where Erik actually cared about his grades. They were never a concern for the family, because Wilhelm knew he had to do well enough, so the thought of Erik worrying about it was weird. Unsettling. Even the mental image of his parents caring felt off.
“I mean, my mom always praises us because we have good grades,” Simon told him when they reached the final weeks. “There’s never been pressure, not really. I kinda imagined it was different for you.”
Wilhelm shrugged. The hidden corner of the school grounds they were at allowed them to sit opposite each other, knees touching and hands interlaced between them. “They just want me to do good. Grades aren’t public, so as long as I keep up, it’s fine. I can get into university anyways.”
Simon hummed with that soft understanding of his. They were months into this second chance, and it hadn’t been easy, but they were here now, under some blooming spring trees, Malin at her usual distance.
“What were you planning to study before all of this?” was Simon’s question after a quiet while.
“I was supposed to be Erik’s adviser,” Wilhelm said. “It’s not an official position or anything, but that’s what siblings usually do, apart from charity. So I chose political science.”
“Really? Did you tell anyone?”
“Yeah. My parents were fucking livid. Apparently, political science is, well, too political. The monarch is head of state, not a ruler. You’re supposed to choose some intellectual path. So I proposed history, and they calmed down.”
Another hum. “Did— Uhm. Did Erik major in something?”
“Of course he did!” Those memories were easier to digest. “Philosophy. Not really his forte, but you should’ve seen him. All those books and assignments — they drove him wild.”
Simon pressed his lips together, eyes quick on different spots of Wilhelm’s face. “And now?”
“Now what?”
“Wille, have you ever thought about what you really want to do with your life?”
These kinds of questions should feel monumental, Wilhelm knew. They should feel scary — scarier. Maybe it was the months now between them, but Simon’s words echoed around them, lifting the weight off Wilhelm’s shoulders instead of adding more. He rearranged their hands, palms pressed tight together, fingers rubbing creases and knuckles.
“I guess I really have to think about it, huh?”
“I didn’t mean to pressure—”
“I know you didn’t,” Wilhelm said. “You just think about everything. And it’s fine. Helps me with realizing things before they’re trying to punch me in the face.”
Simon’s smile wasn’t wide by any means, but it still consumed Wilhelm’s whole being. He had never understood how a simple gesture could unmake you, like the stories he sometimes read told; he had never had the urgency to grasp the meaning of it. But Simon’s eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched at the barest twitch of his lips, and Wilhelm felt the unraveling around him as an opportunity.
The first time it truly hit him, that his life was unfair and no one would truly fix it but himself, Wilhelm cried on Simon's shoulder for hours.
They were saying a temporary goodbye. A short one, even if it felt defining. Drama wasn’t Wilhelm’s cup of tea, but it followed him everywhere. Now, it manifested itself in the shape of a lump in his throat, one that grew bigger with every second that passed in realization: it was the end of the school year, their first year at Hillerska a dooming mess, which meant returning to the palace for months.
“You said they’ll let you come,” Simon whispered to him, and his hands in Wilhelm’s back were soothing but his voice trembled as much as Wilhelm’s shoulders. “They will, right?”
“They can’t really stop me.” Wilhelm held onto him tighter, the bed creaking. “I won’t let them.”
“And— and Malin will help you.”
“Malin will help me.”
It hit him, and he wasn’t recovering from the blow. The room around them, barely lit by the faint light entering from the window, gloomed with them. Darkness had reached them hours ago, and it would be many more before it left.
“Have you been back to Stockholm?” Wilhelm asked after some shuddering breaths.
Simon shook his head, nose pressed against Wilhelm’s neck.
“Would you like to go back? With me?”
“Depends.” The brush of a smile against warm, sensitive skin. “Where are you gonna take me?”
Wilhelm thought of a million places, a million possibilities that stopped seeming wild months ago. Now they bloomed between his and Simon’s chest, not bothered by the lack of space. They spurred Wilhelm to raise his head a little: this room, inside a place that gave him the boy in his arms but also tried to take him away, anchored him now. Hope had always been a fantasy and he still had lived for it. The past few months showed him that it wasn’t as reckless as he thought.
Still not answering, he cradled Simon’s neck with reverent fingers, leaning back just enough to press their foreheads together. One of them initiated this and the other followed, always followed. Getting used to the stillness it evoked, a realization once striking and now soothing, wasn’t an issue.
The addictiveness, though. It was impossible not to crave Simon’s skin against Wilhelm’s when they started touching like this. They were on a timer, had been since the beginning, and the knowledge that he would be away from these lips and this boy had Wilhelm crashing them into a kiss. The heat should be unbearable, but Simon’s palms were scalding under his t-shirt, and his tongue asked him to surrender.
“I’ll go,” Simon panted, mouth traveling down the side of Wilhelm’s neck. “I’ll— I’ll go.”
It punched the air out of Wilhelm’s lungs and filled them all over again. Someday, he knew, they wouldn’t be as desperate. As eager. So young, they were, but they asked you to define your life at this age, and Wilhelm felt himself burn with the wet press of lips against his collarbone, with scorching hands clutching his waist. They were flipping on the bed, Wilhem’s back pressed against it. He welcomed the crush because it screamed what they were too breathless to say: I love you, I love you, I love you. The dimness around them only intensified the sounds they pulled from each other, and if he had to choose now, it would be this. Always this, forever this.
The word revolution was the only one fitting enough, Simon stated after a long while of staring at his phone and scrolling through social media. Wilhelm hadn’t paid attention to what Simon actually saw, too preoccupied with burying his face in the crook of Simon’s neck.
Malin cemented her status as an ally when she sneaked Wilhelm out of the palace and into a car en route to Bjärstad two weeks after summer break began.
“And here I was thinking you don’t like drama,” Wilhelm said.
“Well, what else do you want me to call it?”
“There are people below me in the line of succession, Simme.”
“You know what I mean.”
Wilhelm did. His uncles were nice, the closest to his mother — what Wilhelm had hoped to be to Erik. Now, in Erik’s position, he had no one to lean into that way. Mamma always listened to her brothers, and Wilhelm knew that Erik would have listened to him when the time came. Now, a world-shaking decision later, Wilhelm realized that his uncles might have something to do with all this mess in the first place.
“Wouldn’t they want the throne?” Simon asked now.
“Again, and here I thought you don’t like drama.”
“You fucker .”
Afterwards, Wilhelm would explain that his uncles were some kind of weird traditionalists, too loyal to the crown to want it for themselves. But in that moment, Simon’s bed was warm, and they fell sideways onto the pillows, hands grabbing ribs and legs kicking in a fight for dominance. Their chests were heaving by the end of it, their bodies tangled.
It would be hours before Malin knocked on the door to tell Wilhelm it was time to go. Days before he would have to spend a substantial amount of time with his parents. Months, maybe years before he stopped pretending he was anything other than the Crown Prince. Revolution , Simon called it, and maybe it was dramatic, but that was also how it felt.
Their second year at Hillerska would be August-less. It was so easy to push him into the background, when Simon took Wilhelm back. To wait , because the outcome would be worth every second they ignored that asshole instead of punching him in the face.
“Alexander still in?” Wilhelm had asked Rosh the first Saturday afternoon he spent back at Hillerska.
“Yeah. Has a harder time waiting, though.”
The plan was there, and it was enough for all of them. August and his circle ignored Wilhelm when they came back from Christmas break, not because they wanted to, but because Wilhelm looked at them with fucking murder in his eyes the only time they tried to approach him. Now most of them were gone, and Wilhelm glued himself to Simon’s side every time they happened to be in the same room, blaming the love in his chest for it. The other second years worked with Wilhelm on projects or made casual conversation with him at lunch or in the library, but that was it. Felice, Madison and Sara joined him and Simon more often than not, and by the time they approached winter again, the sex scandal and the drama became sparse in their conversations.
Wilhelm would have seen it ideal, but the back of his mind wasn’t a gentle place. I don’t want to be anyone’s secret , it screamed at him, loud enough to surpass the constant noise around him, and Wilhelm wanted to curl into himself but chose to do it around Simon instead.
“Malin must have so many stories about this,” Simon told him while hugging him back.
Wilhelm nodded with his head buried in silk-soft skin. He squeezed Simon’s waist instead of saying I’m sorry , and when Simon caressed his back with soothing fingertips and pressed their chests even closer together, Wilhelm could almost forget that it would soon be a year and they were still hiding.
Thinking he had time would become his biggest mistake.
Wrapped up in the gentle heat of Simon’s presence, still receiving it as if it was a miracle, and with Malin and the plan on their side — well, who could blame him for truly hoping for the best? There were nights where guilt ate him whole, where he screamed into his pillow about the unfairness of his dependency on his parents. About how he and Simon had to wait, because they would have to answer to people whether they wanted it or not. Simon repeated revolution almost like a prayer now, and his eyes were too bright not to let his own insecurities filter through them.
“I believe in you,” he would always whisper when they were sad and alone. “It’s taking time because of your situation, not because you need it. I get that now, and I’m not leaving you alone.”
So, when Wilhelm’s mother insinuated something about girls , Wilhelm had to make use of all his willpower to prevent himself from downright sprinting.
He told Simon after Parents’ Day. The only places where they could talk and touch were their rooms or their hidden corners in the grounds of Hillerska, but this was too urgent, so the library would do.
“I have to tell them.”
Simon looked up from his textbook. “Huh?”
Wilhelm explained. Seeing Simon’s expression morph until it reached a defeated grim would never get any easier.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m scared,” Wilhelm whispered. “But I can’t stand the thought of— I don’t want to hide anymore.”
“You know—” A gulp, a brush of a foot against another. “I’m here for you, okay? Always. And Sara. And Felice and Madison. Hell, Rosh and Ayub will invade the palace if they have to. You know that, right?”
How could he not?
Revolution . Too dramatic for Wilhelm’s taste, because they had no right to burden his shoulders like this. They had no right to hold power over his life, over his decision about loving and accept being loved back.
Right there, at the kitchen table, he knew this was a test. Mamma, Pappa, do you love me? Do you really love me?
“I won’t hear about this.”
His mom was panting, as if Wilhelm had forced her to run a marathon for her life.
“Son,” his father started. “I thought we had left this all behind.”
“It’s my life,” Wilhelm exclaimed. “How do you want me to leave it behind?”
The queen’s eyes were going to explode . “Duty is—”
“More important than my life?”
“Wilhelm—”
But he was already shaking his head, hand almost reaching beside him to play with the fingers that stopped him from falling. They weren’t there, of course, but the sheer fact that they would be was enough. “I don’t care what you do to me anymore. I really don’t. For fuck’s sake, you’re my parents, but I should have never cared in the first place. Not when I didn’t ask for it.”
The sob his mom let out made Wilhelm’s head spin, eyes dizzyingly wet.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she screeched. “That boy—”
“That boy’s name is Simon. And he seems to care about me more than you two ever did.”
Leaving them there shouldn’t have felt as cathartic as it did. His dad’s expression blurred by tears, his mother’s still mid-rant. Revolution it was, even if he didn’t feel like it, not yet at least, not until he was back next to the boy who had inspired him to start one.